in public passing

Posted on by
4

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…

Imbalance

Posted on by
3

Finding vanities twixt the insanities
Few heard, fewer listened to my call
Lost lucidity, in solitary soliloquy
To acknowledge this risks to also fall

On a whisper of tears, sorrow appears
And this spirit is redefined
Bereft of much, it’s killed such
Leaving naught that’s good behind

Rage employed against malice enjoyed
A perverseness in which I wallow
And I don’t dare, to say I care
For it’s a lie that’s too hard to swallow

Dare to pray or deign to prey
Dissolving my once firm control
Tomorrow seems vast, but is quickly past
And it is night still within my soul

It itches, it seethes, it festers, it breathes
Burrowing deeper into the sorrow
In the starkness, I bleed darkness
No hope horizons on the morrow

Awaken

Posted on by
20

I awaken and start the day anew
I wish to shout for joy, but it won’t be
this piece of hell that’s become me and you
It’s simply washed all joy away from me

I wish to shout for joy, but it won’t be
With caution is how I now must behave
It’s simply washed all joy away from me
The gallant now replaced with the depraved

With caution is how I now must behave
I’m just as much his virgin as his vamp
The gallant now replaced with the depraved
A dexterous mixture of coy and tramp

I’m just as much his virgin as his vamp
Some elder ring of hell has been released
A dexterous mixture of coy and tramp
My “once upon a time’ prince now deceased

Some elder ring of hell has been released
To wallow in these sins he does impel
My “once upon a time’ prince now deceased
Like fairy tales my mother used to tell

To wallow in these sins he does impel
I join in things I once never conceived
Like fairy tales my mother used to tell
I‘m awed by all I’ve been lead to believe

I join in things I once never conceived
My mind and soul warped so far out of joint
I ‘m awed by all I’ve been lead to believe
Until I’m pushed beyond the breaking point

My mind and soul warped so far out of joint
I hushed the urge of fighting brevity
Until I’m pushed beyond the breaking point
I fought for my peace and longevity

I pushed the urge of wanting brevity
This piece of hell that’s become me and you
I fought for my peace and longevity
I awaken and start the day anew

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

dVerse Poets Pub | Form For All: Pantoum

The Chanteuse

Posted on by
19


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

The Summons

Posted on by
16

Already restless, I had turned to my favored place to seek peace. I had knelt beneath the moonlit branches of the tree, letting nightingale song wash over me, when I am summoned and know not why. I am told his mood is strange. I have but moments to prepare myself, yet not test the goodwill of he who summons. Moonlight shines through the blossoming trees as I ride on the mare provided. Not finding my favorite combs, I hastily extend a hand to snatch blossoms, hoping their beauty compensates. The same moonlight shows the hurried manner of my dress.

The bright moon of night
Shines on all that can help you
And all that can harm

I breathe deep the scent of local flora as I ride along. Perfect gardens seen off in the distance are soothing. The road I travel is not. I knew not the king had returned from his sojourn; let alone have chance to know the cause this distress. The lumps I feel are more than mere nervousness. The not gentle roads jangle already frayed thoughts. My king who places a premium on the upholding of traditions, entrusts me with its upkeep. A delicate balance accomplished too well. Hours spent side-by-side this past year, yet he knows naught. My heart as improper as the lack of grace of a more appropriate attire. The night is as dark as my mood. My beloved moonlight bears me not a cheer.

The trickle of fear
Thorns that can grow sharp within
As well as without

I take in the increasing view of the palace up ahead. Its peaks rise in golden tones as though the setting sun cached its luminescence there for the night and comes now to collect upon rising. My king acknowledges my kneeling by kneeling himself. He kneels! To me! His rough, beefy hand a contrast to my pale delicate fingers. I am shocked by his most gentle of touch – our first physical contact. Ever. An embroidered gown placed in my arms, he bows. He bows! The gown is of a refinement only she who will become queen can wear. Characters of my name intricately stitched within its fine threads. My missing combs, now jewel encrusted, nervously placed on top. And like this new day, it dawns on me. He knows. He reciprocates. All protocol cast aside at our second physical contact ever – our first kiss.

Deep shades of gold sun
Extend like love’s warm fingers
Dawn a brand new day

<>====================<>====================<>
Entered in:

Poetry Picnic Week 33: Fortresses, Castles, Palaces and Royal houses

==========

dVerse ~Poets Pub | Meeting the bar – the Haibun

Seven Days

Posted on by
23

On Monday

Voice soft as the murmuring breeze, He whispers “Go.”
Thus the first scream begins the life she’ll know
A beautiful baby, that didn’t cry but so much
A godsend, whose parents will raise her as such

On Tuesday

Playing in the yard, one late evening with a friend
She tells of a stranger watching from the dark end
When asked, how did she so young, know what to do
Her answer is, a soft wind in her ear told her to

On Wednesday

White powder fresh on her nose, she smokes a joint
Ignoring voices of convention, but that’s the point
But even as she sits, in the dense herbal haze
She hears the breeze murmuring, there are better ways

