Can You Say Clueless…?

Taking a break to enjoy some of this lovely weather we’re having today and had a chance to enjoy the following:

Two women walking in opposite directions cross paths. One stops the other in her tracks.

Young Woman 1: Wow, that’s a great tan! Were you on vacation, or use a salon?
Young Woman 2: Um… I’m black.
Young Woman 1: You totally are! So, was it like, Jamaica or something?
Young Woman 2: (Looks at Young Woman 1 with an expression that clearly screams “ARE YOU EFFING STUPID!” before stepping around her and keeps walking.)
Young Woman 1 (sees me trying not to giggle): What?

I turned and walked, away shaking my head. I swear, sometimes I love my city, for no other reasons than random moments just like this.

>========<

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

 

Raivenne’s Phone Etiquette:

Why is it such a pain getting a hold of you on the phone?

Why can’t you talk now?

Why does it take so long for you to respond sometimes?

Why? Because…

I generally do not answer the cell phone, or text, when in the presence of friends/family/co-workers etc.

…Unless I am waiting for a certain call, or it is from one of my sons. Even then, I try to step away from the person/group I’m with and keep the conversation as brief as possible. It irks me when people answer their phones and then hold long conversations with intermittent raising of the index finger to the other party indicative of the “just one minute” than turns into twenty. This is especially galling to me when it is just I and the other person. When I am with people I aim to give them as much of my undivided attention as possible. With the above exceptions I tend to send calls to voice mail. I will listen to the message and respond (or not), accordingly, always opting for the least intrusive option to the company in front of me.

I do not hold cell phone conversations when on public transportation.

…except to inform the caller I will return the call when I reach a place where I can speak in relative private. I will not be that person. You know… the one sitting the other side of the subway car, or halfway down the block, but I can hear every detail of “what had happened was…”, even through my iPod. Obviously I will text, if I must.

Unless it is an emergency – no one should be texting/calling me between midnight and 9am without expressed permission to do so – period.

1) If it is that much of an emergency you should calling, not texting.
2) If contacted between these hours without a damn good reason, you get all the attitude I feel like dishing out for the disturbance.
3) If any call between the hours of 2am – 6am that does not involve the police and/or an ambulance, when I see you again – there is a chance it soon will.

Please Note: a fuck-up on your part does not automatically designate an emergency on mine.

When in the street and I need to text, I step out of the flow of foot traffic (and especially vehicular), to do so.

Very few can walk and text fast simultaneously, For most of us, to ability to perform either one or the other function drops considerably when doing both. This is especially true when it involves steps. and I am stuck behind someone walking at the speed of sludge because they have to get that last word in. Literally. Also, if I’m in the street that means I am attempting to get from Point A to Point B as expediently as possible. Thus, I may wait until I’ve reached my destination first, for walking while texting defeats that purpose.

I do not call to just say Hi and hang up five minutes later.

I do not call people for casual conversation unless I really have time to sit and speak with them. If I cannot give you my attention, or if I am somewhere where a private conversation is not feasible when you call (ex. sitting at my desk at work or on mass transit), I will tell you and try to get back to you as soon as possible. Just note, as soon as possible my be an hour or more away, especially if I am at work or out with friends (see above). Regrettably, this means I do not speak with as many people as I like, as often as I like, when I can’t give them the time I think they deserve from me (*cough vortex cough*), but I think they know that.

Essentially, With the noted exceptions, preference is always going to be given to the one/s right in front of me, whether in person or on the phone, when I give someone my time, I give someone my time.

And your time is worth it.

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

 

The Flip Side

Him: You will never be as bad as you’d like people to think you are.
Me: True, but I will never be as good as you’d like to think I can be.

Had to “Friend Zone” someone who truly did not want to be there. Worse, by putting him in that friend zone, I may I have lost him as exactly that.

I know far too well how it feels to be on his side of unrequited. Knowing that I’m doing the right thing, instead of the easy one, does not make being on this side of it any easier.

