I wish I had written that . . . continued

"I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think they will sing to me."

Hands down one of my favorite poems is T. S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. There are numerous times during the year that I am moved to read it again and every time it speaks to the Me who identifies with Prufrock's fears and hopes and longing.

It's a longish poem so I won't torture you with the entire thing. Although, I will say that it is definitely a poem that can be read in portions and is worth the time. Here is one of my favorite stanzas.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;	25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;	30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

I wish I had written that.

*image: J.W. Waterhouse, The Mermaid

Happy Mother's Day!

Stream of Consciousness V:
Dragon Mama

Gather round dear friends,
There is a story to be told,
And though you will not believe it,
I am the child of a dragon.

You see her there,
Glasses perched upon her nose,
Wisps of steam issuing from
Between sharp teeth,
Scales shining in the moonlight;
That beautiful creature
Has shown me the recipe for
Making stars.

Her wings have carried me
Through the Gates of Imagination,
Silvered claws cut through Ignorance and Fear
To craft for me a new world.
In her eyes smolder the Fires of Creativity,
Her voice is the Song of Inspiration.

In her native tongue
There is no word for “can’t.”
A dragon’s life is filled with possibility,
Limited only by the will of the individual.
Success or failure, merely a point of view.

Born in distant mountains,
Nurtured by magic,
Schooled in the fantastic,
I am a dragon’s child.
And that, my beloved companions,
Ought to explain a few things.

December 22, 1998

The First Saturday in May

This Saturday is the Kentucky Derby (for those just joining our story, I love horse racing). Saturday will find me with a fancy hat on, screaming and jumping in front of my TV as 20 of God's most beautiful creatures strain muscle and tendon to reach the finish line first.

In past years I have scrutinized bloodlines and race videos to choose my horses, but after several years of choosing third place horses, this year I chucked it all and picked by name.

My top three picks are Pyro, Big Truck, and Gayego. I'm not much of a gambler, so I like to play any of the three to win, place, or show.

In honor of Saturday's race I offer a poem written the year I attended the Derby. Like most years I had researched my picks for weeks. Officer B chose War Emblem that day of the race based on the name. My horse? Came in 7th. B's choice, War Emblem, won the race. :)

War Emblem

unforgiving sun
bourbon fumes & cigars
the techno-color confetti
tossed and lost on the breeze
feral beauties and
smartly dressed hooligans
perched atop their seats
waiting
anticipating
the simultaneous
“They’re off!”

the thunder of hooves
the fever pitch of greed
edging down the first turn
all eyes to the boards
and in the distance the steady
beat of probability

at last
the herald’s cry
“Here they come!”
dirt flies
whips raised
the keen of the breaking point
green and white silks lead
roar past
heading
towards
history
the leader
bursts across
the finish line

hugs
cheers of delight
and the sun
beats
down on
the twin spires
128 years
pass
in the blink
of an eye.

May 2002

My Valentine

the lion’s bride

caramel & hot sun life,
sticky happiness
that seeps into
every cabinet, every hamper
such a messy joy.
far cry
from the self-imposed,
sterilized moon-pleasures
of my past.

bulls playing in china cabinets,
bears raiding the larder,
dolphins brewing darjeeling
and sneaking nips of amoretto,
and in the midst of
the cannons and cotton candy
a lion running rampant through
my darkened rooms,
making mock of
embroidered hand towels
and lace doilies.

the unwitting ring leader
to the gypsy circus
in my kitchen.
the frenetic pleasures
that have become my own.
and it all began
with the lion in my life,
who looked so harmless
when I first found
him sleeping in
the garden.

june 7, 2002
mrs. fox

Travel warnings for the picky.

traveling abroad

there is no "all-you-can-eat"
in europe
my sources have confirmed

such a shock to hear
to imagine
the lonely buffet
shabby in its offerings

nothing like the cornucopia
of gaudy delights
the choices
the temptations
enjoyed and consumed
by insatiable palates

there is no "all-you-can-eat" in europe
so you better eat all you can here

september 19, 2000
mrs. fox