A pilgrim heart

Happy 2013!

They say a new year brings forth new ways of expressing ourselves and viewing the World.
This is a little experiment in the spanish language. As you know, I´m an Argentine writing in english, however at the behest of certain friends I have tried to write a poem in the language of my homeland.

For my usual english speaking readers, it might be a nuisance to translate, so I´ll try to upload a translation shortly.

For those of you who can read in spanish... Hope you like it!

Love, tea and cakes
Lady Astor

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

Corazón Peregrino

Siento en mis alas

Una leve brisa,

Y en mi interior la llama

Que advierte la cercanía

De una nueva aventura.

La necesidad de recorrer,

De conocer, de observar

Nuevas tierras, parajes,

Estados de la mente.

Siento mi cuerpo vibrar

Ante la necesidad imperiosa

De levantar vuelo.

De cortar con la incesante rutina

Y volver a mis raíces.

Mi esencia nómade y curiosa

Que desde mis primeros pasos

Me llevó a buscar más,

A querer mirar más allá.

Hay quien se conforma

Con un cómodo nido,

Y el alpiste suficiente para sobrevivir,

Aunque rodeado de barrotes

Y espejos que impiden mirar hacia fuera.

Yo en cambio prefiero el vuelo,

Mi ser se ennoblece en el viaje,

En la caricia del viento sobre la carretera,

En la predicción del kilometraje.

No vivo feliz en confortable domesticidad.

Me asfixia cualquier lugar

En el que me vea obligada a permanecer.

No entiende de lealtades,

Mi alma peregrina.

Siempre buscando el cofre de oro

Al otro lado del arco iris.

Inconformista pero nunca ingrata,

Llevo conmigo los recuerdos de cada lugar.

Pero mi corazón viajero

No soporta el terrible destino

De encontrarse varado en un puerto,

Para ver la nave echar anclas,

Y dormirse para no zarpar nunca más.

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

The Original Tea Party

Dear Friends,

The year was 1997 and I was working as a secretary and translator for a Sports Association in Buenos Aires. At the same time I was studying Philosophy at the University of Buenos Aires. I didn´t own a computer with Internet access back then, so I would get to work an hour early just to log into the World Wide Web. Everyone takes it for granted today, but back then it was like a huge door opening in our imaginations and our minds.
I had recently read Tom Wolfe´s "The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test" and had become infatuated with Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters. So one morning I logged into the Internet and through Altavista web searcher I was able to find the official Pranksters website http://www.intrepidtrips.com I was ecstatic!
Soon I decided to write a poem for Kesey, which I did and send and... Alas! Much to my surprise, on the next day I received an answer from the man himself, saying he had liked it so much he posted it on his outhouse (with hammer and nails) so he could read it every morning.
Over the years I continued corresponding through e-mails with him, Babbs and his son Zane, until he passed... I haven´t written often in the past few years, but I will always remember Kesey´s gesture.

So, grab a pitcher of ice cool lemon tea and see if you like it yourselves! This poem was the first step in what would become to Lady Astor´s Tea Party (which has NOTHING to do with other tea parties across the World) and I wrote it when I was only 19 years old!

Love,
Lady Astor

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

Bossanova beat

Is out on the street

Les gents s´en vont dans le ciel

Et tout le monde est três jolie.

A girl kitten is out in the alley

And the wide-eyed children stare at her

She is the light,

She is so bright!

The sun comes down

And the alley becomes grey

A high Lama emerges from the mist

And touches the kitten girl.

Everything turns into pink and golden rays

The Lama is old,

But his skin is not cold;

Blue animals transform the path

Of dusk into stone.

The icy face of the night

Gives place to a cheerful reunion,

The children set up a tea party,

And everyone is invited!

Blue tails of the animals laugh

At the smiley eyes of the Lama,

The kitten girl pours twenty teacups

Of boiling frenzy...

Her hair is golden and lights up the alley.

Young girlish boys paint kaftans

With the Lama’s face in them

A very young queen

Offers jewels to the children.

They get hungry at some point

And so the young boys cater

A feast of muffins and pudding

For all those who want them.

A graceful silver pony

Eats pudding from an emerald plate

While the wide eyed children

Comb his hair and caress his body,

The Queen sings hymns in ancient Persian...

And then everybody dances

And the alley is so lovely

That flowers start to rain

And perfume the dancers.

At the rosy hour

The Lama decides to part,

Not without kissing the kitten girl

And leaving a purple mandala on her cheek.

