Thursday, September 30, 2010

A Thank You Note To Willow

Dearest Willow,

Clive and I had a lovely time at your 3rd Annual Ball Willow Manor Ball 

Everything was divine. Your others guests were quite charming. Charles Simic whispered a sweet little verse in my ear and of course made me swoon.  I kissed his handsome cheek. Sir Anthony Hopkins and I sipped a little Chianti in the wine cellar and exchanged Fava bean recipes. Do you know he makes a dip not unlike hummus with Fava, very interesting. John Wayne flashed me his big gun. What a rifle that man has. Did you see Cary Grant, he was itching to leave from the moment he arrived. Some people just do not know how to have a good time. Lady Gaga, well what can I say about her. She makes a fine Manhattan but she best learn to keep her hands off of Clive! Oh and Zsa Zsa she had on way too much makeup. Boy did she ever hit the atomizer a little hard. 

The food and drink, wonderful my dear! I will be attending hot yoga for months.

The grounds were perfect, so many wonderful spots to link arms with your lover or in some cases, lovers. Speaking of which, this brings me to the reason we had to leave. Clive was found in your garage with Lady Gaga, who incidentally was drunk from all those Manhattan's she made and I was a little distracted by Alan Rickman. His Shakespeare recital was moving and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. Margaret took Clive out on the dance floor so that I could have a little time with Alan but Patrick was nearby and I promised him a dance too. The whole thing started to get a little heated and in the interest of good taste and in consideration of your other guests, Clive and I decided we needed to take this passion back to my boudoir.

As you can see he is very dreamy and now I must close this letter because he won't stop staring at me and I just can't control myself any longer.

Thank you for a most memorable evening.

Hugs and Kisses,


My Shoes and Accessories

My shoes are they not just heaven.

My earrings another gift from Clive

My date and yes I do think of him as an accessory

Yet another gift from Clive. I just wonder what this man has in mind.

My Dress

I know I hear it all the time, you are the spitting image of Cameron Diaz. Actually we are twins but we don't let that little family secret out too often.

Prior to My Arrival...

My evening of dancing, libations and decadence started a little before I made it to Willow Manor.  Clive Owen my date for the evening showed up a little early and he was not even dressed. He was carrying his tuxedo in a garment bag. I was actually in the tub when he arrived.  Apparently, he sweet talked my maid Martha into letting him in. Now normally Martha would not have any of it, as she is like a mother to me and very protective of my honor.  It was quite scandalous because he bribed her so she relented.
Martha posing for a photograph

The look he gave her before he bribed her with that chocolate.

He gave her the Kinschildt’s Madeleine he intended for me. Shameless as she can be at times, she popped that entire creamy truffle right into her greedy gullet and said with a mouthful of chocolate, “Won’t you please come in Mr. Owen, Miss is preparing for this evening’s festivities.”  He batted he gorgeous eyes at her and said, “Perfect and oh Martha would you please prepare us a pitcher of martini’s and bring them on up.”
“Yes Sir.”
Knipschildt's Madeleine
"The Madeleine contains a creamy truffle ganache made from French Valrhona Chocolate blended with fresh cream infused with vanilla pods and pure Italian truffle oil."

It is shameless what a tart Martha is when it come to fine chocolate. Martha being Russian and all she was accustom to taking what she could get when she could get it. You know cold war and all. Scruples be damned.

Before I was even aware of his presence, he slipped into my boudoir and lite all the candles. Earlier in the day he surprised me by sending over gorgeous white roses, twelve dozen to be exact. Martha arranged them beautifully in vases and spread them out in strategic locations in my sleeping chamber, dressing room and bathroom. The fragrance was simply divine. One of the vases he handed back to Martha when she delivered the martinis. He had removed all of the petals and placed them all over my bed. Martha was a gassed by his flagrant display of our impending faire l’amour but said nothing of it because she could still taste my creamy truffle and was willing to over look a little indiscretion.

Meanwhile, I soaking in my secret mixture of fragrance, made especially for my service, I lift my leg into the air examining its readiness for this evening’s promenade.  At that very moment Clive popped his head in and said, “Gorgeous, every square inch of you, is absolutely gorgeous.”
Startled by his intrusion I gasp, “Clive you devil, you are such a bad boy, when I leave this tub I will have to discipline you.”
“Well, I certainly hope that you intend to affect the harshest of punishments, as I have not even begun to ration all of my dastardly deeds on your person.”

