Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen

Posts Tagged ‘Love’

Spring Makes Me Feel Young

In Guest stories, Prose on February 25, 2015 at 8:09 pm


by Charles Borges

Spring makes me feel young – it is like being born again. You want to smile and hug everybody you meet in the street. You are full of love and compassion. It’s like your first love in school – your heart goes like “di-di-dah”; it’s a wonderful feeling.

Let me tell you a story…

It happened on a spring day last year as I was crossing the street at 22nd and 7th Avenue. I saw a young couple with their groceries crossing the street. Just when the traffic light changed to green, they dropped all their groceries in the middle of the street. Then, out of nowhere, people came to help them, and the traffic stopped. I gave a hug to the young man and said: “It’s ok.”


A Smile (Mouth)

In Keeping hope alive, Love, Poetry, Stories, secrets & dreams on February 23, 2015 at 7:03 pm

by Fred Street

When you smile
it means your heart
has been touched,
the feeling-gladness, sorrow love.

I was a bit dreary, sad, empty.

Then I thought of my Joy
of being alive-
to know in my heart
that I’m the life of a life.

Once a smile begins to formulate
in the inner landscapes of your being,
it radiates into warmth and roundness
of your lovely red lips – a round dimple is noted, round
when you smile.

First Love

In Love, Poetry, Stories, secrets & dreams on February 9, 2015 at 2:14 pm


by Norman Clayton

Eve, the trees itch, they always do
Grounded fruit calling to you,
Always to you, to lonely you,
Woman who had no choice,
I climb down almost the first time.

It is still not too late to get lost.
Let me sip you with a cup of wine,
White wine me, white wine you
Always longing and calling
Moonless always lovelorn you.


In Keeping hope alive, Love, Poetry, Stories on January 30, 2015 at 6:58 pm


by Paul Coleman

Seems so long ago
I know it wasn’t yesterday
I wore my mohair black pants
And black suede shoes.

A funky ballroom, Smoky singing
“Lum de lum de li ah”
Mrs. Brown’s daughter by my side
The Mashed Potato, the Twist
Claudine looking fly
In her tight skirt and white blouse
Filled to the brim.

 Oh we were perfect
Perfect in every way
On the dance floor
On the street.

Life was good and time stood still
Had to be back by twelve midnight,
A little kiss, a belly rub, innocent
And slowly strutting home,
Head cocked high
In my mohair pants
And black suede shoes.


In Love, Poetry, secrets & dreams, Stories on December 4, 2014 at 10:04 pm


by Rosetta Miletti North

You’re a lifelong dream recently relinquished.
The tiresome fact remains that I cannot help search the masses
that I may chance upon a countenance pleasing to my soul.

I have not found you.

In the verdure of youth,
the enticing notion of duality ignited within me the spark to unearth you.
To find the hand that protectively holds onto mine when I fear the monsters in the dark and the dark demons within myself.
To find the sweet breath that bathes my ear, whispering my name during the incremental folds into darkness or as the chill starts to evaporate by morning light.
To hear eternity echo off of the majestic massifs, retelling of our serendipitous encounter.

Yet…I have not found you.

The formation of the idea of you was lovely,
held steadfast by the hope of stirring from a dream to find you slumbering by my side.
The idea of you was divine,
something to look back upon on occasion when life has become antiquated, punctuated by the emergence of newly formed lovers holding our place in the universe.

Show Your Love

In Keeping hope alive, Prose on November 26, 2014 at 6:13 pm


Tonight I write this article inspired by a program I was watching on TV called “America’s Got Talent”. A young man told his story of how he and his sister were in foster care and were adopted – his adopted mom was there also. He sang a song on the show – it was so inspiring that I couldn’t help but write this through tears.

We live in a world of love, hurt, misunderstanding, kindness, etc. I understand that it’s important to listen with an open mind and sincerity. I saw a gentleman today I met some time ago, he told me of his dilemma. I listened. Now he has accomplished what he set out to do. It was rewarding to listen to him. Also, another person I met, he spoke of being homeless. And now, he has a job and a place of residency. I’m inspired by these stories. It’s through my faith that I can understand this.

If you allow your humanness and your love for your fellow man to flourish, the rewards are endless. I believe this with sincerity. I’m grateful for a wonderful mom whom I cherish today with love.

In other words, lend an ear to someone today, tomorrow, next year if possible. The inspiration gathered from this will go on forever and ever.

Fred D. Street

Leaving San Diego in the Morning

In Stories, secrets & dreams on May 22, 2014 at 5:29 pm


By Michael Welch

I see the crowd of people standing below us looking up at us.

