Poetry Lessons

A lesson in love poetry:

Let me show you what it is that
I want you to do to me.
Let my hands & mouth be the
road map to your desire -
the answer to your longing.

Allow yourself to divest your
passion & soul into my heart.
My body will answer all of your
questions & queries.

Place your hands onto my body
as if I were an open chalice -
ready to deliver pure passion
straight to your lips.
Let me show you how to find the
lover you were meant to be with me.

Indulge in my poetry as if you participated
directly in my passions -
Free yourself to imagine what your poem might
sound like as though it were written for you.
I will allow my eyes & heart to indulge in your
body & mind as if they were made for me.

Become a student of erotic pleasure -
a taste of the forbidden,
a touch of the forgotten,
& I promise you, dear reader,
that you will become a master
in the art of love & me.

I'm really not that into you, Christmas.

Hello Love Junkies,

With the countdown to Christmas officially speeding toward the merry day, I suppose I should get my ass off the crazy-train and get into the Spirit.  It's been a long year and I usually enjoy the fervour of the season.

My fake pre-lit tree is up, but without one decoration it looks pretty but bland.  No cookies are baked.  The turkey is frozen in the freezer.  The boxes of decorations are stacked on top of each other behind the couch.  The cat occasionally strolls by the boxes and tugs at decorations; grazing on the fake tree garland before puking it back up on the kitchen tiles.  Thanks.  I have not bought any gifts either.  Not. One. Single. Gift.  Thanks to my crazy relatives, there are piles of gifts for the small people in the house.  The cat might even have one under there.  I guess it may be true:

This year I'm really not that into you, Christmas. 

This week is my office Christmas pot-luck lunch.  Like an idiot, in retrospect, I was the jolly idea-giver to have the potluck rather than a luncheon out at somewhere where you can never make everyone happy.  It was a tradition we used to do at my old office and you can usually make most people happy with it as they show off their spouses-hard-earned cooking skills.  Of course, I am now wondering how I am going to tote a crock-pot of cocktail meatballs first on a packed train and then on a packed bus in the morning rush en route to dropping the kidlet at daycare. Hmmm.

I am feeling a bit 1) guilty about not getting any gifts (yet...I'm assured there's still time) and 2) liberated from the gluttony of the season.  I watch with amusement the crazy-eyed shoppers paying top dollar for "this year's toy" or a sweater for granny.  I'm sure she'll love it.

So I've come up with a 5-day Christmas Plan:

1) Monday - buy the stuff for your meatballs and lettuce canoes tonight, dummy. Stock up the house with Bailey's & wine.
2) Tuesday - assemble the meatballs & canoes.  Tote EMPTY crock-pot on mass-transit.  I think that by toting an empty crock I will avoid what could be a guaranteed disaster.
3) Wednesday - Bring the meatballs & canoes in ziplock containers.  Heat at work and enjoy the day.  Could be a good night to slip out to get a couple of gifts.  Wrestle crock-pot back on mass-transit.  Buy more wine.
4) Thursday - More shopping, if needed. Thaw the bird. Get Christmas dinner groceries. 
5) Friday - Wrap. Buy more wine. Office closes early, so there will be more time for wine!  Bake the Santa cookies.  Eat them immediately after Kidlet-bedtime.

So my plan seems like more of a call-to-duty than genuine Spirit, but I'm ok with that.  I'm assured that "faking it" once and awhile is normal.  As long as I don't fuck-up taking the bird out of the freezer, I'm pretty sure everything else will work out.  I've requested books for Christmas. The Kidlet is getting Lego.  There's lots of wine on the list to get me through.  Hmmm...now that I read it back I think I'm actually pretty normal!

I'm not sure what it is about this time of year that makes everyone crazy.  Especially people that I am related to.  I received a bizarre message from my father last week.  I suppose it's fairly safe to say that I won't be calling him back anytime soon.  Every time I let this person into my life just a little bit, he just shows up with disappointment in hand.  Enough.  No more.  I'm not going to pretend that I want a relationship with this person.  I just don't. Period.  Same goes with my brother.  He's more fucked-up than anyone else I know and I can see quite clearly where he gets it from.  Both alike they are.  More on this twitchy topic later.

Enjoy your day my little Elves.
-Lola

Read Needs

There is something about this time of year that makes me want to just call in sick and curl up with a coffee (if it's morning) or a glass of wine (if it is reasonably close to or after noon) and dig into a good book.  I find that when I get into a good book, not much gets between me and The End. 