“I will certainly be mindful of this when I am handing out your sentence.” And with that I stood up.  Suds and scent were dripping from my fair but lightly bronzed skin. He gently wrapped a thick luscious Egyptian cotton bath sheet around my body and lifted me. He carried all one hundred and twenty pounds of my five foot six inch frame to the bed.  His insatiate mouth engulfed mine the entire time. Our breathing and bodies became entwined. The wand of light flooded us and the animal was deeply disturbed, wavering with each full wet kiss. We fell into a world of savory love cushioned by the deliciousness of all those petals.
Now being the kind of girl that I am I pushed him back and said, “No not before the evening has begun, we don’t want to be late.”

So we readied ourselves in the finest attire and off we went, invitation in hand.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Ode to the Savior's of the Pelican

I was flopping around in the surf one day
Severely tangled, waves almost swept me away.
My wings were in bondage from a fishermen's line,
I'll be forever grateful that you all took the time.

Three great friends stopped when they saw my strife,
It was a darn great thing one of you carries a knife.
You cut me loose and cared for me,
Now I'll continue to live happily.

This is me flying free in the sky up above,
I'll remember you three with fondness and love.

Dedicated to Stephen R. Burr, Kelly Cox, and Chris Lewis
Written by Kristen E. Haskell on 09/28/2010

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

The King's Cup

Image borrowed by Google Images

He lifted with ease
A two doved golden vessel
Nestor's studded cup

Warriors Come Out to Play

Image borrowed by Google Images

Warrior’s come out to play e a
A familiar song sang not four decades behind
Yet I find myself slipped into another time
A time that is either long forgotten or lost?
Am I in a land that ever existed?
Yet, I tremble with the unease of unfamiliar surroundings.

And calm myself by singing that song now
Warrior’s come out to play
Warrior’s come out to play

Trident jewel encrusted
Sword to split a hair
Shiny mail coats my torso
Up high I sit a fair.

Roswell, my steed climbs 20 hands
He shimmers in the silvery light
Adorned with the finest of armory
The wicked he will smite
He is gifted due his bravery
Fear he is not aware,
Oh fear, he is not aware.

And I calm myself by singing that song now
Warrior’s come out to play
Warrior’s come out to play

My guardian light gifted by Aelfric,
Fae ruler, I not know he
A glorious beam sees me on my journey
Affording me the gift “to see”
Where there be friend or foe
Shifting colors warning me at every bend
Protecting us,  I tread cautiously fore we go.

And I calm myself by singing that song now
Warrior’s come out to play
Warrior’s come out to play

The forest is deep with treachery
Evil’s plot is set in motion
The trek is salty and steep
It climbs the cliffs near the ocean
Warrior’s may join or harm
The water sprite’s dangerous bite
Yet tensions have set the fae at alarm.

And I calm myself by singing that song now
I calm myself by singing alone now
Warrior’s come out to play
This warrior is ready to play.

A Scepter's Wave

Everything in my heart was placed before you
Once accepted by you no more
What fails me, too hard for you?
Never mind how it affects me.
I really had no way of knowing
I trusted the vows you made me
I kept the ones I made you.
I trusted what you knew of me and
What you knew would become of me.
How fickle you became
When your feelings changed,
Your vows meant nothing.
You play at being Queen Regnant
And I your Jester.
No longer your partner or
Equal in your eyes, no queen consort
I played for your company for decades
Ruling no longer together
What would become of us?
Do we die at the guillotine?
For that would be preferable to
You removing me from your orb
Like Jupiter’s wife Juno you waved your scepter
And I dismissed wishing to be
Beheaded instead of be-hearted.

Image borrowed from Google Images

Monday, September 27, 2010


Stealing the bottle
of my Acqua Di Parma
Not good for Karma

I decided to do another Haiku because I am having so much fun with them lately. I had hoped to post a short story for this wonder prompt thanks to Willow; however, I am not even close to finished. I hope you enjoy this little Haiku.

