Perfect Stranger

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I do love her still, for she’s still mother
Though oft she calls me by names of others
Her soft eyes remain, shining warm with care
The curves of her body, her graying hair
But her mind now slides from what’s really there

Her concave lips form that familiar smile
Like when she showed off her latest hairstyle
Even with loose curls each strand was in place
Particular to the point of basket case
Never walked out the door without her face

Made a clean home look easy to attain
My haphazard ways were always her bane
It gave her license for years to nitpick
My style she joked was an urban beatnik
But she loves my roast chicken with garlic

Her home now’s not what I thought would occur
But she’d gone beyond my means to help her
After jumping with haste to a rescue
When she tried to melt wax for a fondue
Insists utensils could be eaten too

She’s no longer the mother that I knew
Some days it takes all just to muddle through
I look at her and it’s my face I see
So it’s twice as hard when she looks straight at me,
And then asks ‘And who are you sweetie?’

That I remind her of her little girl
Who fidgets wearing pinafore and curls
She’s the woman that once knew me so well
But if she knows me at all now I can’t tell
Yet I know her deeply, and that’s my hell

Roles reversed, she’s the one whose hair I comb
When I visit her at the nursing home
“See this pin my girl gave me yesterday?”
I was a child, it’s so old in years even I cannot say
But for her, the years time has washed away

Seeing the pin makes me break down in tears
She coos “Oh miss, it can’t be that bad dear”
I fall in the familiar arms of hers
As everything becomes just one big blur
And I cry upon a perfect stranger

Pictures Taken

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Such silly smiles that split the planes of our faces
Vacations have a way of doing that
Pictures taken visiting places
So happy anywhere we’re at
Dressed in our Formal Night styles
Now looking over these
Staring at our smiles
I’m on my knees
Tell me why
I cry

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I recently came across some images of my late-husband and I on our very first cruise together. It was a bittersweet discovery to say the least.

I haven’t done a form in a while and what better way to kick off National Poetry Writing Month? This form is called Emotive Ten.

Emotive Ten (nonce form)

 An Emotive Ten describes some form of emotion and has ten lines, the only restrictions is that it is syllable based.  It starts with twelve syllables and throughout the poem working its way down to two; it should describe usually an emotion in paradox, i.e. life to death, loneliness to love, light to dark etc.

If rhyme is used it must go with the syllable count in numbers and rhyme in letters:

12A, 10B, 9A, 8B, 7C, 6D, 5C, 4D, 3E, 2E

An alternate rhyming suggestion is a/a/b/b/c/c etc. The form can also be done in reverse, still ten lines, but starting out with two syllables and ending with twelve.

No Arguments Here

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This morning I’m standing in line at one of my usual breakfast places. That there is a long line, long by my standards as a regular, tells me someone came in with a large order that is slowing down the usually quick and efficient process of the line cooks. It happens sometimes, you deal with it or you walk away. I was contemplating between the two options when one of the line cooks spies me at the back of the line and smiles. He holds up one finger, then two fingers, his head cocked to the side in an unspoken query. I smile back, wave and then nod, holding up one finger. In this particular restaurant they have two things I like to order for breakfast. Isidori, the second line cook, is silently asking if I want my breakfast sandwich (#1) or my omelette platter (#2). Thus, I just as silently respond yes, I would like the sandwich. He smiles and indicates with his head to go ahead to the cashier.

Ah, the sweet perks of being an engaging regular! I am spoiled sometimes.

I blow a kiss to him in gratitude and go to pay for my meal. I stand adjacent to a woman who is ticking off the various items ordered to Cristina, the cashier, making sure they have everything. Now I know who had the big order. Cristina asks about the size of a coffee ordered and the woman calls out to someone on different line.

“Margie! What size you want your hazelnut coffee again?”

Now, saying she was loud, really does not do it justice. Seriously, I felt my ears pop as though I were in a rapidly moving elevator. At least six different people in my line of vision reacted to the decibel level of her voice by turning their collective heads either towards or away from her and vocalizing some form of exclamation and/or expletive, including my leaning away from her with “Well damn!”

As the nearest person to her, I received the venom of her stare.

“Please! I weren’t that loud.”

I mentally bit my lip resisting the urge to inform her folks on the other side of the International Date Line, where it is the middle of the night, are likely waking up wondering why they are thinking about hazelnut coffee. Luckily, she was spared my snark when her friend came over and settled it.

“Yeah, you were. What the hell wrong with you screaming like that?”

She glances around at various raised eyebrow/“you crazy”/WTF reactions to her. You can all, but hear the “Whatever!” going through her mind.

