Another Man

My Friends,
Argentina has mourned the loss of their former president and current president’s husband Nestor Kirchner. My views on the current administration have never been forgiving; therefore, I waited for some time until I posted my poetic views on Mr Kirchner’s demise.
To those readers who see in him something I do not I beg forgiveness, hopefully I am mistaken. But these are my opinions, and as such subjective and maybe flawed, but at least they are fully mine.

Godspeed!
Lady Astor

.....................................................

A rich man passed away.
Today, it was less than a fortnight ago.
I made myself wait
Until I last dared
To write and publish
What I must say.

A powerful man passed away,
As powerful as a man can be,
As cunning as a man can be…
He wielded power with an iron fist.

Yet crying masses of people
Mourned his demise.
Friends and family of mine
Attended the grandiose wake.
The funeral of a Statesman,
A Ruler of these Southern Lands.

Yet I can’t understand
Why the slave cries
Over his Master’s death.
Does the slave not know how to be free?

Huge mass of grey crowd,
Gathers to cry beneath the rain.
This is Plaza de Mayo.
Crowds have cried in this spot,
Mothers have mourned in this spot,
For over two hundred years.

I can’t understand their weeping,
Am I too detached?
This man and his wife exercised power
Like few others before them.

They were unable, however to bring Justice,
To end corruption,
To change the backbone of this hungry land.
Yet they were apt enough
To increase their huge wealth.
And increase their friends’ wealth as well…

Hundreds of thousands grieved for this man,
I can’t understand why…
I respect their pain,
But cannot help to wonder why.

A Machiavellian wonder,
The victory of Saturn over Apollo,
A kingdom of falseness,
The tears of the crocodile,
The Isis of Osiris wears the mask of war,
The Lost Souls of the slave mind weep.

What will it be? Who will we be?
They long for a Father
Then turn for a Mother.
Nobody wants to grow up.

For some an agent of change.
For others a criminal mastermind,
For his party members a lost leader,
For the think tanks a myth to be founded,
For his family the loss of the patriarch,
For the Gods… Just another man.

.....................................................

Ages in Violence

Full perfect Moon in the night sky, a dark week down South. A dark poem for dark times. Hopefully, violence births a new Era, and silences the incessant lies.

Love as always,
Lady Astor

.............................

Worlds are created by violence
Stars are born through violence
Galaxies are formed.
Dark matter,
Interstellar mass,
Dense gas clouds in full Technicolor.

Stars are born from chaos,
And at the end of their lives
They blow up as supernovas.
Huge explosions!

Life as we know it
As the never-ending,
Intertwining serpent,
Which twirls and bites
Its eternal tail
From Alpha to Omega.

All life is born through violence.
And love is violent,
And sex is violent.
And yet, we fail to see its beauty.

Because darkness can be beautiful,
Like the forbidden taste of yage,
Doorway to the land of Gods.
But beware, beware!
Because the ancient powers
Can punch you in the face.

We are taught to abhor violence,
Even if innate to the human condition.
But do not doubt...
We are violent, because we are alive.

.............................



Death of a Star in Cassiopeia

Going Home

Dearest Friends,

You might have noticed a pattern lately in my poetry, I am sometimes incensed by the lack of reason and constant repetition of thoughts society displays. I beg you forgive my anger. I feel strongly about things, sometimes too much.

The following poem was written on the plane back home, returning from my holidays in the lovely Patagonian city of Bariloche.
I just had a lovely green tea, after a night of hard celebrations for my 10th year anniversary with my lovely husband, partner, and best friend. It was also his birthday.

Love as always,
Lady Astor

…………………………………………………………..

Going home…
Things always become weird
When holidays are over
And you get to head back home.

“Home is where the heart is.”
If this were true
I would be living in London,
Athens, Cairo or Rome.

Where is my heart?
Where is my home?
I am Ulysses
Forever lost.

I´m just a simple soul
Who tries to wear a smile
As often as she can,
Most of the time.

But to feel the scorn
Of care and love forlorn
Takes the smile away
Closeby, or far away.

…………………………………………………………..