Image from Magpie Tales hosted by Willow

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Randon Act of Kindness Challenge

I responded to this challenge on Facebook. One of my friends, who I met on Facebook, posted this about two weeks ago. I responded but I was too late because she had such a large response that I did not even make it into the top ten. I decided that I loved the idea so much that I was going to do the same thing anyway.
First here is the challenge as posted on Facebook:
Random Acts of Kindness
The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me. This offer does have some restrictions and limitations so please read carefully:
- I make no guarantees that you will like what I make.
- What I create will be just for you.
- It'll be done this year (2010).
- You have no clue what it's going to be. It will be something made in the real world and not something over the internet. It may be a mixed CD. It may be a poem. It may be a felt mouse or some jewelry, crochet, a picture, some origami - you get the idea. Who knows? Not you, that's for sure! [not me either, at the moment!]
- I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.
Here's the fine print:
In return, all you need to do is post this text into a note of your own and make 5 things for 5 others. (This is open to everyone - those tagged were chosen more or less randomly...)

I posted this on my Facebook and here are the responses that I got.
R.D. (Names withheld for their privacy): count me in... and did you tag anyone in your note? That's the best way to get a response!
Me:  That little detail I forgot. No wonder I did not get any responses! Thanks
you are number 1! :)
M.A: Umm... I did not see this previously, but can you count me in? Do I count? :)
Me:  You most definitely count!!!! You are number 2! Just send me a private message with your address and I will have your surprise to you before you know it!
M.A.: Cool! Thanks ! :-D
R.L.Z: Neat Idea! ;-)
S.R.B:  Am /i one of the Five? Yaya! I hope Steve and yourself are doing well!!!
Me:  R.L.Z you are number 3 and S.R.B you are number 4! Send me your addresses. R.L.Z I think I have yours if you have not moved since last Christmas.
Me: I am still looking for number five!!! Come on folks you only have to make five small gifts from the heart for five other people....
Extending this to my blogger friends:
I have decided that maybe I should open this up to anyone who is following my blog. Even if you are not formally following you count. Basically if you are reading this and post a comment you count! If you want to be one of the five, I have one spot left! Now I won’t ask you for your address if you are not comfortable with that. This would be mean that whatever I make for you will have to be in a PDF format and sent via an email. I will need your email address. I would be very respectful of your email address and never ever give it to anyone else. 
What will I make you? It might be a poem, I might paint you a small picture and then scan it or I might do a short story for you. I will read your blog and all that you have posted up to 30 posts. This will help me learn more about you and be helpful in deciding what to make you. Or you can send me your address and I will mail you something.
The catch you must pay it forward and either do this within your blog or some other social network like Facebook. This is the honor system. I am not going to be checking on you to see if you do it but I hope that you will, to see the spirit of this continue. Times are hard and a lot of people are hurting this is just one way to bring a little sunshine to someone’s life. Giving is sometimes the very best way to feel a little better too, if you happen to be the one hurting.

The first person to comment that they will Accept this challenge and do everything as I have outlined is the winner. Good luck

Friday, September 24, 2010

A Letter Unsent, II

Dear Henry,
Your two year old self stares back at me with the look of a curmudgeon. I wonder at that same expression? It never left you. What could you possibly be thinking at age two? Such seriousness in that furrowed brow. You are sitting there on the ground with a little cap sliding off the back of your head, a small child-size man suit and your shoes so typical of baby shoes from the forties. You couldn’t possibly be comfortable dressed like that. I look at you and I just want to hold you in my arms until you smile. I want to tickle the baby that I see in this aged sepia photograph. I want to whisper in your ear, “the whole world doesn’t have to love you, but I do.”
A smile, you never did do much of that when I knew you. Why don’t I know you now? I want to, I long to.  You really did not give me much time to be your daughter. I saw you until I was nine. Then you left. Then I saw you on and off until I was twelve, then you left again. I got to live with you for three years and then I left, bereft. That is all the time we ever spent together. Was that all you wanted? I hoped for a little more. I don’t know what you hoped for.  Your silence seemed like you were either stuck or you need no more from me.
If you are stuck is it easier to stay stuck? Ignoring away the time? Making that first contact must seem like climbing Everest or base jumping Burj Khalifa. Maybe it is not like any of that at all. Maybe you have blocked your feelings or buried your feelings and the thought of excavating them it just too painful. I don’t know how you feel, you never told me.
I only know that your blood flows through my veins and I continue to love you and the picture of your two year old self. It is all I have to go on.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Writing A Poem

Copied from
Leonid Meteor Shower over Niagara in 1833

Words assemblage
Inside the curse and the blessing
A writer’s myriad of emotions fall
Showered like Leonid Niagara.

