A Room Of My Own

Without Further Ado I present H.D. Amaranth       I Am I blind alas, am I blind I too have followed her path, I too have bent at her feet, I too have wakened to pluck amaranth in the straight shaft, amaranth purple in the cup, scorched at the edge to white. Am I blind? am I the less ready for her sacrifice? am I less eager to give what she asks, she the shameless and radiant? Am I quite lost, I towering above you and her glance, walking with swifter pace, with clearer sight, with intensity beside which you two are as spent ash? Nay I give back to my goddess the gift she tendered me in a moment of great bounty. I return it. I lay it again on the white slab of her house, the beauty she cast out one moment, careless. Nor do I cry out: "why did I stoop? why did I turn aside one moment from the rocks marking the sea path? Andromeda, shameless and radiant, have pity, turn, answer us." Ah no - though I stumble toward her...

I am beginning to abhor his e-mail, and now the phone when the call is made in transit from one place to another – neither leading to me. His voice is often laboured from the walking and his attention is anything but undivided. This cheats me. Once during an awkward call our voices, our breath, just lingered on the phone. He had called me at work which he knew limited me in my reactions, prevented me from being open and honest, prevented me from telling him to go fuck himself. He could feel my impatience; he began speaking rapidly to fill the void, to fill the silence, to suppress the frustration in me. He described where he was – I did not care – it was not here. “I’m staring at a parking lot full of water” he said, which suggested to me that he must go now as he had arrived at his destination. I said nothing. After a brief pause, he attempted to fill the void again, he wanted to talk about anything, nothing - he just wanted to avoid the reality of this situation. “There is a puzzle p...

As I sat at the piano Counting my fingers through The basic notes I felt someone with me It was Hannah Schmitz And she was counting her words To The Lady With the Little Dog It was the same. Her young lover was teaching her. Again, same. Now, I am on my own As she was on her own And I am finding 'the' on the piano.

(dreamer by neslihans) Summertime, a favourite past time The favourable past we attempt to live by Which haunts us so We icon against Marilyn herself What was done, has been undone It's undoing now done And so I, too, am done. The favourable past, which must be left in the past As now IS our favourable time to live by ...summertime. The NaiSaiKu Challenge http://naisaiku.blogspot.com/

Last night after sending my best mate off for the last time, I turned the radio on for company on the ride home. I was not sad. Alex Cuba was playing a live concert somewhere in the world (somewhere in Canada which was why CBC was playing a live concert) and that made me happy. Although I do not know any of the words, I tried to sing along for my heart. I stopped at a red light. The lanky, downtown, messy haired man crossed the road. I have seen this man often downtown. At times I have been afraid of him. I have seen him walking about with a bloodied face. Most times I feel sorry for him. Tonight, I admired him. He walked in front of my car and the world slowed down. I watched. His hands were in the pockets of his too-big-for-him jeans. His long, messy hair was back in its signature pony tail – but it looked neater tonight. He was not smiling per say, but his face was. His walk was executed in long, slow steps. He was in no hurry, but his long stride would get him there on time. Maybe ...