Silence has become my constant companion

Thoughts of you linger behind my eyes

I yearn for repeated experiences of us

Little deaths fall so easily

Lusciousness is meant for more than one

Ostracized and patronized no more

Feeling the hot breath of being close to you

The flames are ever kindled

Healing the words of the sage we look up to

Everything falling into its perfect order

No regrets lie for me in wait

I am sure of the knowledge I have gained today

Going swiftly down to visit a shared place

He moves me with waves of acceptance

Tonight is for us, for the taking, and we shall savor it whole

Deanna Dalton 2009

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death. 

“Hope is the Thing with Feathers”

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

By Emily Dickinson

Thank you for standing in the hot sun

As all

And as one

For upholding my rights

So can sleep soundly

Throughout my nights

Thank you for wading through murking waters

As my sons

As my daughters

For going without

So that I may prosper

And have no doubts

Thank you for giving 110 percent

As my lover

As my parent

For protecting me

So I can walk the streets unafraid

So that I may be free

by Deanna Dalton

I got sugarplums 'round my hips

Sticky sweet honey on my lips

Flowers braided into my hair

My lovely feet are bare

I have a secret

And I will keep it

You have been close to my heart

From the very start

I have an apple on each cheek

For I am fragile not weak

A stone in my pocket

Emptiness in the heirloom locket

Show me the sun

Be my only one

I have a secret

Can you keep it?

The News

Break in

and tell me

about good deeds

and love

Bombard me

with peace

and hope

and beauty

Show me

acts of honor

and sweetness

and innocence

Expose me

to art

kindness

and heart

Deanna K. Dalton 6/12/07

Painting On A Sunday

Prime the canvas

MIx the paint

Splash on white

Fan on delicate

Red and orange and yellow

For passion, communication and joy

Layers upon layers

To complete

To contemplate

Transferring the mind's eye

For all to see

Something to keep close

Don't be afraid to use your hands

For the process exalts me

Calling myself abstract

Controlling my fire

Putting the victim to rest

Deanna K. Dalton 12/30/07

For flowers that bloom about our feet,

Father, we thank Thee.

For tender grass so fresh, so sweet,

Father, we thank Thee.

For the song of bird and hum of bee,

For all things fair we hear or see,

Father in heaven, we thank Thee.

For blue of stream and blue of sky,

Father, we thank Thee.

For pleasant shade of branches high,

Father, we thank Thee.

For fragrant air and cooling breeze,

For beauty of the blooming trees,

Father in heaven, we thank Thee.

For this new morning with its light,

Father, we thank Thee.

For rest and shelter of the night,

Father, we thank Thee

For health and food, for love and friends,

For everything Thy goodness sends,

Father in heaven, we thank Thee.

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—

Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door;—

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

 'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of ‘Never—nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

    Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Acceptance

Acceptance and ....

stillness

absence of sound

cool breeze over my skin

clean and whole

Acceptance and ....

the contentment to drift 

the safety to dream

the boldness to smile

the pleasure of me

Acceptance and ....

simplicity

a fine thin measure above

strength of the spirit 

comfort of the mind

Acceptance and ....

colors flash softly

the smell of rain

a warm touch

the sound of clouds

Acceptance and ....

hope

I am glorious

remembered and known

creation of my everlasting existence

Deanna K. Dalton 4/19/2001 

5/17 a swerve left of center it took your life. You are gone, our little family of 3 is now forever 2.

 Kirsten goes to preschool she graduates from kindergarten in a cap and gown. She was so damn cute holding up the E for " I like to eat eeples and beeneenies." Such a proud Moma moment, but you were not there to hold my hand and scoop u our baby girl on her success.

5/17 a swerve left of center it took your life. You are gone our little family of 3 is now forever 2.

 OMG Freddy we did it!! Never again another day of homework. Oh, I will miss being a sports Mom. But the family picture yet again is just Moma and Kirsten.

 5/17 a swerve left of center it took your life. You are gone our little family of 3 forever 2. May 29,2021 our baby girl is all grown up. She is walking down the aisle today. Oh I know you are at her side but to be able to hold her hand and give her away. To have you embracing me while our baby said her vows. Happy, proud, and so much love. There was so much love that all of it didn't have a place to go.

5/17 a swerve left of center it took your life. You are gone our little family of 3 forever 2.