Linda A. Cronin
Believing
I believe children should be happy,
good people should win, and being nice
counts for something in the long run.
I believe chocolate solves any problem.
I believe blue is better than red, purple
beats green and somewhere, someone's
favorite color is black. I believe
in playing hooky, going to the beach,
and eating ice cream sundaes for lunch.
I believe fresh-cut flowers cheer a room
even on a cloudy day. I believe
tomorrow is a new day, and yesterday
won't look so bad next week because
the mind and the heart want to forget
the pain of the past. I believe your health
isn't everything and life does go on.
I believe adolescence is not fatal if only
you hold on to reason and sensibility.
I believe in giving a gift with no
expectations and always saying thank you
with a hand written note. I believe
a kiss can heal a hurt, m & m’s are
the perfect bribe for a child, and
a cup of tea tastes just right whenever
a crisis erupts. I believe a positive attitude
makes a difference but you don't think
yourself out of a disease, even if you
want to. I believe jellybeans should
be eaten all year along with marshmallow peeps
and the cookies we only bake at Christmas.
I believe in believing in yourself when
everyone else has doubts, and I believe
in believing as long as life goes on.
I believe children should be happy,
good people should win, and being nice
counts for something in the long run.
I believe chocolate solves any problem.
I believe blue is better than red, purple
beats green and somewhere, someone's
favorite color is black. I believe
in playing hooky, going to the beach,
and eating ice cream sundaes for lunch.
I believe fresh-cut flowers cheer a room
even on a cloudy day. I believe
tomorrow is a new day, and yesterday
won't look so bad next week because
the mind and the heart want to forget
the pain of the past. I believe your health
isn't everything and life does go on.
I believe adolescence is not fatal if only
you hold on to reason and sensibility.
I believe in giving a gift with no
expectations and always saying thank you
with a hand written note. I believe
a kiss can heal a hurt, m & m’s are
the perfect bribe for a child, and
a cup of tea tastes just right whenever
a crisis erupts. I believe a positive attitude
makes a difference but you don't think
yourself out of a disease, even if you
want to. I believe jellybeans should
be eaten all year along with marshmallow peeps
and the cookies we only bake at Christmas.
I believe in believing in yourself when
everyone else has doubts, and I believe
in believing as long as life goes on.
Origins
I am from history and memory
like the melody between two chords.
I am from the forsythia in the yard,
branches of sunlight in the spring.
I am from the earth teeming with life.
I am from the daisies and daffodils,
tulips, violets, pansies and impatiens.
I am from the rose bushes blooming
in the summer sun. I am from
the watermelon dripping with juice.
I am from the winter flames
burning in the fireplace
as you cuddle near the heat.
I am from the laughter, the tears,
the anger and the heartbreak.
I am from the loneliness as you
stand in the dark and gaze at the stars.
I am from Margaret and Richard,
Julianne and Francis and all the others
who came before me. From the past,
the present, and all the years until
this body returns to the earth. I am
not from the hurt, your voice breaking
as you beg him not to leave. I am
from hope and love and despair,
from the urge to fight when
you are losing in the bottom
of the ninth. Despite the odds,
I am from those who believed
I can when everyone said
I couldn’t. I am from the daisies
blooming among the weeds.
published The Journal of New Jersey Poets
I am from history and memory
like the melody between two chords.
I am from the forsythia in the yard,
branches of sunlight in the spring.
I am from the earth teeming with life.
I am from the daisies and daffodils,
tulips, violets, pansies and impatiens.
I am from the rose bushes blooming
in the summer sun. I am from
the watermelon dripping with juice.
I am from the winter flames
burning in the fireplace
as you cuddle near the heat.
I am from the laughter, the tears,
the anger and the heartbreak.
I am from the loneliness as you
stand in the dark and gaze at the stars.
I am from Margaret and Richard,
Julianne and Francis and all the others
who came before me. From the past,
the present, and all the years until
this body returns to the earth. I am
not from the hurt, your voice breaking
as you beg him not to leave. I am
from hope and love and despair,
from the urge to fight when
you are losing in the bottom
of the ninth. Despite the odds,
I am from those who believed
I can when everyone said
I couldn’t. I am from the daisies
blooming among the weeds.
published The Journal of New Jersey Poets
Holding On
Jerry no longer understands
the way things work.
The rooms leering
with odd shaped objects.
Unexplainable machines that howl
and shriek, commanding his attention
like the refrigerator, insides spread
across the kitchen floor, or the toaster
he turned off with a hammer.
Outside, images swirl from all directions,
spinning him faster and faster until
the ground rocks.
People he knew for years but
can no longer name stand
before him. Expressions slice
across their faces like skittery clouds.
Words taste foreign,
strange and unwieldy.
His tongue unable to wrap
around their bulk.
People react and respond
as if living in another land.
He stares at the world, water
leaking through his fingers,
no longer sure what to hold to
as objects and sounds threaten
to sweep him up
into the unending storm
hovering overhead.
published in The Paterson Literary Journal
Jerry no longer understands
the way things work.
The rooms leering
with odd shaped objects.
Unexplainable machines that howl
and shriek, commanding his attention
like the refrigerator, insides spread
across the kitchen floor, or the toaster
he turned off with a hammer.
Outside, images swirl from all directions,
spinning him faster and faster until
the ground rocks.
People he knew for years but
can no longer name stand
before him. Expressions slice
across their faces like skittery clouds.
Words taste foreign,
strange and unwieldy.
His tongue unable to wrap
around their bulk.
People react and respond
as if living in another land.
He stares at the world, water
leaking through his fingers,
no longer sure what to hold to
as objects and sounds threaten
to sweep him up
into the unending storm
hovering overhead.
published in The Paterson Literary Journal
Living In the Congo
As many as 50 villagers, of Nindja in eastern Democratic Republic of
Congo, were carried off into the surrounding forest by armed attackers
after a brutal assault.
Ever since the soldiers came
and took her daughter,
her hollow eyes stare into the air.
She crouches in the courtyard,
in the blazing sun, trying
to warm the chill from
her bones, and inside her, throbs
a hunger and an ache
that refuses to be silenced.
In a voice, barren of life,
she describes how each night
as the sun slips from the sky
and darkness falls, she heads
for the woods and spends her nights
cradled in the arms of trees,
staring at the stars above
with a single wish in her heart.
published in New Verse News
As many as 50 villagers, of Nindja in eastern Democratic Republic of
Congo, were carried off into the surrounding forest by armed attackers
after a brutal assault.
Ever since the soldiers came
and took her daughter,
her hollow eyes stare into the air.
She crouches in the courtyard,
in the blazing sun, trying
to warm the chill from
her bones, and inside her, throbs
a hunger and an ache
that refuses to be silenced.
In a voice, barren of life,
she describes how each night
as the sun slips from the sky
and darkness falls, she heads
for the woods and spends her nights
cradled in the arms of trees,
staring at the stars above
with a single wish in her heart.
published in New Verse News
| Linda is available for readings, interviews, workshops and school visits Email Linda |
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