M is for…

 

By Kerry Vincent © 2008

 (inspired by the Soul Food Café M is for Myth prompt) 

M is for myth, Medusa,

Magic, metaphor, mage,

Medicine women, mistress,

Mystery, and mystical music.

M could also be for
Middle-aged me,
Monotonous meetings,
Mundane months,
Medication, mistakes.

Mine is a mundane magic,

The Miracle of getting through another day.

My imagination takes off without me.

I’d rather cast spells than go to the office.

I’d rather dance in fairy rings that run errands.

I don’t go on quests, merely to the market.

I search for bargains, not the Holy Grail.

The only damsels in distress I rescue

Are my friends with the blues.

I’d rather challenge a fire-breathing dragon

Than deal with a telemarketer.

I’d rather ride with witches

Than make my dull commute to work every day.

I believe in the Goddess of Make-Believe!

I believe in the Immutable Muse!

I believe in my Imagination

And myths of my own making,

Amen.

         

God, Human Stupidity, and Laughter

Once in a library I ran across a rogue translation of The Ramayana which some say is the oldest work of literature that there is. An ancient Persian story about Prince Rama. Basically, Prince Rama starts out full of ideals and then meets reality and gets the rug yanked out from under him, gets disillusioned and grows wiser. It was the template for the story that’s been repeated a million times. But at the end of The Ramayana — in this translation at least — at the end of the book he makes his way to the feet of the wisest man in the world and says: Master, everything I was taught was a lie. Everything I believed in was an illusion. Is there nothing in life that is real?

And the wise man ponders and says: [Affecting the voice of an ancient wise man] My son, three things in life are real. God, human stupidity and laughter. But the first two pass our comprehension. We must do what we can with the third. [Laughs] Cackling insanely he disappears over the hill and the curtain comes down. That made a powerful impression on me a long time ago. You know, God and human stupidity are beyond me. That’s another department. I just work here. But laughter? I can handle that. I can tell a joke and it may not be an answer, but it will do until an answer comes along.

There’s nothing as good as laughter. Morphine can’t touch it. Demerol’s got nothin’ on it. Gimme a giggle. The local cancer society has a special room they call The Humor Room for terminal patients. Everything in this room is hilarious: books, games, videos. If you need a giggle, go in that room and something will make you laugh. They came to me and said: May we have some of your stuff? And I’ve never been so profoundly flattered in my life.

from Spider Robinson’s The Crazy Year’s Column

http://www.spiderrobinson.com/writings.html

Good Muse – Bad Muse

My “Bad Muse” is a frightening character from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.  Not “Pyscho” or “The Birds” – but Daphne Du Maurier’s “Rebecca” (1940).  Not Joan Fontaine’s character, but Dame Judith Anderson’s portrayal of Mrs. Danvers, the cold, cruel, critical, obsessive, severe, strict housekeeper, who reminds the second Mrs. De Winter’s she will never be good enough, no matter how hard she tries.

My “Good Muse” is a TV character from a 1960’s American sit-com.  Then, when most girls my age were asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, they would say, “A mother – a teacher – a nurse – a ballerina.”  They wanted to be like Lucy on “I Love Lucy”, or even Samantha on “Bewitched”.  Not me.  I had a different TV hero, from a different program.  I wanted to be part of the “Dick Van Dyke” show.  Not Laura Petri, even though my last name was the same as Mary Tyler Moore.  I didn’t want to be a whiny housewife.  Oh, no.  I wanted to be in the back office, writing comedy sketches with Buddy and Sally.  In fact, I wanted to be Morey Amsterdam – because he made everyone laugh, and everyone liked him, and what could be better than having a job where you got paid to write jokes? 

Kundalini Housewife

Kundalini Housewife

By Kerry Vincent ©1994

   “Wild and free” – that’s how Angie wanted to feel.  But there was always more laundry to do, more dishes to wash.

   When she made the bed, she wished she had silk sheets, scented with gardenia.  But all she could afford was cheap percale.

   Angie wanted to drink good champagne again, and nibble dark chocolate truffles by candlelight in a room of her own, but the family was always there, demanding her attention, with the TV or video games blaring, and she could never find time for herself.

   Sometimes she escaped through writing in her journal, but then the phone rang, or she had to answer some e-mail, or she had a headache and couldn’t concentrate.

   She wanted the sky to be a mirror of her naked body (not perfect, but not too bad for someone her age), so everyone could see her as she really was.  But she was afraid of offending someone, so she dressed modestly.

   Although Angie wanted to be strong and powerful, like the women she read about and admired, she had lost her courage some years ago, like a penny dropped from a worn playclothes pocket.  She wanted to live on life’s edge – but she was too afraid she’d fall off forever. 

   She wanted to sip the nectar of life at least once more.  She wasn’t too old – she was too young to just give up – she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life regretting what she had not done.  Once Angie had eaten rose petals – she still wanted to taste the whole garden.

