Thursday, January 3, 2019

December Winds...a poem

December winds
Blow in today
Bring cold
And snow
And actually,
Love my way.

For the most holy
Of holy
Special Days
The Creator gave me
Yet another gift this day.

For you see
This December
Christmas Day,
I married the love of my life
In a most special way.

I could not have asked
For a better gift
Than to spend
My life
With a man
Such as this.
To my husband on our 1st Anniversary, December 25, 2009.  I love you.

Hope...A Poem

by Michelle (Hudson) Richards aka Naila Moon
copyright Jan. 3, 2019

I sit upon my hands
Entrenched with anger.
I look out onto the sea
With a hope of a new future.
The waves was over me
Like a newborn removed
From its mother.
I feel a calmness
Invade my innermost thoughts
And I am now free.

Sunday, January 7, 2018

A Quiet Need...a poem

A Quiet Need
by Michelle H. aka Naila Moon

In the quietest of moments,
I feel loneliness
that I cannot shake.

A longing,
A want.


A need,
That has festered within me.

I have needed it so long now
That I am nothing but
A whisp
Of myself.

What do I do?

I suppose,
I listen,
And hope.

Monday, May 23, 2016

Our Libraries...A thoughtful story

Our Libraries
By: Michelle R aka Naila Moon

                                         It is said, "When someone dies a library is burnt."

I was 33 years old. A young, single, hard-working mom of two.  I had a decent job in a busy, bustling home care agency in Missouri.
Over the years, I had heard of special clients who had passed on.  I even had my own share of special people who had died in my life. I watched my Paw-Paw for weeks die right before my eyes.  I saw both of my Great-Grandmothers, an uncle, and two close friends and just last year my beloved Grandma and my Dad.  However,  through all of that, nothing would prepare me for the events and the silence that followed, that occurred on September 11, 2001.

                                          It is said, " When someone dies a library is burnt."

I had more than once used this phrase before. I had even meditated on its meaning but on September 11th the meaning became all too clear.  The meaning took on something huge! Something, that even after I sit here and write these words, I simply could not fathom was happening.  For those of us that were able to remember, we saw right before our eyes 3000 plus people perish before us. We saw New York in flames.  Was this New York's libraries burning of those 3000 plus people?  Maybe that is so.
My question is were they forgotten?  I do not think so, but their knowledge, their infectious smiles, their laughter, their entire being is gone.  The meaning is there: in other words each of their libraries was perished in that fateful loss.

So here it is, eleven years later, We as a people have taken more books off our own shelves. We have learned, we have grown and we are stronger.  We also, do not forget so easily. Well, at least I don't.
I know one thing is for sure. I will never again walk in to or see a library the same way. I will not see the rows upon rows of books and not think of all those men, women and children.

                                       Yes, your libraries have been burnt but you are not forgotten!

Thursday, February 18, 2016

In the Moonbeam...a poem

In the Moonbeam
by MR aka Naila Moon
All rights reserved Feb. 2016

I looked out on the horizon of the night.
The moon shown brightly,
As moonbeams struck the Earth below.

I called out your name
As if you were there,
Waiting for me,

I desperately searched,
To catch a glimpse
Of the love you used to have
For me.

You were not there.

I only saw shadows dancing
In the beams of what had been.
A distant likeness,

I attempted to hold
those shadows
But they only fell through my fingers,
Displaying only memories
Of time gone by.

I continued to wait,
But in the end,

You were not there,
And I had to move on,


Saturday, August 29, 2015

Writing Her Heart Out...A Story in 100 Words

Writing Her Heart Out
by MR aka Naila Moon
All rights reserved August 2015

Leslie looked down at the paper in front of her. It was a blank sheet staring at her, begging her to put pen to paper. The blue lines were meshing into each other; they blurred and twisted wildly, fighting for attention.

Panic rose up in side of Leslie’s throat, squeezing the air she was trying to breathe. Her thoughts consumed her as she tapped her pen against her flushed cheek.

"What do I do?" she thought.

She had pulled an all-nighter before this big day. She knew the material. She began to write the essay with all her heart.


100 Words on Saturday - Write Tribe

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Unfair...a poem

By MR aka Naila Moon
All rights reserved 
June 2015

I am a mess of flesh,
supposedly written
before I had the chance
to decide.

Unfair it seems.

I am riddled with dreams
of the past
but not
of the future.

They haunt me
and I do not

Unfair it seems.

What am I to do?

Unfair it seems.

Yet, here I sit
with it all.
Waiting for
the next step
to happiness again.

Unfair it seems.