I drank a lot today
It read back to me like it was poetry
I woke up yesterday
Some other day
And the words hung over me like a scorpion waiting for a punch line to pass onto it’s ancestors
A bloody Mary
Dog of the hair
These words aren’t poetics until
I glare at that question
Maybe another time?
If I told you about the sun hiding behind those dense clouds
Would you listen to the birds
No judgement obscuring your heart echoed all kindess reverberating sans sound?
If I told you I’m hopeful your frown would disappear once those beatific rays raise a trumpet of graciousness from the maelstrom without the heartbeat of sound?
No hyperbole would I wish on your demeanour
No drama I wish to demand to demand
Upon you, the courageous.
My nature -condensates
A lady of the lake I’m bound by multiple men burned my ambitious stakes.
Causing this reality to vaporise
No slumber can awake.
I rise without the tidal waves of mayan traditions
Perhaps I forsook
I live on a continent my own maker allowed me to sew piece by piece
Grains of sand did my ancestors drown making moulds of bodies with clay.
I wish you to know my character.
I wish you to know my elements like demeter-
a mother never begets her daughter.
Never left to the scriptures of men
Neither ink forsaken
Neither word twisted by those history writers who forsake them.
their integrity .
My nature is conceived
Nor pre ordained by these seasonal flakes
These words are my own.
My love !
Don’t desert all we have accumulated of late.
I’ve tried to epitomise my mom-in a few words. No easy feat to do.
a la mode
a Panache for transforming a lifeless neck scarf into an haute couture piece -an eye for detail that makes you a formidable fashionista Godsend.
Finesse in all you do: from baking bananas loaf’s salad Nicoise or cauliflower cheese.
Woe, the day a chef attempts a bake-off with you for he’d lose his hat, all his stars and wail, mamma Mia what a mistake ah I make a. I must have caught some disease.
Self-sufficient -you can lift your bed on your own, fix your dryer, paint your home, fix the boiler. Your tenaciousness growls especially when your body dares groan: please take it slow!
Talented at reinvigorating my moods with that eccentric, warped wit.
An example: the time you thought it would be fun to pay for me to get my entire face threaded. You laughed at my pain.
I love our giggles-the side-splitting snorts are hilarious to watch and hear. It takes me back to our flare nostrils days. Who could make each other laugh first?
Your loyalty towards me astounds me, your unwavering love for me confounds me, your forgiveness impels me,
Life gives us many hard knocks -your heart nor face betrays your past pain. It reveals your altruistic complexion. A reflection of your heart. When you give you to do so freely without seeking to gain.
I’m in awe of your spiritual journey. You think I’m not remotely interested in your opinions & sentiment. Your faith is truly remarkable- a tangible contrast to your ethereal temperament.
Remember how you tell me to straighten my crown, the world is in the palm of my hand?
Remember numbers do not define a person’s character, beauty or ability to achieve greatness. I see the talent and potential within you. You should/could become an interior decorator. No age or number can dictate your dreams, hopes, aspirations and goals. The skies the limit.
Happy Birthday, mom.
I love you xxxx
My cow bells are a little bit off par
My serenade seemingly won’t separate the stars
Trees won’t surround my natural state of being.
Everything I feel
My inner sight.
I’m meant to be singing a stream of consciousness of my inner plight
To gloat I’m on another planet.
If only I knew how to consistently cope
In this moment
In this dimension
I might have a bit of hope.
A full fleshed 3 D character would awash with the flostam
Starting from the Knee deep creeping up to reveal my fragile throat.
I’m you, man.
You are me, men and women.
We’re all floating in the same boat.
In water we still get soaked.
A place we try to fathom
stake as our own.
If not to deem ours authentically
Then atleast to titillate to titivate
With a decorum of sensuality
Aaaaaaaaargh! I have been putting off this post for a while. I mean the one guy
You were the first real man I knew not some boy but a real man.
I tell myself I have dealt with the indifference. Yet, as soon as I find a way to make contact again. I let all my pride go and open my heart and soul to you. I do it publicly on social media websites. I end up looking pathetic but I don’t care.
I post things like:
I hope you will forgive me one day so we can build up a better relationship
or I tag you hoping you will comment back.
I am looking after your queen. I won’t let you down.
I comment on those silly quizzes you do that pop up on Facebook, like
WHAT NATIONALITY SHOULD YOU BE? –
ME: You got you look like a Spaniard – haha! funny I got I should be American (silence)
New comment from a friend: I got Portuguese
You to friend : you look Portuguese
I don’t want anything from you . Okay that is a lie. I only want a bit of your time, a few words once a few years.