For Manes´sake!

This poem is dedicated to fellow Argentine poet Belén Iannuzzi, in the hopes she can cease to watch the world in black and white and tunes into technicolor.

From Lady, with love

...............................................................


There is Light
In the deep Darkness
Of the void.
Stars shine
Through the shadows
Of the blackest night.

The beauty of the dusk and dawn,
In which the conflict
Of Light and dark
Becomes more evident,
Can be more delightful
Than the blinding sun,
Or the moonless night.

Yet so many yearn
For a World defined
By black and white.
Unwittingly denying
The many shades of grey
Which lie in both nature and heart.

I want to be the raging sea
That brings the bountiful catch.
I want to burn
Like the cleansing fires
That will later bring the crops.
I want to be the embodiment
Of a blazing star at midnight.

Those who want it simple,
Always yelling "wolf!"
Will never be capable
Of learning the flow,
The fire and ice,
Of the nature’s child.
Neither good nor evil,
Neither “Tis nor Tat”.

Yet you point the finger,
And believe you’re righteous,
Bringing back an Old Persian’s
Flawed and archaic thoughts.
And the nerve to call others “vintage”
In their ways and words!

When you are blind to see
Outside your own tiny World,
I tell you things
are almost never what they seem.

...............................................................

Vincent needs no introduction

Let it snow

My dearest friends,

I am now sitting next to a sleeping mountain dog, my only companion while I wait for my husband to return from his skiing session. I do not ski, so I brought over my computer to keep track of my friends and family on these idle hours.

I enjoyed these holidays very much, my first holidays in five long years. Too bad they have to end… But as I type along I think of all those who can’t afford to have holidays, those who have never seen, never will see the pure white snow cover the dirt and make it beautiful.

There is much talk about inequity in my country. And it should be an angry debate more than a talk, for most suffer in silence. But those who have the loudest voice, are the very same who rob opportunities to the working citizen, who create the monopolies they accuse others of having, who roam around the Earth in private jets and lavish jewels while hunger and ignorance surround the land they represent.

I will not tolerate the hypocritical banter of corrupt millionaires, who increased their fortune thanks to inequity. I refuse to listen to lies. I refuse to take sides. The current Argentinean government wants people to be with them by any means, and whoever disagrees becomes an instant enemy. But I dislike their enemies too, relics of a past we all want to leave behind.

I am one. I am independent. I write because I can, in the name of all who have no voice, we are all pawns in this insane power struggle. I write in English, modern day’s Latin, so my words can be understood far and wide.

Open your eyes!

Loves you always,
Lady Astor

…………………………………………………………………

Never saw the snow
Like today before.
The bright white,
Bright white light.
Like Christmas in American movies
Where everyone is happy.

I am happy too,
And still I haven’t got the fear
That grips most human souls
At the end of their short vacations.

Holidays are always short
For those who toil
In the never ending rat race
Of modern life.
For we are not rats
But human beings.

Is there something we can do
To end this game?
On some newspaper
I read about the news today.

A proven crook,
Who obediently follows
His master’s voice – a bigger crook,
Tries to scare us by saying
We are being disobedient.
He clearly never read Thoreau…

But still, there is the snow…
The pure untainted snow,
For those lucky to afford it,
Mainly people from abroad.

And the goons believe they’re clever.
To a certain extent they are.
They’re almost as clever as Adolf,
Or Josef, or Ho or old Mao.
Bang!
The shit goes down.

Today I am happy,
But tomorrow will shortly come.
And so I sharpen my pencil…
I´m going back to the field in no time.

…………………………………………………………………



Cerro Otto, Bariloche, Argentina

We must simply exchange our tea for chocolate!

The Troll

I’m sadly amazed at the levels of violence we humans are using while operating in the free arena that is the Internet. Makes me wonder how life would be if Government and State would cease to exist… And believe me this is cause of grief, because I am an anarchist, and I hate big Government.

