SNOW STORM

©  Gloria Smith 2010

The wind cried round about my house

And poked around like a little mouse

Hunting some secret hidden way in

Perhaps it too needed a Friend

It had forgotten where it came from

Or exactly where it meant to go 

It peeked in the window as it raced by

And saw me as I sat down and cried

But alas it was much too cold for me

And could not offer its company

So it snowed sparkles upon the ground

And called to me in a tinkling sound

As it played with freezing wind chimes

From a time when it had been invited in

And welcomed as summer breezes

Far away from winter's colds and sneezes

When it saw me at my window smiling

At the beguiling beauty it had bestowed

It went contentedly on its way

To poke round like a little mouse

And sneak about another house

Peeking very carefully in 

Across the dark and lonely miles

Should another need an awestruck smile

Musings On Christmas...

©  Gloria Smith 2010

If you have nothing else to give away for Christmas; no money to buy presents with -- don't grieve... you still have love to give, and love you'll receive in return. Christmas is not a date but a state of mine. No, it's not like it was when we were children; it's much better. The magic has grown within us for now we can appreciate its essence. The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree is the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other. So all grown up I will dream the dream of Christmas. I will go to sleep that little girl again with rosy cheeks and soft smooth skin, excited to know that once more I have awakened to a Christmas dawn. I'm still here... to love and be loved once again! 

Yes, I have grown older and have many burdens to bear, but love weighs heavier on my heart than any grief I carry so it is love I will share.

Heap on the wood!-the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.-- Sir Walter Scott 

Merry Christmas everyone!

GLO

OCTOBER

©  Gloria Smith 2010

And now the day draws to a close

It begs me Dear take your repose

Darkness fast encroaches

While the witching hour approaches

Wolves howl and spirits prowl

October's chill and Halloween's thrill

Leaves crunch, squirrels munch

On hickory nuts and such

The moon shudders and pulls her

Cloud cover tighter 'neath her chin

Jack-o-lanterns grin with delight

In the pitch black of a fall night

I lean upon my window sill 

And try to spy some strange sight

When I see that all is still I pray

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I should die before I wake

I pray the Lord my soul to take

NOON OF MIDNIGHT

© Gloria Smith 2010

Oh midnight... orgies of thought rest in thee

Leaving me wrestling with store bought time

I stand in the glistening noon of night listening

To the muted hum of life barely hiding in the day

But in the hush of midnight wisdom comes 

Whispering... wooing me to her hallowed halls

As night time falls with wild and wondrous delight

Mysterious magical voices call my spirit out of me

The broken moon smiles at Heaven; frowns at Hell

Not all souls cherish the bed; only the dead or dying

Let me run in the night... hot breath playing on cold air

Nostrils flaring with dark hair streaming in wild winds

I search for love as for a black cat in a deep well

That isn't there, and I must truly tell you all for naught

I fought for it but it could not be stolen or bought

I borrowed it; wrapped it around me as a thin blanket

Almost enough to keep me warm but the chill remained

Just a glimpse of immortality do I spy before I see

Dawn breaking in and I awake daydreaming once again

SUNLIT HEART

© Gloria Smith 2010

I stumbled into the day

Into the bright sunlit world

The key to my heart

Was locked up tight

Against the blinding light

Of your love

Somehow it shone through

And poured into

The bitter blue

Broken pieces of my heart

Reminding me

That it was torn apart

The morning sky

Turned a weary gray 

As I thought about

You and I

How I cried

How you lied

And just when I think

That these memories

Can no more damage do

That these tears are through

They race once more

Down crimson cheeks

And speak louder

Than any words of grief

HAUNTINGS

©  Gloria Smith 2010

Our haunted minds seek ghosts to find

Until one day we realize

They're with us all the time

They do not live within our walls

Nor walk with silent footsteps down the hall

They dwell in memories born of sin

Or thoughts of a love we could not win

Disappointments, bitterness and pain

Roam tirelessly through timeless days

Do not look far your ghosts to find

They linger in your mind

And ever will they remain with us

'Til we return dust to dust

HUMPTY DUMPTY HEART

©  Gloria Smith 2010

My poor little Humpty Dumpty Heart

All broken, wounded, and torn apart

No one can put it back together again

What a sin... what an awful shame

I fear that I must accept the blame

I was careless and fell off the wall

Damn near killed me that fateful fall

ALL the King's men; even the horses

Chipped in and tried but it was in vain

Nothing could put it back together again

I swear I think I heard them cry

So here I lie... scattered pieces all

They never said if Humpty was dead

Just that he could never 

Be put back together again

So... here I am and here I'll stay

Shattered pieces of endless pain

I cannot explain how I fell or why

I only know that I remain

Upon the earth beneath the sky

Amongst the horses, amongst the men

And I cannot find a way

To become whole again

Nor words to say I love you still 

Or courage to say I always will

Anxiété

© Gloria Smith 2010

The evening drops her silent moments

One by one by one

Sunlight fades and shades of sadness

Bring the evening slowly, slowly down

I wait... words fade while dreams come alive.

