It's Fashion Week in RVA,
get out the Canon Rebel,
charge the battery,
ready to take shots.


Refocus from the poetry to fashion,
renewing my first passion,
the apparel, accessories,
saturated colors, textures, patterns,
Chatting with the fashionistas, fellow bloggers,
getting tips from the photogs,
the whole wonderful experience.


The pix are still challenging,
capturing motion,
and if you miss it, it's gone.
Each photo says so much,
as long as it is clear, crisp.


The text comes more easily
more playful than the poetry,
no parsing over each word.


The networking is fun,
how to become a recognizable face,
though being older distinguishes me
from the mass of 25 year olds.
I wonder how they describe me,
the older blogger who still dresses well?


But the important matter is the convergence
of fashion, poetry and photography,
how to morph them into something that will bring interest,
she's one to follow, good content and photos, fresh perspective.


It will be an experiment, trial and error,
to find the mix that appeals, resonates,
adolescents, women, young and older,
find something that speaks to them.
My instinct is to be inclusive, not exclusive,
though my stats go up and down,
it's hard to know why one poem works,
another not so much.



I'm still finding my voice,
what I want to say and how to express it.
My heart is in it, my intuition is good,
and stay with me on my journey?

RVA Fashion Week Kicks Off in Carytown...

 

AlterNatives

 

The Glass Boat



 

Ten Thousand Villages

 

 

 

 

fab'rik

 

the RVA Fashion Week team at the Mezzanine

Sunday was a beautiful, sunny day, perfect for a stroll down Cary Street to view apparel, accessories and home at four unique boutiques.  The schedule was staggered, one per hour, starting with AlterNatives, to The Glass Boat, to Ten Thousand Villages and finally, fab'rik. 

I enjoyed each of them and plan to add them to my list of Carytown favorites. With the sun still shining, we finished our tour at the Mezzanine Restaurant for some refreshments, networking, meeting new folks, reconnecting.  The topics, of course, fashion and photography.

It was a successful beginning for Richmond's 6th Annual Fashion Week.

 

RVAFW

As those you in the know are aware, this is Fashion Week in RVA.  So my blog which has been hijacked into poetry, will be focusing on fashion. 

 
I'm working on the next post, but it's late at night, I worked at school and at the store and attended the meet up at Tobacco Company.  So full of excuses, I hope to post tomorrow....


See you on the other side.. G'night.

photo by author

In perspective: The Geezer Incident

What to make of my recent encounter with the geezers?
Honestly, I'm having difficulty with it,
Letting it go, laughing it off,
Saying what the hell, a chance meeting.


It still smarts, that I looked like a prospect to them,
But wait, there is a new intel, 
This group moves in a pack to the same rhythm regularly,
Heat-seeking missiles looking for refuge.


So the problem is them,
They are sleazy old men, with one goal in mind,
And small blue pills to help them accomplish their mission.


I'm not ready for the trash bin yet,
Not so old that someone might be interested in more than a conversation,
I just need a little validation,
From a man with hair on his head, not liver spots.


Yet I let them take me so low,
My ego was so fragile,
But it has been boosted by insight into Italian machismo,
And so I regain my perspective.


I am able to say loud and clear,
You are not worth my time,
You have been erased from my memory,
And that's the way it will remain.
Sorry, boys, but this girl isn't interested,
Not now, not ever.


Vaffanculo!

A day in the life of a sub...

Chatter,
Boys, silly, freshmen boys.
I spoke to them,
Words entered their ears, exited their ears,
Straight shot, 
little gray matter to block the aural vibrations.
Such a shame that they can not concentrate,
The result: I can't concentrate.
They go on and on,
I guess they think I am deaf or incredibly tolerant,
But I am neither.
I summarized their behavior for their teacher,
Consequences will be imposed.

Quelle dommage...
I know your job as an adolescent is to rebel,
But another job is to be educated,
which is in my responsibility today,
It can not be accomplished if you chatter all the time. 

