true grit...

What can I say about the poem I wrote yesterday,
that it took all day,
that it is different from any previous work,
and that it is gritty and dark,
with explicit sex and violence.

The main character directed it,
I envisioned Juliet but she turned into Lady Macbeth.
I allowed her to take control,
which caused extreme anxiety,
and total depletion of energy.

Yet it is my first completely creative piece of poetry.
So I take another leap and say I am proud of it.

catting around RVA...

Thursday evening: Worked at Anthropologie until 10 pm, drove to Balliceaux to listen to Fool's Errand and the Moonbees.

Conversations at the back bar:

Interesting young man recuperating from facial injury due to capoeira, a Brazilian form of martial arts that cominbes self-defense, gymnastics, dance and music.  This is not ballroom dancing, it is intensively physical and requires strength, training and mental concentration.  There is a well-known teacher from Brazil in Richmond with a school in Bon Air.  Tracking down information for you now...

Joined by Enzo Andimari, the man with the mellifluous voice, who has a show on WRIR and is the manager of Pane e vino near Broad and the Boulevard.  He is using his musical connections to showcase local talent on Sunday nights, no cover, and half price bottles of wine.  This week the Transitones will return from 8-9 pm.

Enzo is a buddy so we chatted, topics ranging from Kafka to Godot to the characteristics of an introvert vs. an extrovert.  Really...

The Moonbees finished their set and so it was time for me to trek home.  I had an opportunity to compliment the incredible violinist of Fool's Errand, Alex.  He seemed genuinely surprised that anyone would notice his talent.

Right outside the front door, I saw the members of the Moonbees who were taking a smoke break.  They are accomplished musicians with an eclectic style, friendly and full of good humor.  As I love to joke around, too, we enjoyed each other's company. 

Tonight they are playing on Forest Hill Avenue at CrossRoads Coffee and Ice Cream starting at 8 pm, no cover.  If you haven't heard them, it is worth the trip.

Made it home safely and ran into neighbors returning from country music show in Charlottesvillle. 

Seems like music is following me around these days...

serendipity

Finished re-reading, purging, organizing my writings,
not realizing the volume I created,
or the amount devoted to the elusive one,
so vivid in my imagination,
so non-existent in reality.
He seemed alive for those days,
we shared a lot, I felt his presence,
he saw me, heard me, touched me,
we conversed in the shadow world.

I am talented at attracting this personality type,
they allow me into their lives for a while,
and then lock me out forever.
Drawn in by the mysterious,
I am left with hurt and rejection.
Though I contemplate the possibilities,
No explanation, no resolve.

Today the process is completed,
each piece placed in its folder
and I see what I have made out of the voices in my head.
I never expected to find this strong voice.
It demands to be written on the pages,
edited, released into the world.
I've become a writer, a poet,
finally at the right place, at the right time.

A brief thanks to the spirit who inspired me to begin this process,
wherever he might be.

photo by author

summertime, the feelings uneasy...

I have fallen off the cliff into the sea of nothingness,
known as summer,
school is over, no subbing,
store hours are extremely limited,
and my friends seem to be hiding under rocks.

I'm reading and writing in the back room,
in my (wo)man cave,
and wondering where the pace of my life went,
working two jobs, meeting friends in the evenings...

I am unable to adjust, 
leaving me with anxiety, the jitters, 
pacing within my tiny house.

A lot of alone time affects my mental/emotional energy,
I grow more introspective, my socialization skills erode,
a downward spiral.

Summer is hellish -
the negatives swallow me like a rip tide,
and I must struggle or be buried in the deep.

I will survive
as I do each June to August.

Somehow, some way...

photo by author
riding the wave?

can't find my way back home....

My head is filled with scattered thoughts,
they bounce as a ball,
randomly, at odd angles, 
the paths tangle together, crisscrossing,
until I can not remember where I started
or how I arrived at my present state of mind.

It's an ADD episode
though that's one diagnosis I do not have,
I am stuck in the midst of poems, essays
directionless, clueless,
my focus off, no compass at hand.

I am anxious that I have lost my inspiration,
it's a jumble inside, a maze
and I don't know my way out.






photo by author



 

 

 

 

to post or not to post?