Wounds temporarily open
Draft not too succinctly
Revision is certain
Desired sentiment more than image
Worked and reworked.

Agony to ecstasy
Not always achieved
Relief not always felt
Pain hovering over its creator
A black cloud
A most impetuous storm threatens
Edged to a precipice.

Choosing to leaving the area
Protected only by new thought
Elapsed time is anyone’s guess.

Suddenly a candle flickers positive directional light
Immediacy must not be halted or delayed
Extinguishment its devastation
Flicker providing promise.

Banging characters
Deleting Expletives
Aggrandizing locutions
Finally words flow.

Nearing its completion
Leonid’s Niagara transforms
Stars and water now resemble
Gold pieces for the pocket
Completed and appreciated
By even one is its prize.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Getting New Stinky

Opening my own
Olfactory a scent my
Acqua Di Parma

A Letter Unsent

January 10, 2009

Dear Janice,

The day before my birthday you unfriended me in Facebook. I had never even heard of Facebook before you invited me to join. When you contacted me about joining facebook, I thought that you were ready to get to know me. I felt that if you were a little older when we made contact you would be ready emotionally to form a friendship. I realize now that you are not emotionally ready, just as I wasn't when we lived in the same town.

If you have something to say to me that is not pleasant or polite, something that made our past exchanges feel fake to you then you just need to say it. I kept things light between us because I felt that you needed to be the one to ask the questions or not. If you are angry that I placed you for adoption because you think that I did not want you, I am deeply sorry for that. I wanted you, the truth is I could not care for you. I could not have you have less than the very best for your life.

Making that decision forced me to put my feelings aside. Letting you go was devastating for me. Honestly it still is. At the time I had no skills, no job and no home. Your birth-father was an alcoholic. He did not want to be a father and made that very clear to me. I am certain the environment I just described to you is hell. I know what hell looks like. I grew up without my dad and a mother with no skills or job. She lived on the edge of an abyss and I lived there with her. I worried daily about whether there would be food, lights, or a roof over my head. I was nine when this worry settled into my bones like a necessary mineral. I was forced to live in survival mode. I had no childhood and neither would you had you stayed with me.

I have never gotten over letting you go. I am afraid I never will. With that said, I have decided that this situation is hurting me too much. I feel that I must try to let you go permanently now. I am not sure that it is possible but I have to try. Your Christmas photo signed love, Janice with nothing more is like have a wound that never heals. All year I anticipate its arrival. When it arrives, and the tears of joy at seeing your beautiful face with a family of your own, subside, I am left with a scab that has been ripped open and covered in salt. The pain is just too great.

I know that you are doing well and have a loving family and that is all I ever wanted for you.

Most sincerely,

Helena Robinson

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Unexpurgated Words

Against me your transgressions
Grow daily
There are history books full of them
Books I have only just discovered.

You’ve taken my heart
You know, the one that loved you,
Cared for you,
Stood by you,
When others abandoned.

You gave your body,
Your false representative,
Without a single thought of me.

Your cunning deceit
Kept these others from being
Known to me.
Why didn’t you spare me?
Instead you lie
Nescient you kept my life hostage
For eight long years.

After I left you
They came out of the woodwork
Your lies
A plague, each new discovery

Unexpurgated words yet
Wishing I was lady enough not say them
“You suck mother fucker!”
But cathartically saying it anyway.

Monday, September 20, 2010

My Dad My Daughter

They are like the moon to me
Waxing and waning
I am charmed by them 

They are like the sun to me
Hot tempered
I am alarmed by them

They are like the stars to me
Distant by their choice
Linked only by fate

Original poem and artwork by Kristen Haskell

Unfazed Phase Fazed

She wasn’t fazed by this phase
It was circular and came back around
Legwarmers, hair bands, neon clothes
Grass, bell bottoms, Dittos
Peace symbols, Pill Box Hats, Platforms
Beat Nicks, skinny ties
It all comes back