She warned me not to go there again. I wasn’t prepared to have my heart broken again.Well, not broken but pumping with less voracity than before.
I know I wasn’t the most affable of characters all those years back. I mean what did I know at 12, 15 years old? 24 years old ? Not much.
Yet, that was when you first turned your back on me.
I know I have mental health issues and to you it’s all just,
DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA
A heads up? It’s not been a fucking picnic or tropical island holiday for me either.
Do you ever think about me?
What do you feel when you look at a picture of me? Do you look at pictures of me?
Are you so distant with everyone? We’ve been drunk and stoned together and you are a legend at Karaoke . Over the years, I have seen how you make everyone laugh…
Why don’t you talk to me when I Skype? I know I fall way down the bottom of the hierarchy chain of the many girls in your life.
To have a slice of your heart…
Well, of what is left to give. Is that what it is? You haven’t got any more heart to give?
I don’t want much… a few words, a phone call – no maybe that is too much..
Okay ,what about a teeny tiny interest in my life on social media perhaps… You live so far away and it’s my only source of contact.
Why do you reply to other peoples comments on what you post but not mine?
Why don’t you reply to my emails?
I’m not bad. I’m actually a fucking awesome person. Why can’t the past stay where it is.
Don’t judge me.
I don’t judge you.
I thought I had closed the door on ever having a chance with you again. I opened it again three months ago,, feeling we were in a more equal position. Me being older and you being older – wiser they say..
Never mind, I have googled the meaning for indifference again and read it out loud,to remind myself.
I can’t make you love me or want to contact me. I know you are going through hard times – if you must know-
we all do .
Maybe if you decided to chat properly with me I could make you laugh. We may find out we have more in common than you think.
Done with this post. Finally got it out of my head. I can move on again.
I am an adult and I choose to be happy.
I don’t resent you.
I am curious to know you.
I am sure if you let me closer, you would find I actually like you and love you- unconditionally.
But it is cool.
You are over there and I am over here.
Living our lives.
Your blood runs through my veins.
Nothings changed and that is cool too.
Indifference it is then, dad.
Lo and behold!
(A slightly dramatic introduction). However, it’s inspired me to write about my recipe for kindness. I went to pick up B from school and she thrust a pamphlet in my hand.
It’s magic,mom! Ok , I realised the reason she thinks it is magic:it is a map that requires a powerful
ancestor with a great recipe to fold it back up to it’s neat , once untouched form.
The theme: believe in yourself! I read this first activity and realised I need to do this activity more than my daughter does.
Kindness. Why not bake a cake of kindness ? Add your own ingredients?
If I had to bake my own cake of kindness this is the recipe:
4 TBSP’s of no shit taken off people who don’t reiprocate your kindness wirh the respect you value.
A generous helping of be kind to those you say no to.
3 drops of mouth sealant essence. We are born with 2 ears and 1 mouth.
Surely listening and then (filtering our words) answering is a better way of communicating because responding is more effective than reacting. Reacting is reactive. Too many reactions can become radio active. An explosion and a recipe for an unkindly disaster.
4x cherries dipped in sherbet (tart and sweet) to remind myself and others that I can be sweet most of the time but if my sweetness means they forget to sugar their cake then they may lose all of their teeth when I sweetly give them another tangy aftertaste they aren’t expecting.
The icing can’t be too fussy or too messy. Plenty colouring of all the colours I can find in my kitchen to show my values and beliefs respect all cultures, religions, genders and the rest.
1 x candle lit in the middle of the cake. So, that people who are tempted to indulge in my recipe for kindness, remember that my kindness cake will lose charm and taste if the candle dies out by being watered down or worn down with unproductive critism, respect for the effort I put into making a cake of kindness.
A solid sponge base with the ability to absorb peoples different opinions and views. It will be slightly dry to convey my dry sense of humour. Add a dollop of butter or cream ( adjust portion as needed) to subtly suggest a flavour that reminds other people that my kindness is an act based in reality My reality. Oh, and a degree of sympathy /empathy at the very least.
My dry remarks and after taste can be tempered by adjusting the measures of butter and cream to soften my natural essence of character.
The final impression I would want to leave with baking a kindness cake is :I accept that we all have different tastess and degrees of what a great kindess cake tastes like. I promise not to take another slice of another person’s kindess if it doesn’t conform to my ideals of the perefect cake. I don’t expect to force fed others another slice of my kindess if it doesn’t suit them.
My pain is an insufferable spurt of growth as your own
If I led you into my darkness
Would you you identify me as your own?
Or dispose of me if I were to say no?