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.
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,
Voltage charges power lines’ high wires All honest men die liers Her electric current runs tight by pliers My fires burn, they breathe, ash, and smoke Held so tightly I couldn’t help it my hand broke Shattered into a million
Riding slowly among the misty clouds The endless curves of mighty hills But i wonder it’s not fascinating me anymore Why i curtailed my world in you? Deep down there lays beautiful valleys Defining life beyond explanation But my soul