I apologize for not posting in a few days, but I find my thoughts extremely scattered. 

I am writing several poems and essays at the same time and yet nothing has taken shape and been completed.

I am working, but I need inspiration, creativity to make it happen. 
 
Still awaiting my muse...

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

                                                     My muse taking a smoke break...

TOD

To live in an emotional void
for a prolonged time
skews one's perception of what a relationship is,
the components, the moving parts,
what keeps it alive.


The expectations are lowered,
it continues with less effort,
providing a level of comfort.


Yet to step away, gain perspective,
it is clear the core is deeply damaged,
in an state of atrophy,
a broken heart is my perception,
beyond repair,
to acknowledge this is to be the one to call the time of death.


Did we try long enough, hard enough,
the years flash by in seconds,
so much shared, yet not enough,
it's over.




photo by author

ave atque vale

It was the beginning,
it was the end.

The kiss -
the first, the last, the only.
The feel so urgent,
the scent of him so close.
The memory remains,
the regret finds no comfort,
He is gone.

what I did on my summer vacation...

Today is day one of my so called summer vacation.  No subbing, fewer hours at the store, which means limited money to enjoy this chunk of time.


To scramble is yet another job that pays nothing and I seem to have a talent for that.  I am one of those older women who does not possess a marketable skill set. 


I have excellent people skills but people skills do not mean much in an IT world where communication is emailed, texted, tweeted or posted.  I do all these things but I know that you can not replicate the experience of being in a space with another person looking into their eyes and talking.  You miss facial expression, body posture, hand gestures, so many pieces as to how a person conveys their words or is silent.  It is valuable information that is lost.  Yet we go on to find more ways to speak remotely and fewer ways to sit together side by side.


I fear that certain neural pathways will erode from lack of use.  The brains of children will be configured differently, though other pathways will be created to accommodate the "new communication".  The older routes will become vestigial.  At some point in the future, a neurologist will query why does this exist?  Like an appendix or a tail bone, we do not use it anymore.


Because everything we must say is just a keystroke away.

photo by author

Renaissance woman seeks Renaissance man...

Basic requirements: Attractive (to me)
                                 Sense of humor
                                 Liberal views
                                 Educated
                                 In touch with emotions

* Gentlemen seeking massage need not apply*



Sometimes I wonder who this man is, if he exists,
is it someone I already know,
but have never considered in this way,
or someone I've yet to meet,
a serendipitous meeting,
by chance, fate,
when the planets are aligned
and Mercury is (or isn't) in retrograde,
and the universe is primed for this event?


So many variables timed exactly
to the minute, the second,
that we see each other and it is magic.
My heart races,
my ability to speak in full coherent sentences flies away,
and I stare into the eyes
of a handsome creature who either
does not notice me or dismisses me
as not "in his league".


He has standards that I can not possibly meet,
pretty younger women waiting, etc.
Yet he is concerned that no sound has come
from my mouth though I continue to stare.
He says, "are you alright?",
I respond, "yes, fine, sorry to stare, thought I knew you,
you remind me of someone, can't remember who,
don't mean to bother you, I should go",
All these words run into each other,
so quickly, compressed speech...


I am trying to gracelessly remove myself
from this embarrassing moment.
Obviously "the magic" is one-sided, no reason to prolong it,
Escape is my goal, I must move away now.


But suddenly there is a twinkle in his eyes,
a crinkle of crow's feet,
followed by a smile,
My heart races yet again, is this a good sign?
Or does he have something in his eye
and is grimacing from pain?
No, it's a genuine smile...


Might this happen, a remote possibility,
the older I get, the less assured of my ability
to attract a man of interest,
Time is against me, gravity as well.
Serendipity? how often do circumstances collide
to create such an opportunity?
Statistically infinitesimal.
A fantasy, fiction it is...

photo by author

                                                                     could it be?

meu fado

Tonight I listen to fado, folk music of Portugal,
of suffering, loss and passion,
I wonder what is meu fado.

My poetry has taken me to places
I've not travelled to in many years,
to the chase, the pursuit,
to living with my husband and the shadow of a lover
under the same roof,
so naïve as I reached out, sure the ending would be different,
instead the same, a few cryptic words,
only disappointment,
I saw so much within him for the future, sad.

