Sun Kissed Days

Sun Kissed Days

Sunday, October 15, 2017

The Places You will Go

The storm rolled in,
the trees were stark,
against the dark sapphire sky,
the roads an endless white blanket.
How quiet it gets
when it snows,
I thought the day you were born.
Love was held in each breath,
in your eyes I discovered 
the constellations
of the sky.
I cradled you in my arms,
my heart racing.
I wanted to live,
to love you
through your first scraped knees,
watch over you when you climb trees,
read you bedtime stories.
I wanted to live
to watch your pearly teeth
sprout like limbs of a young tree.
I wanted to guide you to catch
your first fish,
while the seagulls watch in anticipation
waiting to steal it.
I wanted to hear about your first kiss,
when your lips feel like they're on fire,
when they feel soft like billowy clouds. 
I wanted to build bridges between 
your generation and mine.
Share postcards of oceans I have crossed,
of places you will go one day,
when you grow up to be a man.
Building your own life,
your own future.
I wanted to play games
I had played with my brothers,
when we were children,
build forts out of sheets and pillows.
Dance with you in the kitchen,
the way I dance with your grandfather
when the harvest moon floats in the sky.
I wanted,
I wanted,
I want
your breath to be yours,
your space to be free,
your journey to be one of discovery.
Shape your world 
and mold it with your interpretation
and your intention.
Navigate your compass
with true wisdom,

Sunday, September 24, 2017

A New World

My father
created a life
out of thin air.
He built a foundation
with his strong hands
and his strong mind.
He built a home,
raised a family,
and found success.
Then he uprooted
to a new land,
to plant new trees,
on new landscape,
of a blank canvas,
for his sons and daughter.
He left notoriety,
a good name,
a reputation,
to start over.
Be invisible,
suffer tragedies and challenges
in his new world,
for all of us to find peace
from the impending war.
He sacrificed for the country,
but he did not want to 
sacrifice his sons.
My mother learned
a new language in her
late forties.
Leaving behind tailored dresses
and sparkling jewels.
Abandoned her status
to work as a cook
at a beach front hotel.
Her dainty feet
swelled into boats,
never to recover.
Her mother tongue spoken to us,
while others did not understand
her broken English. 
Hope drifted in and out of 
the windows of our home
and entered through the
door one day.
But it was not long before 
a new hurdle
had to be confronted.
My mother and father
did not dwell in the past.
They lived every day
stung by the reality of 
putting food on the table
and clothes on our backs.
Their love trickled in our sleep,
raised our dreams,
found a path,
to change,
to rise,
to recreate our life.

Sunday, September 3, 2017


with a tarnished crown.
Scars on my soul,
mapped like the constellations
in the sky.
I forgot how clueless
I was as a girl.
How sad my soul was,
seeking other lost souls
to lift,
from the wreckage of life.
The moon shadowed 
my recklessness.
The tide brought erosion
to my shore,
igniting the hunger to overcome.
Thread by thread, 
I weaved into a tapestry
of strength and survival.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017


His eyes dart up and down,
the light dancing on the ceiling
holds him captive.
In the sky, the eclipse leaves
us spent with wonder.
He watches the Yellow Tang
He is mesmerized by the woods,
woods one can get lost and found in.
A sea of green blushing in the presence
of the sun.
Woods captured by color and artists long ago.
Our hands are locked in a puzzle
of familiarity and love.
Devotion and the quest of the unknown.
His eyes are gleaming 
filled with innocence.
My heart is beating,
racing in my chest.

Sunday, August 13, 2017


leave me aching,
to lift the veil.
Unearth the secrets 
from their burial ground
of lullabies that are no longer mine.
A language forgotten,
where humanity and love merge.
Where light and grace dance as one.
Saddled by time,
the burden does not dissipate
nor die.
I told the sun about my demons,
the sun told the moon.
The moon lit my dark nights 
and showed me the way 
to a new dawn.

Sunday, July 30, 2017

Tell Him

Talk to your son,
my child.
The way I spoke to you on 
moonless nights
about the stars and galaxies.
Tell him your tale:
how you loved cars,
how you simulated their sounds.
Tell him about colorful Lego bricks
you made into castles with soliders,
about war and peace.
Tell your son
about the stories you devoured
of art and history,
how your home was filled with love,
and every breath was brimmed with gratitude.
Tell him about your ancestors
and their will to survive the
strife and hunger of the grey war.
Tell him about bees and pollination,
the salmon's migration,
grizzly bears,
and bald eagles.
Tell him of your struggles
and your human decency. 
Talk to your son,
my child.
He will grow with sparkling pride.
He will know your love is undeniable,
your love shining through his days and nights.