Saddened because I encounter this behaviour daily, in posts regarding all sorts of topics, and with people of all walks of life and all sorts of educational levels. It leaves me pondering if we ever will become free of the tyranny of our egos. I know I am to blame as well, because I am also a narcissist, because I want to be right… But at what cost? That, my friends is the ultimate question.

Those in South America may enjoy a lovely cup of boldus tea, but I’m afraid it might be hard to find in the boreal regions of the planet.

My love as always,
Lady Astor

………………………………………………

I hate you
Because I think.
I know what lies within your head.
I am pretty certain,
Just by looking at you,
What is on your mind.

Moreover,
Upon checking out two words you said
I can tell the entire structure of your thought.
Where you are from,
Where you were before
And where you will be.

Because I know.
I know you are wrong.
And I am of course,
Completely right.
And if you haven’t noticed
I can tell all that, with a blink of my mind’s eye!

But you see,
I’m completely tolerant.
If someone ever thought up a statue
To commemorate the most equitable person on Earth.
My effigy would become
The monument’s grandiose face.

Your years of study,
Your abilities
Your contemplation…
Are all irrelevant.
Resistance is futile.
I am right and you are wrong.

Simple as that.
Because I might be a troll,
But I’m also sure,
I’m on the good side of the fence.
I just know I’m right
And you are not.

………………………………………………



The Troll is illustrated by John Kovalic

Friend in Light

Yesterday was “Friend’s Day” in Argentina. One of those annoyingly commercial dates that count on media manipulation, so that everyone feels guilt should they not give gifts – or phone calls, e-mails, assorted greetings, etc - away to their friends… And by friends I mean anyone from annoying peers at work to your old high school buddies.
I chose to write this poem on the day after. It’s dedicated to one of my best friends, who has also been portrayed in several other poems, which can be found in this very log.
I believe it can be better enjoyed in the company of some ginger tea.

……………………………………………………

Friend in Light
Without fright
Takes a dive
Deep in the night.

Open wide
Your curious eyes
With the spark
Of a newborn child.

Look up
At the changing stars.
Upwards is
What downwards does.

In due time
You will see
That you are
What you will.

If you will
With true love,
You will know
What you are.

Real is not touch
Taste or sight.
Real is existence
In this lower realm.
Which is not absolute.
But changeable,
Flawed
And corrupt.

But ideas are not.
They forever stand,
Perfect in the heavens
Perfect in the land.

This is the best gift
I can give to you.
As a father, as a son,
As a friend in Light.

Dedicated to Juan Sabato
……………………………………………………



Full Moon rising behind the ancient temple of Poseidon at Sounio

Pound of Flesh

Dear friends,
This is a new venture for me. Never before had I attempted to intertwine my views on local Argentinian politics with my poetry. I spent most of my adult life as an expat and therefore I was active in the society I lived in, keeping the thoughts about my homeland for myself.
But nowadays, with so much hate-mongering exploding like geysers in my land of birth, I sense that if tension is breaking the surface of the unseen, I might as well eject some turbulent thoughts myself.
Rabid supporters of the current government, some of whom I sadly count among my friends, have become angry zealots who defend dogma. I have always stood by the freak of the land, the motherless, the queer, the voiceless… So when things start to go weird, when you have to pick a side because if you don´t, if you dissent, you are consorting with everything that is evil… I choose to pick no side, but the side of reason.

Enjoy your green tea with some mint. And breathe.

Lady Astor loves you, always...

……………………………………………..

You are so damn sure.
You look at me with contempt,
Half smirk,
Shallow eyes,
Random facial hair.

You preach like the priests you hate
And outdark your foes with your lip.
Rewrite the past for convenience,
But swiftly accuse any detractor
With dirt dug from their graves.

Your flag says you stand for the poor,
Yet you side with the wealthy.
Conniving, dark, corrupt…
Relics of a past
That just won’t go.

I am the sepoy.
The traitor you must shut up,
The traitor who lived abroad
And became enamoured with the Evil Empire.
A Lady when you wish there were only pigs and whores.

You tie yourself to old antics,
Still watching the tube in black and white,
While the wild colours of the multiverse
Keep blinding newborn souls
That you haven’t yet touched.