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

 

 

Easy Does It

Easy does it! How time has slipped away…
Both sons now call other places home
Each making his own mark in this world
And soon another state may claim one as son
Easy does it! How time has slipped away…

Easy does it! How time has slipped away…
My heart feels that it was just what? Last week?
I kissed a boo-boo and made it all well
Or, explained why a girl may act like that
Easy does it! How time has slipped away…

Easy does it! How time has slipped away…
The nest for has emptied for quite some time
And I mark the times when I now see their faces.
For the times between seem ever longer
Easy does it! How time has slipped away…

Easy does it! How time has slipped away…
The pictures in my heart still feel brand new
And yet marks the years that have gone by
Fresh lines upon my face tell equal truths
Easy does it! How time has slipped away…

Easy does it! How time has slipped away…
Did I not just give birth unto these men?
Who wince when I call them my babies
But my babies, just aren’t babies anymore
Easy does it! How time has slipped away…

>==========<

It’s been an interesting few days of marking time for me. I’m still working it out.

In the interim I’ll visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012 

 


One Score and a Decade Ago

One score and a decade ago today, I held this little squirming bundle in my arms. This chubby little bundle had magically transformed me from wild child to mother.  The enormity of such, boggled me then and in all seriousness the amazement has not left me. Seeing him earlier week reminded me of that initial, love, joy and yes, panic. I may not have always gotten it right, but I always tried to do my best. All things considered, I didn’t do half bad, if I do say so myself. 😉

Happy 30th Birthday Son #1

>==========<

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

 

Living For the Art Of It..

Last night I had the pleasure to enjoy Left On Red (two beautiful, talented young ladies I am happy to call friends), perform at The Bitter End. As I sat there, bopping my head, humming along, I marveled at how my life had changed artistically.

I grew up in a home where the arts were not appreciated. My father truly could not have cared less. While my mother did enjoy a pretty picture, at least  as much as the next person, that was the end-all.be-all of her interest. Karma in, full bitch mode, lands her a daughter that adores music, creative writing and drawing. I was attempting pointillism and abstracts, metaphors and onomatopoeia a good decade before I ever heard the terms. Her favorite form of punishment was to break my pencils and tear up anything hanging on my walls. Eventually, I learned to stop  trying.

In fact, I learned it so well, that I was with my late-husband for about five years before he had any inkling I could draw. Still, I lived a relatively closed life at the time and really had no other creative people in my life.  Of course, being a mother, wife, worker etc., life itself got in the way. Okay, that’s not true, I let life get in the way. It was much easier to say I don’t have time for that nonsense, than to pick up a pencil and see if I could still do any of it. Other than painting a mural on a closet door (that’s how my late-husband final discovered my dirty little secret), I did practically nothing for nearly twenty years. Then one day in frustration with my life, I picked up a pencil and started writing. That writing turned into the first poem I had written since high school Somewhere. It was a start, but then — nothing.

It took a couple more years and the internet to finally kick-start my writing into high gear. I entered an online poetry challenge on a website that required you to write a poem based on a given phrase. I did not win, but for the first time in my life, my words were praised by people who were not related to me and whose talents I enjoyed and respected. The dam burst. Within, two years I had written nearly one hundred poems. Now I have no idea how many I’ve penned, I stopped counting after four hundred. Not all of them are gems obviously, but they are all mine.

Unlike some artistic types, I realize now I cannot live in an artistic vacuum. Like misery, my art loves company. Which is why it amuses to no end, that while my childhood was a dearth of creativity, my adulthood now overflows with it. In the past few years, I have found myself surrounded by artists. People with amazing talents and several with the guts to go for it as their life pursuit. Singers, sculptors, painters, spoken word etc. It is a complete 180 turn of events and I am loving it! Granted, I have not picked-up painting/drawing again, the way I picked up writing, but every now and then, I feel little tinges of that urge starting to take hold, so who knows…?