“Raivenne, here’s your breakfast honey.” Isidori and Cristina in their usual efficiency already have my food cooked, coffee poured and items bagged.

“Thanks Cristina, here you go.” In my usual efficiency have my credit and restaurant discount card at the ready as I walk around the two women and pay for my breakfast.

“Have a nice day,” Cristina hands me my cards and my bagged order. “See you tomorrow?”

“Thanks, maybe. Enjoy your day.” I take my items and start turning to leave.

“Wait, I was in front of her, how she go first?” Ms. Decibel wants to know. At least her voice has returned to a volume more acceptable for human conversation.

Cristina looks at her in confusion, clearly not understanding her question.

“Because she’s Raivenne…” she states as though it should be obvious.

I smirk and walk away, who am I to argue with such infallible logic?

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It’s Tuesday – come see how others are slicing it up today at Two Writing Teachers:

Slice of Life graphic

Slice of Life Story Challenge – Two Writing Teachers

Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler!

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Happy Mardi Gras!

When most of the world thinks of Mardi Gras they are rightfully only thinking of the very last day big party day and night for which it is named, the ever popular Fat Tuesday. Those last hours of enjoying ones vices before the 40 days of self-sacrifice that is Lent beginning with Ash Wednesday, the very next day.

When I think of Mardi Gras it is always New Orleans 2001. I have yet had the pleasure to attend any of the balls, but I have enjoyed many of the local community parades that flow through the streets. There were the family friendly local fetes held by smaller Krewes in various parishes and of course the big parades held by the major Krewes along Charles and Canal Streets. My very first parade was the Bacchus Parade always held the Sunday night before Mardi Gras. The streets were as packed as any in New York City on a major parade route. So many people all crowded together, I felt right at home. I pushed my way towards the front and had a blast watching the colorful floats, the amazing costumes and high school / college bands. There were even gaily decorated Clydesdales prancing in tune to the joyful music. Naturally, there were the drunk and rowdy young and old. One poor child – okay college kid –had far too much alcohol and was not-so-quietly being up held by his friends as he gave back the liquor consumed.  Yup, just like being home on St. Patricks’ Day, yet not.

This is Bacchus, so yes, there were brightly colored beads a plenty casually tossed out to parade watchers. I quickly noted those were beads that could be purchased by the dozen for a dollar at any given store in the Quarter.  However, they were very selective in which revelers were tossed the pretty beads, the “Bacchus Beads” with flashing lights and better decorations.  And you guessed it; the young women upholding the infamous tradition of flashing their breasts to “earn” beads were generally the major recipients of these.  I planted myself next to one such young lady sitting on the shoulders of what I presume is her boyfriend. As the beads were flying down, I would snatch them in mid-air if they looked interesting. If I liked the beads I kept it, if I already had that design or did not want it I tossed it back to her. Suffice it to say she and her boyfriend were not initially happy, but they got over it as I partially shared. Hey, it was not my fault she was too drunk to figure out how to flash with one hand and reach out with the other and he could not hold on to her with one hand as she squirmed about trying to grasp beads. I simply took advantage of the opportunity.

That year the Bacchus Parade, known for having popular celebrities as its King, had chosen Nicholas Cage. We could hear the approach of the float he was on before we could see it. The noise level surrounding it was that intense. It took a good twenty minutes from when I first noticed his float until the monster was directly in front of us. Each step of the way the noise level increased. Between the bands, the revelers and those on the float itself, by the time it was before us, it was just deafening wall of sound and it was wonderful!

And all of that was nothing compared to the day of Mardi Gras itself. Getting up hung-over and groggy from partying that Monday night, it was pretty much a literal, was, rinse and repeat as we showered, ate, shopped, watched other parades and yes drank. There was this current in the air, this excitement, this tangible thing that my late-husband and I felt as the day grew on.

And then the sun set and we hit Bourbon Street in the French Quarter and…

Oh.
My.
God.

It made the crowds at the parade look paltry for the sheer amount of bodies per capita. The closest thing that can come to it is Times Square in New York City on New Year’s Eve and really that doesn’t capture it. There just aren’t enough and yet far too many words to describe the throng of bodies on the streets, in the side alleys and hanging from the wrought iron balconies of the beautiful French Quarter. The various states of sobriety, questionably legal substances and dress, or rather undress, especially from those in the balconies. Yeah, I’m leaving those in the purview of my mind’s eye. Like Vegas, some things will indeed stay in New Orleans.

Today I wear the traditional purple, green and gold colors of Mardi Gras in honor of the day and the memory of the wonderful times I had there. A couple of people have commented on the beads adorning my neck knowing what they are and where they are from. I will not confirm nor deny whether or not I have engaged in such technically illegal activities as earning them the traditional way or not. I will say that I have collected a vast assortment of beautiful beads in my visits and leave it at that.

