Unspoken Word
February 26, 2018
Here's a Little Secret

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February 16, 2018
What You See

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February 11, 2018
Like an Old Mexican Woman

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February 07, 2018
Off the Coast of Love

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February 05, 2018
The Buffet in Your Living Room

In memory of Joan and Stanley Deutsch. Written by their loving daughter, Cathy, upon the passing of her father several years ago, and recently remembered as her mother left this mortal world.

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The buffet in your living room
is now a shrine to your life.
Shiva book open to hold the names
of friends and family come to call.
A candle burns in memory
it's Hebrew markings a prayer.
A petition for mercy
that your soul rest in peace.
I have arranged the flowers differently
than the ones from my garden.
These carry a thorn of sadness
as I place them in a clear glass vase.
I strive not for beauty
but for some pictures of you,
the reds your fire
pink of tenderness,
elegance of rose and
simplicity of fern.
Many splendidly open
and others never to bloom.
This still life set for a stilled life
sits not for the painter's eye.
It hold fast your memory
and too will find you in its return
to soft brown earth.

Cathy's email: crotoncath@aol.com

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:11 PM | Comments (0)

February 03, 2018
The Beautiful Sadness of Longing

THE BEAUTIFUL SADNESS OF LONGING

There is a beautiful kind of sadness, one most people think they shouldn't feel, that needs to be celebrated. Or, if not celebrated, then at least welcomed like the evening's last beggar at your door.

This sadness is divine, the experience of what most people consider to be an absence, but, in reality, is the presence of the divine longing for the Beloved.

It would be easy to conclude that this feeling is a disconnection from joy, an unfortunate amnesia that would make an easy target for well-meaning givers of advice to quote from their favorite scripture,
but I am not talking about this garden variety of sadness. I am talking about another kind -- a holy melancholy that sculpts, deepens, and refines from within.

Like the dusk that follows day, it is not devoid of light -- only another shade of light. Yes, it is darker, but so what? Isn't it the darkness that allows the stars to shine?

When a human being is in the presence of their Beloved, it is easy to feel joy. Like leaving home in the middle of a storm, it is easy to get wet there. But when the Beloved departs (ah, the paradox, the late night debates -- does the Beloved ever depart?), an uncomfortable feeling arises.

The moon is full, but you are empty -- thirsty for something to fill you again, but the only thing to drink is a bucket of tears and you cannot find the handle. Off in the distance you hear the sound of a cello. Is it sad or beautiful?

Drawn by the music, you follow, feeling your way, singing silent songs of praise and wondering if what you hear is the sound of your own voice or your name being called.

You know and have always known, that the Beloved has left the world behind as a gift. But you do not want the gift. You want the Giver.

Video production: Fernando Garcia
Music: Stuart Hoffman

Poetry: Mitch Ditkoff

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:53 PM | Comments (3)

“I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry.”
— John Cage

Welcome to my new blog — brief ruminations on what it is that moves me (and maybe YOU, too). If any of my poems inspire you, please forward them to friends. Good muse travels fast. Or could, with your help.

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