No Photos Please!

A friend of mine was posting in a group on Facebook and apparently “Funeral Selfies” is a thing now.

Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like, taking photos of oneself at a wake or funeral and then posting it to social media for the world can see. Really. And I hate to think this, but in this land of you know you want to know what’s happening with me right this minute! instant information, it so feels so much like something some in the “millennial” generation would do and I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how anyone could be so incredibly narcissistic, at a funeral nonetheless, and think it is okay.

At the wake for my late-husband, Del, a cousin I had not seen in nearly a decade at that point, showed up in bright pink rollers and a scarf that was a joke of an attempt at covering them, so she was already pissing me off. I mean, who shows up at a wake in rollers? As I’m speaking with Reese, my late-husband’s cousin and best friend, I hear the familiar click of a camera behind me. I spin around and call out “No.” waving my index finger. It is Del taking a picture of a couple of friends/family near of the back of the room.

“It’s okay, he’s not in the picture”. She explained at my reaction. “He” being my late husband, aka the deceased that was laying at the front of the same room, and the reason why we were all there at that moment. I continued shaking my head and waving my finger in the negative, but Del lifted the camera preparing to take another picture. I remember thinking “Oh, you’re going to argue with me, the widow at her own husband’s wake?” instead what came out of my mouth was “NO!” at a volume that stopped everyone in the room. I had not even realized that I had taken the physical steps to beat her with her camera until I felt Reese restrain me. Whatever was on my face, Del and those she wanted pictures of were quickly going outside. Luckily, selfies as we know and use them now did not exist then. Because I know if she were truly taking a picture of herself at the moment Reese could not have held me back.

I find even taking photos outside of a funeral parlor or at a church where it’s obviously a funeral is gauche. A wake/funeral is not about you. If you yourself are not in deep mourning, you are there for the deceased and/o for those who are in mourning. That’s why it’s called paying your last respects. How are taking photos of yourself showing that respect? At the very least have the manners to wait until the repast for such.

If you don’t have pictures of friends/family members at happier events whose fault is that? Show up at a party, a BBQ, a wedding or family reunion. Or better yet host one to have people over so you can happy photos.

I think taking pictures at a wake/funeral/interment of the living or dead is so disrespectful enough. Turning around and then posting such on social media is a level of gracelessness I simply cannot comprehend.

“You look lovely, that dress is so cute! Where was this?”

“Oh thanks! I got it at the boutique. That was at Nana’s funeral last month.”

My immediate family knows “NO PHOTOS”. God help anyone taking pictures at my funeral. Just for spite, I am showing up in every photo as the creepy shadowy figure that doesn’t go away no matter how they try to crop or Photoshop me out.

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Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Slice of Life Writing Challenge | Two Writing Teachers

A Pearl Among Stores

How did I not know Pearl Paint closed?!?! Not just closed, but closed for a little over a year now. It felt as though I was just there recently, but time is indeed fluid to the heart as it was December 2013 I was there last according to my bank statement.

I had wanted to go by Pearl on a day off just because. The place always inspired me and as one can see from the dearth of posting as of late, I could use it. Still, something said go online and check the store’s opening hours before I drag my tail down there and that’s how I learned yet another NYC societal if not historical landmark that has fallen victim to the giant called capitalism.

After the shock of the discovery, I semi-joked I have not been this mournful since I read the Red Wedding scene in George R.R. Martin’s “A Storm of Swords“.  If you do not know what the Red Wedding is by now, don’t bother asking. Just understand that it’s something bad.  Sucker punch, gasp out loud, gut wrenching bad.

Because it’s a new wound for me, i want to pass by the site and poor libations on its threshold. That’s how the unexpected loss of Pearl Paint has struck me.

Pearl Paint was an eight decades old institution. Whether the amateur looking for stamped tin foil for an occasional scrapbook or the professional looking for gold foil leaf for a mural in a skyscraper, Pearl had it. I did not go there often, as Pearl was off my beaten path, but once I was there, I was there for a couple of hours minimum. Since the early 80’s, when I first discovered the place, it was six floors of dusty, seemingly nonsensical, glorious mayhem.  But if I needed it artistically, Pearl Paint had it. And it was not just an art supply store for many of the staff and fellow shoppers were artists in their own right. I come in with what I think is a simple question or request and leave some time later having absorbed knowledge, techniques, tools and sometimes gossip.

And now it’s all gone.

I mean doors locked, gates closed, assets sold off .

*Gone*.

Yes, there are other art supply stores, this is New York City, but none like Pearl Paint. I Alas no, like so many other places and spaced becoming a part of my past, it’s now just memory.

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Come see how others are slicing up their days.

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

 

Pony Girl

We your mares tremble with unbridled desire
As you pace among the stalls trying to decide
Loves lost, loves gained, with sweet inquire
I alone have learned the lesson of quiet pride
I hear the call of your voice, but I still my head
For the taunt reins on my collar steady me too
And with blinders on there’s something to be said
For letting my eyes alone implore for a feel of you

As I exhale slowly enjoying the feel
Of the swell of my breasts constrain
Against the solid bones of steel
The supports of my corset’s main
My cups near overflow the leather
Giving you a most delectable view
You smile at my subtle pull on the tether
Knowing I drip just thinking of a feel of you

My wrists are love bound of course
And well trained, where you lead I follow
I am lead to sup from your source
A drink I so greedily swallow
And your liquid kisses dot my face
Oh what is a good submissive to do?
For I don’t want to squander a single trace
Of even the smallest feel of you