I haven’t been to New Orleans since 2007 or Mardi Gras since 2005 and I wistfully gaze at my New York City skyline knowing it is definitely a too late for this year’s Carnival. Oh, but something tells me my Tuesday, February 16, 2015 Slice of Life may contain a post direct from N’awlins. Oh yeah….

I’m putting out the siren call of Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler right now.
Who’s with me?

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Check out more of today’s slices of life at Two Writing Teachers.

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

The “A” Word

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Friday night/Saturday morning, I am on my way home on from hanging out with friends. I hear the train I need pulling into the station as I’m paying my fare at the upper level. Normally, I do not run for trains, but it is 3:30 in the morning and I am well aware that  if I miss this one, there will not be another train for at least twenty minutes. A woman racing down an adjacent set of stairs and I curse simultaneously as the train we want pulls out of the station without us on board. We give each other the “Oh you too, huh?” empathic smile that all mass transit users know so well and strike up a conversation. I am a born and bred New York City; she is a transplant from upstate, living here for less than two years.  We touch on BBC television and learn that we are both Cumberbitches, not Cumberbabes – either you know or you don’t, I am not explaining the phenomenon that is Benedict Cumberbatch, just know it is very real.  We a good few minutes on classic books version Hollywood interpretations and that’s when it happened…

She shakes her head knowingly, “That explains it.”
“What explains what?” I ask.
“You read a lot. Good books, not just trash novels, it’s why you’re so artic…”

I am going to gather she stopped short at that point, less because her brain kicked in and more because I’m sure my expression went from amicable to apoplectic by the second syllable of the classic “A” word used with well-spoken blacks: Articulate.

Was it because I did not interject “like” and/or “you know” every fifth word or so? Perhaps it was my lack of “neck roll”? I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I popped a capillary in my efforts to restrain my disbelief at hearing this.

Worse, I am hearing it from someone less than 30 years of age who damn sure should know better considering this nation has been led by a black president these past five years.  Political party differences aside, our nation is not in the habit of electing those who cannot properly conjugate a verb. Clearly, Barack Obama is an ethic fluke, as this is not the same English spoken by the majority of educated people in this country.

“I mean, I mean….” She starts the familiar back-peddle seen often when people are caught hoisted on their own petard.

“Oh, I know what it is you meant.” I stop the peddling in its tracks. “I don’t know what you were exposed to in (name of city redacted to not paint all of its denizens with the broad brush of cultural ignorance), that gave you such preconceived notions, but for the record, it is not a compliment to be somewhat surprised that a person of color can speak well as though it is such a foreign concept. And, it is incredibly condescending  and patronizing for you to think we should feel complimented that it’s noticed and meets your unasked for approval. This conversation is over.”

It is amazing that this still requires clarification, but here it is: we (black people) get a little pissed-off when white people call us “articulate.”

It perpetrates the stereotypes that blacks speak mostly in slang, in Ebonics, in anything other than standardized English. It is divisive, separating us into an “us” and “them”.  It is the stereotype is perpetrated within less affluent black communities every time a well-spoken black person is accused of “talking white”.  The stereotype that equates articulate styles of speech as belonging to “white” rather than belonging to “intelligence”, as though one was still the exclusive dominion of the other.  Blacks do not assume every white person has a major in English, why is it still a thing of note to some when encountering those of us who have proper command of diction and enunciation?

Here we were in 2014 Anno Domini and yes, this is still a conversation that needs to be had.

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Check out more of today’s slices of conversation at Two Writing Teachers.
I’m starting three days of days late, so you’re not too late to join in yourself. Come on in, the slicing’s fine!

Slice of Life - Two Writing Teachers

I Fell In Love With You Again Today

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Braden Summers - Gay Couple

Braden Summers Photography
(Click for full size)

I fell in love with you again today

The good times that made us friends
Between the breaths of mine you took away
How the simple thought of you
Kept playing over and over in my mind

Remembering the day that we met
The emotions that had no words yet

I fell in love with you again today

The hard times that made us strong
The way I made you smile to learn
You were the shoulder when I need to lean
The ear when I need one to bend

There was that magic in the past
That makes our love today still last

I fell in love with you again today

The sweet times that made us lovers
And I smile remembering
Those first fears, the arguments
Yes, even the break-up and reconciliation

For in your smile I still find peace
In your arms I still find release

I fell in love with you again today

The best times that made us spouses
And all of those old feelings
Came rushing back on fresh wings
Once again brand shiny new

