a new year begins

Love is strange yet beautiful. I am racking my brain to remember the effects of love’s anticipation…and I am left void of memories. Maybe it never happened, maybe it is yet to happen. Maybe all this time, all these experiences were preparing me to accept and recognize it when I am confronted by its knock.

I’ve been writing this poetry book about soul mates, well actually my soul mate. The book is a gift of moments, of the anticipation of love’s arrival, for you, whom ever you may be. I wonder how we’d recognize each other. How do you recognize the person you’d want to call home. I believe that line came from an Ani Di Franco's song.

I dream in voices, and I’ve heard your voice a million times, gentle and strong, whispering sweet some-things like a morning’s breeze. I’ve scattered poui petals on our bed with kisses that trace every inch of that dream…and you.

But dreams get interrupted by sunlight…so I will stand in its glory, facing the east so that I may see your face, your smile your wisdom. In the mean time, I will live my life knowing that when the universe is ready, so am I.

The personal is political and the political is universal

The Personal

I have wrestled thoughts that jump me in the middle of the night and quiet out-of-control imaginations so that I may at least enjoy sleep. But sometimes, desire haunts me as if it were a live entity, demanding from me resolution or answers, action or climaxes…and I vent to my pen, scribbling emotions, so that I may later make sense of…

The Universal

Like love and knowing. And what is it that makes us aware of someone else’s very breath, their every nuance, the way they smile or laugh, the faint wrinkles around their eyes, the way the bangles on their hands sing as they walk past, not really inviting, but definitely teasing and/or mind-seducing you, causing you to write words dripping in adjectives forgetting about commas and full stops, because you don’t want it to stop.

And then there are others who drop rose petals so that our feet never touch the ground, and yet they remain invisible to us. Their love goes unnoticed. Why don’t we fall for that? Is it that love is made too easy, too much within reach, too accessible. No fight, no gain, and no gain means no embrace, no sweet whisperings, no wet sheets, can’t get any sleep tonight moments. Except the tears for the beloved, they leave on pillow cases, illuminated in morning’s light.

The Personal

There are times when that Love/Beloved status changes, and when do I find a common ground without settling for what’s available, rather that waiting for my desire to be requited. While I wait, I am learning to love me, my nuances and my quirks, my stupid grin, my low guttural wolf sound I make when I’m thinking. My need for solitude for freedom, my moods, my grumpiness, my flowing locks, that gets in the way….ooops another story.

How can I expect someone to really love me, if I haven’t first loved myself completely. Love the goodness, the God within me, so that someone may see that hint, or hue, hear that divine sound, spark, or however people see love and attraction. I must first be my own lover, my own companion and embrace me as a whole, as loving, as love.

Throwing stones to the horizon

I've put my past behind me. Folded my memories and forced them into that draw, deep at the back of my heart. Ten years of friendship and love sliced by a gaze, seasoned by my tears and mixed in this uncomfortable bowl of disbelief. But I refuse to eat the hatred; it leaves a bitter taste that never seems to leave.

Some say it is better to have love and lost. But what if loosing is all you seem to do, then what's the sense of rendering yourself vulnerable to new possibilities. I know the word possibilities presents many variations of life and situations, but I can't help it if mine all seem to go in a certain direction, dotting the horizon as the sun places a tired day to bed.

And yes i've read 'The Secret" and practice positive thinking, but perhaps this is my fate, preparing me to strengthen my faith, so that I may one day stand firm like bamboo, with the resilience to weather life's tantrums.

Easily broken, my heart pumps tears through my veins, and still old lovers stab at my delicate mask, perhaps waiting to see me break, as they snuggle close to new love, disrespecting all that we have shared. But this is life, I suppose. The tears that run through my veins will eventually evaporate through the sweat of my pores as I toil and toil building myself for me again.

So this is the stone I throw to the horizon, finally putting this old love to sleep. The note attached says. "I wish you all the best, may the blessings be."

River