Yesterday Haunts

like water in desert

the beauty of you quenches

my lips part – breath gasps

for the feel of your strong arms

that have yet to hold me close

><——><

a bloom of scarlet

stark against a white canvas

then sheets – now snow drifts

both give note to the battles

of my birth and of my death

><——><

where there is no sound

one hears how your voice  trembles

its timbre thrills – pains

gripped in memory’s cruel grasp

yesterday haunts tomorrow

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

Today at dVerse Toni has us exploring the Tanka in its more traditional use. Having written non-traditional and super tanka before, I challenged my self to string a few together for something of a little narrative. The first tanka above are lovers at first sight, the middle – a soldier’s poem on his birth at his death and the last tanka – the lover left behind who remembers.

Tanka have a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count, per line.  The first two lines of the tanka are known as the kami-no-ku – upper poem, the last two lines are the shimo-no-ku – lower poem.  The third line. middle line, is the kireji or, cutting line or pivot denoting the difference between the two parts.  This is important to remember when writing tanka.  There are also no uppercase letters, no punctuation (except for the short dash, like an aspirated breath) or title. Tanka are subjective and can be emotional, opinionated, sensual, and lyrical.  They move back and forth through time and use elegant phrases or euphamisms, simile and metaphor.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar – Form: Tanka

Looking For You

Looking for you to love
Laughing delightedly with empty leash in hand

Yawning widely

Your soft body in my lap
We all knew you chose me
Not the other way around
Tail wagging furiously
Already happy
On your first day

Yapping noisily

Gnawing my extended finger
That served just as well
As your favored chew toy
In your puppy days

Barking jubilantly

I quickly learned to measure
What was tail safe height
When you greeted me at the door
In your doggie teens

Growling menacingly

Strangers were quickly warned
Enter either with permission
Or at their own risk
In your adult days

Whimpering piteously

Though we could not see
Anything without
It was our first clue
Something was wrong within
In your senior days

Sighing contentedly

Looking up at me
Your soft head in my lap
Tail thumping the floor
I knew you were
Still happy
On your last day

Crying uncontrollably with empty leash in hand
Looking for you to love

<>==========<>==========<>
So Walt is tending bar at dVerse and we’re asked… what does love sound like? I was totally stumped not having truly thought of love from an aural perspective, other than love-making – and I did not want to go there. Honestly, I  was going to give Poetics a pass this week when a good friend of mine posted that his beloved Sherlock had crossed the Rainbow Bridge with the words:

“My best friend died today with his head in my lap.”

I immediately recalled a video he had posted a while back of a happy Sherlock making trilling noises and I thought he’ll never hear that again. That’s when I realized the sounds of love are not relegated solely to humans, and thus with a little poetic license – this poem for Drew and Sherlock.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Tuesday Poetics: The Sound of LOVE

I Want To Know

I was minded of Foreigner’s power ballad “I Want To Know What Love Is” when I read this post and while the bastion of nonsense that is the world of Tumblr every now and again someone gets a clue. This is not an end all-be all answer, for every love is different, but it is one that gets  the core of all long lasting loves it right.

(Click each one to enlarge it)

ro-11

ro-22

ro-33

ro-44

ro-55

ro-66

This is what lasting love is.

This is not to say that sparks won’t happen anymore, they do, but lovers tend to forget a spark is designed to be a temporary thing.

A spark is what gets the fire started, not the fire itself. And it’s that fire you want to build.

Now and again a new spark causes a flare-up to help keep those fires burning, but again it is not the fire itself. It’s not the spark, but the fire of the heart/h that gets you past the first year, the first decade, the fifth decade and beyond.

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

sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

By Any Other…

“Oh, bee barf…?”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Why?” I smile knowingly.

“Because it’s an insult!”

“Not to me.” my standard response.

A decade plus later…

“All this damned time you’ve been calling me honey?” His mouth ajar.

“Yes, bee barf.”

Stupid Internet ruined everything…

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

A memory of the day my late-husband learned something of a sticky situation…

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Quadrille #13 

Today’s Quadrille (a poem of 44 words: no more, no less – not including the title) has to include the word jar. A word that can find many uses, as a noun or, as I’ve chosen to do, a verb (with or without an object).