The dawn has arrived

And the feast vanishes into a shawl of stars.

The children arrange the place and leave,

The Queen rides the pony towards the north,

And the girlish boys set a velvet cart.

Meanwhile, a giant wild orchid blooms from the ground,

The kitten girl sits inside

And emerges as any girl

That walks the Earth

She gets up and puts on a little dress,

And as she strolls down the angry streets,

Little pink stars pour

Every time she waves her hair.

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

A Journey

Dear Friends,

I recently received a gift, a marvelous gift, from a friend. He was able to extract many of my old poems, short stories and even the skeleton of a novel I started writing when I was 19, from an old derelict hard drive I had been keeping beside me since 2006.

The aim of this discovery is to finally publish a collection of my favourite works, in order to "publish or perish" as they say.

This is an example of the lost words I had been keeping in a digital box for such a long time, and it feels as relevant now as it was then. So I hope you enjoy it.

Love as always,
Lady Astor

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

Win or lose,

Fight or perish...

As this we count the hours

Which die and take us with them.

Where we are heading

We know not,

But wander in the semi-consciousness

Of our reality.

What you believed in

Has now changed

And so you built bridges

In your aim to understand.

But divine certainty

Cannot be understood by man.

So you thought you’d educate yourself

By the means of a journey,

Only you did not know

Which way you’d travel to.

You were guided by the stars,

The sun and moon,

And to a fortunate place you arrived

But to stay...

Oh, no, you were not allowed.

It was an old scattered picture,

A memory from your childhood,

When you didn’t care for time,

When the mirror you feared not,

When the world surrounding to your self belonged.

With sorrow you were due to part,

We need to evolve,

Not to rest in pleasant times.

You knew the journey was hard,

Incoherent faded figures

Came across in thunderlike speed,

It didn’t matter,

We have to overcome our fears.

Then to a sordid,

Deserted landscape you arrived,

Cool as the Arctic it was,

But wisdom and knowledge you were promised

And you got tempted by that.

Oh, it was very much lonesome,

Existence in such icy grounds,

Deprived of any companions

Was obsolete the understanding you’d found.

Your days were, we could say,

Cemetery like,

And you decided in that place

Your journey would not end.

Again you were not aware

Which way would be best to take.

This time the road wasn’t wide

And walking through it was hard,

And so were your heart and soul

The guides for your steps to come.

And finally, when you were beaten by tiredness

And your legs refused to hold you,

Yet you looked above and beheld eternity

With colours that blinded your senses.

Your soul jumped to the sky

And you landed on the ground,

Where you held the hand of love

Which felt like fire.

And though the journey wasn’t over yet,

Floating you found a new way.

You will walk from the first step,

A way that is every way,

A way that by souls is paved.

Barcelona, March 15th, 2006.

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

Everyone feels emptiness inside

A poem for a rainy day...

xx
Lady Astor

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

Everyone feels emptiness inside.

From the Mother to the Bride,

From the Father to the Child,

Everyone feels emptiness inside.

Through a week of pouring rain

Drumming ceaselessly in my head,

I walk restless through the house.

Watch some TV, lie in the couch,

Sip some tea while rain hits the grass.

Looking at each others face

Little to dream and nothing to say

Fed up with this Suburbia

We thought good enough to stay.

Everyone feels emptiness inside.

From the beggar to the rich man,

From the beauty to the old hag,

Everyone feels emptiness inside.

Ghostly smoke invades the room,

We exchange glances as we share a spliff.

The inane voices emanating from the television

Drone on and on and on.

You express dissatisfaction with the status quo.

What do you get the man who has everything?

A glimpse of the past,

A long lost forgotten dream, perhaps?

Or a spark to ignite a new start

Do not fret, because you’re not alone.

I’ve been here before and I’m certain

I’ll be here many times more.

Everyone feels emptiness inside.

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

Waiting for Summer

Hello Dear Ones,

Have you missed me?

Much has happened which has led me astray, but as you will see from the following ramblings, your Lady is due a well-deserved holiday.

Love and Earl Grey,

Lady Astor

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

Swimming in my isle of Mars,

Floating in an ocean all my own.

Aimlessly drifting through days

Until at last I reach the shores of freedom days:

My holidays.

They always come on exact opposite dates

Than those enjoyed by the rest of my countrymen.

So to bask in the summer´s idleness

I must always head up North of the Equator.

A dream trip this time around.