You drone.
You ignorant.
You fool.
Just a tool in the shed of Shylock’s den
Ready to serve.

You are the heckler in my speech.
Shouting obscenities because I don’t believe.
Come up and debate with me,
Share my stage,
Wake up and be free!

Because if you want me to take sides in your binary game
You’ve lost me since the first day.
I do not perform for the blind,
So whatever you hear me say
You will only get it if you wake up and play.

I only wish I am mistaken,
I wish it just for your sake.
I wouldn’t want to be where you are standing.
When Shylock and his aging queen
Demand their pound of flesh.

……………………………………………..

The Coldest Day of the Year

No preface today, just poetry, in remembrance of Martin Inda.

....................................................


I’m brewing in hate,
The worst of all emotions.
I lose another friend
In such a short term.
I’m tired.

When you lose a friend
That sense of loss
Invades your soul.
Who will be there to tell our stories
When all our friends are gone?

All the images of times spent together
Flood my mind’s eye
In this chilly weather.
It is the coldest day of the year.
Tears warm my cheeks.

Times too hard,
Times too hard are getting to me.
And cold crisp air,
Reminds me of all those friends
Who couldn’t stay.

Who is to tell,
When the time is up?
As the Fates keep spinning the thread,
I wonder,
Who will be next in line for Athropos´s final cut?

....................................................



"The Triumph of Death", Pieter Brueghel The Elder, 1562, Museo del Prado, Madrid.

A Cycle

Hello my dearest friends,

It is with a bittersweet feeling I take up writing today. I have written about my father in this blog and dedicated poems to him as well. It is with deep sadness that I learn how to deal with a new situation, since he recently had a stroke and is going through what I consider Hell. Unable to move of speak, unable to eat or swallow… a prisoner in his own body, the stature of the proud man shattered forever.

These are times of reminiscing, times of looking at his mirror and thinking about life. What have I done with the life I’ve been given? Have I given more than I have taken? Have I been righteous, have I seized every day? The answer is difficult since we try to do our best and sometimes it just isn’t enough. I fear my father’s situation, and know for a fact he would much rather leave this World than remain as he is. The thoughts that cross my mind are sometimes so ominous they choke me with their tight embrace…

I’ll drink many cups of Earl Grey and milk, to remind me of better times, when I was just a child and everything was potential.

………………………………….

Again,
Up in the air.
Watching the cotton-like clouds
And the tidy fields
From above.

The Peace from above…
No ringing phones
No daunting news
No rush.
Only a capsule in the sky,
Suspended in time.

Times are a-changing.
Too fast paced for me
Those I have known have either departed,
Are about to do so,
Or are just growing old… (As do I)

How did it come to be?
That yesterday’s maiden
Turns tomorrow thirty and three.
That my younger sister,
Whom I held with tiny arms,
Is now with child.
That my strong, hardened father
Is tied to a hospital bed,
His essence lost forever…

So many before me
Have written about time,
The passing of time,
Its fleeting nature
And how it changes the nature of man.

But to endure it…
That’s a totally different thing!
To watch beauty fade
To be called a madam
Instead of a girl,
To lose the reflection of your own self.

These are the hard times
Of growth and endurance.
May the New Year ahead
Bring forth the courage
To accept and embrace
The changes brought forth by time.

………………………………….

Sibling Bliss

My friends,

The weather has become colder, I have moved to a new house which needs lots of work, I have been toiling incessantly, me and my partner in love and life have started a new venture with which we are not entirely content...Time rolls by as it tends to do, mercilessly. But the most important news from Lady Astor’s World is the recent marriage of my beautiful and always sheltered sister.
The church ceremony and ball was yesterday, with everyone dressed to the nines. Even Rob donned a grey smoking jacket! I was fortunate enough my sister requested I read a passage from the Holy Book - Corinthians 13 - and even when I was overwhelmed by emotion I did my best to make the words sound clear.
It was a happy day I will recall for the years to come. My younger sister is not only a woman, she is now a wife.


.........................



On Love

Love
And hold,
And cherish
And protect.