Someday you may own an original Raivenne artwork. You can show it off along with the hardbound edition of my poems. Go ahead and name drop that you knew me when I was just a simple web blogger among the masses.

I won’t mind.

>========<

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

Liebster Blog Award

I am pleased to have received the Liebster Award from one of my newest followers, Eva Van Pelt.  You can read some of Eva’s lovely words on her blog “Words Dripping From The Night Sky“. Thank you so much Eva, I am honored my words have touched you so deeply to give me this.

Liebster (German) is in Dutch language – Lieveling – my dearest, a word used for the one that is your most special, the one you love beyond borders.

In accepting this award, the recipient agrees to:

1. Show thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks for the award and let them know.
3. Post the award on your blog.
4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people in the Blogsphere.
5. And, lastly – have fun and spread the karma!

A difficult task to choose only five of all the amazing blogs I visit, but here they are in no specific order:

Girl Griot: If You Want Kin, You Must Plant Kin
My fellow Slice of Life-er, is a friend I just don’t get to see often enough.  Reading her rich words was one of the deciding factors in my finally choosing to blog . She is inspiring.

Andrew Wilmot: In Narro Veritas
Andrew creates worlds with his words that frighten and intrigue and captivate you. Luckily for us, that extends to more than just the written word as he is equally talented in several art forms.

Charles Mashburn: Marbles In My Pocket
I have followed Charles for a few months now. I enjoy his wonderful short stories, poetry and the daily reminder that He Is.

Bajanpoet: Poet: Whispers
A recent find, his words whisper, scream, laugh tease and pull you into them. It is almost scary how often he and I are of the same mind, in spite of the many, may miles between us.

CastingPearls: Blowing Big Bubbles
So many say they give you a piece of them when they blog. Once you read CP’s words, you will know it for the sometimes gut-busting, sometimes gut-wrenching, always heart pulling veracity it is.

Visit these wonderful bloggers and browse around, your soul will thank you.

When Winter Cradles Spring

According to the calendar, this is spring’s first day
I can just make out the tinges of green on its way
But one more winter’s snowfall has one last say
Making this day, just like my heart, somewhat gray
Those first hints of green are a melancholy thing
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

The spring day we met, the ground still had snow
And like the seedlings underneath a love began to grow
And the years like sunlight increased it’s glow
But on a snowy spring day, you were taken so
Trapped in a time warp, my eyes start to sting
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

It has been a few years now, since you’ve died
And I concede, the tears grow less, that I’ve cried
I would love to say my pain has turned its tide
But on days like today all would know I’ve lied
For me it’s a lamentation, the morning birds sing
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

When I look at the walls, in the spaces somewhat bare
In my mind’s eyes, are the pictures of you, still hanging there
The seasons come, the seasons go, in their time allotted share
But this, not quite winter, not quite spring, holds bittersweet air
I tug at the finger that sometimes wears your wedding ring
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

Sometimes I’m hit with pangs that my heart can barely stand
But they’re starting to fade, like the tide wearing away sand

Those first hints of green are a melancholy thing
Trapped in a time warp my eyes start to sting
For me it’s a lamentation, the morning birds sing
I tug at the finger that sometimes wears your wedding ring
Wondering if, no when, my heart will ease its painful cling
Oh my love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

>========<

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

* I wrote this poem eight years ago when my husband was very much among the living.
* Six years ago on this day, he became my late-husband.
* Two years ago this week I started this blog, referencing the above write, but somehow never posted it.
* Today I note, yet again, how time flies regardless of fun and I post and I remember and I smile and I give thanks again to all of you who have chosen to follow along with me on this path, no matter when you picked up the trail.

Raivenne

in public passing

I reference Whitney Houston in the following as she has become the latest occurrence of that which has garnered my ire, but I mean this in deference for all troubled celebrities who pass…

Does any one remember “don’t speak ill of the dead”?