I see Booker standing next to me, a man I hardly know but I will be giving him orders to obey for the next two years – it was either the hard steel deck of this ship or the cold steel bars of some jail in Chicago, for Booker

And I see so many dangerous, deadly, stealthy planes tied tightly down around me; large muscular flying metal insects pinned and staked right next to me on the roughened steel flight deck, their sturdy wing pods and underbellies silently ready for festooning with all sorts of pernicious deadly darts designed to wreak havoc

And we, the both of us, are looking down, hanging over the thin rail of this giant grey aircraft carrier, we looking down one hundred feet below to the quay, looking down at the crowd.

I see so many people looking up at us.

I see people waving, I see people waving up at some of us.

I see my new wife looking up at me. She is so pretty; her long blonde hair tied with red ribbons and laying on her shoulders in two fetching tails, a look I have loved since we were kids, knowing she only stubbornly wears those two pony pretty tails now to soothe me when I am sad, and still she reminds me she is not a little girl any more. But she will always be my little darling, she will always be that young sweet smelling flower to me, with bright red ribbons in her hair. And she is waving her slender soft hand at me.
I feel the salt air of the harbor on my skin and the air feels warm.

I can hear the screaming of the crowd, the crowd is screaming up at us.

I see a child, a small child waving a flag – an American flag – a flag way bigger than she, the breeze off the bay is wrapping her all up in colorful play, the cloth flapping around her, and the cloth gently slapping her face. The stars and stripes. “How cute,” I am thinking, as she begins to cry.

And I can hear the screaming of the crowd, and I can hear the screaming of the sailors all around me, and I can smell the heavy diesel from the ship’s stack blowing down upon us – the strong bite of diesel exhausting and mixing with the salt sea air enveloping me.
And I can hear our ship’s loud whistle blast.

And I can hear the tug’s two loud chirps.


Chugging along aside us to aid us in our departure – chirping in their sharp retort to our monstrous moan.


And I can see the sailors on the dock below us uncoiling the thick white twisted lines of rope off the heavy, strong, thick stanchions and throwing us off – we are no longer secured to land.

And we start our year long voyage into the strange waters of the world, sailing across the wide blue Pacific and passing into the far off unknowns of the Orient.

And I can hear again the loud mournful horn of our ship and I can hear the quick spirited chirping shrill returns of that culpable tug below.


And as I lean further over the ship’s thin rail I can see two large tugs below churning aside us in the bay, struggling mightily to push us off.

And we are underway…beginning our passage.

And I can hear the crowd screaming as the pier recedes into the bright sunshine.

And I can hear the sailors screaming as we float away into the bright sunshine.

And I can hear again the ship’s loud, mournful moan.
And I (fear) feel we will be gone forever.

And I can taste the diesel on my tongue, the clinging filmy oily exhaust coating my mouth.

And I can see my pretty new wife; I look at my new wife waving at me. Her long blonde hair is loose now, her beautiful long tresses are billowing free in the bay’s rising breeze, and the red ribbons from her hair are now in her hand, and she is waving her red ribbons and the ribbons are reminding me of colorful ribbons of streamers thrown from an ocean liner in long ago days. And as we slip away from the pier our last connection is torn apart…finally lost. The once taut and now limp remnants of colors will not hold us together any more, and the ship is turning and putting out to sea.

And I think I perceive an odd troubling smile forming on my lovely’s pretty face. Is she crying?

She is so far away.

And I am remembering – I am trying to remember – how she smells, as my thoughts are crowded in the stink of diesel that I will be smelling for the rest of my life. And I am thinking: “Will I ever smell her again? Will I ever taste her again?” as my mouth is crowded with the cloak of ship’s diesel. “Will I ever taste the sweetness of her skin? Will I ever again?”

And I can hear Booker next to me – he is whispering something in my ear, he seems to be whispering something important, as he hisses with a force of authority I am surprised to hear. I know he has been on one of these long voyages before, and so I try to listen, no matter his minor rank.

“Mr. Welch,” he whispers in my ear.

And I am leaning closer into him now in order to heed his words.

“Mr. Welch, don’t worry.”

And I can sense Booker is telling me something imperative for the journey we are about to take.

“Mr. Welch, don’t worry…you will find your wife when you return.”

And I am happy to hear that.

“You will find your wife just as you left her – freshly fucked.”

And I can hear the crowd screaming “goodbye.”

And I can taste a bitter pill of betrayal breaking apart in my mouth.

And I feel lonely.