Forgive,
Forget,
Caress...
Bring forth kindness.

Create the World you live in,
Rather than conform.
The future is yours,
Live in the Now.

Two people wander,
They errantly walk the lands.
They have never seen
Each other’s face.

Until they stumble
Across each other.
And a tiny spark
Is ignited within.

It is the energy of potential.
Of “might be”.
It’s the seed of Love.

The selfless feeling,
Capable of making an egotist
Into a believer.
A gentle vibration
Which invades the Soul.

We are forever changed,
And we no longer walk alone,
When we allow the spark
To grow,
Become a Light,
And guide us through this Life.
Embrace it, nurture it,
Do not be afraid to let your ego fade.
Love is Magick.

.........................

Dedicated to Mr and Mrs Ferrari-Hernando.

The blend of love is Rosehip, a soothing tea which combined with rosehip jam - my favourite - will warm the hearts of those who reside below the Equator.

The Joker

My lovely ones,

First of all I would like to thank the lovely words I receive in comments and e-mails from those who read my poems. Some of you I met through this space, and even if I haven´t met your acquaintance yet, I sincerely hope to do so very soon.

We are all passengers in the same old ship, we share so much and yet pretend we are above or below decks in regards to our fellows. We are not, and through Art it is that Culture progresses, as someone wiser and older than myself shared in her Manifesto "Active Resistance to Propaganda", I´m talking about Dame Vivienne Westwood. I translated such Manifesto to the Spanish language a few days ago, and it will be published in Galera Magazine for the benefit of those who don´t understand the language of the Bard.

Today I will share a sentimental piece, which is unlikely in me. I rarely share poems inspired by my personal life and the sentiments I feel towards my life partner and companion. But there is always the exception, and since I thought I had lost him for good due to my foolish ways, I hereby present it to the World.

A nice energetic Chinese ginger tea should be sipped through each paragraph to greet the Year of the Tiger. This is my personal recommendation.

Blessed Be
Lady Astor



………………………………………………………


Everything has an ending
Endings being bitter
Tearing our hearts
Drowning our souls with tears.

You look at all the pieces.
The puzzle of the memories
Comes to life.
And then you see the first smile,
The very first kiss.
You were falling in love.

We were young and beautiful,
Full of hope.
And the river of pure life
Was strong and its waters deep.

The little face full of wonder,
As I saw the very place
I had dreamed of all my life – Piccadilly Circus.
And it was the most precious gift
Given to me by anyone.
And it was all you.

I became your wife,
Your partner.
I lost my innocence
In a foreign land.

We fought together
Against forces much stronger
And far wealthier than us.
We lost and we won – sometimes.
But maybe what we lost,
Was that hope we had from the start.

And the river dried
And the bridges were broken
So we couldn’t hear or see
The heart on the other shore.

We were too naïve
We thought love conquers all.
But the World…
Oh, the World isn’t built upon love!
The World is built upon blood,
It’s built upon blood and coin.

So we each fail.
And the root of failure
Is the fabric of our fears.
Our haunting childhood fears.

In me it’s envy.
Fear of being derelict.
Lack of trust.
I miss my father,
Who is too crazy,
Even crazier than my mother.

I become weak
And disappointed
With a life far too normal.
And I really hate getting up.

A job I dislike so much
Brings back resentment.
I have no time to live
I have no place to be me
Then I cease to enjoy life.
I want the time that you have!

Days are monotonous,
They keep piling up.
Until they become months…
And I keep getting up early,
While you keep waking up late.

God is the ultimate Joker.
Today I understand The Comedian.
I have everything a person could want,
But nothing I want.
And I just lost
The only person I have ever loved.


………………………………………………………

A Year

.....................................

It is today the first birthday of this little space.
A year to feel and share,
To meet new people
To weave a thread like Arachne
That links me to other worlds.

The year of one plus one
Was a year of loss,
Deception and betrayal,
Unfulfilled projects and dreams.

I became aware of my body
I acknowledged the passage of time
I went from Maiden to Matron.
Though still childless…
I grew up.

