Sunday, April 3, 2016


"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...
I could walk through my garden forever."
— Alfred Lord Tennyson
Kelly Steed ©


by Berteena 

Down by the spring,
the dogwood, and the dove;

we held hands
and kissed like we were in love.

My love ran red 
when I dreamed in blue;

I found myself standing in the sun
in awe of you.

Have you seen him 
whom my soul loves?

I've tasted and seen
the sweetest of loves...

I've dreamt my heart free
and my shame came undone.

I've dreamed I sought my love,
but he did not come.
Kelly Steed ©


by Christina Rossetti 

Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come to me with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.

Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in my dreams, that I may live
My very life again tho' cold in death:
Come back to me in my dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low,
As long ago, my love, how long ago.

This poetry is dedicated to the people of my home town(s) – West Plains, Koshkonong, and Thayer, Missouri; Mammoth Spring, Arkansas; and the surrounding rural areas. May your love always guide you home. Much love to you all!
B ❤

Photos curtesy of my friend: Kelly Steed at
Photos are subject to copyright laws. Please visit his website to purchase a copy and do not download from this site. Thank you for supporting our fellow artists! 

Poetry subject to copyright laws. Thank you for reading and sharing.

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Let It Go

High above treetops, two eagles soar.
Looking deeply into each other's eyes, they lock talons together.
Twisting around, simpatico, they plummet down spiraling toward the earth below.
In wild abandon, they're intertwined, while spinning down. 
Just before reaching impact, they release and begin to soar through the air again together.
It is an awe-inspiring sight.

Meanwhile, on the ground, chickens are rolling around together in the dirt. 
They eat scraps off of the ground including their own eggs and feces.
They do not glide through the air together in a magestic mating ritual. 
It is not a beautiful thing to watch chickens wallow in their own wastes.

We celebrate people for their anger. 
We see anger as a strength. 
In reality, it takes more strength to forgive than it takes to be angry.
Forgiveness is a big idea.

Whatever happened in your past, you've got to shake it off. 
Keep moving forward.
It is not worth it to allow your past to abort your future.

Forgiveness is about liberating the victim.
Forgiveness is not agreeing with the perpetrator. 
You cannot keep giving them the power of unforgivingness over you.

Cut yourself loose.

You cannot reach out for your destiny with both arms if you are holding on to your past with both hands.

The score isn't even. 
But, you need to let it go.

Don't reach back behind you when your destiny is ahead of you. 
You were not designed to carry the weight that belongs to someone else.
You were not designed to hold on to stress. 
You have to let it go for yourself, not for them.
It's not about them.
You have to let go so that you can survive.
Get rid of the pain and toxic wastes.

You are not powerless, you are powerful.

Unforgivingness does not hurt the enemy, it hurts you.

You've gone as far as you could go with the weight that you've been carrying.
You've been tormented by the memories and scars that repeat the same words, the same scenes, and the same incidents— over and over again.

Think about your life over the past few years.
You've been flapping around flying up and down, but never really going anywhere.
You've floated through some stuff that you never should've been going through. 

While the chicken is eating waste off the ground, an eagle is soaring through the sky.
An eagle soars over mountains and obstacles in the way.
Don't have the chicken mentality. 
You don't have to eat excrement off of the ground.
Be the eagle, fly.

Your attitude directly affects your altitude.

Embrace your destiny.
Don't flutter away on the ground.
You've got a creative soul trying to get out.
You are not a chicken, you are an eagle destined for a higher level.

You've got the courage to let go of whatever it is that's holding you down.
It's time to spread your wings.
Have faith and believe that there are far more important things ahead than what's left behind.

Nobody knows the weight you've had to carry but you.
You're going to face your destiny much lighter than what you were when you came into it. 

There is liberty in setting yourself free.

Make a decision to face life with a good attitude even if you're going through a tough time.

Let it go. 
Be the eagle, soar high.

TroyMarcyPhotography.Com Flickr Images


Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Disease of the Soul

Oh man,
Your eyes are a venomous blue—
And when you speak,
Your mouth spews forth diamonds
As if you were speaking before kings.
Your tongue is smooth like butter—
Your lips like honey.
How sweet your words taste
To the woman unknowing.

Oh man,
You are full of arrogant pride and alibis.
You are a fickle lover
Who walks with a heaviness
In the hurt that you hide.
Your woman is enraptured in your martyrdom
While you push her around, cheat, and lie.
You hold her like she was
Someone you used to know.

Oh man,
You are paying for your father's sins
While you break the spirit of your child.
You destroy everything you build.
Your ear has turned from wisdom—
Your heart lacks understanding.
You are not blameless.
Your soul needs surgery.
Take hold of your dark night.
Surrender your will.