I thrive on fantasies born of passion and pain

And what remains is only this 

Each beat of my longing heart tears me asunder

I wonder if you care

I cannot share my secrets with you

On this long and lonely night

I hold my pillow tight as crystal tears

Run past silken cheeks and into trembling lips

Lips that once kissed your face

You hold my soul and do not know that it is true

I am whole in your embrace

In this imaginary place of contrivance and illusion

God grant me the grace to face another night alone

The Fall I was Eighteen

The fall I was eighteen

The blue tint of the ocean called us, we went
and never looked back. At Navy bootcamp the
California sun baked us, blistering our ears.
We folded tee shirts perfectly, thin, thick, thick, thin.

We built our bodies the Marine Corps way,
we did push ups knowing that the number of push
ups that a man can do is directly proportional
to what he has under him, pushing back up at him.

We swam like fish, even with our uniforms on.
And rose out of those pools wet and cold knowing
that we could survive. We graduated and went to
ships and manned the rails and swabbed the decks.

We mess cooked, studied hard and played hard.
We left the smell of the ocean in the beds of strange
girls, with their sensual kisses. Boys on the playground,
and if I could, I'd go back to that very fall all over again.

Wolf Hall - Hilary Mantel

• A very good book and winner of the 2009 Man Booker Prize.
• This is one of those books you can tell you are going to finish after reading the first couple of pages - the quality of writing stands out.
• It tells the story of the rise of Thomas Cromwell  and his relationship with Henry VIII.  The background given on the times is gripping - the intrigues between different courtiers is contemporary.
• A very good read indeed.

 Guardian

Wolf Hall succeeds on its own terms and then some, both as a non-frothy historical novel and as a display of Mantel's extraordinary talent. Lyrically yet cleanly and tightly written, solidly imagined yet filled with spooky resonances, and very funny at times, it's not like much else in contemporary British fiction.

Telegraph

Mantel knows how to build a picture from the parts available, with nothing extraneous and everything layered. Here is Katherine – “as wide as she is high, stitched into gowns so bristling with gemstones that they look as if they are designed less for beauty than to withstand blows from a sword?…

DESPERATION

© Gloria Smith 2010

Quiet desperation is all around

It is quite still and makes no sound

I sit in my uneasy chair and stare

While the walls stare back

Blank expressions, stark and bare

I care no more; a wounded soldier

In an endless war, in a foreign land

No hand is offered to help me stand

I am alone in an empty home

The coal black night pressing in

Like a hidden shame, a forbidden sin

I strain to hear the lonesome sound

Of a distant train on a far off track

As the rain pours down, down, down

Slowly I drown and there is no one here

No one near, and the train speeds on

As I sit still -- and the walls stare back

walk & eat NORTH CYPRUS

A wonderful addition to Sunflower Guides - does what it says on the cover.

Tried and tested.

Circles

Circles

brother
you drew
your circle
around yourself

I drew
my circle
around you
and your circle

HAIKU

© Gloria Smith 2010

Dreams wolves eyes shining
Sharing part of my soul's song
Wild to wild belong

Wolves eyes scorch the night
Glow green hot burning bright right
Into my sacred soul

Golden goblets shine
Liquid morning sunshine glows
Drink deeply sad soul

Blue Mountain Smoke Clings
To the Evergreens Birds Sing
Morning says Hello

Warriors Love's Knights
Armor clad Hearts clanging
Breast to Breast we rest

Butterflies tip toe
With rain soaked wings folded
Sunshine their Savior

Blue night discontent
Satisfaction eludes me
You are all I see


On a horse of fire
Riding the hot desert wind
To bring his desire
(Glo)


On a horse named longing
Rode all night in the valley of dreams
The path open to desire


On a horse named desire
In the valley of dreams I ride,
To see my lady longing
(Contributed by Kelvin Cook)

STILL GOT THE BLUES

"Sign Language" Rives (Def Poetry)

MIRAGE

© Gloria Smith 2010

In my evening mirage
Of weariness
Of sadness
Of unfulfilled expectations
Of dreams kept too long
For a waking promise...
I walk to find you
But my arms are empty
Once more
Once more I abhor
The darkness 
And wish only
For the sunlight of morn
For the brilliant light
To put my fears to flight
I scorn the darkness
Unrealized dreams unborn
Lay still in the night
Just out of reach
Just beyond the touch
Of my soft fingers
Your memory lingers
As the scent of golden roses
Tipped in crimson
The crimson color of the life
Beating in my heart
The heart that beats for you
With an unanswered call
In the sleepless night
Of my haunted desire