Mama Told Me

In Love, Stories, secrets & dreams on May 4, 2014 at 5:15 pm


Mama Told Me

Mama told me there’d be days like this! I’d only lived with my mother until I was three, then divorce and my dad got custody. There were few visits until I decide to visit her. It was 1955; I was 15 and rarely far from home, which is hardly the case with today’s 15 year-olds. So my brother put me on a bus from Paterson, New Jersey, at the new Port Authority Bus Station in New York. I had been 11 when I last saw my mother, still chubby, round-faced not really tall; by 12 all that changed, I was nearly my present height, and slim!

As I got off the bus at Market Street, I saw an Eva Marie-Saint looking blond (had just seen On the Waterfront) wearing a rust suede jacked. I’d always called my mother ‘Peggy’ since I never really knew her as ‘mom’. I wanted to surprise her but I think she knew I had arrived. “Peggy?” She turned around – told me “How you’ve grown! I don’t believe it.”

We took another bus to Preakness – no.88, I remember, and my Mama told me so many things about what I’d see on the farm when I met her husband Sam, and my half-sister Bonnie – now nine. I had a wonderful time!

I will skip ahead many years, far beyond when Mama (“Peggy”) told me her side of the divorce story, since I’d only heard Dad’s – what daddy told me. I knew, even as a child, there could not be just me dad’s side of it.

Nineteen eighty-four, I was 44, my mom nearly 71. We’d had our problems through the years, as children, teens ect. with parents, except I never had as much time with my mother in resolving them – except correspondence where you have delays of reaction, thus having the other party know where you stand, and you knowing where the other party stands, exchanging feeling, making amends, ect. Mama told me I could come down for a visit (she lived in Florida) and for me to suggest when. I chose Mother’s Day week – May 10-17, 1984 – flying down on a Thursday due to heavy air traffic volume, high airline fares, ect.

I’ll never forget that week I had with my mother – Mama telling me many things (and me telling her many things) especially that she loved me. I did not know it would be the last time I’d see her. She had something else to tell me, but not in words, in other ways, obviously. Why did she wear all white that week except the night I left for home, when she had on an aqua blouse? I had taken the very best pictures of her ever, also not knowing they would be the last.

At the airport, as I was heading toward the entrance, I turned around, waved, and blew a kiss goodbye. She had the most melancholy look on her face – that wistful smile of hers she was known to have. I went back to ask her what was wrong. She was a good actress, her husband Sam had told me. Well my Mama told me then, “Oh nothing – great time we had – now don’t you miss your plane!” People’s Express it was.

It was my Mother’s day goodbye. I’d never see her again – what Mama could not tell me was “I’m dying” The plane in the air, I realized it over many drinks. My whole life flashed before me, all my memories of Mama.

In June I sent Mama a new flower-print bathing suit – one piece guessing her size as 14. Well, it was 12! I phoned her, asked if she got it. “Fits like a glove.” This was my dad’s 74th birthday, three days before Mama died. I asked her how she was doing, “I’m working on the country farm painting I showed you.” Then Mama told me, “I take today. I love you – bye-bye.” The last words Mama ever told me.

by Toby Van Buren


In Love, Poetry on March 15, 2014 at 6:41 pm

I leave

But you remain, to receive me upon my return.

Bewildered by warm greetings and familiar faces
I review/regard/reassess

Then regress to remembrance of
Those days when I belonged, and
I glanced upon your reappearing face
And smiled.

by Stephanie Lawal

My First Love

In Love on February 8, 2014 at 4:20 pm


I’ve always been aware of my first love. For all the loves who have come in and through my life, who I’ve loved intensely and sweetly, this love remains. For men who have loved me and left or those who have had the door shut in their face. None has ever touched me like my first love–food!

It’s been a continuing affair since first memory, snacks at the circus. Grandmother always said I ate my way through the three rings. The terror of that day was holding the peanuts tightly fearing the elephant wanted one. I screamed scarlet and held the bag closer. I won. Dumbo was terrified.

I learned the art of cooking in my grandmother’s southern kitchen. I did well there and had the weight to prove it. Food didn’t talk back. Pork chops and fried apples, roast beef with mash and gravy. Home-canned veggies and preserves.

As I grew older I cooked my way into relationships and marriage. No one ever left my table and complained. As I fell out of love, I stopped cooking. Starve, baby, starve. I learned to prepare continental, Spanish, and Oriental cuisine. The nicest thing my former husband said about me was, “If you want to make Carol happy, just give her a cookbook.”

In the ware of weight, food won. Food loved me. People could see it, and I never said no to a box of chocolates. There’s no “heroin chic” for me. Food is my comfort, my control, and the nicest reward. A new dish well prepared and enjoyed makes my endorphins sing.

It’s a lifelong affair, and as you can see, I wear my love well.

By Carol West