I wrote thirty-three original poems,
I aided my loved ones and learnt
Humility and compassion,
And found joy in despair.

I saw my biggest fears
Eye to eye
And realized that you can lose everything.
But when you find yourself
Nothing you can lose is lost.

I am again about to move,
In a few weeks only
I will be packing again
And changing the roof above my head.

It is the fate of some
To move, to transform, to change,
To become new incarnations
In this very world.

To all those who ever read these lines,
If they made you think, or fantasize,
I thank you for coming by.
See you later!
Good Year.

.....................................

Heat

I am much to hot to even address you my pets...

Love,
Lady

........................................

Heat.
On barely clothed refusing to work moiself.
That evil green duck on the screen
Is waiting for me to return
And keep working after lunch.

There was no lunch.
I lied.
It´s too hot for me to eat.
And yesterday I heaved over the lovely pasta I dined.

I have no pool.
Oh, how I wish for a pool!
The crystalline chlorine filled waters
Of a large man made pond.

I feel trapped in my working room.
It is the only air conditioned room
In the whole house.
And it isn´t as cool as I would want.

A large bottle of water
Lies by my desk.
I have poured a million glasses,
I feel faint…
Heat.

........................................

Clumsy

Dearest Readers,

I have decided to open up a little bit, become less mysterious and cryptic, therefore sharing some of the common pains of the Lady’s life.
Three months ago, after a disastrous summer season in Europe (only business wise) I was forced to take up a job I soon discovered I absolutely loathe. It doesn’t do anything to my self-esteem and the daily interaction with my co-workers leaves me drained. I understand in this day and age everyone – including ladies such as myself – need to take up jobs in order to get fulfilment and also money…
Yes, the dirty coin has become an utmost necessity I’m afraid. No longer a classical education in the Arts and Social Sciences is sufficient to succeed with the current state of affairs… But I digress.
Basically, what I have also discerned is that I am quite incompetent when it comes to routinely mimicking the same boring stuff.

A cool lemonade recipe for the unbearably HOT weather in Buenos Aires:

Lemon + Lime + Water + Ginger + Mint + Lots of Ice

Be well my dears!


…………………………………


My clumsy self!
I sprained my foot
And now it hurts.

It is being soothed by warm water
And lots of salt,
As it sits in a blue basin
On my kitchen floor.

Upstairs
Rob plays disco records
To practice for Saturday night.

I wish I could climb
The stairs in a flash,
But as I hurt myself
I can’t.

I wonder why have I
To be so ungainly…
I have such a will
To have it all done yesterday
That sometimes it makes me sloppy.

I bore easily
And it enhances my awkwardness.
I realize I should learn
How to become more patient
And hence, more graceful.

Although…
I am not as eager
When I read or when I write
I have also realized.

It is only when I have
To fulfil the menial tasks
I am imposed to survive.

Then, if reason comes to aid
I am pretty sure to say
I am unskilled to perform gracefully
The lowly tasks of daily toil.

…………………………………

The image portrays Lady´s own feet.

Ink Stain

Dear Friends,

A new year has started, a new decade has dawned. We are now enjoying either the cold Winter of the North, or the hot Summer of the South. As for myself, I am now in the Southern Hemisphere, following the warm weather, like I have in the last couple of years.
I will share with you a poem I wrote while flying Alitalia towards Barcelona, in June 2009, and suddenly became aware my pen had burst with the pressure.
Chilled ice lemon tea is suggested, in these unbearable Southern climates.

……………………

An ink stain
While flying over the Atlantic.
The pressure
Made the ink go pop.
Stained finger
As I try to scribble
In a tidy manner
Avoiding a possible mess.

Pen swells.
It’s a fine needlepoint.
Couldn’t handle the altitude
Of the skies beyond the clouds.

It glides softly however,
Nestled in my expert grip.
Years of practice have skilled
The touch of my crooked fingers.

Soaring through the Ocean,
Still five thousand miles to go.
Nobody yet here knows
Which way it may be home.

Easy…
Mitsubishi Pencil Co.
Maybe Japanese pens
Aren’t too fond of flying after all.

……………………