   But her will to live was buried at the bottom of a basket of dirty clothes.  It was too much trouble to look for it again.  No, Angie could not scrape away the past, or get an advance on tomorrow.  All she had was today. 

   So maybe tonight, she would treat herself to a glass of wine and watch the sun go down, like she used to do.  Just one more time, she would open a present she gave herself, and act surprised.  She would look inside, find her gifts, and feel alive again. 

Camellia, Queen of Springtime

camellia photo

Outside – sleet is slashing down, angry winds roar, skies darken.

Across the Threshhold – Over the door step, through the portal, into the greenhouse.

Inside – Camellia, Queen of Springtime is smiling, her soiree of pretty pink, red, and white ladies gather to celebrate the end of winter, to welcome the coming Spring.

 At the center – I crown the mermaid girl in the wishing fountain with a fallen blossom tiara, curtsey, and bloom again.

(copyright 2008 Kerry Vincent)

Camellia, Missouri Botanical Gardens, Linnean House, St. Louis, Missouri, USA – 17 February 2008. 

Evelyn West – Fever

 I dedicated “Strip Tease of Love” to my friend Margie, who just turned 84 and says she is “still scootin’!”  I couldn’t find a photo of her from “back in the day”, but here’s some pictures of her friend and peer, Evelyn West, who sometimes called when I was visiting Margie at home.  Here is a film clip:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAiIyDXP4us

Strip Tease of Love

Love is an exotic dancer,

Someone who knows just how to tease,

How to make you want her,

How to pull away at the last minute.

Sometimes she blows you a kiss.

More often, she takes your heart,

Turns on a spike heel,

And bumps and grinds her way

Over to the next tipping customer.

 

 

From a distance she is beautiful,

Her costume is sparkles and spangles.

But up close you see the wrinkles,

The dark circles under her eyes,

The desire for what might have been.

 

 

By Kvwordsmith © 2008

Dedicated to Margie Stroud, who turned 84 today and is “still scootin’!”

How to Fall in Love

Do not be expecting it – that is the best way.  Don’t even be looking for love – let it find you!  Just think it is a normal day.  Lalalala.  Say hello to your friends.  Laugh.  Eat lunch.   Tell jokes.   Make a coffee date with your Silly Side.  Be yourself.  Then, before you know it, if the right person comes along, they can’t help but fall in love with you.

Enjoy your lover’s company.  Talk often, kiss and hug a whole bunch.  Think about the other when you’re apart.  Sure, you miss each other, but imagine how happy you’ll be when you get together again!

When you fall out of love, it hurts worse than falling on your noggin and getting a big bump.  You may be very sad when you go to sleep that night, but tomorrow is a new day.  You might fall in love with someone new.  Or not.  It’s up to you.  But isn’t it exciting, wondering when love will come back into your life, tap you on your shoulder, and ask, “Are you busy?”

Just go about your everyday life and be open to whatever love comes your way.  When it’s your turn again, fall in love and be happy.  When it’s over, let it go until next time.

But always be ready for love! 

Kerry Vincent – copyright 1993

The Princess of Twilight

The Princess of Twilight gathers a handful of rose petals, candleglow on lace curtains, and the luster of old pearls.  She walks through the meadow, the whispering darkness following softly behind her, a rustling tafetta train of shadows. 

Then crickets start to sing and a peeper’s chorus of frogs begins.  Hoot owls call.  One by one, stars appear.  Peace gently washes over the hills.  Wrapped in the dark soft blanket of night, the countryside rests.  Now magic can begin.  Pixies slip out from behind the ivy leaves to dance in the silvery stardust.  The Princess of Twilight smiles, waves her hand and blesses the fairies in their ring.  She gathers the deep stillness around her shoulders, snugs it close like a traveling cloak, and drifts off to sleep.  

Tommorrow she will weave her spell of beauty once more, and gently pull the day to an end, tugging the drawstrings of her silken purse.

Hedgehog’s Starry Night

The little hedgehog sat at his kitchen table and wrote his Aunt Mercedes a letter. He told her how white the moon had shone last night, and how there were so many stars sprinkled in the skies, and how he stood there in the cold night air (shivering just a little), and wished she could be beside him to share his wonder.Somehow, just writing to his Aunt about the night sky made him feel that he had shared the beauty with her, even though they lived many burrows apart.

“That must be what this writing is all about!” he thought. “All this scribbling is more than just my pen scratching the paper – it’s magic! I can make someone feel like she’s right beside me, sharing something special, and it even makes me feel closer to her, although she lives far away. Why, words are wonderful! You can play with them all you like, and it doesn’t even cost you a penny!”

Hedgehog smiled to himself, folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope, and hummed all the way to the nearest mailbox. He opened the flap and slid the letter down the slot, saying, “Here you go, Aunt Mercedes, a lot of love and a little magic is on its way to you!” The door slammed shut with a staisfying bang.

“Writing is such fun – I should do it more often,” he thought, and whistled as he waddled all the way home.