Mommy
Mami
Mamita
Mamota
Mama
Momma
Mysterious wisdom
Maker of dreams
Mover of mountains
Master of Merriment
Mirror of Ages
Militant Mistress
Melodic songstress
Muse of Children
Modest goddess
Makes me anew
Makes me miss
More and more
Might I measure the
Magnitude of your
Might?
Mustn’t
Marr your
Majesty
Mystifies
Me
Most
Many
Moons
Manifested
Mainly
Mustering
Movements that
Mirror
Mami’s
Matriarchy
(-my only wish is to honor you and make you proud Mami.. te adoro.)
Filed under Uncategorized
What will it take for you to want me?
To claim me as your goddess?
To dive into the depths of me
With abandon
To trust that I will not forsake you?
Would I have to stop being?
Do I have to ignore my instincts?
Forget how I came to be?
Once Again
Why does it ache
To be without
The soothing hand of a man?
That none of the accolades
Trophies of a life well lived can
Measure to the value of
Deep guttural moanings
Worship
That my cup always empties
A broken vessel, I heard it said
Do I need to call on imaginary angels?
Cry out to an unjust God?
Cling to the words written
By men?
That would just as easily condemn
Me
For being
Me.
Is it a test of faith, then?
That would bring you to my door?
That walking by Faith not by Sight
Is the cure for what ails me?
Is it a curse
That being a shining example
Of diligence to the Gifts given to Me
That I
Must Walk
Alone?
Perhaps it is
My meditation
To keep my heart uncluttered
By such things as
Desire and Wanting
To cling to the page,
The pen
As my true companion
That the writers of sonnets
Painters of beauty
Lived and died alone
Keenly aware of the splendor
Beyond their senses
Is it then
The nature of the
Artist
To be alone to truly see beauty?
Filed under Uncategorized
What will it take for you to want me?
To claim me as your goddess?
To dive into the depths of me
With abandon
To trust that I will not forsake you?
Would I have to stop being?
Do I have to ignore my instincts?
Forget how I came to be?
Once Again
Why does it ache
To be without
The soothing hand of a man?
That none of the accolades
Trophies of a life well lived can
Measure to the value of
Deep guttural moanings
Worship
That my cup always empties
A broken vessel, I heard it said
Do I need to call on imaginary angels?
Cry out to an unjust God?
Cling to the words written
By men?
That would just as easily condemn
Me
For being
Me.
Is it a test of faith, then?
That would bring you to my door?
That walking by Faith not by Sight
Is the cure for what ails me?
Is it a curse
That being a shining example
Of diligence to the Gifts given to Me
That I
Must Walk
Alone?
Perhaps it is
My meditation
To keep my heart uncluttered
By such things as
Desire and Wanting
To cling to the page,
The pen
As my true companion
That the writers of sonnets
Painters of beauty
Lived and died alone
Keenly aware of the splendor
Beyond their senses
Is it then
The nature of the
Artist
To be alone to truly see beauty?
Filed under Uncategorized
Sorry to my subscribers that haven’t heard from me in awhile. My pen has been scribbling away, cursors blinking in my eyes in the very early morning. Words are my Snuggie, my best friend, my warm blanket, my lover.
I will be better to you, making a promise on This Day, November 29,2010 to rekindle the relationship between author and reader. If you have been following my writings on facebook then you are well caught up, you may even see those poems repeated on these pages. There are words. So many more words.
And here is where i will share them with you.
peace
w
Filed under Uncategorized
I’m in my studio on a warm, if not unusual summer afternoon. The sun is shining through my large loft windows, filtered through New York City grit. I’d wash my windows but ask any artist. they’ll tell you nothing is more beautiful than diffused natural sunlight. Its impossible to take a bad photograph in this light. Late summer afternoon shadows stretch across the floor, languid as cats. a sudden flash sunshower bursts wide and sudden; as quickly as it starts its over, leaving the city outside my window glistening. Sunlight reflects off of the pavement, shimmering gold sidewalks. You and I both know better, but for now I’ll buy it. I look across the studio. Behind me are three large blank sheets of paper yawning with pregnant possibility. I turn my back to them. Paper has not been my friend for quite some time. Im not sure when our relationship ended. it seems to have died somewhere along with space and affordability. The thought of losing something much more quickly than the time it took to earn it seems to have alot to do with it. Somehow my romance with lines and dashes, tonality and balance seems to have ended. Like any break up, I’m bitter. Lonely. I can sit at this window and think of all the other loves that have ended for me. I can sit here and reminisce about kissed, caresses. Late night romps. Early mornings wrapped in quilts and limbs, soft chuckles muffled by pillows and sleep.
paper and charcoal, too, were once my beloved lovers. The seduction of the pull of the charcoal against the tooth of the paper was, once upon a time, my comfort, my joy. Dirty fingernails were the same as a pair of trophy underwear. I could sit on a subway full of people with paint on my jeans, in my hair. Dirty sexy sweaty pretty. Yes I did it. And I’d do it again. Such was my love for art, in paint up to my elbows, painting in scorching heat, walking several miles with cans and paintbrushes in a shopping cart, scouting the perfect location for a guerilla homage to another dead hero.
