Beltaine Moon Night

Soundcloud recital

It was glorious and full, that night.

But now, like the moon behind

the cloak of trees 

I wonder why, I was not

a little shier, with you.

---

Could it be, I was so inspired, 

the prospect of a future world, ours. 

Where not one but two fullsome moons, 

can be summoned up;

drawn down upon us and our gaze.

Two, together, to illuminate and bathe

the bed in which we touch.

---

Finally cloaks, shields and business of a long day, 

cast aside, in full moon abandon. No one to touch us, but each

and our one moon attendant,

there, my love.

---

Here, on the now gentle curves of earth and rock.
Giving of itself up to my gaze, along a thin line, between past tumult and timeless heaven.
Tumuli weaved upon moraines.

Old ones, known, in this still place.
Dignified, respected tongue.
Order, out of warring chaos, cleansing rains, where once blood soaked soils.
And ask, if I may, what are the names, of my old new friends?

My untethered tongue, tentatively tastes those, that took the calling;
giving in abundance, thanks.
Come I a little closer.
Plant  I between Dat Water ond De Heven.
And there find I, three; De Beach, Dat Fehn ond De Born.

I begin to sense that which she, Dat Asf, gave
and took within, De Blut.
And grew from that De Buuk,
De Garrn, sheltered by De Boom,
roots planted within De Barg .

Taking ourselves further forward, in the looking back.
There was before, herein and hereafter.
Across dat sea . . . Se mere.
Séo cwén, se secg ond Andlang Séo hætu Morgentíd, swíþost Séo sunne!

Lithmus Paper

It seems to test me

and I test this newness,

dipping into parts of my soul,

and that of others,

mostly contextually,

seldom cuddly, or litmus strip, miss.

Tested, at every turn,

acid, base

and mostly, neutral.

Empirical evidence,

leading on, leading to

preliminary, or premature findings,

terminated lines of enquiry,

if not, why not conclusions.

On balance is it

much ado, about nothing,

or if not nothing, trace,

Tracey, or some other?

Parts in a million,

I just want one.

Anais Nin: Writer, Wildcat, Bigamist and Bon Vivant

Anais Nin, what a life!

witchlike

She was an author, a philosopher, a makeshift psychoanalyst, a flamenco dancer, an actress and an international woman of mystery. Her love affairs were legendary, and her tell-all erotica is hailed by critics as the finest ever written.

Born To Be Wild

Anais Nin, birth name “Angela Anaïs Juana Antolina Rosa Edelmira Nin y Culmell” (you can see why she shortened it!) was born on this day, February 21, 1903 in Nueilly, France. Her father, Joaquín Nin, was Cuban pianist of Spanish descent, and her mother Rosa Culmell, was a Cuban singer of French and Danish descent. Even at birth she seemed destined for an artistic life which would lead her across continents.

Sadly, her parents separated when Anais was only two years old. Rosa then took Anais and her brothers to Barcelona and later New York City. Anais began high school but dropped out at age sixteen. She then…

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Just an afterthought … not me …

After some reflection, soul searching this re-alignment of my internal compass firmly towards self-love and protection.

It says, simply the very most important qualities in a person, whom I will from now on permit navigation, in my emotional waters will be authenticity, honesty, plausibility and a balance of trust, bravery and fearlessness, in timely communication.

Everything else, everything, is just inconsequential desire and although understandable, nevertheless a chimera, without the above established basics, firmly grounded in a persona.