In the heat of moments found using weighted dice
I chomp at my bit feeling my tail unfurl
The tugs from the clips on my lips do entice
As you saddle-up me – your wanton pony girl
At last my love, my master it’s me you ride
It binds me through and through
Making every synapse of my insides collide
Now complete and full with the feel of you

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Going way off-track with this one

dVerse ~Poets Pub | Open Link Night

And It Was…

I have been one acquainted with the night
Under dark clouds as many can attest
That I was many things, but not my best
Then one spring Cupid’s arrow pierced with light
But spring love could not survive autumn’s blight
Yet your light lives still inside my breast
Helping me to fight back the dark’s behest
Until love again has me in its sights

To deny this hope I will not employ
For when heaviness pulls into the day
Like a quick cat that jumps upon a toy
Memory of spring flowers have their sway
And the thoughts bring me a sweet, easy joy
When I was young and loved, and it was May
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National Poetry Month – Day 30

Breaking Down At Last

I’ve been having the feeling
for so very long
Everything looks so right
Everything feels so wrong
Something just isn’t right
Isn’t what it seems
A part of me wants to laugh
A part of me wants to scream
I’ve been feeling it coming
For such a long while
Trying hard not to cry
While trying hard to smile
Dealing with the moods
As they come and pass
I’ve got the feeling
I’m breaking down at last

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National Poetry Month – Day 25

Fallen Again

Just as I thought I had conquered you

Coming out of the clouds of despair

I see you in the distance and I — hunger

In solitary soliloquy

I’m on my knees

 

I wrap my hands around you

Feeling your firmness

Beneath my fingers

Even as you burn in fluidity

I’m begging more please

 

With just one step

I took twelve steps back

No waiting to see if tomorrow

I reach the lucidity

To ease my pain

 

One day at a time begins anew

I put the cap on you once more

And come to accept

With complete humility

I’ve fallen again

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National Poetry Month – Day 24

Because of You

This frozen-solid heart by choice
Thought ne’er again to see light true
Could not afford another break
By yet another harsh adieu
An abstract thought called you swept in
But moving towards what? Who knew
You burst past any alibis
Now this heart thaws because of you

Ambient warmth
First hard adjust
Now complete must
Because of you

In the sleeping night
Love moved in
All because of you

No it’s not scarlet words spoken in avarice
Nor the cerise heat of the noonday sun
Nor the crimson flame of the winter hearth
Nor the cherry star gleam on a stone
The ruby pyre of Hades pales to compare
To the blaze of my love because of you

Because you aced the test unknowingly given, that

Of all the hurdles thrown before you
You overcame them all with sanguine grace and

I now know that I who had given up on such
Am indeed worthy to love and of being
Loved so completely because of you

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This loving hodge-podge of a form is called a Descort.

Descort is French for “discord”, and the form is almost more of a non-form. It requires that each stanza or verse have some similar lyrical elements; however, that they be totally different forms. Each stanza should be verse, that is, a structured portion of poetry, but not the same. They can conform to known verse structures or be nonce forms. Some descorts have even used different languages in different stanzas.

This descort was created with six different forms, in order: Raccontino, Pathya Vat, La Lune, Not Poem, and a combined Cherita / Word Acrostic. You can click the form name to discover each form’s characteristics.

dVerse ~Poets Pub | Open Link Night: Week 147

National Poetry Month – Day 23

The Forest Green

This gal was purdy, but mean at the Forest Green
That’s how the stories spin down at the Forest Green

Mere thoughts of his presence made her shake
With deep chagrin there at the Forest Green

“Send in the clowns! Oh never mind!” She’d yell
When he would walk in at the Forest Green

Yet he somehow opened doors she feared closed
Tightly locked within at the Forest Green

‘Till one day she realized she was just as taken
Just walking in the rain beyond the Forest Green

How he matches her in heart, mind and soul
Frowns turned to grins at the Forest Green

Thus with abandon she now gives her all to him
Aye how the Raivenne sins behind the Forest Green

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Today’s form? A Ghazal.

National Poetry Month – Day 22

Deglutition

Before her a split path is laid
A deep decision to be made
One road only affects her now
The other risks her days and how
Naked she rises and finds voice
Arms open he awaits her choice
Motherhood? Won’t chance that call
Instead down to her knees she falls

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Today at dVerse ~Poets Pub, we’re asked to write about roads, and further challenged to do so “anywhere your eight lined muse leads you”.  For some reason Robert Frost popped into my head regarding choosing paths. And while hardly the path less taken my muse, in customary ornery fashion, goes off the beaten one to choose the emotional road instead of a physical one with a take on the modern joke regarding a female’s choices in the moment. And just in case it still eludes some, the title of the poem is the medical term for swallowing.

Yeah, I know, I wonder about my muse sometimes as well…

National Poetry Month – Day 21

Come Out Best

I’ve always come out the best
Except the carefree day
I gave my heart away

To he who put it to the test
For no other reason I could see
Than my pain kept his company

But my soul’s joy shall not be wrest
It would not allow this
Theft of my complete bliss        `

One thing I can attest
Even through heartache’s burn
There are lessons to learn

I learned to return the jest
That was made of my heart
Put back the pieces torn apart

And to walk away blessed
To know a peace so real
That no one can steal

Now his heart feels the unrest
While I do feel for his soul
He must find his own console

And again I come out the best
With joy my intact
Never looking back

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National Poetry Month – Day 20