Disease of the soul
Is a man's worst enemy.
 opi3ss3 on Flickr

Monday, February 23, 2015

empty vessel

You were birthed into a toxic environment—
Surrounded by unbelief and fear.
You are a ship without an anchor.
Nothing holds you.
Nothing keeps you.
You are adrift and headed nowhere.
You have no compass;
No sense of direction.
You don't listen to your hull.
Without keel, you lose your balance.
You veer off sideways—
Losing depth and weight
Feeling the tide of push and pull.
Your masts have no sail.
You've lost the ability to propel.
There's plenty of room, but you can't breathe.
The wind never picks you up off your feet.
Lack of air results in no drag and no lift.
You have no driving force.
You can't see your full potential— your gifts.
You are open to the elements—
And the elements change as you drift.
You are deaf and blind—
Lost in the midst.
While drifting, you are a danger;
You put everyone at risk.
You've got the potential to run aground.
Off course, you are headed for a wreck.
If you do, you might break apart.
You are limp and wounded.
You have no capacity for sympathy—
And what you want is empathy.
You've lost heart.
Your joy and peace dried up.
You are an empty vessel—
Afloat in a sea of regret.
The day you lost your vision for a future, you stopped living.
You want help with your debt.
You think you need somebody.
But, you don't need anybody.
You are the body—
Only you can fix it.
Your life is not over.
You don't need to feel so empty.
You can pray.
You can meditate.
Find your your passion and your purpose.
Re-evolve— reposition yourself.
Change is eminent
Sailing in the light of day.

Photo credit: Unknown
I do not own the photo. No infringement intended.

Friday, February 13, 2015

sweet sorrow

she was kind, 
she was lovely,
she was sweet, 
she was so good
to everyone
she did meet.

she was a daughter,
she was a sister,
she was a fighter,
she was a lover,
she was a cousin,
she was a friend, 
and she...
was somebody's mother.

how I loved her!

her heart and her thoughts 
alive in that secret place
of the Most High.

daughter of a King,
the apple of his eye,
she rests in the
shadow of his wings
safe for all of eternity.

such sweet sorrow.

goodbye lovely one 
—until we meet
on another morrow.

In loving memory of my cousin

Sunday, November 30, 2014

Our Last November

I thought I heard the sound of heaven
reaching down touching earth.
All of the angels were singing 
and mourning came rushing over me.
Like an ocean opening up lifting her voice, waves were pounding.

My heart stopped when I read your name
and my soul was left in longing.

The chill from this wind is sober.
It feels like November just got colder
and that last teardrop was disguised as freezing rain.
I'm shaken as I wipe my brow and feel this pain.

I watched your luminous face, like a rainbow quickly fading, 
disappear into a breath of God.

You are a page I cannot turn from a book
left unfinished and it hurts to look
at a beautiful poem that could never again be read
with words that will never be said.
I shall live with that regret.

You were just here yesterday
when I felt your warmth like the sun kiss my face.

I wish I could've kept you here in this place.
I would tell you how much you've meant to me,
I love you, and that I will remember 
our big snowy hill, those old dirt roads, and our last November.

Angela's Photo: A place where she liked to go be alone and pray.

This poem was written in remembrance of my sweetest friend Angela who passed away yesterday, November 29, 2014.

I will never forget.

Saturday, August 16, 2014

hear me cry

evening shadows
and vast darkness in a room
claim despair while waiting for daylight in vain;
emotions run heavy and hard to swallow

a childhood dying
against the world
wrestling the otherworldly
and i am crying

can you relate?

on the floor,
up against the wall
restless and distraught
in need of something more

an emptiness
so lonely inside,
it feels like i'm drowning
losing my breath —i'm defenseless

can anyone hear me?

searching for that hidden treasure
light given up to misery
found in the life of a bitter soul
who cannot find pleasure

my groans poured out like water
find no rest in trouble that follows
and i just want to belong
what if i was your son or daughter?

show some concern...

when i sleep
you're everywhere
you're all i see when i close my eyes
—this pain so deep

anxious in my thoughts,
drops of water... every sound magnified; 
distracted by the noise, i keep trying to wash away
my nervous pride —this life for not

hear me?

my heart grieves
pained within me
cursing the day of my birth
while everyone leaves

furrowed wet with tears;
if i had wings i could fly
from the thoughts that oppress me
wishing away the years

hear me cry!

o, God, my soul,
listen to my plea: awake my inner-self
filling the void with life
give substance to the whole

hear me and i will know that i am not alone
i will awaken the dawn
with a new song
to show how i have grown

my soul waits!

hear my voice
—this life but a breath
When anxiety was great within me, 
your consolation brought me joy.

Sistine Chapel Ceiling: God Dividing Light from Darkness
Michelangelo, 1512

"So if I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I’ll bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you’d probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. And I’d ask you about war, you’d probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, 'once more unto the breach dear friends.' But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms “visiting hours” don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, ’cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you… I don’t see an intelligent, confident man… I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you’re a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You’re an orphan right? … You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally… I don’t give a shit about all that, because you know what, I can’t learn anything from you, I can’t read in some fuckin’ book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I’m fascinated. I’m in. But you don’t want to do that do you sport? You’re terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief." —Robin Williams, Goodwill Hunting

This is what living with depression feels like. This poem is dedicated to all those who suffer in silence. There is hope. Please hold on. —Berteena

Helpful Links

Suicide Prevention Lifeline


National Eating Disorders Hotline

National Domestic Violence Hotline

Mental Health — Depression Resources

How to Pray — Interfaith