Imma paid writer
Mood:  happy
Topic: Poetry/Writing

Well I've survived my first week as a reporter/photographer.

My first weekend to work was quite full.  I covered 6 events in two days, thoughout the span of our county.

It's funny how it goes...some of the events I thought would be ho-hum booooooring, turned out to be the funnest ones to attend, and vice-versa.

I especially wasn't impressed with the hob-nob snubby snobs playing golf. 

Why is it that money gives you the right to be rude and dismissive with people I wonder?  *shrug* whatever...

Money does not a class of people make.

     -Carole

Anyway, I enjoyed some of the perks of the job on Thursday when covering a Fish-Fry fundraising event....yum, yum!  I ate some salt water fish varieties that I had never had the pleasure of  tasting before and totally loved it!

I uncovered a couple of stories on my own for this week's issue...and I'm doing a really fun piece as well.

(I mean I can't tell you what it is till we go to print...ya know?)  ;)

Still can't believe I am now a 'paid writer'

heh!  what a kick in the pants!

Tommorow is deadline...so I better get my butt to bed.  I have officially dubbed mondays 'red bull' day.  Yup, I'm going to need the energy!

I LOVE the rush of deadline though... 

Also very very much enjoyed doing page layouts...I think I might be able to get creative with this in the long run.  It's like scrapbooking the news!  heh...k, I'm tired...bed now

'Nite~

 

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder
Topic: Poetry/Writing

 

 

Lifehouse - Everything

I spent about a half hour typing an earlier post, only to lose it.  

*groan* 

Subsequently, the only thing worth repeating, is that I posted a better ‘Nebula’ pic.  (check it out) I do have to take another shot to show you what it looks like now however, because you see this happy little ‘accident’ occurred; my spray fixative sat idle for a while, and when I sprayed my work, even though I had shaken the can well, it sputtered and spit onto my piece, but in the process it created a bit of a spackle to it that I think adds a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’. ;) 

It’s not like I’ve ruined a masterpiece, my work is mediocre to say the least, but I am very much enjoying the learning process.  

Last night; feeling a bit lonely, I reached for my poetry books to soothe my aching soul.   

*sigh* 

Here are a few that I read: 

ABSENCE 

I have scarcely left you

when you go in me, crystaline,

or trembling,

or uneasy, wounded by me

or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes

close upon the gift of life

that without cease I give you.  

 

My love,

we have found each other

thristy and we have

drunk up all the water and the blood,

we found each other

hungry

and we bit each other as fire bites,

leaving wounds in us. 

 

But wait for me,

keep for me your sweetness.

I will give you too

a rose  

 

-Pablo Neruda  

 

ABSENCE 

Love,

I make a silence

out of your name

and dip my hands into it.   

-Iriving Layton 

 NIGHT MUSIC 

I’m in the darkening courtyard

surrounded by a jungle

of flowers ferns and leaves;

above the gloom and leaf-spaces

the stars appear and disappear

like spectral moths caught in a net.

 

Far below the sea is wearing away rock and stone;

the hilltop castle is crumbling under the moon.  

The small stray kitten I plucked

this morning from the cobblestones

is asleep in the hollow

between my knees. She purrs gently,

indifferent to Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata,

or yawns to show me her pink mouth and lips.

Only an occasional puff stirs

fern and leaf and flower,

the shadows they make on the terraced floor.  

 

The music ravishes my ears, stirs

my heart and brain till I become

the blackness and silence that enclose me.

A sudden wind separates the black leafage

above my head, letting me glimpse

the bacterial smear in the sky.

The courtyard is full of small noises

as if Beethoven’s notes were scattered

and scampering joyously over petal and fern.  

 

-Irving Layton   

 

G'nite~ 

 

                  

A good read
Now Playing: L'Air Du Temps - Florent Pagny & Cecillia Cara
Topic: Poetry/Writing

I have this thing about finishing a book (about finishing anything I do really)   See, I’ve already picked out the next book I want to read, but I can’t bring myself to open it quite yet, because I have to let the one I just finished sink in a little. 

I don’t know why I’m like that, but it’s almost as though it’s something sacred, and I have to preserve the memory of it in a timely fashion, before I can go on to read something new.  

Odd I know…

But once again, in my own defence I shall say that  I have never made allusions to sanity. ;-)

There are many things about this book that will interlace themselves somewhere into my memory, but the following words struck a chord deep within:

I watched him, filled with tenderness and ache, wondering what it was that connected us. 

Was it the wounded places down inside people that sought each other out, that bred a kind of love between them?