 

attempt at communication

 

 

photo by author

Snapshot

A snapshot into a life unknown to me until this afternoon.
An adolescent girl gets out of a car and speaks to the driver,
"Love you", once, twice, three times, four,
I assume the repetition because there is no answer.

It wrenches my heart to hear her voice,
each set of words a bit louder,
as if the driver can not hear.
But I am yards away and it was clear the first time.

We make eye contact, she knows I have overheard her plea,
yet she continues as I move away,
unable to help her, to elicit the response she wants.

And I relate to her pain,
I walk in her shoes,
It hurts, it hurts deeply,
I wish I could change it for her,
she is too young for this,
But when is one old enough to handle it,
I haven't gotten there yet.

 

 

 

photo courtesy of author
from Art Show at Bus Barn on Robinson/
summer 2013/artist unknown







 

.

reflections....

the Sunken Gardens

 

 

 

 

 

the Wren Building

 



doesn't look all that different....



portraits of William & Mary, inside Sadler Hall

 

 

 

 

 

skylight inside Sadler Hall

 

1974-2014

We were all bright and shiny like newly minted pennies,
entering into the circulation of a larger world, an adult world,
after being nurtured and protected by academia for four years.

Anxious to move on, live life,
We didn't anticipate the bruises, heartaches along the way,
with the achievements and contributions made.

Ou sont les neiges d'antan?
The years have come and gone,
We are a bit tarnished, yet with a rich patina,
As we reflect upon the time passed.
                                                       

                                                                          Copyright pending Judy A. Melchiorre





 

Take-out, anyone?

An evening out alone,
Worked till 10 pm, closed the store,
I anticipated a drink or two, some food,
maybe some conversation.
But not to be targeted by three old men at the bar,
It was such a punch in the ego,
Do I really look that old?


What's next?  I don't want to think about it,
blinking back tears that pool in my eyes,
"You know women, emotional",
they would whisper among themselves.
Not realizing that they are the cause.



They were gentlemenly in their approach,
 But it was a aha moment, a reality check.


Perhaps I'll get take-out next time,
and stock the bar at home...

Expectation...

The problem is expectation of rescue by another,
She has to rescue herself,
Take on the responsibility,
Name the elephant in the room.


And why they will say, he's such a nice guy,
any woman would be lucky to have him,
What does she want? 
Something about affection, love,
Of course, he loves her,
he just mowed the lawn, she needs more?


And there it is, the outward signs for all to see
But none of the intimate one to one signs exist.


For him, affection and sex are the same,
For her, they are related, but not the same.
How to explain the connection between the two?
Math, no, sports, maybe,
the man hits the golf ball into the rough, near the 18th...


It makes sense to her,
But his mind works differently,
And perhaps it's just a bunch of words and feelings,
they are irrelevant to him,
yet they mean everything to her.

Stuck....

She is stuck,
She wants someone to come for her,
but there is no one.
She wants to run to someone
but there is no place to go.


It's like being on an elevator,
between floors,
Neither up nor down,
No movement.
Time goes by,
waiting...
Is anyone out there
who cares about her situation?
She is in limbo,
Until the current comes back.


No worries...

wannabepoetX

An expressive spirit has caught her
and transformed her into a wannabepoet.



A conduit of thoughts and feelings,
past, present, fact, fiction, intuition,
some have lived with for years,
other brand new,
she is unaware of their existence,
until her pen strikes the paper.



She shares these stories in her voice,
images seen in a certain light,
interesting words cobbled into phrases.
Some are more personal, sensitive,
near to her core, the strands that make "her".



It's freeing and frightening to be viewed
so closely by unknown others.
She is not sure of her direction,
But she does not fear losing her way.

photo by author courtesy of Jean Paul Gaultier exhibition at Brooklyn Museum

Lost...

Lost in the deep, dark ocean
on the landing strip of Neptune,
waiting to be found.



The passengers have crossed the River Styx,
accompanied by Charon, ferried one by one.
The mystery remains, how did the plane arrive at this place,
not by their choice, another decided upon this grave.



