For A.B., as usual

1 / Collapse

Several times he seemed
ready to collapse
under the burden of
pain from unhappy love

Yet always managed
to pick himself up –
by his own scalp,
so to speak

But there were moments
when collapse seemed
the sweetest thing on earth –

the final breaking of those
iron rings in his heart region
that would manifest pure love

2 / Sweet

An infinite sweetness
bearing no relation
to the object of collapse

Something truly
unconditional – an oath
not to ever betray

love, that particular love
regardless of anything
that might happen

3 / Yearn

Despite it all,
in the face of despise:
there it is – near-blind,
sighful yearning

The more un-
fullfillable
the better

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written around Collapse, Sweet, Yearn from 3WW.

I opened the door and I found I was looking at danger
It’s been so many years but we’re hiding our faces like strangers
She says that she’s got to go but there ain’t no way
I’m letting her walk while there’s something to say
It’s been too many years
to watch our hearts die in this way.
She’s feeling a time for a seasonal change and she’s yearning
To shake the trees of our love in the streets where the leaves are for burning
All things on this earth were made for the dying
One look in my soul says there just ain’t no use trying
It’s been too many years
to watch our hearts die in this way
In an unwritten time I thought that life was for sharing
And living together was simply a matter of caring
But things did not work out like I planned
and alienation has left me here damned
It’s been too many years
to watch our hearts die in this way

– Jorma Kaukonen

The dilemma of seeming to know each other too well, for too many years, becoming almost strangers. Unfortunately, there is no rendition of this wonderful song by ex-Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna lead guitarist Jorma Kaukonen on Youtube.

Posted for One Single Impression and The Stranger.

Once again for A.B.

I know you a little better now
than before, will

know you better again tomorrow
and the day after

I knew the sparkle before,
the sparkle in your dark brown eyes

Last week I noticed the wrinkles
around your eyes – you’re

thirty-seven after all, I noticed them
from the side as we were driving along

And yesterday it dawned on me
that you’re also fickle –

capricious for capriciousness’ sake;
you call it spontaneous

And don’t tell me you don’t thrive
on compliments on your beauty –

I know you better than your daughter
who is like you,

dancing away throwing a mane of hair,
curious of its effect

“Did I do a good throw?”
she said over her shoulder

I can’t wait to hear what you will say
over your shoulder

The day after the day and the day
I will know you better

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written to incorporate Fickle / Sparkle / Wrinkle from 3WW.

For A.S.

With all my cavorting
– and yours on top! –

we never know
who we’re dealing with.

You told me today
that sometimes

you did not know
who you were talking to

when talking to me –
my inner child,

my outer child,
my higher self

or whatever
(I don’t have

the nomenclature
down), and which

layer of you was
communicating with me.

“We’re complicated,”
I said. “No,” you said,

“complex.” That
definitely came

from your mouth
and went into my ear.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written upon inspiration by “covert” for Sunday Scribblings.

Kamala Das, one of India’s eminent poets, passed away on May 31, 2009.

Kamala Das alias Kamala Surayya alias Madhavikutty passed away in a private hospital at Pune, India, on Sunday early morning. She was 75. She had been undergoing hospital treatment for the last few months.

She wrote in English as well as Malayalam, her native language. She is considered to be one of the outstanding Indian poets writing in English.

Her popularity in Kerala is based chiefly on her short stories, novels and autobiography. Much of her writing in Malayalam came under the pen name Madhavikkutty.

A poem by Kamala Das from an earlier post.

As he would occasionally do when taking a solitary walk, he shifted into another being. This time it was a brown bear, to enable him to climb a tree and survey the forest from a different point of view.

This was his first time as a bear. He relished the feeling of powerful ease with which he was able to use his claws on the rough bark of the tall, thick pine he’d picked, and the total absence of his usual fear of heights. But he also noticed how thoughts and associations not his own were infiltrating, which he knew to come from being a bear. His sense of smell had increased tremendously, to a degree that was overwhelming. He could sense that there was carrion nearby, and his sensitivity to traces of urine and dung in the vicinity was acute.

His human soul was somewhat let down because his bear-self did not think of his surroundings as beautiful – they were his habitat and therefore entirely normal.