-The Secret Life of Bees
Sue Monk Kidd

I have to say, I believe these words to hold their weight in gold.  I do, because I have been fortunate enough to live the situation on more than one occasion, and by the same token, I believe the following to hold some truth as well…just as people seek each other out, as they find that bond and nurture it, I believe that we are with each other for the time we need to be, and sometimes, as difficult as it may be, we must move on.  Perhaps somewhere, at some point in time you will connect with them again, but perhaps not…this does not lessen the experience for what it held, and all that it was/is/will always be.  

This next book that I will read, is the third in a trilogy that was given to me some time ago.  I zoomed through the first two, but because of a comment that was made about the ending of the third book, I hesitated, procrastinated, and finally just didn’t finish reading it.  

The comment made went somewhere along the lines of beginning where the book ended…and I was afraid to finish the book after that, because I didn’t want the story to end.

Now, there are a hundred different clichés you could say about endings and beginnings, about how all things must come to pass, and everything in its own time…and you might find a smidgen of truth in each one.  But what it all boils down to for me, is that I usually just listen to my gut instinct, it’s gotten me through 40 years of life, I trust it more than anything/anyone else.

All this to say it’s time I read the third and last book of the His Dark Materials trilogy…The Amber Spyglass by Phillip Pullman. 

I may write my thoughts upon its completion, we shall see…

Ok, so I don’t only have 1 quirk about reading and finishing books.  This next one is a ritualistic thing with me I suppose…every year, at the apex of summer, I have to find THE perfect summer read, it has to have a certain ‘feel’ to it, and that’s what the Sue Monk Kidd book did for me, and what I need is to let that feeling linger for a bit, because that’s what summer is all about…

Here’s something I just wrote about the ‘feeling’ of summer...


The Root Of Summer

In the drone of bees
and honey dripping sunny days
I lean against an oak tree;
its bark digs into my skin
until I leave my imprint.

I plant my toes in the grass,
and take to the root of summer.

Then the wind;
dances through my hair,
and shimmers me a hundred leaves
to wave at the playing children.

Each birdsong flows from my lips
to ripple the calm surface
and fades away on lily pads;
feeding the waiting buds to flower.

Then the night drapes me
with lullaby and dream
till the waking day finds me
reaching out higher still
to blue skies.
~~~~~~~~

Have a great summer! 

 

On Hibernation
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: Beautiful As You - Adam Cohen
Topic: Poetry/Writing
Yeah,
that’s where I’ve been,
in preserve,
in hiber-sphere,
in dormancy,
torpidity,
entranced.

Inside this
ice sculpture,
this tower,
this power-ful
blockade,
a man-made
fortification.

The groundhogs said "it’s coming",
but I prefer to wait,
I didn’t take the bait,
though others did
and now they weep,
because they’re knee-deep,
while I still sleep,
this peaceful nap of winter.

Let nature
take its course
with no discourse,
in all due time you’ll see
and as for me-
I’ll sit a while, I’ll linger,
until Spring comes to beckon me
with its gentle finger.

She was tugging, and I let her in...
Mood:  lucky
Topic: Poetry/Writing
When I first started writing, no wait...that was too far back. When I sat down to write poetry about 8 years ago, my muse would keep me up at night, the words tumbling in my head, driving me crazy, until I gave into them. I'd get up, find a piece of paper, scrawl madly, then go back to bed.

(almost felt like an orgasm at times...heh! ok, not really...just checking if you're still reading)

I was surprised to have this same experience on New Years Eve,NY Day, and NY Day-after-that ;)

(uh, yeah. Ok...I promise, no more attempts at humor)

Anyway, I like the way this piece wrote itself at my fingertips, wanna read?

IT PLAYS ME

I welcome you gently into my lap,
you fit right in
between my thighs
I squeeze them tighter around your form,
molding myself to you.

A gentle pat on your hard body
sets you off;
taut and resonating.
Now at attention,
you anxiously
await my touch.

I lightly pick up my bow,
it clings to my fingers,
like a sticky spider web
that refuses let go,
becoming an extension
of my playing hand.

With a gentle sweep
across your strings,
a slight scratch
soon becomes melodious,
permeating the air
with song.

My eyelids flutter shut
of their own accord,
the music penetrates me,
saturates me,
becomes me.

Then I in turn
become the instrument
and the music;
it plays me.


*petit sigh*

January 2/07
~Sylph

Grief, Longing & Loneliness
Topic: Poetry/Writing
Here are a few of my favorite poems from a variety of great poets.

*shrug*

it’s a mood thing...

LOVE'S SECRET

Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind doth move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.
Ah! She did depart!

Soon after she was gone from me,
A traveler came by,
Silently, invisibly;
He took her with a sigh.

~William Blake

AN ARGUMENT

I’ve oft been told by learned friars,
That wishing and the crime are one,
And Heaven punishes desires
As much as if the deed were done.

If wishing damns us, you and I
Are damned to all our heart’s content’
Come, then, at least we may enjoy
Some pleasure for our punishment!

~Thomas Moore



LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the Ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?

~Percy Bysshe Shelley

IF GRIEF FOR GRIEF CAN TOUCH THEE'

If grief for grief can touch thee,
If answering woe for woe,
if any ruth can melt thee,
Come to me now!

I cannot be more lonely,
More drear I cannot be!
My worn heart throbs so wildly
`Twill break for thee.

And when the world despises,
When heaven repels my prayer,
Will not mine angel comfort?
Mine idol hear?

Yes, by the tears I’ve poured thee,
O I shall surely win thee,
Beloved, again!

~Emily Bronte

LONGING

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times
A messenger from the radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cams’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say - My love! Why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.


~Matthew Arnold

SUDDEN LIGHT

I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow’s soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall - I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time’s eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death’s despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?

~Dante Gabriel Rossetti


WHITE IN THE MOON THE LONG ROAD LIES

White in the moon the long road lies,
The moon stands blank above;
White in the moon the long road lies
That leads me from my love.

Still hangs the hedge without a gust,
Still, still the shadows stay:
My feet upon the moonlit dust
Pursue the ceaseless way.

The world is round, so travellers tell,
And straight though reach the track,
Trudge on, trudge on, ’twill all be well,
The way will guide one back.

But ere the circle homeward hies
Far, far must it remove:
White in the moon the long road lies
That leads me from my love.

~A.E. Houseman

