A GLIMPSE OF BLOSSOMS JOURNAL MAGAZINE

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NOTHING IMPOSSIBLE IN THE HEAVEN BENEATH

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This is the poem that made the multi-awarded poetess Deborah Brooks Langford the cry which she mentioned in her interview conducted by the beautiful Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf Nothing impossible in the heaven beneath... My children are my golden treasure... bringing back my thoughts to my yesteryears my story began when I was a teenage mother... through breastfeeding, I nurtured my first son till no milk from me, I could squeeze upon I wished to feed him nutrients he essentially needs to abound I lacked to provide him; my world seemingly didn't go round it bled my heart as my purse was thin and empty windows were only covered by sacks. That was how pity was we and nothing could be found in every corner of our dinky shelter even tiny ashes of regrets couldn't be found in there ...how bare it was.. it was representing me... from there, I just learned to dream though not for me but for them I believe it's not late to create a nest for my coming children behind that huge moun...
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THE REALM OF PEACE

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As I sit here in the twilight, I hear only the blaring breeze, swaying the leaves in different directions.   I cherish this sound of nature. I feel I am in a sacred realm, a place where everyone dreams to be.   It whispers hope to my soul. It brings calmness to my mind, clearing away everything unnecessary.   I detach myself from uncertainties. I turn my back on worries and weariness.   I am grateful for the days ahead and for the peaceful nights to come.   I await the gracious years waiting for me, where I shall meet many souls, speak to their hearts, and leave a paramount legacy. Even with empty hands, I am rich within.   And I will be remembered...   AS THE ME Helen A. Sarita
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GARDEN WHISPERS

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As I patiently wait for flowers to bloom, I ponder the whispers of my garden’s womb.   As the breeze blares and touches my brown skin I feel the gentle caress where new dreams begin   New plants mirror generations to come; tree shadows shield us from the scorching sun.   Withered leaves remind me, soft and kind, All things pass with time, let's hold that  in mind.   White hibiscus buds reach toward the skies, a beacon of hope, a promise that never lies.   Sunlight graciously infuses life, Flowers burst forth with quiet pride. Rain becomes their faithful friend, nurturing soil, helping some to mend   Tall plants shelter and shadow the young ones, They're small, yet they stand where glory runs.   Orange bougainvillea starts to appear, dangling to the ground, like my spirit blossoms bright, wild and round.   Red blooms guard my welcoming entrance, showing strong and blissful abundance.   These simple sights feed my vibrant glee As I savored...
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