On Thursday

Well aware without thesis papers, she’ll repeat the term
She stands with her fellow protesters, convictions firm
Even though the tight handcuffs are starting to sting
Susurrus comforts; she’s doing the right thing

On Friday

Her job, her spouse, her kids, her life
She questions the constant stress and strife
Palms upwards she wonders how much longer
Feels the kiss of a breeze making her stronger

On Saturday

Family reunion surrounded by many a grand
And a few greats who sits while she stands
Some family smirk, knowing she’s in her glory
Soft winds making fresh, her oft told stories

On Sunday

She lays frail in her bed, but she is hardly meek
Her years are many, but she often joked, “‘tis but a week”
And thus end her days, upon this earth to roam
Voice soft as the murmuring breeze, He beckons, “Come home.”

>========<

Entered in:
dVerse ~ Poets Pub
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 27

Death Be Not iPod

Posted on by
4

It’s hard to believe this has only existed for slightly over ten years, but I remember when the first iPod commercials aired on television. It was waaaaay out of my price range for several years, but oh the possibilities of it could easily be seen. It was years later (a second-hand Generation 3 purchased in 2005), before I could finally get my grubby little paws on one, but once I did, yeah, I understood why everyone I knew who owned one felt so damned superior to all those still walking around with their Walkmans and CDs. Yes, there were (and still are), other MP3 players on the market, but none ever have or likely ever will touch the superiority of the machine that is the iPod.

My iPod is a necessary tool to my survival of the grind known of the daily work commute. It has spared me from hearing/listening to so much of the inane or teenage conversations, kiddie tantrums, babies screaming, subway beggars and would-be-Lotharios over the years.

Even when walking in the sidewalks, it has saved me. I often have the earbuds in, but do not have the music turned on. It’s so sweet to be able to ignore the lascivious “Hey baby”s, by pretending I can’t hear them due to my “music” and walking right past them.

In between diversionary street tactics, my iPod has been:
— an argument settler: “No, those are not the lyrics “Maude” – here listen!”
— a mood maker/changer: Whatever bad mood I’m in, I can find the appropriate playlist to sooth the savage (or sometimes sobbing) beast.
— a party maker: my Move playlist makes you want to do just that – MOVE!

Most of all, it was the one thing where I could listen to any and all of my musical tastes without judgement and/or commentary when I wanted to hear it (as long as it was charged that is). If I want to listen to Metallica at 8am, Pat Methany at 11am. Los Invisibles at 2pm, Reba MacIntire at 4pm, Ne-yo at 6pm, The Spice Girls at 7pm and Andrea Bocelli at 9pm, by God I could, and it was good!

When my late-husband wanted to blast something on TV or my (the young) sons wanted play games loud while I was on the computer – no problem. My love of Heavy Metal has happily shared the iPod stage with Country, Soul, Video Game Soundtracks, Trance, Classic Rock, 80’s Hair Bands, 70’s horns, Blues, Pop, Movie Scores, Show tunes, TV Themes and so much more.

Even when cell phones became MP3 player capable, I would not give up iPod. My smart phone is my smart phone, but my iPod is my musical heart. I accidentally leave my smart phone at home on ocassion (and sometimes on purpose), but I have never left my iPod home on purpose. I was once six blocks away from home when I realized I left my iPod and went back to get it. Two blocks after leaving my house again I realized I left my cell phone in the house when I went to get my iPod. I did not go back for cell phone.

My iPods have crossed countries and oceans. Over the years, my current iPod has somehow survived accidental drops, kicks, rain, snow, sleet and once being partially run over by a taxi. I pretty much thought the thing was invincible.

Then this morning, accompanied by the clicking of death, I saw this…

Yes, I know it is just an iPod.
Yes, I know even Apple products eventually die.
And yes, in all honesty, its replacement will be my hands by day’s end.

Still, this particular piece of machinery has served me so well over the years and I just had to give its due.

As posted I on my Facebook:

Since 2007, with only one factory reset in its tenure, this has given unparallelled service to my musical eccentricities until this morning. It was even gracious enough to wait until James Taylor was finished before clicking into oblivion.

In a nod to my geekdom, I have to admit that when I first saw the symbol my initial reaction was “I don’t remember downloading any X-Men videos to this…”, then the reality of its loss hit me.

R.I.P. good friend 😦

Longing For The Feel Of Spring

Posted on by
8

Crocus buds in snow

I’m longing for the feel of spring;
The walls are closing on this room.
The fresh snowfall does not joy bring;
I want flowers in blush of bloom.

Oh, morning bluebird please come sing,
and chase away the winter gloom.
I’m longing for the feel of spring;
The walls are closing on this room.

As the phoenix’s prayer doth cling,
Of rising from the ashes womb;
I long to escape from this tomb.
Oh, just a glimpse one green thing!
I’m longing for the feel of spring.