~~~~~~~~~~

*LeSigh*

T minus 5 days and counting...

Is it terrible that I want Christmas over and gone already? I used to get excited for the kids, but this year my enthousiasm is curbed at best.

Later today the boy has a doc appointment, and I'm going to try to squeeze myself in as well, that is, if he doesn't decide to be a total wad about it. I guess doc's feeling the crunch after his return from a 3 week European vacation, but this matter is rather urgent, so I'm hoping he'll take it in stride.

Looking forward to spending some time with my best friend this upcoming Saturday, we planned to go do some last minute shopping together, I hope it pans out for us.

Well, 'Mom Duty' beckons, Ta~

Happy Birthday Heinrich!
Topic: Poetry/Writing
On this day 209 years ago, Heinrich Heine was born.

German poet of Jewish origin, whose lyrics have inspired such composers as Mendelssohn, Schubert, and Schumann.

Heinrich Heine lived at a time of major social and political changes: the French Revolution (1789-99) and the Napoleonic wars deeply influenced thinking.

Heine died in Paris in 1856, where he had lived since 1831 as one of the central figures of the literary scene.

One of his most famous lines was: "Where they burn books, they will, in the end, burn human beings too"

I've stumbled onto some of his works, and was glad I did. Here are a few pieces that caught my eye...

THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS

The sea hath its pearls,
The heaven hath its stars;
But my heart, my heart,
My heart hath its love.

Great are the sea, and the heaven;
Yet greater is my heart,
And fairer than pearls or stars
Flashes and beams my love.

Thou little, youthful maiden,
Come unto my great heart;
My heart, and the sea and the heaven
Are melting away with love!

Song of Songs

A woman's body is a poem,
Composed by God, and proven
In Nature's mighty registry,
Because the spirit moved Him.
Propitious was the hour for Him,
And God was quite delighted;
Such brittle and rebellious stuff
Artistically united.

A woman's body is indeed
The Song of Songs in splendor;
The lovely, wondrous strophes are
Her limbs, so white and slender.

O what a heavenly idea
Must this bare neck be, surely,
Upon which sways the little head,
The keystone, pert and curly!

The rosebuds of her breasts, they are
Inscribed epigrammatic;
Unspeakably charming, the ceasura
That parts them, so dramatic.

And the creator makes the hips
In parallel formation;
With fig-leaf, the parenthesis
Is also a nice location.

It's no abstract conceptual poem!
The song has flesh, combining
Both hand and foot; to laugh, to kiss
With lovely lips a-rhyming.

Here breathes the truest poesy!
Grace in animation!
And on its forehead bears the song
The stamp of consummation.

I want to sing Thy praise, O Lord,
And praise with glory leaven!
We're only bunglers next to Thee,
The mighty bard of Heaven.

I want to sink myself, O Lord,
Into Thy poem's glory;
I'll study it, both day and night,
To make my offertory.

I'll study it all night and day,
No time to lose. My body
And legs are grown so skinny now -
That comes from lots of study.

