The Darker Side of Love

Ingredients:

A selection of five poems by Carol Ann Duffy, who is the current (and first ever female) Poet Laureate since May 2009, and eight poems by Dorothy Parker, an amusing American poet and writer of the last century.

Directions:

Carol Ann Duffy

Valentine

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife. 


Salome

I’d done it before
(and doubtless I’ll do it again,
sooner or later)
woke up with a head on the pillow beside me – whose? –
what did it matter?

Good-looking, of course, dark hair, rather matted;
the reddish beard several shades lighter;
with very deep lines around the eyes,
from pain, I’d guess, maybe laughter;
and a beautiful crimson mouth that obviously knew
how to flatter…
which I kissed…
Colder than pewter.
Strange. What was his name? Peter?
Simon? Andrew? John? I knew I’d feel better
for tea, dry toast, no butter,
so rang for the maid.
And, indeed, her innocent clatter
of cups and plates,
her clearing of clutter,
her regional patter,
were just what I needed –
hungover and wrecked as I was from a night on the batter.
Never again!
I needed to clean up my act,
get fitter,
cut out the booze and the fags and the sex.
Yes. And as for the latter,
it was time to turf out the blighter,
the beater or biter,
who’d come like a lamb to the slaughter
to Salome’s bed.
In the mirror, I saw my eyes glitter.
I flung back the sticky red sheets,
and there, like I said – and ain’t life a bitch –
was his head on a platter. 


Demeter

Where I lived - winter and hard earth.
I sat in my cold stone room
choosing tough words, granite, flint,

to break the ice. My broken heart -
I tried that, but it skimmed,
flat, over the frozen lake.

She came from a long, long way,
but I saw her at last, walking,
my daughter, my girl, across the fields,

In bare feet, bringing all spring's flowers
to her mother's house. I swear
the air softened and warmed as she moved,

the blue sky smiling, none too soon,
with the small shy mouth of a new moon. 

Mrs. Darwin

7 April 1852
Went to the Zoo.
I said to Him—
Something about that Chimpanzee over there reminds me of you. 


Miles Away

I want you and you are not here. I pause
in this garden, breathing the colour thought is
before language into still air. Even your name
is a pale ghost and, though I exhale it again
and again, it will not stay with me. Tonight
I make you up, imagine you, your movements clearer
than the words I have you say you said before.

Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me
with a look, standing here whilst cool late light
dissolves into the earth. I have got your mouth wrong,
but still it smiles. I hold you closer, miles away,
inventing love, until the calls of nightjars
interrupt and turn what was to come, was certain,
into memory. The stars are filming us for no one.

Dorothy Parker 

Unfortunate Coincidence

By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying 


Indian Summer

In youth, it was a way I had
To do my best to please,
And change, with every passing lad,
To suit his theories.

But now I know the things I know,
And do the things I do;
And if you do not like me so,
To hell, my love, with you!


Lullaby

Sleep, pretty lady, the night is enfolding you;
Drift, and so lightly, on crystalline streams.
Wrapped in its perfumes, the darkness is holding you;
Starlight bespangles the way of your dreams.
Chorus the nightingales, wistfully amorous;
Blessedly quiet, the blare of the day.
All the sweet hours may your visions be glamorous-
Sleep, pretty lady, as long as you may.

Sleep, pretty lady, the night shall be still for you;
Silvered and silent, it watches you rest.
Each little breeze, in its eagerness, will for you
Murmur the melodies ancient and blest.
So in the midnight does happiness capture us;
Morning is dim with another day's tears.
Give yourself sweetly to images rapturous-
Sleep, pretty lady, a couple of years.

Sleep, pretty lady, the world awaits day with you;
Girlish and golden, the slender young moon.
Grant the fond darkness its mystical way with you;
Morning returns to us ever too soon.
Roses unfold, in their loveliness, all for you;
Blossom the lilies for hope of your glance.
When you're awake, all the men go and fall for you-
Sleep, pretty lady, and give me a chance.

Salome's Dancing Lesson

She that begs a little boon
(Heel and toe! Heel and toe!)
Little gets- and nothing, soon.
(No, no, no! No, no, no!)
She that calls for costly things
Priceless finds her offerings-
What's impossible to kings?
(Heel and toe! Heel and toe!)