Sunday, July 23, 2017


I discovered the crows feet
nestled by my eyes.
I forgave them and accepted
them to be mine.
I love that they exhibit
a piece of my struggle.
Days I squinted in delight,
dark nights when weeping
left me drained and numb.
I questioned the veins in my hands,
pronounced and deep,
then I accepted them
for all the hard labor they had done.
Hands weathered by love given,
days from dawn to dusk,
babies they had washed,
foreheads caressed.
I watched my white strands 
residing in my dark hair. 
I accepted them for their resilience
and beauty.
I challenged my mind to battle the known
and seek the wonder of the unknown.
I challenged my soul to rise up
and embrace the woman
I have become
and love the life I have been given.

Monday, July 10, 2017

Seven Year Blog Anniversary

Seven years ago today I began posting on my blog, a sun kissed life. It was a difficult time, I had lost both my parents and I felt wounded, tired, and vulnerable. A desire was sparked to write again and to stand with an open heart and share it. The desire was mixed with fear of leaving myself naked to be seen, my pain expressed for strangers to see, but I took a leap. At first the posts remained empty of comments, and it was okay, because after all I was writing to find happiness within. As time went by, my blog blossomed, other bloggers that I respected came by to read, which made me happy and grateful. I was welcomed to a wonderful community of bloggers, poets, authors, and journalists. We bleed on our pages and we share our souls. My blog brought me back to the writing I had left behind. It has made me examine ordinary and extraordinary moments of my life. To all my friends I want to say thank you for embracing me with love and acceptance. I am blessed to have you all in my life!

Sunday, July 9, 2017

The Love that is Acceptance

You entered the door to my heart
and you stepped in.
I let you
into my mind
in the landscape saturated 
of all that I am.
You tasted the essence 
of the turmoil,
you savored 
my struggle
dangling at your feet.
You did not run,
you did not turn away,
instead you stood like
a sunflower reaching for the sun.

Sunday, July 2, 2017

Sunday Morning

thunder pierced the morning.
You fell asleep,
your arms stretched above your head
in surrender
to your dreams.
Lions, giraffes in Africa,
tales I tell you about the sun and stars,
colorful starfish and
blue marlin living in the ocean as
you sink into your dreams.
You touched my face,
your nails on my skin,
happiness climbed to meet you
like the new day.
Short breaths,
joyous sounds
are things I hold as miracles,
for the love I feel is extraordinary.
Your eyelashes flutter,
evanescence, beauty
of the moment. 
I cover your head with kisses,
 my heart open to you,
and the universe.

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Mid Life Island

My vessel empty,
tangled up in blue.
My interior landscape,
the sound of the wind echoes
Days when I am the wreckage,
days when I am the storm.
Standing in mid-life,
the memory of the chaotic past
floats in and out of my thoughts,
like a colorful buoy
faded by the sun;
the color drained as
the elements seized
without mercy.
The scars have faded
but resurface
like a letter for additional postage.
Truth gnaws like a dog on a bone,
I choose to swim against the tides.
The erosion on my shore
only felt by me.
The mind battles the clutter,
while the illusions are mourned.
Tangled up in blue,
a light in the distance,
is the beacon,
to the answers,
to the possibility
of tomorrow.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

Tiny hands awaiting greatness

you discovered your hands.
You joined them in a dance,
then let them fall to your sides
like leaves in a free fall.
You tug with eagerness
at your colorful toy.
You coo to it and to me.
Red, orange, green, polka dots, and stripes,
make your eyes light up.
Your lips purse together,
bubbles escape them.
I watch with delight,
as if for the first time
watching a miracle.
You choreograph with your fingers
a dance of discovery and beauty.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

What if I forget?

The city I was born in,
my mother's maiden name,
the street I lived on.
answers that do not warrant
black and white,
nice and easy.
But what if I forget
one day,
my first pet's name,
my high school boyfriend,
finding the love of my life.
What if it slips away,
like an oar in the river,
like water through my fingers,
like all the yesterdays
built by moments of you and I.
Holding hands,
speaking with our loud voices
at the spark of anger,
dancing in the kitchen,
our laughter echoes in our home.
side by side at dawn,
our feet tangled 
in a mess of love,
what if I forget?