My favourite genre right now is memoir/autobiography.  I did the fiction trail for a while but these days I like to read about people having experiences of their own, how they handled them and the lessons they learned.  I have also tossed around the idea of writing my own memoirs, but I haven't really drafted an outline or even wrapped my thoughts around what might be so interesting about my life that someone would want to spend their time reading about it.  Until then, I'll continue to dabble at poetry, as this comes fairly easily to me right now.  I suppose the tough work lies ahead of me when I am ready to take it on.

So while I ponder my own memoir, I've decided to draft a list of books that I want to read.  I recently finished "Even Silence Has an End" by Ingrid Batancourt upon the recommendation of a friend.  A captivating story of a woman held hostage in the jungles of South America by the Farc for over 6 years.  While the story was fascinating, I did find it repetitive as she circled around lost in dampness, loneliness and never ending green year after year.  It was good and worth the 2 weeks that I spent reading it.  Currently I am reading "The Snowball"  by Alice Schroeder.  A fascinating read about the man behind Berkshire Hathaway...the company that pretty much owns "everything." (Think Coca-Cola, Geico Insurance, Benjamin Moore Paints, Dairy Queen, The Pampered Chef and Fruit of the Loom...just to name a few).  At about 950 pages, it's a meaty read and I admit that when I pick it up, I can't put it down...but when I do a week or more can go by before I pick it up again.

So having committed to reading The Snowball, I have no business eyeing up other books.  I find myself in Chapters, thumbing through the new releases.  I find myself wanting each new book Oprah announces her new selection.  I admit I own books on my crowded bookcases that I haven't read yet.  Good thing about books though, is that they are always there waiting for me when I finally reach for them.


The List:
"Committed: A skeptic makes peace with marriage" by Elizabeth Gilbert.  Her follow up memoir to "Eat, Pray, Love."  It's on one of my crowded bookcases I mentioned.  An easy read that I know I will enjoy and read quickly when I get to it.

"Freedom" by Jonathan Franzen.  Cited as the "novel of the decade by a great American novelist." I hear it's a page turner.

"My Spiritual Journey" by The Dalai Lama.  The memoir of a great living legend.


"Unbearable Lightness: A story of loss and gain" by Portia de Rossi.  Not just because I'm a big fan of Ellen Degeneres who has avidly pushed her wife's book, it sounds like a story that any woman who has struggled with self-image should read.


Harry Potter Boxed Set.  All 7 novels.  I read the very first one years ago and then saw some of the movies thereafter.  Since then, I've caught up on the movies and did enjoy them.  With the last two movies coming out, I figure it's time to sit down and read the books.  They are truly magical.

"The Teachings of the Buddha."  A book I've had for years that I reach for when I am seeking balance.  This is on my night stand now.

"Vij's at Home: Relax, Honey: The warmth and ease of Indian Cooking" by Meeru Dhalwala & Vij Virkham.  Local Vancouver restaurateurs that are fantastic and I need to spend more time learning to cook Indian food.

"The Food of Morocco" by Jane Lawson.  To get more of my exotic foodie fix.

"Life" by Keith Richards.  As the saying goes, after the nuclear winter two things will survive: cock roaches and Keith Richards.  Sounds like an interesting read that has been getting good reviews, probably for the fact that it's amazing he remembers everything...just not in any particular order.

"Say You're One of Them" by Uwem Akpan.  Another Oprah recommendation that I'm sure will deliver.


"Happens Every Day: an all-too-true story" by Isabel Gillies.  A memoir of heartbreak as a marriage ends.  This is on one of my bookcases too.


Well that should do for now.  I'm sure I'll add more later.


-L

Life Happens

Hi Friends,


After 14 months and hours of anxiety later, I am finally into another chapter of this book called Life.  A life-changing event happened to me those long 14 months ago...almost as significant as the birth of my son.  I was involved in a tragic accident that cost a life, changed lives and has brought me to many hours of trying to come to terms with the whole thing.  I struck a pedestrian with my car, and she died.

My friends & family have rallied behind me, comforting me, telling me "shit happens," it was an accident.  An accident.  The courts have accepted my guilt, fined me $1000 plus a 15% "victims of crime" surcharge and relieved me of my drivers licence for 3 months.  I am assured I am not a criminal, just a distracted driver apparently.  So I am going to just sit down and write about what happened, in the hopes of allowing me to forgive myself.


