Torte and the layering of love

I find myself so enmeshed in philosophical musing in my poems that it surprised me when my husband asked that I write him a poem for a change 🙂 In fact, he requested for an entire collection. Well, here goes, trying to be my romantic best.

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Years layer on like Sachertorte / milled flour and the chocolate of strange lands together / we grew like cake / layered in sands of every shore the seas caressed / where people sang the syllables of love in tongues / possessed of the depth of oceans / Malaika, nakupenda malaika / You learned to understand the nuance of a Swahili love / and I the ways of an angel / or it may have been the other way around / teaching each other the beatitudes of love in simply loving / layering it like torte / in the design of sweet intentions of serving the bounty of a gracious heart / always giving / You have been most generous my love //

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It’s been years; sometimes I have to be reminded to be still to notice life and love around me ❤️ Descartes may just have to wait another day 😉

Shedding sleep in rituals of Electronica

At the top of my pandemic playlist last year was ‘das model’ by the Balanescu Quartet and it so happens that the avant-garde string ensemble performed this cover of German electronic music band Kraftwerk’s composition of the same name, that appeared in their 1978 seventh studio album, The Man-Machine. The track makes its way through the kitchen some mornings, the album is quite delightful and it’s never too late to habituate oneself to new rituals I’d think. Dancing to a kettle being one 😃

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Mornings are scant words spilled in a teacup, none left for poems / the rest exhausted in euphemisms like dreams / Characters jumbled in a divine comedy / thickening a plot like snow that sugared the sidewalks / If every dream could be a story, it would be the absurdity of a virus with a crown //

Blinking out the lacunae in windows at dawn / like columns in a crossword / the sun stains them brightly empty / Ten letters in somnolence, I drop along my way to the kitchen / where the stove lights up the day in flame / and blue glow travels faster than Robovox //

Feet, waist, hips, hands cut sense into Kraftwerk / modeling moves of the eighties / My limbs strode like the Robovac / in rhythms ahead of their time / way behind of ours / The knees wobbled in a giggle and begged me to try singing instead / I decide, I like this morning ritual and tell them
it’s here to stay //

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In life we come across the strangest people, some are dark souls and some are bright as daylight. Kraftwerk are bright and meaningful with their lithe rhythms, foot tapping music and a beat that keeps pace with the pulse but they are virtual for now even if they are real otherwise. Who is to say what is real and what isn’t, this is the mind body problem of Descartes that I am working on for my next poem and essay.

Fluid like water …

It’s a bright day today and the river gleams silver in the sunshine. I have yet to finish a poem I have been writing for months on the dead fish of the Hackensack, but today I thought of posting one of gratitude for the Marshlands, for the river and for the Menhaden of the Atlantic that seek succour in the salty waters.

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The river spans her marshy hand like the veins of an afterlife / She reaches to engulf the salty tears of a despondent ocean / for the Menhaden of the Atlantic to find succour in her estuarine comfort / surge into a new life like Moses in the reeds / a resurrection of spirit / a rebirth //

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The poem I am yet to write is about a lack of oxygen in the waters due to various environmental factors that had caused a deluge of dead fish earlier this year. It needn’t have had to be this way …