The California highway,

Soaring near the surf for weeks

In a high speed American made machine,

Hoping to recapture the spirit of my adolescent desires.

Constructions from a misguided mind,

Who´s read far too many books

And inhabits the Land of Nevermore

From which she refuses to return.

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

I loved you well

Dearest Friends,

In view of the gap forced on me by a quite hectic 2011 I plan to take on a more active stance in the current year of 2012. Will it mark the end of the World as we know it? I do not know. I wish for change however...

Still warm as Summer´s almost gone, I sip a glass of lemon ice tea, with a twist of ginger. And breathe.

With Love,
Lady Astor

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


You know I loved you well
And hid my face amid your thighs
When I was but a child
And there was only you.

And there were mysterious books
And Playboy magazines
Sitting on the upper shelves
Of your library.

I would climb like Mowgli
To retrieve a copy
And would hide it
Underneath my mattress.

I would worship your records
Believing they were very important
And would play them
When you were away.

Did you know I used to dance naked
While listening to
“Within You, Without You”?
Well I Did.

I liked to collect blades
Because you liked them.
And so we would throw knives
In the dirt covered roads of Mercedes.

Like the time you picked up
A hitchhiking gaucho
Who smelled of piss,
Yet gave him a ride.

I miss our outings
Trying to hunt deer at 5am
But ended up shooting a road sign
In the mist.

All this and more you were,
I am not sitting beside you
And I am not tending you as a nurse,
But you know I loved you well.

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

Nothing Lasts

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

It is dark outside
And you want to dream.
You want to dream
And feel you are the same
As yesterday.

But as lightning breaks
Into a second long day
You suddenly realize
That you were a different person
Just a minute ago.

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

Nowhere

One day I ceased writing.
The mere act of lifting a pen
Felt like treason.
I was tired.

I feel tired many times.
And only recently
Have I started to wonder…
Is it exhaustion or is it myself?

I’m starting to realize
That maybe I’m tired of my mask.
That the myriad of intricacies
Which perfect one’s personality
Could be tiring me.

I can no longer find myself,
Nor find joy in the things
Which made me happy.
Nothing tastes like Nostalgia.

But she is elusive,
And I can no longer find her
In the torn pages of an old book,
Or in the simple wonder of my garden.

And as I lose myself,
Even deeper in the shadows
Of a mind which rarely gave me
Reasons for a smile
I feel I’m drowning.

All the plans are gone,
All the truths are wrong.
I have lived misled,
Trying to climb a staircase to Nowhere.

The Twelve and the Daily Coward

Dearest Readers,

I return after a long while, after a gap of silence. It was not really intended, it just happened so… Last year’s end, the bacchanalia of the holidays, travelling and working had me immersed in the realities of modern daily life. My muse took a holiday as well I believe.

Oh well, here I am, doing my usual scribbling, pondering and philosophizing, enjoying a classic cup of tea with milk, sans sugar.


xoxo,
Lady Astor

………………………………….

Are “The Twelve” archetypes
Of the olden Gods
The blueprint for the human souls?
Are we bound to make the same mistakes,
Over and over again,
Until we correct ourselves?
Are we biological sentient entities,
Programmed and thought up by others,
To accomplish a goal in a scheme
We cannot truly comprehend?

These are the questions I asked myself
When pondering of “The Twelve”,
Yesterday alone at lunchtime,
As I watched eager families
Enjoying their Sunday stroll.

Alone in my beliefs,
I try to understand existence,
This intricate puzzle we call life.
I have seen few moments of pure happiness,
Although I cannot say
I have not been fortunate at times.
I have lived though many guises,
Laid my bones in many places,
Known futility in my hunger to learn.
To know the nature of the soul.

I have only but failed
In my obsession
To grasp the unattainable.
The door opens for a second,
Then it’s slammed right in my face.

I have no love for routine,
Care nothing of waking up
At the same time
Every single day…
Guilt and duty make sure I comply.
And I wonder who and why,
Decided this should be life.
Strangled by obligations
Unable to be free at last,
Dependent on time…

Why do we continue
To play the part
In this crazy play
Where there is no gain
Other than coin?
Why do I keep on acting
Like a coward without fulfilment
Letting the days go by,
Giving away my life
And feeling sorry for myself
If the fire of Creation
Is supposedly in my soul?
Or are we created slaves
For the benefit of few
And that is the real ruse?

I think myself,
I think around myself,
I contemplate.
And see no perfection,
But cowardice…

………………………………….



Prometheus and his brother Atlas.

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.