As another writer I know once said recently, I’m older now. Colder now.
But true love doesn’t die. It transcends. I love differently these days. With a cautious eye, but inherently more intensely and mercifully short lived. My poor heart cannot take such dramatic hits as it did when I was younger and my heart was plush and filled.
The sidewalk has dried considerably below, restored to its ashen grey white. the sun has retreated behind scornful clouds. This ain’t over by a long shot. Take the chance I’m giving you to find shelter cause next time wont be as sexy.
But a new love. Actually an old love. A deeper long lost love has come back to me, to reclaim me, richer, deeper, ardent and with a conviction that can no longer be denied or ignored. This is the beauty of age and experience. You fear surrendering less and less, if you know it to be true and pure.
It was, always was… The written word. Connecting with my feelings. Thinking deeply and writing until my eyes shut, I would push until my hands dragged across the page. waking at 3 am with my wine colored velvet journal with the gold edged pages pressed against sweaty cheeks. pen marks on my pillowcase.
I remember my writing being my true companion. when my friends had gone home, I would retreat to my room and write. randomly. dreams. thoughts. desires. short stories. my memoirs. My mind racing words tripping over each other to escape my mind and dance on the page. Inexperienced but eager to meander about on the page, they were wreckless and fervent. I loved my books. I would draw and write, doodle. so much fun. I still keep small books in my purse where I write. mainly my To Do lists, inspirations, things to keep me on target. I stopped writing when I got married. My husband was my living journal and I spilled onto him what should have been on the page. My deep writing ended. Things that needed to be said on the page were shelved because they were too private to be trusted to roaming eyes and mischievous idle hands. For many many years the words dug down and burrowed. They Hunkered down into the core of me, somehow living off of some fat deposit somewhere and nourishing themselves on my history. Did they know they’d come back for me? Perhaps they knew much more readily than I.
I never really considered the word, my word, my thoughts, ideas, musings observations translations more than mere rants, but as I grow older and more comfortable in my age and wisdom, my words and I have rekindled a love anew.
It feels sooo good.
Filed under Uncategorized
I think I just finally realized why so many women anger when it comes to their “men” or “partners”. My realization came as I was debating dating with a very handsome eligible bachelor friend of mine and all of his gorgeous eligible bachelorette friends ( his bachelor friends came in the end to watch the public skewering of my dear, dear friend). My bachelor pal, let’s call him Max, was upset over his dating situation with a lovely young woman of great aesthetic beauty (let’s call her Kitty) but is a bit immature for his status, social and emotional needs.
Time and again, Max has complained about her, dumped her, claimed that he is not interested in being monogamous, especially now that his career is at a critical turning point (for the better, thank God). He’s complained about her jealous streaks, insecurities to all of us, his friends, guys and women alike. At his party, after many cocktails and an impromptu (and tacky) visit from Kitty, we (the ladies, that is) cornered Max and decided to let him have it. This was our opportunity to have a much needed “Intervention” with Max about why things are happening the way they do with this woman. He could not understand her behavior; she is jealous that Max has healthy platonic relationships with women his own age. He wants her to be more balanced, but is very prepared to dump her when she doesn’t perform to his needs. But somehow, they end up together again. He cannot get over how beautiful she is. He wants to have her around because she is very lovely to behold. He is well aware that beauty fades. He is very clear about her immaturity. But boy do those shorts look great! Man, we’d look great tanning in the Riviera together. I can’t WAIT to see her in that thong bikini bottom at the topless beach I discovered for us in Maui.
This is where the situation gets hairy for all of us. We can all see that he is interested in having a trophy gal, but somewhere deep inside he wants her to be more than that. Very similar to how we women want to have that Hella Hot Muscle Guy from the construction site flirt with us. Perhaps he does flirt with us. Perhaps we go on dates with him. Perhaps we like him ALOT. He cleans up real nice sometimes. Okay, so maybe he didn’t read Deepak Chopra’s latest book or seems to get lost when try to explain the concept of existentialism. Or he’s not interested in going to the opera or an art gallery or shopping (with you or anyone for that matter). Perhaps you’re a vegan and he’s a Brontosaurus Burger man. Conversely, you’re not interested in going to ComiCon or to a Monster Truck show with him. But you go, gritting down and bearing it because somewhere in our minds we believe that our very sexy,brawny Monster Truck lovin’, hard workin, great in the sack lover (my God he’s pretty- Yes, lets get the mirrors out while we have sex, I simply MUST get a better view of THIS) is going to understand our supreme sacrifice of going to the Monster Truck Rally and enduring hours of Cheese Fries and beer spilled on your shoes and return the favor by going to La Traviatta with you. NOT GUNNA HAPPEN. EVER. EVERRRRRRR……. EVER!
