Everyone feels emptiness inside

A poem for a rainy day...

xx
Lady Astor

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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Nothing Lasts

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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.

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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

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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…

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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

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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.

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