I don’t understand this vitriol that occurs whenever a fallen celebrity dies. I concede my interest in Whitney Houston of late began and ended within the length of whichever song of hers popped up on my iPod. I enjoy the beauty of her voice for however long I may (or may not) have the song on replay until I move on. She was a talented singer and that we my never her anything new from her again is a loss for those who enjoyed her singing.

Those of us that don’t find the humor of such disrespect (especially within minutes of the announcements of the person passing) and dare call the critics to task don’t know how to take a joke or are taking things too seriously. No I, like millions of other Houston fans, did not scour the Internet each day for all news Whitney. That did not make us any less of her fans or make her passing any less meaningful to us in our own little ways. The disrespect of the dead is bad enough and some also choose to also belittle the living who want to take a moment to offer their respects even if it’s only something as simple as a single line Facebook status.

Did she take a superstar career and blow it all to smithereens? Yes, no one denies that. Ninety-point-whatever of us in this world get to fuck-up in relative private and will never have our laundry out but to a select few. In this world of information overload, most celebrities don’t have that luxury and intentionally or not, Houston’s laundry was there for all to gander. Eventually, even she owned up to her mistakes. Yet, because she (and other celebrities) don’t get a chance to “redeem themselves” in the public eye, it justifies the internet critics carte blanche to spout whatever snarky bullshit they feel like in the guise of being funny. Why? Just because the dead and their grieving family will likely never read it, does not make it any less hurtful. It is not gallows humor, it is just mean. So no, I do not feel compelled to pat such behavior on the back.

Just remember whether you (the critics), become famous, infamous or not, some day you will die and someone is going to talk about you.

Let he who is without / cast…

The Chanteuse


There were the songs she sang for lovers
There were the songs she sang for the souls departed
There were the songs she sang for dreamers
This is the song she sang for the brokenhearted
Joshua Kadison / Vanishing America – El Diablo Amor

She’ll parcel out her song as is her right
But they come to see her every night
To listen to her words in the smoky light
Audience of eight or a hundred and one
Captivated by whatever music is spun
For all the pain, all the joy she uncovers
With an opus of her choice
To the last trill of her voice
A soft lingering note that gently hovers

There were the songs she sang for lovers

With wail of discord or a comforting tune
Her voice shrieking notes high or the low of bassoon
Her words soft in true tribute or mocking lampoon
Be it last year, last week or just the other day
From the memories of love from those passed away
Full of the hope from sage’s last wisdom imparted
Whether the brief friendship or the closest of kin
A personal memorial from her to them
Who now walk paths only the heavens have charted 

There were the songs she sang for the souls departed

Just believe love will come all bright, shiny and new
Or your craziest wish will certainly come true
From her song, nothing is impossible to do
Twinkle with the moonbeams and become a new fish
Or savor the flavor of a favorite dish
From a childhood feast full of rambunctious screamers
We’ll have naught of ye olde stodgy civilities
Take a chance with infinite possibilities
Life is a parade complete with shiny streamers 

There were the songs she sang for dreamers

The audience’s mood takes a moment to gauge
Before setting a tempo designed to assuage
And all from the comfort of the dim, smoky stage
Whether an upbeat tempo or sad notes that swooned
Pure heartbreak is heard no matter what song is crooned
She always seems to know when love has been thwarted
Each table has candles lit in a glass that’s clear
Maybe the soft light glistened off my single tear
One look at my face and she knew that love had parted 

This is the song she sang for the brokenhearted

>========<

Glosa poetic form

The Glosa is a Spanish form that also works well in English.   Glosas open with a quatrain from another poet, called the cabeza, followed by four ten-line stanzas terminating with the lines of the initial cabeza in consecutive order.  The sixth and ninth lines of each stanza rhyme with the borrowed tenth line and is the only required rhyme of the poem. There is no set meter or syllable count for a Glosa, however, a good flow is always recommended.

Entered in:

Thursday Poets Rally Week 61 (January 25-Feb 3, 2012)

Poetry Picnic Week 23: New York Times Headline Topics
Inspired by NYT article: Sounds That Come From in the Head and on the Street