MICHELE MITROVICH

        

B R O N Z E   A G E   A E G E A N   A R C H A E O L O G I S T

  

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A R T I S T   /    P O E T   /  P H O T O G R A P H E R   /   D E S I G N E R

We usually get shy about our expressions

 

We usually get shy about our expressions

How much we truly value people in our lives,

We hide it or reserve it for confessions

And file it deeply in our minds’ archives.

 

We are concerned about sounding awkward

Or worrying to spoil them with our praise,

We always keep it for tomorrow, moving forward

As if we have an infinite supply of days.

 

We always think that they are telepathic

And surely know how much we care just from our deeds.

We get no training how to be empathic,

We’re very poor in judging people’s needs.

 

Sometimes we realize that what remains unspoken

Will never reach the addressee who’s gone beyond.

We bring a somber wreath as our belated token

When it’s too late to speak and to respond.

 

It’s easy to give praise when it’s deserved and honest,

It costs us nothing and demands no sacrifice,

It’s an occasion when one doesn’t need to be too modest,

It nurtures love, builds bridges and it melts the ice.

 

How wonderful to be in awe of their existence,

Elated with their mere presence in our sphere,

Share heart-to-heart or seek and give assistance

To those who are so valuable and dear.

                                                   December 20, 2020

Tom Palaima

 

He gazed into the window, took an introspective pause

And snagged a sip from his worn-out cup that bears a duck.

The class was wrangling with a Subjunctive in a clause,

Some were successful in their quest; some had no luck.

 

The sunlight drew its bright geometry over the ticking clock

And lit with warmth the blackness of the dim blackboard.

As if inspired by its animating force, he starts to talk

And speaks his mind which has a wealth of stories deftly stored.

 

He quotes some lines from Dylan’s stark and gritty verse,

He speaks of blackness of the battlefields so drenched in blood,

He tries to pierce the meaning, see behind our lives’ obverse

And honor fallen soldiers’ futile and unanswered calls to God.

 

His childhood days spent at an altar soaked in Latin chants

Give no reprieve from feeling grievous tragedies of life.

And like a weedy bottom of the wine-dark sea, his heart decants

The sediment of life, its drama and enigma, paradox and strife.

 

He pours a goodly chalice aptly rarefied and strained

Through fibers of his soul which is so luminous and wise

And gives the class something of substance to be shared

As a communion of knowledge, guiding light and sage advice.

 

Some drink with ardor, some recoil, some – simply bored,

While others wonder what it has to do with Greek.

The most important things so often get dismissively ignored,

So rarely we give our hearts a chance to truly hear and speak.

 

"Who is this man," you ask, "of endless wisdom and renown?"

The one who knows the Iliad by heart and venerates its heroes,

The one who knows the etymology of any Hellas’ noun,                              

He’s simply Tom. How lovely that he’s with us!

 

October 22, 2020

Freedom

 

I never want you feeling stuck with me or obligated,

I never want to bind you or restrain,

I only want you when you feel elated

Each time you think of seeing me again.

 

I can’t say that I give you total freedom,

It isn’t mine to give but only yours.

You’ll always have my love and caring when you need them

And you can come without knocking at my open doors.

 

Come as you are, upset or very happy,

Come when you’re down or consumed with fears,

Come with exciting news which make you peppy,

And share with me your laughter and your tears.

 

However, if my love is not sufficient,

I’ll help you pack to get you on your way.

Don’t stay with me if feeling something is deficient,

Go search for someone else, don’t think you have to stay.

 

Don’t think you have to stay when seeing me heartbroken,

Do not feel guilty, I forbid this very word,

Unjudged, say anything that should be spoken,

You are not bound in a cage, my freedom-loving bird.

 

And even when I cry I want to see you joyous,

On cloud nine with love for someone else.

Nothing should ever hinder us or stop us

From building life which we envision for ourselves.

                                                 December 22, 2020

Façades

 

We always smile and say we’re doing great whenever asked,

We try to be on board with “Focus on the positive” agenda.

We often feel disjointed from our inner selves and masked,

The messages of truth are either never sent or just returned to sender.

 

It’s not because we want to lie, to play a role or to pretend,

We genuinely do not want to be a pesky bother or a downer,

We do not want to disappoint our own family, our neighbors or a friend,

We’re also striving to be liked, fit in, create a pleasant and a nice encounter.

 

We do not want to seemingly stick out from the sea of “normal”,

Whatever the façade is that’s considered to be an accepted norm,

It’s easier to go along with the expected pleasantries, so nice and formal

Than to be thought of as a trouble-maker or to cause a storm.

 

Sometimes we don’t allow ourselves the right to feel depressed or sad,

We hide it from ourselves as much as from whoever is around.

Not speaking inner truth, we isolate ourselves, and feeling shameful, bad,

We leave ourselves abandoned and betrayed and trying not to drown.

 

Depression and anxieties have always very deep and very crucial reasons,

We owe it to ourselves to not dismiss them or suppress them with a drug,

It all goes back to love with no conditions, not just when our conduct pleases  

Our parent figures, causing us to feel we have to be somebody else to earn a hug.

 

We are enough, we are exactly who we’re meant to be just as we are today,

Not skinnier, not smarter, not with a different shape of ears or shade of pigment,

We need to lovingly embrace ourselves and celebrate the beauty of our way,

Our way to live and love, not someone’s expectation or imaginary figment. 

 

     
                                                                  January 30, 2021

A Photo

 

There is a letter from my newly found friend
Which speaks both to my restless mind and heart.
I read it carefully until the very end
And see a photo as its joining part:

An empty alley, and a glowing evening sun
Illuminates the fallen autumn leaves;
Its warmth and golden glitter - nearly gone
And yet the trees are not at all disturbed by this.

They cast their piercing shadows on the trail
As long blue lines which mark the travel route,
They beckon to explore beyond the vista’s veil,
To cast aside a hesitation and a doubt.

The ink-blue dark abyss of the approaching night
Is yet to give its comforting embrace.
With opulence of dreams and with the moonlight bright
It will transport into another time and place.

October 16, 2019

   

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