I Choose You Again – My Wild, My Rose

I Chose You Again, My wild, My rose

Credit: Google Images

Are you camp “Old Fashioned” or “Fifty Shades of Grey”? This valentine we reflect on why we chose or love or hurt the one we are with. Pain is inevitable in love but not pain in self-depreciating shades. We forgive the edges in well-deployed words and actions that rip into old wounds, choosing to return to wild, breathless passion. Love can be traumatic, so trust has to be implicit.

Trust that beneath the flares, your love is still wild about you. Which is why I am firmly in camp Old-Fashioned. The movie reminds us that love is patient, because we all fall flat on our faces. As the trailer says, “Love is about a girl and a boy looking for something more.” Is something more – bondage, whips, handcuffs and games? Who needs sexual fantasies about hurting and disrespecting each other? Love is not always pretty – that’s life but we are basically old-fashioned and frayed along the edges. Our hearts need safe place, a home – picket fence and all.

Trust is a phenomenal aphrodisiac. Romance is worth its weight in red rose bouquets and it takes a good girl or boy to blow your mind. (Thanks Jessie J.)  This day, I choose love – old-fashioned, familiar but wild.

I chose you wild rose

Credit: Pixabay Images

“The Wild Rose” by Wendell Berry

Sometimes hidden from me
in daily custom and in trust,
so that I live by you unaware
as by the beating of my heart,

Suddenly you flare in my sight
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only shade,

and once again I am blessed, choosing
again what I chose before.

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An Offering to the Wind – A Poem

An Offering to the Wind – A Poem
by Ama Danesi.

http://pixabay.com/en/little-girl-rain-umbrella-walker-289330/

Girl in boots – alone, unafraid.
Awaiting the chariot sure, delicate
neck arched, an offering to the wind.

Visible as Dawn 2 – A Haiku

Another Haiku Friday…

Haiku Friday

Image Credit: Pixabay

Visible as Dawn 2

A Haiku by Ama Danesi

The dare of tight

coils and obstinate

springs, free as air.

Visible as dawn – A Haiku

Image Credit: Pixabay

Image Credit: Pixabay

I’m all for Haiku Fridays, so here’s mine.

Visible as dawn
by Ama Danesi

Pineapple on my head
unruly stalks, roots above
ground – visible as dawn.

 

Not a pretty sight but it makes getting dressed in the mornings easier.
Inspiration – Natural hair, as in kinks, roots and all. There is both strength and vulnerability in showing up in the world raw and natural, just as you are.

Honoring Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou -  Wikipedia Images

Maya Angelou – Wikipedia Images

Maya Angelou; April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014.
Her website states, “Dr. Maya Angelou is a remarkable Renaissance woman who is hailed as one of the great voices of contemporary literature.” She was a poet, author, educator, historian, a mother and mostly a friend whose voice we’ll always hear urging us to do better, to teach others what we’ve learnt and to accept each other as God’s children.

She gone, but not really. Through her work and poems, she lives on…

A Brave and Startling Truth – Maya Angelou

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth

And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms

When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil

When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze

When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse

When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets

Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world

When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear

When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.

 

Maya Angelou (/ˈm.ə ˈænəl/;[1][2] born Marguerite Ann Johnson; was an American author and poet. She published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, and several books of poetry, and is credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows spanning more than fifty years. She received dozens of awards and over thirty honorary doctoral degrees. Angelou is best known for her series of seven autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), tells of her life up to the age of seventeen, and brought her international recognition and acclaim. (Source : Wikipedia)