Kings are shaped as other men.
(Step and turn! Step and turn!)
Ask what none may ask again.
(Will you learn? Will you learn?)
Lovers whine, and kisses pall,
Jewels tarnish, kingdoms fall-
Death's the rarest prize of all!
(Step and turn! Step and turn!)

Veils are woven to be dropped.
(One, two, three! One, two, three!)
Aging eyes are slowest stopped.
(Quietly! Quietly!)
She whose body's young and cool
Has no need of dancing-school-
Scratch a king and find a fool!
(One, two, three! One, two, three!) 


Superfluous Advice

Should they whisper false of you.
Never trouble to deny;
Should the words they say be true,
Weep and storm and swear they lie. 


Résumé

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live. 


Love Song

My own dear love, he is strong and bold
      And he cares not what comes after.
His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,
      And his eyes are lit with laughter.
He is jubilant as a flag unfurled—
      Oh, a girl, she’d not forget him.
My own dear love, he is all my world,—
      And I wish I’d never met him.

My love, he’s mad, and my love, he’s fleet,
      And a wild young wood-thing bore him!
The ways are fair to his roaming feet,
      And the skies are sunlit for him.
As sharply sweet to my heart he seems
      As the fragrance of acacia.
My own dear love, he is all my dreams,—
      And I wish he were in Asia.

My love runs by like a day in June,
      And he makes no friends of sorrows.
He’ll tread his galloping rigadoon
      In the pathway of the morrows.
He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start,
      Nor could storm or wind uproot him.
My own dear love, he is all my heart,—
      And I wish somebody’d shoot him. 


From a Letter from Lesbia

... So, praise the gods, Catullus is away!
And let me tend you this advice, my dear:
Take any lover that you will, or may,
Except a poet. All of them are queer.

It's just the same- a quarrel or a kiss
Is but a tune to play upon his pipe.
He's always hymning that or wailing this;
Myself, I much prefer the business type.

That thing he wrote, the time the sparrow died-
(Oh, most unpleasant- gloomy, tedious words!)
I called it sweet, and made believe I cried;
The stupid fool! I've always hated birds...

The Siren's Call

An echo reverberates within.

Deep inside a feeling comes alive. 

Enchanted, you set out on your course 

To follow your dream and find the source.  

Through the mist you catch a glimpse of her, 

Symbol of love, your muse, saint, lover,  

And your mind is haunted by the grace 

Of her flowing form as you give chase.  

They say that love is blind, but you believe 

Just around the bend she waits for you. 

You see her beckon, then back away, 

Drawing your heart in towards its prey.  

Romancing her, your fires burn higher. 

Beneath her coyness, you smell desire. 

And danger too, but you’re not immune 

From succumbing to her siren’s tune.  

You are a hunter, you know this game, 

You know when to race and when to play, 

How to entice and how to engage, 

Being audacious while staying sage.  

But she puts your limits to the test. 

Till out of breath, ideas exhausted, 

You’re surprised to find her in your arms 

Finally won over by your charms.  

Her beauty surpasses all your dreams. 

Your joy exceeds all expectations. 

After all the searching for your prize, 

You sense a mirage before your eyes.  

She sees in you that look of wonder 

Like a child to whom the world is new. 

She wraps about you and with a kiss 

Reassures you in your state of bliss.  

She looks in your eyes and opens her mind, 

Welcoming you in, she vows her love 

And asks you to promise with all your heart 

That from this day you will never part.  

Your gazes locked and your bodies pressed 

You tell of the struggles of your quest 

And how you would not have come this far 

If she had not been your guiding star.  

You pledge that you will ever serve her 

If she gives what you are yearning for. 

She seals the pact red upon your lips 

And in her passion, her bodice rips.  

She gives her body, she gives her heart. 

It is not enough, still you want more. 

Ever so slowly she parts the veil 

Revealing her splendid glory pale.  

You urge her on as your longing grows. 

Yet as she beams, a worry takes hold. 

You are not the only hunter here. 

She closes the veil, sensing your fear.  

The moment lost, you sigh its passing. 

You ask her to give you what you need 

Pleading with her not to be a tease, 

But she declines and draws up her knees.  

With solemn brow, she still looks so cute

As she insists that she’s not to blame, 

That she’s just a woman, nothing more, 

What you seek is behind your own door.  

That which you need was always inside. 

To prove your love, you must find the key. 

On the other side she waits for you. 

Surrender to her and you will be true.  