What Max and all his boys have come to do (as misogynistic as it sounds) is to have different women around for different things. Maggie loves monster truck rallies. Alison enjoys clams on the half shell and offers interesting points of view about technology. Petra, well Petra is just a maniac in bed and wants nothing more from Max because she has her own agenda. Millie is drop dead gorgeous and has moments of lucidity, looks great in a strapless dress and is a diva on the dance floor. Max takes Her to the company year end party. Like accessories. Or tools. Sounds awful yes? It does, I know. But this is the nature of dating. Meeting people. Moving about in different circles. It almost makes perfect sense. Nowhere in that equation is Max trying to alter his entire persona to make Millie happy. If he is not in the mood for Millie, he simply doesn’t call Millie. In no way shape or form is Max changing his career objective or his lifestyle for Millie orMaggie. Or Petra. He’s also not trying to make Petra his number one lady if she only wants to have sex with him. In essence, he’s very clear about what he wants and is taking all of these things with a grain of salt.
We, on the other hand, are meeting guys expecting them to be everything we’ve ever wanted. And we’re so ready to alter ourselves (and also become honed in on the idea that we have to change him too). Surely we’ve all had that moment where we’ve starved ourselves and ate salads for a solid week straight because we overheard in passing that our guy of choice isn’t an “ass man” and you happen to have an ample derriere. So you hit the treadmill and starve yourself because you wanna shave some inches off of that massive (at least in your mind) ass you’re hauling around because you’re terribly aware that Traci from accounting has an apple ass that the boy seem to love. WRONG!!!!!!
WRONG WRONG WRONG!!! You go to the gym because it makes you feel good to break a sweat. Because you have a personal mile stone (you want to do the 5 k run for breast cancer with your girls from the book club). You eat salads because you know the fiber is good for you and because they taste great. Because you, YOU want to sun in that little white thong you saw at the boutique with your ample ass bronzing in Maui. With the plane tickets that Javier, that groovy editor you met at your bosses barbecue, bought for his birthday and just wanted to share with you. IF THATS WHAT YOU WANT. And you can take in a movie with Josh from the mailroom because he’s as into Woody Allen as you are and doesn’t mind that you want your own bag of popcorn because you have every intention of eating and just don’t want to share it. You go shoe shopping with Paul because he just LOVES shoes! and WOW so do YOU!
Well look at that. You’re DATING! Multiple men! oh my gawd! OMG! and you’re not a whore! You’re out there meeting fellas and your phone is ringing, your dance card is full and you’re doing the things that you want to do with people you actually ENJOY doing them with. If Josh calls you up for a movie and you really just want to stay home and watch Star Trek on DVD then just say No, Josh, not tonight. I think I’ll just stay home and watch Star Trek. You don’t have to breathe heavy, heave a huge sigh, jump up and get ready just because Josh called you up. Believe me, Josh will survive the mind crushing blow you just dealt him because you are not the only one that Josh (more than likely) is dating either! Whoops! sorry to hurt your feelings, gurl , but it’s true.
Please don’t get me wrong, I believe in love, in fact I believe in Love at First Sight. I really do. However years of trial and error have led me to this simple truth. Until you meet that match, the one that makes your heart sing and fulfills 75% of your needs (no one will EVER cover the full 100% I PROMISE) GET OUT THERE AND HAVE SOME FUN! Live a little. Make the most of the ocean of possibilities! Enjoy other people. Have fun! BE SAFE WHILE YOU DO IT OF COURSE.
Until you meet “Mr. Right”, cobble yourself a Franken-Boyfriend. Its much easier than trying to make one fella your Little Black Dress. Chances are, that Little Black Dress will never really fit.
Filed under Uncategorized
Ah, the convenience of technology. I used the Department of Finance’s Pay online feature for tickets. Guess what? i found out i had more tickets on my car than I thought! I also was dangerously close to getting my car towed as a result! woo hoo! ahh can you smell it? Advancement of culture. I was actually pretty happy that I was able to check cause God only KNOWS I wasn’t ABOUT to go to DOF on 3rd avenue to sit in a room to pay ‘em either. There are two that I need to talk to someone about, but these last 2 I totally deserved so there… nevermind that I will go to 3rd avenue in a NEW YORK MINUTE to get a cute pair of shorts from Conway. Of course… i have my priorities STRAIGHT people. Don’t get it twisted for a second! In any case, I was very happy to have been able to do a very important deed today and that was to pay my parking tickets. Now, about running that red light….
Next stop? That online Jury Duty survey… ooo the thrill of doing my civic duties. Yum!
Filed under Uncategorized