The pings continue, though their quality degrades,
attempts at triangulation to raise it up into the light.
Farewells to be voiced, grief to be expressed,
bodies to join with spirits, families to release their hold.



Not to be forgotten, the plane that vanished in 2014,
despite the high tech,
the skills and determination of so many,
the pieces of the puzzle do not fit.
Not to know the answer,
acceptable, no, reality, yes.

 

photo by author

I need you now...

It's a quarter past one, I'm all alone
And I need you now.


This song by Lady Antebellum keeps playing in my head.
The problem is I don't know who you are,
Are you someone I've known for many years,
someone in my memory bank,
or have I not even met you?


How will I recognize you, know that you are the one?
What if you are already here, but I don't know,
have I wasted previous time...


Or maybe there is no one coming,
no romance left,
I've reached my quota, used up my chances,
how sad that I didn't realize this earlier
when I coulda found someone,
those precious last years of attractiveness,
before gravity hit with a vengeance
and it all dropped at once.


No more second looks, slow smiles, heads turning,
no more miss, it's ma'am all the time,
no longer an object of desire.


Such a transition within these months,
I no longer know the woman whose face is reflected in the mirror,
She is not allowed out of the house
without her make up
Oh, it takes a while
to create the face the public views.


Aging is hell and whoever said it can be done gracefully lied,
it's a major change to see yourself in this new light
that shines directly from above...
and I'm not referring to heavenly light.
  

the voices in my head...

What's left to say about this crazy situation,
I don't know which way to turn.


The voice that needs safety and security
says stay with who you know,
he will be there for you.


The voice that needs love
says find it now, hold fast to it.


The third voice, the bad girl,
says what if you stay and stray,
can I lead a double life,
lie and cheat,
yet smile as I betray,
Selfish, self-destructive,
or a matter of survival, life.

keepin' it real....

My last poem, Enough, is all fact, no fiction, my life, laid bare, wide open.

It started as a riff from a recent read, Orphan Train, by Christina B. Kline, which is fiction based on fact.

Though my experience is different,
the basic theme of abandonment runs through both.

I know others who have been able to leave this behind,
But it remains an issue for me,
A thread throughout my life.

Am I good enough to keep,
if not, will you send me back to wherever...

Though there is no place to return me
nor anyone to take me

Which brings me full circle...





If anyone would like to comment or start a conversation about this, let me know.

Enough

Why am I left out,
tired of tales of happy reunions of families and friends,
the abandoned, finally accepted.


I have reached out to my birth mother, my half brother,
no response,
More recently, an old boyfriend,
to be met with deception, followed by silence.


Am I a creature whose presence leads to havoc and destruction,
Powerful, a façade,
look more closely, I am lost and alone.


To lack an explanation, some reasoning, baffles me.
By nature, I search and piece together the story.
I chose these challenges,
not realizing that I sought those who did not want to be found.


I have a compulsion to say one more try, 
they'll understand,
to belong, to fit somewhere, a small niche,
no longer in the periphery.
Yes, this is my daughter, my sister, my old friend.


But it doesn't work that way,
it is more rejection, heartache.
Hitting walls of brick and stone,
dizzy as a losing boxer, against the ropes,
and no closer to a bit of truth.


It creates a void of pain,
The time has arrived to admit that I will not solve these puzzles,
I say enough.

photo by author

on the outside, looking in...







 

kickin' it

A faded image from years ago,
long brown hair, glasses, nice smile,
intelligent, kinda shy, uncertain of herself,
not yet a woman.


It seems like yesterday and at the same time so long ago.
Not knowing her path,
how it would all turn out,
so many choices then,
the world wide open.



Fewer choices now, a narrow number of years left.
some options gone forever,
opportunities that can not be recovered.



There is some sadness, what might have been,
one decision to the next, moving her to where she is today.
But still learning,
open to new experiences,
fashion lover, stylist, photographer, blogger, writer, teacher.