In the courtyard of your hidden heart 

Beneath starry skies you know she waits, 

Dancing as she hears your footsteps near 

Leaping with one leap across your fear.  

Trumpets blare. She cannot be contained. 

You give your all. All is not enough. 

Stars are but a ceiling for her flight 

As you slip into the well of night.  

Into the depths, falling, lost, alone, 

Alone but for her who holds you close. 

You are nothing. The darkness shatters 

And like a cloud of raindrops scatters.  

Now all is light, you cannot see her 

But in loving arms you know you lie 

And she is present, everlasting 

And watching you take on her casting.

__________

This is originally a poem by Erica (feyrey) that I was "tempted" to extend just a little bit. 

http://feyrey.multiply.com/journal/item/29/the_sirens_call

LOL! The result is probably at least twice as long as any poem by me. And I'm very open to suggestions, improvements, alterations, or ideas in general of what should or shouldn't have been included in this romantic epic.

The image is Ophelia (1863) by Arthur Hughes.

Reading Signs

Every word I write for you
Carries symbols to your heart,
Languages I wish I knew
That secret truths I might impart.

But the meaning and the signs
Lie in worlds I cannot sense
Ripening beneath the vines
Of courage and coincidence.

Could I go beyond this form,
I would venture in your name
And entering the raging storm
Find the eye from whence it came.

But instead I plead for grace,
Like a rose upon the lip
That you read its pleasant trace
And on its thorns do not grip.

--okei

False Logic

According to a recent poll, 52% of Britons believe that religion is becoming a divisive issue in society. Are differences between religions a cause of evil? In my view, the cause of the world’s evils is greed, lust, anger and pride, all coming from the ego, and don’t most religions agree on this? And yet most people of faith are not very logical when putting their beliefs into practice. You don’t need to be a student of history to know that! But many people of no faith, despite their logical scepticism, are not very logical either – we’re all human after all – in believing that without the motivation of differing ideologies, the conflict between peoples would magically disappear. One problem with this is that it is in itself an ideology (and one of the tenets of communism). But more importantly it is based on a false logic. “Conflicts are usually along lines of ideological difference. Therefore it is the differences that cause the conflict.” Without ideological differences, the greed, the lust for power, the anger that drives us to retaliate and the pride that makes us value ourself over another still remain. The differences are merely a vehicle through which the evil expresses itself.

This kind of false logic is tremendously prevalent. The latest form that I’ve come across is the following, which seems to be a widely held view even among intelligent people. “Most terrorists are Muslims. Therefore, there must be something about Islam that encourages terrorism.” This is the same false logic. To see why, we can give examples of other statements of this form.  

“The sun rises in the East. Therefore, there must be something about the East that makes the sun rise there.”  

“Most witch-burnings were carried out by the church. Therefore, there must have been something about Christianity that promoted witch-burning.”  

“Most communist sympathizers were well-educated. Therefore there’s something about being well-educated that made one more liable to sympathize with communism.”  

“Most child sacrifice is carried out by witch-doctors. Therefore, there must be something about witch-doctor beliefs that encourages child sacrifice.”  

“Most developing countries that sign up to international trade agreements become more prosperous in subsequent years. Therefore there must be something about signing such agreements that increases prosperity.”  

“Most bananas come from tropical countries. Therefore, there must be something about the tropical environment that’s great for growing bananas.”  

As these examples show, this is false logic, but just because it’s false logic doesn’t mean that the deductions we arrive at can’t be true. In each case, if the second statement were true, then that would explain the first, but the truth in the first instance (except for the one about bananas) is almost always more complicated. Of course if there were something about Islam that encouraged terrorism, that would explain why most terrorists in recent years have been Muslim. And if it is ideological difference that causes conflict, that would explain why conflict is often along lines of ideological difference. In both cases however, history shows that it has not always been this way. The danger of ideology is that it provides organizational structures for evil. The original source of evil however lies deeper and without a suitable ideology its expression will always organize itself into some new ideology which it will use to justify itself as we saw in 1930s Germany. The original source of all evil lies in the ego. Ironic is it not that the wily old ego should take control of the steering wheel of even those structures, all the different religions, that most desire to control it.