>========<
Entered in

Poetry Picnic Week 22:
Spring, Colors, Trees, and New Lives

Sensory

Posted on by
42

.
.
You like that don’t you?

It wasn’t a question.

The scent of them
Permeates the air.

Their ragged breaths
Ripping
The silence.

Her hot naked back
Shoved
Onto the cool rough wall.

Tasting her
Wetness
On his lips.

Eyes wide open
In the stark pitch black.

She answers anyway.

Yes sir, please!

>========<
Entered in:

dVerse ~ Poets Pub
dVerse Meeting the Bar: Imagism

Soulmates

Posted on by
9

I have friends who are in long-term with their mates.
I have friends who have just had their hearts broken.
I have friends who made the decision to be the heart breaker.
I have friends who cannot be so bothered with the pursuit and choose celibacy.
I have friends who will not be so bothered with it, but are not choosing to be celibate.
I have friends who are looking so hard for theirs; they are completely deaf to the Klaxons of desperation, which are blasting the eardrums of everyone else around them.

And for what? The Soul-mate (cue echo machine).

To many, the soul-mate interpretation of love is not an interpretation, it is not a myth, and it is not modern. Rather, it is The Way It Is, and the way it always has been.

* presses play on effin_sappy-assed_violins_and_fireworks.mp3 *

Find “The One” and you will be happy.
Find “The One” and your whole life falls into place.
Find “The One” and no pursuit, no passion, no love could be any greater than the love you feel when you finally embrace your soul-mate.

Ah, the amazing powers of the SOUL-MATE
(music crescendo – doves flying – sun shining – heavens parting – angels singing… you get the drift)…

Oh bollocks already!

* And insert record-scratch.mp3 here *

I personally have always had a problem with that theory – it is too damned easy. Everyone wants the easy way out, or more specifically the easy way in love and guess what? It don’t work that way. Yes, this very poet who has dozens of words expounding on the very subject of the perfect romantic love within this very blog said it. Slap on a pair and deal with it, I got more.

Everything worthwhile having gives you some crap, if not out right hell. “The One” is no different.

Contrary to what popular romantic theory (aka TV – Movies – Music – Poetry), would have you believe, meeting your soul-mate doesn’t guarantee “happily ever after.” Things don’t always get easier when you find that special someone and in fact, they might get even harder from time to time.

Let’s face it, even in the Disney-fied fairy tales most of the lovers either went through the “I can’t stand him / her” stage before they fell in love or had to tackle some major shit (and sometimes both), before the happily-ever-after finally kicked in. And are we really sure about that happily-ever-after? I mean Princess Aurora has been asleep for one hundred years! Can you imagine Aurora’s stress on having to suddenly get up-to-date on fashions (oh gurl that gown is so last century!) and modern conveniences (a chamber pot in its own room M’Lord? How divine!) while Phillips is busy still trying to maintain the apparent duties of being heir apparent? (Seriously babe, I couldn’t give a dragon’s fart on whether you wear the pink or blue bustle.)

Okay fine, let’s jump the fairy tales up a century or two:

Yes, Edward Lewis (Richard Gere) and Vivian Ward (Julia Roberts) fall in love in Pretty Woman, but we aren’t there after the screen fades to black to see how the multimillionaire and former prostitute try to make their relationship work past the fire-escape. You know Philip Stuckey (Jason Alexander) the only other person who knew (and not in Edward’s best graces), blabbed that tidbit of her previous employment all over the place, which I am sure was taken oh so well by the other ladies in their snotty little society.

Hell, let’s jump another couple of decades forward to Sex and the City (the television show). Carrie and Big went through years of bullshit (and other lovers), before they got their act together. Years. Yet no one denies those two are soul-mates.

In Sex and the City: The Movie 1, Carrie reads the story of Cinderella to one of her best-friend Charlotte’s young daughter, Lily. At the end of the story, she looks at the little girl and says, “You know this is just a fairy tale, right sweetheart? Things always don’t happen like this in real life”

Let’s stick with our modern-day fairytale princess Carrie Bradshaw for just a tad moment longer. Even after she and Big are married – they learn, in Sex and the City: The Movie 2, with even a love as grand as theirs (*barfing.mp3 *), it ain’t always easy keeping the magic going.

Falling in love, as hard as it sometimes is, is the easy part. Staying in love is work.

The problem is few want to work. Thus, I reiterate my sentence from above…

Everything worthwhile having gives you some crap, if not out right hell from time to time. “The One” is no different.

Ultimately, a soul-mate is someone you can grow with, and the only way to grow together is to face challenges together and challenges are work.

And here is where I’m really gonna set fire to the rain…

Nearly, everyone says and thinks of a soul-mate as the all-encompassing, be all and end all romantic type of love.

I propose a person can have more than one soul-mate and while a soul-mate is always, someone you want to share the rest of your days with, a soul-mate is not necessarily or solely the person you also want to share your bed with for the rest of your days.

But that thought is a blog for another day…