Others came after, some brief, some long term.
There was one who swept me up with his poetry,
the romance, full of creativity, soul mates,
yet he suddenly snatched it all from me,
leaving me with bits of him and letters,
words, an infinite amount,
full of conflicting messages that pulled me close,
only to push me away,
too much pain, he needed to be left,
to feel his own open aching heart.

Finally the resolve to move on,
toward normalcy, sanity, a new man,
exciting but solid, a safety net after a long free fall,
the right mixture, true love, many good years together,
yet even that changed, burnished like an old penny,
still dependable, but the thrill dissipated.

So must I settle or trade the known for the unknown,
more of a gamble now,
my powers of attraction diminished, my skills rusty,
do I want this nameless, faceless man of mystery 
or the reassurance I've still got "it",
I lack the answer,
deep in contemplation, my mind exploding,
a misstep could unravel an intricate tapestry,
years of stitching, just one loose thread...

Meu fado...

the evolution of anthrofashionist

the pseudo Judy

 

no makeup, Judy blue curler

close to present day

 

 

 

the ghost of Judy to come...






this is me for all to see,
how about sharing a bit of you?

a comment or two would do...
is that too much to ask for baring my soul?






 

a brief respite...

I lay me down at night,
there's more to do,
this a brief respite
before another busy day.
The last week of the triple event
of subbing, retailing and writing,
Subbing in its final days,
retail diminishing till the fall,
yet the bills remain constant,
the little fixed income has farther to go,
spreading it amongst the many
asking for the same monthly checks.

The house says clean me,
the full grown dust bunnies are ready to be swept away,
the clothes in piles say hang me, fold me,
the bed yells find me,
under all these unorganized pages of poetry,
which say file me,
and last but most important,
the words in my head say
let me out, write me, express me,
make me into a poem.

mood board in need of fresh inspiration

Mean boys....

Mean boys,
who says that only girls act this way?
Boys can be just as cruel.
If you're different,
if you don't walk the walk
and talk the talk.
The walk belongs to jocks, sports driven,
the talk is cool, in the know,
and if you don't have "it",
you're not accepted, ridiculed.
I saw it today,
I recognized it as I was once part of the "out" group.
I got by using my sense of humor
and quick wit, it saved me,
and my smarts, which brought me respect,
okay, I missed some parties, cigarettes, alcohol,
definitely proms and boyfriends...
But I found a niche and made it through high school
without major bruises, more or less intact...





photo courtesy of photographer on tumblr 

 an example of stuzzi
(not the boys I saw recently)






 

a celebration of sorts....

Thirty years together, incredible,
so long and yet still parts unknown, secrets untold,
how can it be within this length of time?

Amazing, the many pieces of each personality,
like the many crevices and ridges
within each area of the brain,
who knew that it was so deep, so complex, so rich.

Unexpected that there is more to learn at this stage,
but my hypothesis is that it will never all be known,
layer upon layer, rarely, ever,
does one reach another's core,
though close perhaps,
and gaze at the center of another being.

 

electrical impulses...

 

 

 

 

 

 

hello?

anyone out there?!

sending out an SOS...

Judy

just do it, part III (can you do it?)

Okay, I've made a commitment to writing,
sure that many are shaking their heads,
poetry, at her age, really?

Now, I'm asking something of you as my readers.
I need your feedback,
to know what you think honestly,
Leave comments, start conversations with me,
I want to hear your voices.

You know much about me from my writings,
can you share a little of yourself?

 

my well organized work space






 

not enough...

I'm feeling the urge again,

the longing to be touched, to be held,

to be enveloped by another warm human being,

to be caressed, to be cradled,

to fall asleep within someone's arms,

to wake up in those same arms,

feeling safe as I look into those eyes,

eyes that know me well yet don't know me at all,

soft eyes, deep eyes, hungry eyes,

yes, I feel the need for all of this and more,

to be wrapped in a tangle of arms and legs,

where does one begin and the other end,

melted together,

sweet and salty mixed like kettle corn

and I can't have enough...

 

 

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