Finally there’s another false logic that the terribly unequal treatment of women in some Muslim countries is also the fault of religion. At face value, this is undeniable with the Koran saying that women should inherit half that of men and so forth. But something which I came across recently (in a book called “Women of Sufism” by the American Camille Adams Helminski) is that it fails to recognize the context of Arabia at that time. Even in the West, an estate went to the first-born male, while in uncivilized Arabia maltreatment of women was severe and polygamy the norm. The Koran actually marked a revolution in women’s rights. How few people realize that today! So much so that the first Islamic saint is regarded to be Rabia who not only was a woman, but came from a very poor background. For anyone to rise out of obscurity was very unusual in the ancient world, let alone a woman. Nevertheless, the radical fundamentalists of today use the Koran to subjugate women. It is the lust for power and the over one-thousand year book provides a convenient pretext. But in light of the context of the Koran, it would certainly be false logic for us to blame their behaviour on the religion and as we shall see their behaviour is also based on false logic.  

Context is important because it recognizes intention. The fundamentalist believes that “The Koran was literal truth. Truth never changes. Therefore it still is literal truth.” But this is false logic, if we were to recognize that truth lies not in the moral laws and beliefs, but in the relations between those beliefs and society, in their intention. Another thing I learnt recently is that even in the short time during which the Koran was written, morals changed with slavery and polygamy going from acceptable to discouraged and alcohol going from discouraged to prohibited. Recognizing underlying intention, and letting go of the false logic of the fundamentalist regarding truth, the Islamic world would become a much more enlightened place, but for the moment they are stuck in a cultural time machine of former glory and shattered dreams. Perhaps they need another saint like Rabia to save them.  

More seriously though, the key is education.

But how to respond to injustice and achieve collective harmony? Seeing the tragedies of natural disasters and man's inhumanity throws us off balance. All each of us can do is realize that peace is an inside job and begins on the individual level. It cannot be imposed from outside us. "Be the change you want to see in the world." And how difficult it is for each of us to be mindful of not ourselves falling into false logic such as anger when we have been wronged and resorting to acts of war within our mind and emotions. So we must work on ourselves with devotion, mindfulness and compassion.

Edit: But now I see that I've caught myself in a false logic. Because if I truly believed that peace begins on the individual level, then I wouldn't have written this blog nor held up a mirror to the false logic in the world before that mirror was truly polished and I knew myself. Yet even if our own mirrors are not yet polished, there are times when to not speak out is to be an accomplice or in reverse if another were to point out our errors we might sometimes be grateful of that. A timely intervention could save another from trouble. So I guess I've got my own false logic to work through... On the one hand, I believe that we should "judge not lest we ourselves be judged", yet I also believe that we should speak out against injustice. So maybe I shouldn't have published this blog until I'd polished my own mirror of false logic, or then again maybe you'll allow that even a foggy mirror can shed some light. So if you'll forgive my foggy mirror, I've got some polishing to do, and in the meantime I'll try not to hold it up to the world unless absolutely necessary.

Blessings! And I hope you enjoy the song... "If the Stars Were Mine" by Melody Gardot.

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20100112121344AAYnIfN

Tracy Chapman & Natalie Merchant - Where the soul never dies

Mary Gauthier - Our Lady of the Shooting Stars

Our Lady of the Shooting Stars
Was that you last night?
Did we dance a whispered waltz,
Did I hold you in my sight?
When morning came with open arms
She lifted you from me,
The sunlight burned my eyes away
And now I cannot see.

Our Lady of the Shooting Stars
As I face the early light
All that I can think of now
Is joining you in flight
But I have followed gypsies girl
I've lost my way back home
I've held the phoenix to my chest
And ended up alone.

CHORUS:
If I move to you
Will you move to me?
If I move to you
Will you move to me?

Our Lady of The Shooting Stars
Teach me how to know
I want to feel my thoughts go dark
And rest inside your flow.
I'll awaken without fear
And breathe the cool clean air,
With your words upon my lips
Your will becomes my prayer

CHORUS

Our Lady of the Shooting Stars
Look what you have done
You've led me to the water's edge,
Running from sun.
Are you in the briny mist?
Do seagulls scream your name?
Their wings suspended by your love,
Or do I reach for you in vain?

CHORUS

New Year's Day Haikus

Wet coal in the hearth,
I wonder will it ever dry
And come alight?

The old year ending,
In the sea the setting sun
Appears like sunrise.

A dusting of snow
Sprinkled in the deep of night
Marks the New Year white.

Behold the full moon!
Because its surface is rough,
Its light is so smooth.

--okei