Diane Vogel Ferri is a teacher, poet and writer. Her essays have been published in Scene Magazine, Cleveland Christmas Memories, Raven’s Perch, and by Cleveland State University among others. Her poems can be found in numerous journals. Her chapbook, Liquid Rubies, was published by Pudding House. The Volume of Our Incongruity was published by Finishing Line Press. Diane’s essay, “I Will Sing for You” was featured at the Cleveland Humanities Fest in 2018. Her novel, The Desire Path can be found on Amazon. She is a graduate of Kent State University and holds an M.Ed from Cleveland State University.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Somehow over the past three years I have had 600 things to say. So for my 600th post I'm just going to keep it light-hearted and share a photo of my son's unique wedding cake - all edible! It's a drum set, and I loved the cracked cymbal because I bought my wild drummer boy many replacement cymbals over the years (and drumsticks of course!)
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
We just completed our 8th annual bocce tournament to benefit the Muscular Dystrophy Association. (Yes, we have an 80' court in our back yard) This is Nick, one of our scorekeepers. Through the great generosity of neighbors, friends and family we raised over $5000 this year - in the pouring rain. My husband and stepson will present the check at the local station for Jerry Lewis's Labor Day telethon. (You can see the coveted bocce ball trophy on the far left.)
These fellows were sitting outside a Starbucks, untethered, waiting patiently for their master. I don't know about you but I've never had a dog that would do that.
I enjoyed the fragrance of this gardenia bush all summer. If I brought one blossom inside it would fill a whole room with its lovely scent.
A hybiscus is the most generous plant I've ever had. It gives you new flowers every single day. It particularly enjoyed the heat and humidity of Summer 2010. (I did not however.)
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
The house plant with one leaf,
the elderly dog who won't leave you
until you decide for her,
the trapped insect butting
against the screen, searching,
the man who awakens from a long coma.
Every living thing clings to life,
my canary, his legs could no longer
hold him, his mere ounces,
he rested his head on the seed cup
I placed on the floor of his cage
for as long as he could.
Monday, August 9, 2010
These are the lyrics to the song my son and I danced to at his wedding. I had played the song for him years ago and he remembered and chose it for our special moment - and it was perfect.
by Toby Lightman
He'll be enough to make you cry
He'll be enough to open your eyes
to all the little things that make this world better.
He'll give you love you never knew.
He'll give his heart only to you
and he'll make your life better.
So when he comes to you in the middle of the night
cause he's scared to be alone in the dark
you'll tell him everything is gonna be alright
'cause I will be your light, I will be your night
I will be that star in the sky who watches over you.
You'll tell him everything you know.
You'll tell him - oh, the places you'll go
so you can be a good man and make this world better.
You'll give him all the love you have
even when he makes you so mad,
keep in mind that he made your life better.
So when he comes to you and he's so confused
because he wants to give his heart to another,
you'll tell him everything is gonna be just fine.
And when the years are going by too fast
and he's growing up to be big and strong,
know his love for you will last,
even when he doesn't say it to your face
even when you have to put him in his place,
know that he's a love that nothing in this
world can ever replace.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
They started in the last season of childhood;
she in a red dress, he in a white suit,
a lovely Mexican flower, a boy with drumming passion.
The spring sun enveloped them in its light and warmth;
a harbinger before the changes, before the growing,
in a sacred turning only God understands.
Now, in this summer of committment they have brought
unguarded hearts, burgeoning dreams,
and Providence has arrived.
Surrounded by fragile hopes and tender mercies
the thread between heaven and earth is spliced into
this moment, tethered to the cradle of a united life.
In the sweet shelter of autumn, some days
will be hungrier than others, and on those days,
burrowing into their home, folding into each other,
they will lift up their eyes, palms raised and open,
and weave themselves together like a bountiful basket
as if they could hold love in their arms.
The winter solstice has not yet come,
but when it does they will not be alone.
Traveling through wind and snow, coming home to love,
they have found something as never-ending as the seasons,
for brought to each new awakening is the
fellowship in mere living, the survival of being loved.