She wasn’t fazed by this phase
It was reminiscent of her plaintive fifteen year old self
The world is unfair, I hate you and I am not eating that
Tears, more tears and even more tears
Telephone, more telephone and even more telephone
Boys, more boys and even more boys
It all comes back

She wasn’t fazed by this phase
The stories had all been revised
Stories of old, they really were nothing new
They belonged in the category of retold
What did any of it mean?
The pain never easing
Forcing a numbing, a soul freezing

She was subtly fazed by this phase
It was the same search of self
Until the search got old
Others started to matter more
The grays were fought less vehemently
Sagacious lines grace her face.
People long forgotten were suddenly remembered
It seemed more necessary to find them
To tell them what they once meant to her
Only at the time she was just too busy with herself.

She was deeply fazed by this phase
Tears weld as almost thirty years had past
People were aging
Lives enervated by disease
Persuasions defunct and abrasive
Debts needed to be settled
Forgiveness necessary
Without, no assuage of relief
Tender mercies must be shown
Love needed to be remembered and restored
She hoped this phase was would continue unfazed

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Calling All Bloggers & Readers of Blogs

I am looking for friends who will take a moment and stop by my blog. If you like or don't like what you are reading, I would sure appreciate knowing. Please don't hesitate to take a minute and leave a word or 20 in comments. If you think my writing worthy, I would also appreciate your click on my follow button. I don't want to beg but in the words of Roger Rabbit, "PLEEEEASSSSSE Eddie!"

A Town Called Panic

This morning I woke up at five but I just wasn't ready to get up. It is after all Saturday. It got me thinking back to an easier time when weekends were not packed with chores and adult responsibilities. There was a time when nothing could keep me sleeping on Saturday morning. I had a date with Saturday morning cartoons. I had so many favorites, too many to list and I can still hum their theme songs. I remember now thinking as a child, I will love cartoons forever.

You know, I never really did out grow them, life just got in the way of any type of committed enjoyment. I don't get to watch them as often or rather I just don't take the time. This morning I decided to take the time. So I turned on my Netflix (streaming) and started watching a quaint Belgian (French speaking) Anima that was recommended by a fellow blogger. She described it as hysterical and boy was she ever right.

The character's panic was really about righting a wrong. The friendships are celebrated. I love little films like this, they are like little gems. All of this and it was really funny. Not to give anything away but the results of the Indian blow drying his headdress had me in stitches. Even my husband caught a few scenes and started to laugh.

Tag along for the small-town adventures of plastic toys Cowboy (voiced by St├ęphane Aubier), Indian (Bruce Ellison) and Horse (Vincent Patar) when they buy 50 million bricks, setting into motion a crazy chain of events at their rambling rural home. Now trekking across distant lands, they end up in another world pludged under water in this film based on the Belgian television series of the same name. St├ęphane Aubier and Vincent Patar direct.

All the characters are named for what they are Cowboy is a Cowboy and Indian is an Indian but with hyper charismatic personalities, you get the point. The way they move and what they do to relate to each other and help each other was really charming, capricious, and whimsical not to mention hysterical. If you get a chance to see this one, it is great for the whole family. It was really a clever film. Kudos go out to Ocdbloggergirl  for recommending this one. Oh and don't forget to check out my other foreign film recommends to the right. Happy viewing....

Thursday, September 16, 2010

A Tiny Message

If you like what you have read, I would sure appreciate a few more followers. I am really trying to get a post up each day, something new and hopefully interesting. I also plan to start posting a semi-autobiographical novella weekly for fun. Kind of a mini soap for the pleasure of the reader. Be on the lookout for that. Thank you should you choose to follow.

My Process

Drip silver, Labradorite, jasper and Moonstone
Floating effortlessly in a dangled embrace
Feldspar graces my page
Yet fabrication eludes me.

Earthly gifts purchased
Berthed there by circumstance
Bone, plant, mineral
Glorified for its chatoyance.

Unfruitful concentrated gaze
Purpose foiled still
Thwarted by a crevasse
Veiled with foggy vision.

A dream promises purpose
Eventual envisage be known
Inspiration awakens
Time entombed.

Not one breath taken
Until its completion.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Foreign Films

I probably watch at least two to three foreign films per week. This is possible for a number of reasons.
  •  I am a bit of an insominac. Generally, I watch these films late at night while my husband sleeps. I keep the volume very low as not to disturb and the subtitles really make it much easier to do that.  

