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.

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.

Thirty-One Summers and Counting – Poem

sun-rays-182170_1280

Credit: Pixabay Commons

Thirty-One Summers and Counting  – Poem
by Ama Danesi

In your hurry, you left bones behind
and the heat of thirty-one summers.
Sunset’s not the end of time –
interrupts the rendezvous of a carved image.
I feel your light upon my waters,
I know you are in His.

I pray your heart healed as
it caught up with the Sun.
Stalled timeline, memorialized on Facebook.
Now we live and die on full display
You no longer appear as People-I-Know.
I miss reminders of your birthday – like today.

———————————————————————

Happy Birthday to my little one, Imah-Obong-  who is resting above.

All For The Perfect Name

 

I could have called myself

Maya — माया māyā

Supernatural being of wisdom

and power, an unfathomable plan,

a detachment from incomplete

fragments of reality, like a brief,

disturbed drop of water from

unbounded waves. How I could

attain to an illusion that both

conceals & pierces the veil?

I certainly had the consonants &

enough a’s

I had accumulated enough hurt,

pain and joy, I could pull this off–

and I had read “Why The Caged

Bird Sings”

With friends who thought the same.

Call yourself by what you love,

the presence of a phenomena

created within loins and

indelibly rented hearts –

Wife of, Husband of

Mother of, Father of

Child of, Friend of –

But it’s never enough,

we are both the hurt and

the healers colliding.

I denied these blanks –

they are the enemy.

I denied the power of

another’s election.

Once I changed to Eileen,

that sadness did not salve

the stinging.

Poll the candidates.

Roll the morsels off:

Aya, Suama

Mayak, Amayak

Ayak, Suam.

This is all so bad, the

heavy taste like lead,

weighing down –

down

my tongue.

Hands behind his back

he  leaned forward –

a giant ear.

Over my most sacred place –

my mind,

he  whispered a name

that drove me wild, bucking

to first find

love, then find me.

denominate –

I called myself,

Beloved.

Everything changes your life –

A name can do that to you.

Ama

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