Sunday, April 30, 2017


My heart trembles,
my heart floods
underneath the malnourished past.
Memory breathes life
into the body,
memory shakes it from its sleep.
Awakened to touch 
ever so soft,
like a whisper on the skin,
like feathers in the wind.
Love seared into the being,
buried in a cave of yesterday
where fragile and tenderness
once lived.
Famine and
were a choice in
a narrative of a crumbling world.
Denial and deprivation were a choice.
Love breathing life back into me,
setting me free. 

Sunday, April 23, 2017


Tomorrow April 24, 2017 is Holocaust Remembrance Day as well as Armenian Genocide Day. I would like to share here poems that I had written for both. I am a child of a holocaust survivor and my husband is a grandchild of an Armenian genocide survivor. Our tapestry is woven by those that displayed a remarkable courageous spirit.


Numbers tattooed
on my soul.
Lives snuffed out,
roots of humanity pulled out
like weeds,
so they would not grow,
or flourish,
so they would not survive.
Numbers tattooed,
like branded animals,
identities robbed,
Voices silenced,
voices of philosophers,  
The old woman sits with me,
she remembers and weeps.
she remembers walking into
an empty house for refuge,
  a photograph 
of a rabbi on the wall,
his blue eyes haunt her in her dreams. 
She remembers hunger,
Her grandparents murdered,
her uncle vanished,
her aunt dismembered.
She is a part of me,
a piece of my legacy.
Her eyes the same color as my 
beloved father's eyes.
 They held hands at the gates of hell
and survived.
I write down the stories
seared with pain
 of portraits of life
ripped apart,
families lost,
unspeakable horrors.
I write stories,
I witness,
as tears fall down,
we remember. 

This next poem I wrote to commemorate 100 years from the genocide. It is dedicated to my husband and his beloved grandfather.

Armenian Genocide -100 Years

Coal black sky,
awakens repressed memories.
Whispers of angels silenced.
You are not forgotten,
the moon watched 
while humanity looked away,
one hundred years of denial.
I stood beside you as a boy,
and as a man I carry you in my heart.
Your kind but dark eyes,
pieced my consciousness with
stories of your plight,
living in a cave,
marching in the desert,
eating weeds and plants.
You were a baby boy orphaned,
grief held your hand.
You were too young to remember
your mother's love
your mother's embrace.
The emptiness,
and the sadness lingered.
The oppressors sought to destroy,
they sought deportation,
The oppressors wished
to erase you
and our bloodline.
One hundred years of denial,
echo like whispers,
reverberate from the earth
of those that perished.
You survived
to flourish
you survived 
to tell your story
the darkness always in the shadows
 of each day.
I remember.
your words are not forgotten,
I retell my children of those dark days,
of their legacy,
of survival rich with
honor of your life.
I stood beside you as a child,
as a man I carry you in my heart.

Remember And Change

I don't want to write about spring,
flowers blooming,
touching my skin,
making my spirits rejoice.
I don't wish to write about egrets 
flying into my yard,
celebrating glorious blue skies.
I want to write about hunger and pain,
about a dark time,
when the sun did not shine for you 
and for others.
A time when your belly was empty
and your eyes witnessed 
horrors that remained with you
till the day you died.
I don't want to be gentle or soft,
I want to awaken souls.
I want the world to remember,
humanity at it's worst.
I want them to know
 that you did not
let it define you.
You were a survivor,
a champion,
that fought for other people's rights .
Your heart open and your mind
filled with dreams.
You wrote beautiful words,
soaring above the pain and horror.
I want them to remember ,
the people that perished,
the people that did not
get to go home and build
a new life,
in a new land
I want the world to remember.

Sunday, April 9, 2017


Crumbs leftover from yesterday
fear induced.
I am sliced paper thin
by questions and self doubt.
words dancing on the page.
thoughts percolating,
truth illuminating the way.
casting shadows and
If I recall our story
with truth and beauty,
unveil it with clarity and charity
will you let me
raise my chest into the air
let the steam and fire rise,
and let me spin my words
saturate life
breathe secrets into the universe
or will you silence me?

Sunday, April 2, 2017


Your sweetness 
awakens peace within me,
an immense joy
that roars like incoming
waves breaking on the shore.
The tides rise and fall
with time,
as I look into your eyes 
and our souls meet again.
My words palpable
pour on to the page
brimming with enchantment 
and truth.
You nestled in my heart,
my love,
I wait for the universe to lift you,
embrace you 
and write the chapters of your life
with peace,
and enlightenment.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Precious one

May the sound of the sea
give you tranquility.
May the sight of the blue topaz sky
spark your desire to fly.
May you bloom like a flower
on the side of the mountain
resilient and graceful.
May your steps be light
and your touch gentle.
May you be strong like
the roots of the oak tree.
May you find the sacred in
the ordinary,
in the light breeze on your face,
in the crimson sunrise,
in the salty taste of the ocean spray.
May you delight in powerful words.
may you be charmed by sweet poetry.
Play in the moonlight,
sketch on the large canvas of life,
bathe underneath the stars.
Dream big.
Love fiercely.
and laugh some more.