  • Last January I purchased a Blueray player that has the ability to stream Netflix. Obtaining Foreign Films is a snap.

  • I love Foreign Films. It gives me the ability to do a little arm chair traveling for under ten dollars a month. Netflix has a fairly large library and adds new titles all the time.

  • There are a lot of great foreign actors. Clive Owen just happens to be one that made the crossover. My favorite Clive Owen film, easy "Croupier." Damn! All I can say is "SEXY!"
I enjoy reading a lot of other Blogs and I noticed that there are a lot of  bloggers who are fans of foreign films.

Mindful of this I posted a list of all my favorite five star foreign or Indie films. All of these films, as far as I know, can be streamed via Netflix. That is how I viewed them. Now Netflix will sometimes stop streaming something for one reason of another but you can always get the film on DVD.



It may seem like I hand out a lot of five stars but really I only give out the five star if something is particularly special for me. I have watched hundreds of films if not thousands. I know that taste is a well, a matter of taste but check out my list to the right.

If you have viewed something and thought it was great or not, I would love to hear your comments. If you have recently viewed something special and want to share it I would love to hear about it. Oh and one last thing don't forget the popcorn!





Monday, September 13, 2010

End of Summer Dessert

Some friends invited my husband and me to a barbeque over the Labor Day weekend. One of the other guests made this wonderful banana pudding dessert. It was so good that there wasn't one lick of it left. Believe me when I tell you that after we finished our dinner we all started out saying, "just a small amount for me please." We were all very full from a wonderful dinner of pulled pork, grilled chicken, potato salad, cole slaw, guacamole, hummas, chips, margaritas, red wine and beer.

This dessert is light, fresh and very delicious. I just got my hands on the recipe and decided to share it. It is just too good to keep to myself.  I have decided that I am going to make it for The 3rd Annual Ball at Willow Manner.

Here is a the recipe. I hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

Wonderful Banana Pudding Dessert


• 2-3 Bananas

• 1 carton whipped topping

• 1 package instant French vanilla pudding

• 1/2 cup milk

• 1 8 oz. carton sour cream

• Top with chopped pecans


1. In a 9 x 13 inch glass baking dish make a graham cracker crust. Recipe below.

2. Slice the bananas and place them on the cooled crust.

3. Mix the milk and pudding together, and whip it really well. Add the sour cream and whipped topping to the pudding mixture. Pour the pudding mixture over the bananas and top it with chopped pecans.

4. Refrigerate for a couple of hours before serving. Yum

Perfect Graham Cracker Crust


• 1 1/2 cups crushed graham crackers

• 1/4 cup sugar

• 1/3 cup butter, melted


1. In a small bowl, combine the crumbs and sugar; add butter and blend well. Press onto the bottom and a little up the sides of an ungreased 9 x 13 glass baking dish.

2. Refrigerate for 30 minutes before filling, or bake at 375 degrees F for 8-10 minutes or until crust is lightly browned. Cool on a wire rack before filling.

Friday, September 10, 2010


Photo taken 09/12/2001 Ground Zero

Three thousands miles west
I sit by the San Diego Bay
Amazed reflective praising

The sky's singular day of silence
No savoring peace
Draped in ash
A combustion of lives

Silence sans seabirds
Escorting victims home
Not one engine lends its voice
Ashamed by the fallen
Temporary slumber

History's loss list grows longer
Man once again proves
Primitive animal behavior

Will all rational thought be forced to expire?

Mapping Circadian Askew

Optimal mode
Well planned and prepared
Midnight conditions are spot on
Sleep accepts my invitation
Three thirty the spirits escort
me down 330 Consciousness Lane
Four thirty skipping toward
Morning break
Rest eludes
Six lids grow heavy
Seven exit Consciousness Lane
Eight tossed awake
Silently cusing mad
Nine I resentfully know
Where I am
Hour by Hour
Wading the mote of rote fog
Until next witching hour
it starts again.