October 3, 2009

On this sunny morning, bright & early at 8:00 a.m., I was driving to the hospital for a pre-natal ultrasound.  Given that I had developed pre-eclampsia, I was undergoing regular fetal screening and blood pressure tests.  The sun had just risen over an apartment building in the foreground and as I entered the right-hand turn lane, an elderly woman entered the crosswalk.  I did not see her, blinded by the sun.  Even at 20 km/hr, it was enough for her to land on my hood and fall to the asphalt.  I will never forget the falling feeling in my heart when I made eye contact with her before she slid off the hood.  I will never forget the sound of my own voice that cried out "No!"  It sounded like it came from someone else in the car, but it had to be mine, as I was alone.  After the ambulances, fire trucks, police and eyewitnesses had all cleared, shaky behind the wheel, I continued on to the hospital.  I wasn't even late for my appointment.

Two weeks later I had my son two weeks early.  I was artificially-induced due to "pre-eclampsia," a fancy medical term for high blood pressure during pregnancy.  The doctors were so concerned with my stress levels and racing blood pressure that I could have had a life-ending seizure.  In addition, a portion of the placenta had detached and died and my son had stopped growing in utero.  He is now a very happy and healthy pre-toddler, I am happy to report.


In the months following the accident, the nice young constable that attended the scene arrived at my door, paperwork in hand.  He wore a long frown and a furrowed brow as he delivered the news to me that Crown had decided to pursue charges.  I think he was at that moment more devastated about the charges than I initially was.


Fast forward 10 months.  I decided to plead guilty to one charge of "driving with undue care and attention" and accepted ownership of the accident.  I will never know if the lady saw me coming or not, however the court reassured His Honour that it didn't matter; I entered the crosswalk when I shouldn't have.  Case closed.  Of course, the worst part of the hearing, all 10 minutes of it, were the glares I know that were being sent my way from the members of the family that were there.  The lady's daughter glared at me like I was the Grim Reaper in the flesh as she frostily told me who she was in the hallway.  As if I did any of this on purpose.  I watched Oprah the other day (oh, I know, I know), and she had a guest on that was the victim of a horrid crime.  She asked him if he would ever forgive the person that changed his life forever.  He said: "You can forgive someone for stealing your car.  You can forgive someone for slapping your face.  You can forgive someone for causing an accident.  To forgive pure evil however, is not appropriate."  (His wife and 2 daughters were brutally murdered in his home as he was left for dead in the basement.)  I secretly hope that the family will one day forgive me for causing the accident.  More so however, is that one day I hope to forgive myself.


-Lola

Boss

The boss of my heart commands my

mind and soul.

My thoughts are consumed by the hours

spent with you, & I secretly pray they will

stretch to days & forever.

I am a slave to your love although

it is given freely to me.

Our respect and trust developed over

the years & love was found after the hours

& days finally added up to us.

Where we have been before us is not

what matters now.

Where we are going as us is

what matters next.

Lessons learned & lovers lost have taught

us how delicate we must hold each others

hearts in our hands.

Lessons & lovers have taught

us that we are precious & deserving of

the rare & precious gift of me & you.

My soul mate is you,

& I am yours.

The world made us wait days til now

where we finally hold our last meeting in business

& begin the business of our lives & love.

Merged to you I am complete.

Together in love we are building our future

& creating memories to hold before us.

So that we may look back,

& smile

& laugh

& love.

The boss of us is called love;

we have looked through the days

& lovers & thru time to find it.

We are now here, I have arrived to you & you to me.

We stand before each other with open hearts

to sign the final seal of our love.

Burgundy Sheets

We meet in the early morning hours

between sheets the colour of wine.

I hold you close

& I know that you are mine.

I slip into your room,

I know it well even though it is dark.

You awake silently as I slip off

my clothes & press my cool skin

against your warmth.

You awaken to my touch

& our sense come alive.

A gentle kiss; an embrace from behind;

& you know that I am yours.

The burgundy sheets know us well,

they know our sporadic love

meets between their threads

when the neighbours sleep

& when spouses are away.

It is you my lover, my love,

who brings me to places I have

not been to for so long, so easily;

no walls, no barriers amongst

the maroon sea.

For it is between these burgundy sheets

that have begun to fade because of

our rubbing; the washing; the rubbing;

that we learn that love has wrapped its

arms & legs & fingers & toes

around us.

Morning has arrived & we sweat.

The window is fogged in; the cats

want out.