Stirrings of hunger were there, and they were for the dead animal about 20 yards away, for other things his human self did not consider terribly appetizing, but also for the chocolate in his own backpack which he’d hung from the lower branches of a smaller tree.

Time to return and attack that chocolate before some other bear would try and get to it.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written for Café Writing’s May/June project, The Magic of Milne. Photo Credit: Tony Campbell.

My dear James, last night was wonderful! You were so gentle and sensitive, yet you knew when to be strong and firm with me. I do like to be chastised when I have been naughty, just a little , and you knew exactly how much force was enough to send me into ecstacy. You can be so stern, you nasty man! And when you spoke Swabian to me! That made me wild! And your homemade spätzle was divine! You are the perfect man, James. So well read, so cultured, so knowledgeable, yet so unassuming, so humble. That combination drives me crazy (as you probably realized ). I can’t wait until we meet again, James. – from your little Kazakh warrior

Notes
This was written facetiously by a friend and colleague of mine as part of an e-mail by that same little Kazakh warrior he forwarded to me. It was the one and only association that came to me for Inspire Me Thursday’s Warrior theme.

“I have been maligned by a cryptic flash,” declaimed Tommy theatrically.
Gerald added a few pinches of salt.
“Taste! – I think that will do,” he said, offering a spoonful of the bright yellow sauce.
Tommy turned away in distaste.
“What is it now,” Gerald said.
“You never listen to me. All you care about is food – cooking and eating, cooking and eating!”
“Oh come off your huff. You like my cooking. And anyway, I’ve been listening all along.”
“Prove it!”
“I believe you were saying that someone, most likely your loving mother, said something about you behind your back that you didn’t like, and you found out about it somehow.”
“No! I said ‘maligned by a cryptic flash’! Does that sound like my mother? Or any real person for that matter? And it’s quite poetic, by the way. But you wouldn’t know, maker of curries.”
“Thank you, dear Thomasina, for putting me in my rightful place. But let me return the compliment and call you by your real name: flasher of malignant cryptics and soon-to-be eater of pungent elliptics and sensibly cut rhomboids.”

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Woven around Cryptic, Flash and Malign as suggested by 3WW.

And if you think I’m ready
You may lead me to the chasm
Where the rivers of our visions
Flow into one another
(from “Wasn’t born to follow”, written Gerry Goffin / Carole King, as sung by The Byrds)

I have no guru,
not much religion.

I doubt the old books,
doubt the old gods.

Still I look for truth
and know

there’s eternity,
there’s much more

to life than atoms
and cells.

And even though
I know we’re all

one, all grapes
off the same vine,

I often feel alone
as a meteorite shard,

crashed somewhere,
lying unrelated,

and as shut into
myself

as a stone.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Posted for Sunday Scribblings’ Follow.

Note
The song “Wasn’t born to follow”, performed by The Byrds, was part of the soundtrack of the 1969 movie Easy Rider starring Dennis Hopper, Peter Fonda and Jack Nicholson. In essence, the film is about a new dream of freedom crushed by an old, restrictive world order that does not tolerate anything but itself.

It is written that future Man will move up one step on the hierarchical ladder to become a creator, just like the angels, archangels, thrones, excusiai and others are creators. Thought, which already has creative powers in some select few – think of healers that can heal long-distance – or in everyone, more than we might think, will then be much more directly creative. You think of a plant – it will be there. You think of growing the plant – it will grow and flower, directed by your thought, as you watch. Everything you think of will manifest itself. Sound good? Think of multitudes of people doing this at the same time. Some other person might think of shrinking the plant you’re trying to grow. Just as it is now, people with creative powers might not necessarily be good people – they might be mostly interested in using their creative powers for egotistical or destructive purposes. But then again a lot of problems might be solved. A hungry mother would wish for food and receive it for herself and her children, all served instantly on a nice platter. People in an area affected by drought would wish for rain and get it. Or they could choose to grow their produce without rain. We could choose to have our mobility without noxious gases – we would simply wish for flying saucers, blimps or whatever vehicles and move them at will. To Australia, Sri Lanka, Greenland, Palo Alto, Yucatán – wherever, at whatever speed. What opportunity for mankind, for happy times!

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written in 15 minutes on the process of creation for Café Writing.