Creating new neural connections,
info transmitted synapse to synapse,
who knew she had the potential,
She surprises herself sometimes
Still kickin' it.

 

 

photo by author courtesy of Jean-Paul Gaultier exhibition at Brooklyn Museum 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bates Motel/Vacancy

His emotional state so vacant,
He hasn't noticed that she's been gone for weeks,
More and more time in her creative space.



But he hasn't been the focus,
Her thoughts and feelings elsewhere,
He has no capacity to read them,
As if in a foreign language,
he missed in high school.



Not sensing her vulnerability,
how easily she could fall for a touch, a word,
and lose herself in a careless moment.



Overcome, tumbling,
till she reaches a place rich in emotions, intimacy,
how cruel to tempt herself with such images.
Her reality so disparate.
Dizzy for a brief respite,
from the airless, blank walls that enclose her.

stand by me...

 

 

Yesterday I stood before a large group of students and faculty at a local high school,
and shared one of my poems with them,
Revealing more of myself than they know,
More than my husband knows.
 

I spoke of emotional vacancy,
My craving for affection and connection.
My courage resulted in validation, something I valued was valued by others.
Have I finally found my way, such a serpentine passage,
But I'm here.  I just need the rest of the world to recognize it.

intro to stand by me...

I should have posted this because it explains the circumstances of reading one of my poems in public for the first time.  It was scary and exhilarating.

It resulted in the posting of both stand by me...
and Bates Motel/Vacancy.

Hope this makes more sense now.

Judy

ave atque vale II

Damn this shadow, he refuses to depart
Haunting the periphery, a brief glimpse,
why is he here? what business undone?



Must she banish him from her mind, her creative spirit,
perhaps he wants to return to that small place in her heart
where he resided for so many years.



What's the purpose, 
a reminder of what might have been,
but has no chance in present day, regrets.
She struggles to understand his reluctance.



Or is it self-inflicted,
the inability to loosen her grip on a dream,
to own her part in his existence.



Yes, she must stand and face him
as the woman she has become
and say be gone,
She decides who deserves this precious real estate
and he no longer belongs.

ave atque vale...

photo by author

the shadow...

How to say goodbye to a shadow given breath
through her writing and her memory,
part fact and part fiction.



His presence filled the room,
where she thinks, writes, draws, creates,
they talked, laughed, danced, kissed,
and separated in silence.



The poetry is edited, inked,
Yet she's conflicted over the parting words,
stay a while longer?
No, it's time for her to move on,
And it's time for him to leave,
As if she ever had him.










au revoir, mon ami....

                                                      photo courtesy of Polyvore





Rebuff redux

How can she feel like she is 20 again,
waiting for his response
after so many years.



It's unsettling,
her expectations -
a conversation,
her apology,
listen to his side of this story,
the disconnect so rapid,
the end so abrupt,
without a word exchanged.


She may have to live with it
as it is.
For him, no reason to process
this event of long ago.


Over, done with, insignificant,
No memory
that would be the coldest cut,
no place within his heart.


Despite her resolve, the feelings of the past rush in,
it's wicked to experience this twice.


But that's the price for taking the chance,
hoping the odds in her favor,
no more excuses,
her ability to forgive sapped.



It's difficult to accept the silence
ringing in her ears, almost deafening,
With time, it will lessen.
the scar will heal again within her heart.

 

 

in the midst...


photo by author, courtesy of Jean-Paul Gaultier exhibition at Brooklyn Museum

exorcising demons...

Dear readers,

My blog has taken a poetic turn and I've been posting poems rather than pix.

I have some loose ends to tie up, but I'm getting there slowly. I didn't realize the depth of what I was getting into, but I know now.

So bear with me through a few more posts and I'll be back.  But remember that I am widening the scope of my blog and there will be more serious writing and lifestyle than previously.

I hope you'll stay with me through this.  Your support would be most appreciated.

Thanks.

Judy







 

through this serpentine window to the other side of light