We still hunger for each other yet

time is up; like we are on some type

of stop watch that neither of us control.

We leave the burgundy sheets &

know that they lie touching against

each other; waiting until we meet again.

My Love, My Heart

Without looking, you were there

& I welcomed you into my centre.

Without wanting, you became a part

of my life & my world.

You are my heart.

My love, my love...I have looked for you.

My heart, my heart...I have longed to feel your beat.

This life of ours; this life of mine, I cannot

imagine you not in it.

You bring to me love & life & love & happiness;

love & joy & all in between.

Where have you been?

I am whole next to your half;

the part that completes me, that makes me one & of you.

I take you with me throughout my day & I hold you at night.

It is you that I think of.

It is you that I dream of.

It is only you.

You are my love.

My heart.

Carry me with you & carry my touch to your soul.

I will strip to the flesh & bone,

& bare myself to you.

I place my heart before your hands.

I place my love before your feet.

I expose myself with only love & no fear.

I do not question before or after, but only now.

Now I hold you.

Now I have you.

You are a part of my love & life,

to be loved in return.

You are my heart.

You are my love.

Lover & Best Friend

I’m up alone on nights like tonight,

my head & heart overflowing with

thoughts of you –

sweet memories fresh with passion

years in the making.

Miles & years between us have not

changed those feelings we have hid

from ourselves & others.

With you, my best friend, I am safe

& warm within your hands & arms.

Love has always been there for us,

yet not easy to have.

My heart aches with the unknown amount

of time before me –

when will we meet again?

I will dream of you & of you holding me,

the way you have for the time behind us.

I secretly pray for more time

ahead of us – when I can hold you again

& recommit my love

& passion for you.

When I close my eyes all I have is

visions of you & I replay over & over

our few precious moments that

we have shared over the years till now.

Bring me your hands & heart

& I will make mountains of memories

out of them for you.

Come to me & save me from this

heartache of passion & longing for you.

Close the distance between our worlds –

two souls so close cannot live apart as we do.

Surely no world could be so cruel.

When you come home to me,

the time & space between us will melt away,

a glacier of love will recede

& reveal the true origin of our loves extent.

Lost Love

I return to you – as I always do –

you are never far from my mind.

Although time has passed

& distance separates us,

it is always you.

Sometimes I wonder about why

we are not together – the way we should be –

do we deserve our love?

Will we be the love affair

without the ever-after?

When will I see you again?

Kiss me as if I never left with

suitcase in hand.

Kiss me when I arrive as if we

know that I will soon leave you again –

another unknown amount of time

& distance awaits us.

Touch me as if I were the one & only thing

that gives you purpose

& desire.

Touch me with your passionate hands –

Touch me with your passionate mind.

Engulf me with your eyes.

Make me sweat

in anticipation of your love.

Make me believe you are the only

one for me.

Make me never want to leave your side.

Don’t let me go.

Cortes Ferry

Early morning hours we sail into darkness

over the smooth waters the colour of granite.

What lies ahead is what is left behind

as we sail from island to island.

The sea awakens before us as the sun lifts the darkness

& the ocean transforms from black to gray,

a swirling & waving mix of colour that

reminds me of my summer flower garden

in a gentle breeze.

Glancing across our oily reflections we see

the boulders resting quietly against the shoreline;

the eagle in search of food for its young,

& the mountains towering above all

the lands like kings.

The only movement on the glass is

the calm waves rolling away from us with

memorizing motions only threatened by the

sinister turbulence our engine derives.

We sail to the shore,

marvelling all the luscious sights

& we thank the sea for sharing its

calm moments with us.

Sailing Home

My love sails to your heart

through turbulent seas more turbulent

than any moment in time;

& over waters deeper than any feelings

for you or lovers past.

The colours of my voyage reflect the

colours of my mind & my life.

The colours of our love reflect

in a mirror of sea.

You look at me with ocean eyes –

full of unknown landscapes that are

separated by mountains, like the way

the deserts are separated by seas.

I sail to you, my heart abreast the tideline,

the knots between us narrow.

Will you be there, waiting for my ship?

Will you see my mast on the horizon,

erect on the water that summons your love?

My white flag waves in the salty air;

& I give into your love & your ocean eyes.

Your love beckons to me,

cautioning me against sailing into the rocks.

I sail to you through black oceans,

turbulent moments & forbidden landscapes.

I know that the next time I board,

I will board onto you like calm waters;

your love rocking me gently with the

waving liquids in my channel.