For after all our time together
I still believe this is forever

And I fell in love with you again today
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I actually had an entirely different poem in the queue setup for today. Then a friend posted a link to the Braden Summers collection on Buzzfeed that contains the above photograph. I, and apparently my muse, was enamored of this image, the last one of the set shown on the website. This is an image of a mature love, but clearly a still very happy and giving love. Whether a real couple -oh I hope, they look so happy together!- or merely models, I felt the couple looked like new lovers and the write you see above was born.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight : Week 133

You Know You Want Me…

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I take a gulp of calorie free air
To stave off the craving I’m trying to brake
But I just can’t cope for goodness sake!
It’s not that the bunch of grapes are bad
Save it’s just not the thing to make me glad
So I’ll not lend an ear to its call
I’ll not let my gut be my downfall
I’ll not waiver from my niche
I’ll not satisfy this itch
Though it’s call is to me is proud
I’ll not give in it’s not allowed
“Just a thread of a piece” the call starts to quiver
No! No! No! Oh all right! Just a tiiiiiiiny sliver!
Knowing straight to my hips is where it’s bound
It’s a slippery slide from a diet to a pound
Oh why did that rhubarb, to me, start to talk?!
Guiltily home, with my whole pie, I walk

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…because I’m in a silly mood

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 132

Weekly Photo Challenge : Selfie

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The Daily Post | Weekly Photo Challenge : Selfie

selfie

A selfie taken at the Soldiers & Sailors Monument in New York City’s Upper West Side. The crisp, dark vertical elongation of my angled shadow was, in my opinion, an excellent contrast to horizontal parallel of the light colored slate and stone of the monument path.

I like this particular image because even though you don’t really see me, things can be told by it now nearly three years later, regardless of my being the photographer.

Summer
— A winter coat  would not have such waist delineation.

Wearing slacks
— Were I in jeans, it would be form more fitting, not as loose.

Pony tail
— Even taking the depth perception of the image into consideration.  my head would not look so small had my usually wild curly hair been worn out as I usually do have it.

Shopping
— Clearly I had done a little retail therapy that day from the size of the bag.

See more at Weekly Photo Challenge

For You Know…

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We embark upon this life
Go through the stress and strife;
We fall in queue for our brief time here
For no matter how long we last,
It won’t be as long as our past
And it’s all but a token homage my dear

For this gem of a love
Above all others love
Yet we know nothing’s perfect and only God is truly divine
Some say love is just a sell
That heaven is as well
But I know both are real when your hand is holding mine

For you know, I give all of my love to you
From now until our time on earth is through
Because I know you give all of your love to me
And that’s all there ever needs to be
That’s all there ever needs to be

Some days are just hell for us,
Some days all we do is fuss
Some days we cook, other days we freeze
Some days we can’t do without
Some days all we do is pout
Some days we’re brought right down to our knees

Some in big mansions live,
Some inside hovels give
Their all in all to get through the day
Some love’s an orchard to share
Some love’s a cupboard bare
But our love’s beyond what mere words can say

For you know, I give all of my love to you
From now until our time on earth is through
And I know you give all of your love to me
And that’s all there ever needs to be
That’s all there ever needs to be

What I believe is this
We’re touched with heaven’s bliss
Living day by day in this Fool’s Paradise
This love’s where we live and die
This love between you I
At the end of day that’s enough to suffice

Sometimes it’s a slippery slope
Sometimes we can barely cope
But to know these joys we’ll risk pain’s chance
Day by day we grow old,
Others rust, we stay gold
Two left footed steppers in an intricate dance

For you know, I give all of my love to you
From now until our time on earth is through
For I know you give all of your love to me
And that’s all there ever needs to be
That’s all there ever needs to be

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub  | Meeting The Bar : Songwriting and its Relationship to Poetry

This Is A Beauty No One Is Sleeping On

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The upcoming Disney movie Maleficent starring Angelina Joli is already getting a lot a buzz. Clearly Maleficent is going to be to Sleeping Beauty what the Broadway musical Wicked is to The Wizard of Oz. While the movie is by no means a musical, like Wicked and The Wizard of Oz, it already has its defining song:

I first heard a snippet of this on Sunday and was completely blown away by it. This rendition is beautiful, lush, beguilingly serene and yet unnerving, haunting and almost menacing in its feel.  This is especially true in contrast to the lighthearted, gay feel of the original.

And for those who may not know or remember it, here is the original version for comparison:

Lana Del Rey’s haunting take on the classic and much beloved original is akin to hearing a siren’s song across the seas knowing you are headed towards your doom if continue to listen, yet not being able to tear yourself away.   It is absolutely perfect for Maleficent and makes me want to see the movie even more.