Finding Focus

Come back to me
Creative content appreciation
Joy dare not elude
Make for yourself
Your own piece of empire
Write for yourself
Your mind's rhetoric
Clatter chatter
Clatter chatter
Stay the course
Weaving past the detour of distraction
Your masterpiece
Mapped best by stratagem

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Moving On

Magpie 31

Sitting in my wheelchair the wind is blowing all around me. No matter which direction I turn myself my hair blows into my eyes. It lets up a little, long enough to hear the faint sound of crackling. Chipping away at the bark is a small rodent with a bushy tail. Tree rats they call them in these parts and there are even recipes to prepare them. Personally, I would never eat one. I prefer my food not to have a face that I have seen. I would sooner take them for pets. Eating squirrel seems a little too back-woods for me and a little “dueling banjo” come to mind with a “squeal like a pig” for good measure. I am not from these parts. I fear the idea a little more than perhaps is reasonable since I live here now. At least I will live here for the next thirty six seconds.

The wind picks up and I start to sneeze, closing my eyes I actually enjoy this split second of a cool breeze with a hint of cut grass and rain in the warm air, signaling the end of summer. Fall is lovely here but never without a little anxiety because of the impending winter and autumn is just around the corner. This weekend is its preview. I keep my eyes closed and force my mind to my favorite season summer. It is summer still and I will not let that go easily. Yet the wind is getting stronger and stronger but I am just not interested in moving or opening my eyes. I hear a snap but I choose to ignore it. Everything changes in that moment. I no longer care about winter’s arrival, breezes or summer’s end. I feel a rush of blood and a gasp of wind expels from my mouth like lava blowing the top off of a mountain. There is a branch sticking out of my chest. It has hurled down from my walnut tree.

I open my eyes and examine the branch with its wrinkled bark, leaves jetting in every direction and walnuts hanging on like Christmas ornaments. I am not displeased. I really do not notice that the leaves are shiny on one side and matte on the other. Perhaps something I might have noticed if the branch wasn’t protruding from my chest. The walnuts are the same lime green color as the shirt I am wearing. My crimson flow is dripping into my lap. It is a nice compliment to my newly acquired ensemble. My skewered heart is sticking out of my back and smashed into the back of my chair. I hear my last beat inside my inner ear and it fades inside my throat. My pupils gained strength at impact but narrow at release.

The vision that belonged to my shell is leaving and moving elsewhere. I am sitting in a sea of transparency on the branch next to the squirrel. He eyes me no longer with suspicion but with understanding. He fully understands where I am and where I have come from. He is happy for me and grateful that I never considered him a food source. Leaving my perch, I slip into my home to see its inhabitants. They are not yet aware of my presence there. Through the window I see my former self, the shell I once was with its head dangling from its neck, eyes wide open without a look of fear or pain. Expressionless really, not happy, not scared, not anything just finished with a broken body. Relief comes over me in waves and I feel a new deeper sense of being without a physical form. Yet, I am still Herbert and I am content.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Anticipating the Ball

With much hesitation and fear of rejection
Filled with equal parts excitement and trepidation
I asked him to dance after much reflection
His positive reply completes my elation

Suprised by my query
He thought of the sea
I became rather teary
Purchase earrings did he

Then gave it to me
and what I gave him
at Willow Manner you'll see.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Checklist for Willow Ball

  1. RSVP
  2. Call Clive Owen and make the date
  3. Shop for dress
  4. Shop for jewelry and accessories
  5. Shop for Shoes
  6. Make Spa appointment for hair, nails, waxing, etc.
  7. Take a refresher dance lesson with Clive.
  8. Determine which dessert I plan to make and bring to the big event.
  9. Arrive in Horse drawn carriage (book footmen, carriage and driver)
  10. Hydrate, Hydrate, Hydrate before the big event.
Well Clive said yes and the carriage is booked!!!!

Monday, September 6, 2010

I Hurt

It is the sadness
Stagnant, distant and singular
Great works are possible
Yet in this state not probable
The supple brain accepts the vile chemistry
All hell breaks loose.
What can be done?
What measure will fix what is broken?
Guessing games
Beakers of chemicals
Completely unknown by its user
Administered by the curious
It could work or it could be disastrous.
The delicate balance sways
The cycle begins again for the umpteenth time
Sadness its constant companion.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Bitten, blemished and bruised
But it is the inside that counts
For what I provide.
The calm regular collective
The goodness that comes
From the consistency
The bite, the taste, the absorption
Discarding what the existence does not need
And providing what it does.