This is what sailing home will be.

To my one true love that waits

for the end of my voyage;

carrying my love in open hands.

Volcano

I strain to remember but there are a few

things  that I shall never forget –

like the taste of your tongue on my tongue;

the feeling of your skin against my flesh;

the rhythm of our bodies becoming one

in the early morning hours, late at night,

& during hours when others look away.

I close my eyes to see you.

You appear crystal clear and fresh before me

like ripe fruit on the vine –

ready to burst in my mouth with the taste of the sun.

New flavour awaits me.

Love opens before my eyes, even though I look away.

I can’t help but see you.

I cannot stop thinking about you.

I want to touch your touch against me,

yet I have to hold my passion in –

like a volcano ready to erupt.

As the pressure mounts,

I burn hot waiting.

Silently and alone,

I wait.

Trembles within me go unnoticed.

Sweet memories are kept alive by passion,

and my rumbles of protest are kept within.

I wait for the spring.

Waiting for the eruption.

Suddenly without warning I am ready to

open and release myself to you,

blooming with every touch you give.

I erupt, pouring my love to you,

filling an empty chasm that leads straight to my heart.

I give into you.

I erupt in love.

Songwriter

Dear Songwriter:

Will you write a song for me?

Put your pen to page & fingers to instrument

& think of me.

Paint a picture in your mind

of my lips kissing your soul.

Put your heart into it & into me,

& I promise the words will flow

from you & directly into me.

I will wait while you seek the

words to tell me your heart.

My pulse will race

when you combine the lyrics with music,

& my heart will pound in my chest.

I anticipate what you will sing next.

I anticipate your touch,

& I anticipate you.

Your music & rhythm keep me awake all night long.

Your words & mind distract me all day long.

Will you compose a song for me –

As the poet writes prose for you?

Will our words come together

& create a perfect dance of love?

I wait to hear the first draft –

the first raw cut with shaking

hands & voice.

I will roll around in your words & song

as if I were in your bed.

I know before you even begin to sing

what your story will say.

I know that neither the poet

nor the songwriter will be lost for words –

although we both know that nothing will be read or sang

when our arts collide.

Bring your song to me,

& will share my heart with you.

Bring your touch to me,

& I will melt under your fingertips.

Bring your rhythm & rhyme –

dear songwriter –

& I will fall into your mind.

The Agenda

I travel to you –

another conference on the books.

A week of learning, laughing & love.

My suitcase is packed, full of

suits that I will not wear.

For I am sure that I will only be wearing you.

If time has taught us anything,

it is that I am nothing without you.

You are my best friend, my best lover,

& I cannot imagine a world without you in it.

My world, my soul & my body

would be empty without you.

When I arrive, I want you to strip me bare

& clothe me with your body.

Suits & ties will go untouched –

mouths will go unfed.

I will fill myself with you.

I can anticipate you in my mind as we

have been here before.

Another room will bear witness to our love.

Another town will never be the same for either of us.

Passionate memories will keep us coming back for more.

Each year we grow older

& each year we grow closer even though

we are apart.

Each year an agenda is carried out

& neither of us will follow it –

we both prefer the unwritten word.

When I reach to you I know that I

will not have to ask to be held close.

When I hold you I know that I

will consume you with all of my pores.

When I kiss you I know that we will have already

started to plan our next meeting.

A Poem for my (Lover)

On these cold winter nights & days –

my pen scratching at the page,

madly recording my ideas & imagination –

I replay our passion in a poem.

I write for you.

Light the fire in the hearth

with your hands & heat the cottage,

just as your hands bring out the

heat within me.

Long mornings in your bed

make the weekend at your cottage

extend into a blizzard of passion.

I am gripped in your arms

& tangled in your sheets.

You ignite insurmountable pleasure

as gusts of wind chill the air,

& I layer you on top of me

as you stoke my internal fire.

We drift off to sleep; your bed holds us

& our dreams become a bridge of time

until we awake to the delight of the next blizzard.

We arise in the early evening –

escaping from your bedroom after being

held hostage to passion –

like two prisoners shown an open door,

we are unsure if we really want to leave

to tend the simmering soup on the stove.

(Although we are certain that we will return

to the heap of pillows & blankets later.)

Spoon with me after soup.

Eat with me after love.

Drink with me the wine I have brought

& lick your glass as if it were me.

Add fuel to the fire –

it’s going to be a long evening inside.