The Call…

There’s a demon sitting on my shoulder
Whispering things and it’s getting bolder

A susurrus of dark and dangerous things
Makes the sinner in me want to come out and sing

And it’s getting stronger (you know you want to…)

Leaving its score on dark parts to remind me
Desire for such is within not behind me

Right now I know I’m the one in control
Of what’s clawing and braying to get to  my soul

But for how much longer? (you know you want to…)

There’s a demon sliding along my spine
Twixt my head and my heart claiming “both will be mine”

I’m crying for the call of it chills me
I’m lying for the call of it thrills me

And it’s getting stronger (you know you want to…)

Though I feel the rumble of defiant laughter
I do not give in to the dark it’s after

But for how much longer? (you know you want to…)

I feel the scratching on the surface of my skin
Hear the voices dripping with inevitable sin
Scraping and tearing at what fight’s left within
Let me in! Let me in! Let me! Let me in!

No!

Let me in! Let me in! Let me! Let me in!

Nooooooo!

Let me in! Let me in! Let me! Let me in!

Nooooooooo…

There’s a demon crawling under my skin (you know you want to…)
A sadistic lover calling from within (you know I want to…)
And it’s getting stronger (I know you want to…)

Ooooooooooooh…

Not much longer (I know I want to…)

Ooooooooooooh…

I know I want to…

Oh

I want to…

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

dverse

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Open Link Night #177

 

Don’t Give!

I look at him and I see a face:
One that’s covered in silent tears
His voice is in the deepest bass
Every word riddled by silent fears

Don’t give!

Always so cautious, always trying
never to give himself away
And yet I can see, he’s dying
a little bit more each day

Don’t give!

And the thought stabs my heart like a knife
Time put him in this spot and only time can heal
That all I can do is pray that the strife
Does not push him past where he can deal

Don’t give!

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

real-toads-buton

Real Toads | Tuesday Platform

Cuba: Past – Present – Future

Ah Cuba! A Country Frozen In Time does not begin to cover it.

The varying architecture of neo-classic is next door to art deco and Spanish moorish influences  through mid-century modern is amazing in its unique beauty. It is also in sharp contrast with the appalling decrepit state so many of those same structures that is Havana. Crumbling exterior walls, layers of peeling paint it is like viewing photos of beautiful old abandoned; haunted buildings, only the people still live there. There is no homelessness per se as everyone one has a solid roof over their heads. However, the state of that roof and the rest of the structure varies from completely renovated and structurally sound, through passing fair, to just barely habitable depending on the finances –or lack thereof- for the home dweller. So much of Havana reminded me of the initial squalor of the squatters who took over abandoned buildings in the late 70s early 80’s. And very much like those squatters maintain and rebuild the best that they can, with whatever skills, funds and/or ingenuity they can muster to do so. And that spirit is also Havana’s beauty. What has held them together during this Cold War and embargo with the US.

Cienfuego and (almost typed “y” instead of “and” there), Trinidad are unique beautiful places unto themselves. While still poor, they  almost look more affluent than some parts of Havana because they do not have the massive amounts of three – four hundred years old architecture

The Cubano view of Americans is mixed. Most seem to like that we’re finally coming back. Others have said to our faces “I hate America”. And though they toe the party line and deny it to a person, like America, racism and classism rears its ugly head here as well.

Believe me Cuba is colorful and vibrant and so very much alive.  There is art everywhere; plazas and parks with sculptures, and beautiful murals along walls. You turn a couple of corners and there is something to capture your attention. Of course there are bars a plenty and I had to visit Floridita, a favored haunt of Ernest Hemingway and birthplace of the frozen daiquiri. Nearly every restaurant had live music, every plaza had something to sell, and every other street had something to buy.

As such, you can already see where the beginning of capitalism is rearing its head. Iberostar has hotels in Havana and Trinidad, Cuba. A Four Point Sheraton is being built in Havana as I type. There are several fancy hotels in cThere is new construction or buildings being renovated throughout. Showy restaurants whose owners clearly have access to foreign –read American- coin dot the calles, alongside the more homespun dining fare. Citizens having private businesses have only been a recent advent in Cuba, creating a pseudo middle-class of sorts. I am praying Cuba will not go the route of some of its sister Caribbean islands where there will be tourist only places and/or areas of affluence, while the average citizen lives far below the poverty line.