SUMMER WIND

© Gloria Smith 2010

I sat in the heat of the hot Summer's day
The wind wild and sweet
Whipped my gown around my feet
It's sultry scent was Jasmin laden
It bade me stay and while it played
It stirred the leaves of old Hickory trees
Simmering and shimmering
In searing waves of heat and hinted at relief
Little blue Chicory gloried in the shade
In the hot summer haze
Sunlight set the sky ablaze
There was no cure for
The desire of the day
No way to stop the fire
The Angels came
In their ecclesiastical attire
And prayed for Heaven's tears
To fall and save us all

The wind whipped my hair
Wildly around my face
Stirring a sultry scent of Jasmine
As you sweetly bade me stay
You wanted to play a lover's game
And so we lay in the shade
Beneath the old Hickory tree
You kissed me wild and sweet
Among the little blue Chicory
And set my heart ablaze
There is no cure for my desire
Once more you set my heart on fire
While the Angels blushed
And smiling turned away
The wood thrush sang boldly
High in the sky, as if to scold me
I prayed fervently for Heaven
To rush me your heart's key

Emily Dickinson Biography On NPRs Fresh Air

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

click image for info


New Biography Claims Emily Dickinson Had Epilepsy

"A week after Emily Dickinson died in 1886, her younger sister Lavinia opened drawers in the reclusive poet's bedroom and found a veritable treasure trove: nearly 1,800 poems, meticulously crafted by Dickinson during her lifetime.

But the discovery of the poems set off a multi-generational family feud within the Dickinson family over the poet's posthumous publication and her legacy. Writer Lyndall Gordon, a senior research fellow at St. Hilda's College, Oxford, describes the fight between Dickinson's sister-in-law Susan, and Susan's husband's mistress, Mabel Loomis Todd, in a new biography of Dickinson, Lives Like Loaded Guns."

Longfellow "Paul Revere's Ride" Poem Animation Movie

Cowboy Poetry Gathering - Elko, Nevada

Some poems about the event here


Guardian article

I've been at Elko's annual Cowboy Poetry Gathering, also a music festival, for a few days now, but it's not until Delafose's set that I realise what is unusual about this week. Unlike most cultural festivals, this isn't a tourist attraction: my foreign accent has been a source of continuous excited curiosity. This is a festival actually for the people it's meant to be for, a point Delafose makes much better from the stage.

"I guess," he says, "that like us, you might not make a lot of money. But it's a way of life, and we wouldn't have it any other way."

Joseph Conrad - Apocalypse Now

TS Eliot quotes Joseph Conrad in the Hollow Men, and Francis Ford Coppola ties it all together in Apocalypse Now.

Sei Shonagon's Book of Observations

In Pillow Book, Peter Greenaway uses words as visual poetry. Here, a creation myth is written on our heroine's flesh while her aunt reads to her from Sei Shonagon's Book of Observations.

My Darling Clementine

The Story of (the other) Little Richard, Risque but true

I call him Richard Millhouse Nixon, because he thinks he is the president.
When I was a younger man, he did my thinking (got me into a lot of trouble).
She calls him Tricky Dick. Some times she calls him Dick Cheney, I guess
to let me and him know that, at best, he can only be the vice president.
She does my thinking for me now.

You know who I'm talking about. I tell her he likes it when she gives him a kiss,
sometimes she likes to give him a bite. I moan and tell her to speak softly into the microphone. She makes him feel better by calling him Little Richard, and talking to him with a breathy voice. Not because he is small, but because she is a nice girl and she knows how to drive a stick.

Hannah and Her Sisters

Probably not the first or last time ee cummings's poetry was used to further a seduction, here by a tongue-tied Michael Caine in Hannah and Her Sisters.

SAVE ME FROM THE RAIN

© June 11, 2010

The rain gently, tenderly kisses my upturned face and lips

I taste translucent beads of nature's bliss upon my tongue

They dance upon my arms and prance in silver liquid streams

Down breasts, and legs without alarm and know no private places

I smile... and for a while I am transfixed as thunder growls

And lightning startles me as it plays wildly in the darkness of day

I stand bravely as the cold wet chill attacks my back and face the storm

Then head into the howling furious wind, searching angry skies once again

For the rainbow at the end of Heaven's fury; I hurry along with a song

I'll soon be warm and dry and home again to ponder where I've been

William Blake - Dead /man 4

ALONE IN THE NIGHT

© June 5, 2010

Oh lone evening so silent and peaceful like a boat on a calm sea
You gift to me the time to ponder the reason and the rhymes
Of this season of my life, and as I strive to cease from my concerns
My heart beats fast like a seething storm on a hot summer's night
Thoughts flutter wildly at me; frantically swirling moths at the porch light 
Questions rise and answers scatter as I ponder once again the matters
That rob me of my sleep; the many thoughts that will not keep
I sought reprieve; a Friend to share with me this endless eve