Sunday, March 5, 2017


Hello world
he seemed to say
with one eye open
as he gazed at life.
Seven pounds
fifteen ounces
infant warrior.
Hello snow 
blizzard raging.
Hello mother,
hello nurses,
Hello world,
wrinkly fingers and toes,
footprints engraved on our souls.
Hello world,
sucking noises,
sweet cries, 
the sounds of the Wheels on the bus,
paw prints on the sidewalk.
Hello world,
I am Aiden and
I am ready to celebrate it all.

Photo credit to Robert Cernuda. You can find him at Robert

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Little One

What do you see in your dreams
little one?
sheep that you count
white and dreamy
like the billowy clouds above.
What do you see in your dreams
when you sigh in your sleep,
green endless fields,
yellow and black Labrador retrievers?
Do you smile because you see
your mother and father gazing
at you with adoration
sparkle in their eyes.
Do you dream about
your maternal and paternal grandmothers
rocking you to sleep gently and lovingly.
What do you see in your dreams
little one?
The sun shinning through 
the gray morning
as the snow melts off
the bare trees
outside your window.
Milk and sweetness
life and love.
Do you see the future smiling on you,
what do you see my love?
Photo credit to Robert Cernuda. He is a gifted photographer and artist in the New York area.

Monday, February 13, 2017

Aiden Karl Ethan

My precious grandson was born February 8th. I am over the moon with love and gratitude.

Monday, February 6, 2017

Breaking the chain

I stand before you a man,
inward a young boy,
a spectator of our life.
The man has no expectations,
the boy remembers.
You left me on the shore,
like husks and shells
that you stepped on. 
The boy remembers shining
to your blind eyes.
Your acceptance
not felt, nor voiced.
Your arms never stretched
to raise me,
to lift me.
My stories were chatter,
you did not want to hear.
Sound bytes buried
as you became increasingly
irritated by the tone
of my voice.
You were deaf,
your mind self absorbed.
Whores and drugs seduced you,
friends and the bottle captured
your attention.
I was an after thought,
oblivious to my needs
you lacked empathy.
I searched for light in your eyes,
I waited for a kind word,
but encouragement and respect
were not in your vocabulary.
I stand before you
 as a man,
as a father.
I am not you,
your errors and indifference
shaped me,
your road-map not my own.
The sounds of my children are
the dearest
to me,
their pain is mine to carry.
No task too great,
no sacrifice enough.
I encourage,
I nurture,
I lift,
I broke the chain.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

I am the immigrant-I am an American

Bury me in a pine box
breathless yet breathing.
I won't leave,
I won't go.
I rested my weary head
on her shoulders.
Her courage,
became my own.
I swam in her oceans,
I climb her hills and mountains.
I swore my loyalty,
my allegiance.
Her flag engraved across
my heart,
the stars and stripes my own.
I brimmed with emotion
and devotion.
Her outstretched arms
embraced me,
took me in.
She whispered words of inclusion,
she roared words of freedom
and love.
I am not a stranger,
this is my home.
I am an American,
I won't leave,
I won't go.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Happy 31

 The years slip away,
the days evaporate,
the moments sustain us,
love remains and thrives.
Happy Birthday to my boy! I love you always and forever <3 br="">

Sunday, January 8, 2017


is the handsome boy
that feels like an
ugly duckling.
is wise remarks
that make me laugh
even though I restrain myself.
Sixteen is dark humor 
mixed with silly undertones.
It's tousled curls in his hair
when it was always lank.
Sixteen is a world
I want to step into
as I sink into a marsh.
I try to remember
my sixteen,
my youth,
my insecurities,
and struggle 
to mirror his uncharted sea.
Sixteen is loving
in small gestures,
it's late nights,
boundless energy,
it's heavy and light.
is sinking into a computer screen
for endless hours,
talking to friends
while saying nothing
of importance.
resides in a room 
that resembles a dungeon.
The only beacon are keepsakes
buried in the closet and chest
of drawers.
He is witty like Stephen Colbert
and funny like Jon Stewart
not that I would compare him to either.
He is unique,
this sixteen unparalleled 
to any other.
This is his path to walk on,
and mine to follow from a distance
with unconditional love.