Oh! And let’s not forget about the vintage American cars. After decades of mileage and eco conscious cars here in the states seeing a fleet of huge, all metal, shiny classic American cars still running the roads is indeed a sight to behold! Talk about they don’t make them like they used to?! These things are tanks. Painstakingly restored and maintained they are things of beauty. It is more impressive when you consider they do not have easy access to parts for these cars. If something breaks they have to fabricate much of what they need to repair it. Many are privately owned and used as tourist taxis. Even so, they have fun with the vehicles as the bubble gum pink Hello Kitty taxi I saw attests to.

 

I have taken a ton of pictures, but not nearly enough. I have seen some of Cuba, but not nearly enough. I’d like to return in a few years to see the differences.

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

sol

Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

 

 

 

Hair We Go

Deepica Mutyala a noted stylist on NBC’s “Today” show had a segment on August 3rd, where she styled different women’s hair into simple “One Minute Summer Hair” looks mostly meant to be done after a swim or on humid days when your original style isn’t going to make it through the day.  Only when it came the African-American model Malyia’s hair – she failed – completely.

Facebook user Joeline Payton posted a video of the segment with the caption “I need answers” and it has understandably gone viral.   I want to be fair and say I’m sure her intentions were good. And I was note overly impressed with the rope-braid style given the Asian woman either, but when it came to Malyia’s hair – what the fuck was she thinking?

Maliya actually had a cute curly style to start with, only to have it horrifically mangled, live on national television nonetheless. into something that looked like the early morning hangover aftermath bedhead of a rough night. There are discarded dolls in an attic or basements with hair that looked better. Hell, Halley Berry’s crack addict hair in “Jungle Fever” was better coiffed than that.

First Deepeica tried to pull the curls into a side ponytail high on the head. No grown woman has worn her hair like that since the 90’s and no woman with natural hair like the model Maliya’s at all.  The amount of rough tugging, brushing and pulling, it would take to get natural to look like that would cause so much damage, we simply wouldn’t do it. It was painfully clear that Mutyala does not know how to work with black natural textured hair when she pulled apart the curls to fluff out bangs and just gave up in the middle of it. To be blunt Deepica Mutyala fucked that model’s hair up and tried to pass that shit off as a style. It was brutal to watch the model sit there with a pasted on smile through Mutyala manipulations. Granted, she’s a model and her job is to sit there, smile and look gorgeous no matter what, because a girl has to get paid (/Jaqen H’ghar voice <– a Game of Thrones reference for those who didn’t get it). Still, she had to know how messed-up her hair looked in the “after”. I understand Maliya defended Mutyala afterward, but when that segment was over and she looked in a mirror, saw the hot ass mess made of her hair, she grabbed the first thing smoking back to the Bronx, Brooklyn or Harlem to get her hair done right!

I mean just because you know how to fry chicken does not mean you know how to make duck a l’orange. If Deepica Mutyala had any respect for her craft she would not have touched Maliya’s hair. A simple “You know what? Your style is perfect as it. I really don’t need to do anything here.” would have sufficed. Granted, we’d all still know Mutyala knows nothing of natural black hair, but she at least would still have our respect for having the sense not to go into a kitchen in which she does not know how to cook. If Mutyala can’t work with ALL hair types, she does not deserve to be called an “expert”. She should not be on TV promoting her expertise in such for her embarrassing demonstration was a far, far cry from such.

Another Forgotten Soul

I hear the steady rhythm of a familiar beat
The beat that belongs to my heart
Each intake of breath induces own brand of sweet

I’ve been lectured its beat won’t last through the night
A motif I’ve heard several times before
This new morning again dispels that tale and again I’m alright

Well as right as right can be with these tubes in my chest
The clicks, chinks and whoosh, a daily orchestration of my machines
I half think to ask to take them out they’ve done their last test

I’ve buried children, a husband, and friends
The blessing and curse of having a long life
Outliving those who would be with me at my end

No longer with the ones of my long life’s sharing
To pillow my days with fond memories
I slowly die alone attended by some other’s caring

Who will last close these feathered eyes is out of my control
With no one left to rescue the memory of my name
I wonder how long before I’m another forgotten soul

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

At dVerse we’re asked to pen our fears. This is mine – that I will outlive everyone who would love and advocate for me. That I will die, not necessarily by myself, but definitely alone.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: What Are You Afraid Of ?

Real Toads – The Tuesday Platform