When Youthful Hearts Are Breaking

When youthful hearts are breaking,
The stars do quake with laughter,
They're laughing and they're speaking
From out of the blue hereafter:


>The humans love each other,
With ardent souls a-sighing,
And yet it brings such bother,
And torments them to dying.


We've never come to know this,
This love that is so fatal
To those poor souls below us;
And that's why we're immortal.<


Ciao~

Mood:  hug me
Now Playing: Impresiones Intimas:Secreto - Ottmar Liebert
Topic: Poetry/Writing
vade mecum
pulling back the shades
a blanket of snow
covers the ground

still sleepless

as first blush
tiptoes in
to pilfer the night

Sylph~
10-24-2006?

Topic: Poetry/Writing
These Uillean (Pronunciation: 'i-l&n-) pipes pierce my heart tonight. I could listen to this piece a hundred times.

I'm hoping to be played that way again soon...

I believe everyone has their own music within, waiting for a piper to release it.

I just watched a documentary on Machu Picchu. I've always been fascinated with ancient civilizations, but held a particular interest in this amazing fortress city. I hope to visit this breathtakingly beautiful sanctuary myself one day.

This made me wonder about that intrinsic compulsion we have to build monumental things. Honour, reverence, and praise, are after all colossal entities by their own right, but I suppose a cathedral or shrine renders them more visibly so...they are talisman.

Then that lead me to ponder what I would want to be renown for; what would I want people to notice, not to the point of reverence, but, if I was to 'build' a monument to myself, what would it showcase? One of my gifts, skills, or strong points?

Hmm...perhaps that one is better answered by someone who knows me well, rather than myself. I'm just not that vain! LOL

Well ok, vanity aside...I suppose I'd want it known that I am able to take things in stride, that I'm not afraid to take the bull by the horns, that I do what needs to be done in pretty much any given situation.

That is not to say that I don't have my moments of sheer panic, because I do. I panic, then stop to figure out what my best plan of action might be, then follow through till the bloody end.

I'm a fighter. I'm a fighter and a lover both! Hah! How do you like them apples?

Ok seriously, I think I would want something to represent how I like to live in harmony with surroundings, something that reflects my roots, my background; which come to think of it, is basically what Machu Picchu is. (Wow what an enlightened conclusion, eh?!)

~~~~~~~~
Sweetness

Someone very dear to me had some really nice things to say about my poetry recently. These words are poetry in themselves really...but it made my spirit soar to read them :-)

"your words are like butterflies
flapping their wings softly in the mind
lying dormant till someone claps
and they startle into their flapping existence
showing different shades from each angle
one feels lost in the nuances of their patterns and colours
and when one realizes how beautiful they are
they are gone by then
deep into consciousness"
~~~~~~~~~
Well alright, one tiny moment of vanity...

I fell in love with this, who wants to buy it for me?

The reason I did, is because I've had images of Pink Lotuses floating in my head lately. I've planted one in a poem, I've painted them, I've been wrapped up in their beauty.

Here's that poem....

Pink Lotus

A pink lotus blooms
in my dreams
as I watch it flourish
bringing such beauty
in the colours
of ripened skin
the plush lushness
of a fruit
with juices dribbling
down a chin
chased by the
greedy tongue
eager to taste
all the flavours
expended

? September 18, 2006

Bonne nuit~~

sometimes it pours
Topic: Poetry/Writing
I do not own
an umbrella
nor do I want one

An encapsulated moment
Topic: Poetry/Writing
Not knowing where to go, I go to you. Not knowing where to turn, I turn to you. Not knowing how to speak, I speak to you. Not knowing what to hold, I bind myself to you. Having lost my way, I make my way to you. Having soiled my heart, I lift my heart to you. Having wasted my days, I bring the heap to you. The great highway covered with debris, I travel on a hair to you. The wall smeared with filth, I go through a pinhole of light. Blocked by every thought, I fly on the wisp of remembrance. Defeated by silence, here is a place where the silence is more subtle. And here is the opening in defeat. And here is the clasp of the will. And here is the fear of you. And here is the fastening of mercy. Blessed are you, in this man's moment. Blessed are you, whose presence illuminates outrageous evil. Blessed are you who brings the chains out of the darkness. Blessed are you, who waits in the world. Blessed are you, whose name is in the world.

Book Of Mercy
-Leonard Cohen
~~~~~~~~~

All of that to me, is an encapsulated moment. Which translates to...as close to perfection as one can get...because there really is no such thing as perfection, not in this world as we know it.

But the old bloke 'gets it' see? And people often make remarks about artists' quirky ways, but if you ask me, I think artists are a bit more sensitive to the world, they are visionaries that see the BIG PICTURE.

Yep, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

*wink*