Next time look much closer
And watch her petals unfurl
As she blossoms underneath you
You'll see her young leaves curl

Her face follows your warming sun
Her pollen shimmers in your breeze
Her roots wrap tight around you
And she is lifeless when you freeze.

Marriage

Today I have been working on my wedding film project, and during the course of my research, I revisited this passage, which is my favourite reading regarding love and marriage, and I often refer moments in my life back to it, so I thought I'd share it. 

The next passage is from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. 
And what of Marriage, master? 
And he answered saying: 
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore. You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days. 

Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God. 
But let there be spaces in your togetherness, 
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. 

Love one another, but make not a bond of love: 
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. 
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. 
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. 
Sing and Dance together and be joyous, but each one of you be alone. 
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. 

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. 
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. 
And stand together yet not too near together: 
For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

Simple. Apparently...

All the things I could have said

You heard anyway

And all the things I feared

You never did

Holding it together

For my own good

Emotions I suppressed

You understood

This is for every kiss 

I could've savoured

And this is for every 

Smile or sigh I hid

This is for every chance 

I missed to love you

Because I honestly

Always did.

Pen, Lips, Fingertips

Pen, lips
Fingertips
Quiver in shards of light
Between these sheets
A moment meets
A gift of cold insight 

An old notebook

A whole world shook

A perfume bottle emptied

A scribbled line

A stitch in time

Saves a female tempted

An ancient urge

A conscience purged
A pleasure took place there
A grateful girl
Rejoined the world
Renewed through her despair

A discreet word
A spirit stirred
To spend a wanton hour
A pen, and lips
And fingertips

Trace a skin-sketched memoir.

This bloggy thing: A disclaimer.

So here I am. Here to write an incredibly self-indulgent blog (the clue was in the name, really) about whatever comes to mind.

I like to (need to?) write poetry and I get very passionate about music, period drama, nature, things that make me laugh and things that are just, well, hot. And sometimes I just write little expostulations or excitements in the form of a paragraph or two of wittering, which I’ll probably post here too.

I’ll warn you in advance that on some days I’m a weapon of massive consumption and on other days I’m philosophising about the meaning of life and the healing power of candlelight. Don’t try to keep up. Just roll your eyes and leave if my contrary nature gets to you. I won’t mind. Except sometimes I might. ;) Oh, and I think I’m hilarious. Apologies in advance for this. I’ve always been this way.
I use words like ‘conversating’ and ‘crunk’, because I’m half African American, and also words like ‘bravo’ and ‘splendiferous’ because the other half of me is very English. And I don’t care whether or not a word is in the dictionary, as long as I’m making some sense. Sometimes I’ll use a ‘z’ in philosophizing, and sometimes an ‘s’, and other times I’ll say gas when I mean petrol or football when I mean soccer.

A note about religion. My mum is Pagan and my late father’s family are Episcopalian, so after many years of mind-changing, and attendance at all of the important ceremonies for both belief systems, I consider myself both. Mostly because it’s so much more fun than being neither. And also because I like communion, but not wicca and nature but not the Bible. I dislike Christians OR Pagans who get preachy or judgmental. I like may poles, solstices and standing circles, but also hymns, church communities and prayers. I like whatever makes me feel closer to that which is higher than me. My favourite holy places are Trethevy Quoit, Cornwall and St. James’ Episcopal Church, Austin. I like to baptize myself in the ocean a couple of times a year. Who’s gonna try telling me that’s not holy water? See? Same same. The reason I bring this up is because if I mention God - which isn’t often - I’ll tend to capitalise the word. Not because it is ‘his’ name (note no capitalisation there), but because if pond life like George Bush gets capitals, then the universal life force of no particular gender which connects everything sure as hell deserves them. Yes I mentioned hell. You know what? Let’s not go there.

I’m fascinated by male/female relationships, the platonic kind, the romantic kind and the unromantic straight-up horizontal bop kind. I find Annalysing (geddit? wish I could take credit for that one) therapeutic and fun. I know that I probably won’t draw a conclusion, and that if I do, it’ll be wrong. It’s about the journey. And about calling drunken focus groups (otherwise known as my friends) to debate gender role and relationship theories.

If my neuroses haven’t scared you away yet, we might have a chance at something beautiful here. Stick around.

Scholar

Well I'm ready to study you friend

I'm gonna read your book til the end

I didn't read the last page

I'm just feeling my way

And then I might read you again

As long as there’s candlelight

You're printed in black & white

And sometimes grey

But that's OK

Because I’ve got time tonight.

Here goes nothing...

So I've decided to start an online collection of my poetry and other written odds and ends, because I realized I have an irrational fear of people reading my writing, so naturally, I decided to publish it on the internet. Fears are made to be faced and all that. For now I’m only inviting friends and fam to have a gander, and we’ll see how it goes. Most is personal, some is hypothetical. Some poems are recent, some were written in 2002, some in between. And no, I'm not telling who inspired what, or when I wrote what, (unless you ply me with wine and ask really nicely). That would ruin the fun, hm?