Barbara Hilal
Occupation-
Preschool teacher,Artist, Poet
Date of birth-
11\10\31
Marital status-
single
Education-
Self educated, some College
Interests-
Psychology, art, poetry and people
Publish writing-
Under the Quicksilver Moon2001, On the net, Autumn Leaves, The Street Corner and The Long Trip Home
http://www.freewebz.com/streetcorner/ , http://www.sondra.net/al/default.htm#welcome , http://www.thelongtriphome.com/"Under a quicksilver moon "by the International Library of Poetry .com, Winter 2001
Personal statement
Art is Long Life is Short. I am finally learning at 70 years old.
Always Be Ready to die
Yes ,always carry your death with you
Always be ready to die
Make death a companion
Not an intruder,
Let it go ,
Let it be,
Let it by...
Always be ready to die
Don't shrink when the time comes to pass
You cannot decieve it
It won't be put off,
Welcome it
Open up
Believe it
Yes, always carry your death with you
Its wise to know your mortality
Prepared you'll be peaceful
Things are in order
No suprise
It has a place
A Separate Reality
Have no attachment, don't cling
The final curtain falls softly
Rise ,flame to the sky
then subside to retire
Like embers of fire
Ceasing desire
Yes, always carry your death with you
Always be ready to die
Barbara Hilal
At the ending of an Affair
At the ending of an Affair
Let me look at you
Not with history's eyes
But the eyes of a child
Let me search you
Not with maturity's age
Not with the lore of the sage
But the heart of a child
Let me hold you
Not with professional hands
But the hug of a child
Let me reach you
And find you, yet
Not with a catcher's net
But like the game of a child
Let me share with you
Contact but not contract
Intimacy and ecstasy
And as you're standing close to me
Let me fly,
Hear me cry,
"I touched the sky"
I left a space, like lover's do
Where I had been
Or was it you?
A leaf fell from the tree
Floating on the wind
Hesitant to fall
Hovering there
Not wanting to be
Separate again
Impressions
Your chair seat was warm
I miss your presence
My heart fell heavily in my bowels
with the first shock of betrayal.
An indelible photograph in my brain,
the smell of your mouth,
your smile.
You stole my modesty
I rip your clothes
lap up your body
with my lust
I smell your clothing
drop it back in the drawer.
How can you be dead?