I cried me a river many times. Mostly for my children. The daughter I wanted protected. For my son with big ideas, stranger whose world collapsed. After my brother and a few friends died knowing their role in my life, I cried me another river. Some said pray and I did, questioned God’s sovereignty ‘n cried me another river. When I asked for change life remained the same. I wished I kept my struggle hidden. decided to not ask again. But cried a few rivers.
A Registered nurse, wife, mother, poetic writer and United Way volunteer.Born in Belize, migrated to New York at age eighteen. After studying nursing, worked as an emergency room until starting a family.Having both natural and chosen children, it was the emotional struggles of the chosen ones that gave birth to many of her poems.Ruthieg believes that when all is forgotten or ignored, expressive words linger or get heard. That it is important for the hurt and wounded to have a voice, for that purpose, many of my poems were written.
It was a freak accident of epithelium under anaesthesia. You place a window on to a hollow brain. The money makes the monkey out of you. A green light blocks the fish, your memory, to swim in black thoughts. The
Vane glorious and absolutistic, though I defiantly, cavalierly, and blithely attest Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy mine acidic breast houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic, barbaric, and bubonic cannibalistic demons within thy safely guarded Pandora chest atomic cesium clock timed to
As The River flows – my life completes itself.. An enlightened tryst with the almighty, Created by destiny, I was born To flow like a never ending river A tough undefined journey, quintessentially alone The Himalayas promised me the purity
I had a dream last night. It was very concise but interesting. Rather revelatory, but not prophetic in the usual way. There was a class with a facilitator encouraging input based on a lesson plan provided to the class. I,