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Mat, how is your musing going? Chasing the dreams and dreaming back, is as you say, really very tempting. Living in the past, living in the future. Yes that is how I hide from the now.
Lizzy, how is your dreaming?

I wonder how Diane is doing. How was Anjani, Diane?

Take care guys

katrin

Living in the past, living in the future. Yes that is how I hide from the now.

I know waaaaaaaaaay too much about that, Katrin .

I think it's time for a cup of that tea with Boss's aunt .

I believe Diane's gathering wood for another fire... some Irish lad . Going by the photos and comments, it looks like Anjani glided onstage and glowed.


~ Lizzy

Lizzy, in answer to your question, Isabelle Everardt died in a flood at the age of 27... Sad, and, as is the case with all who die young, one wonders what she might have produced had she lived longer.

Mat and Katrin, Anjani was good. We got a chance to meet her at the end of the Thursday concert and I told her my favourite song on her album was The Mist. I asked her for her favourite song and she told me it was Half the Perfect World. She was a lovely lady, of course. Yes, Lizzy, she was definitely glowing. Pity you couldn't all have been there...

in answer to Diane...

You were wondering what "tucker jamesey" is Diane, a few postings ago. I found this:

"tucker jamesey"...(definition from the Cybermystic Dictionary of Antiquity.)

tuckerjamesey, n. (rare, usually shared among kindred spirits. Prohibited in normal conversation, and is therefore smuggled in as spiritual contraband.) tuckerjamesey, A form of poetry one can eat/devour to become divine. origins, tucker (food, Australian bush terminology), jamesey, family code-name but given name Mat (meaning, gift from god). tuckerjamesesque, poetry of the mystics (eg: Leonard Cohen, Rumi, Blake, Cruz, Holderlin etc) that sweep the reader through unconscious portals toward divinity and the awakening god within.This food only transmutes to divine nectar when the dweller within becomes drunk sublime and during this transmigration of the chi-essence receives the impossible moniker of pan-egocentricity (atman/braman).
tuckerjamesey can and does also go by the names of tuckerboss, tucker diane, tuckerleonard, tuckerblake and so on ad infinitum.

So when Bernard, Boss, Switz and I go sauntering via the muses we take a flask of tuckerjamesey to en-nourish our divinity and as it is particularly effective when coupled with occasional doses of oestrogen; we quixotically search for love unceasingly.

Thank you for that, Mat. I realised what tuckerJamesy was soon after I'd posted my question, but it was worth not realising to get that excellent explanation...

Keep drinking the wine and keep the fires burning. More again soon, I am still catching up...

Diane

Pollution


I passed a chocolate wrapper
as I walked
the red sand
to my ol' blue ute
in the fresh breeze
and the crystal morning sun

cadbury chocolate

I laughed
you and your bloody chocolates!

I left it there
to light up the laughter
In my every morning walk.





To carry 'round with you


you even carried
a tiny rock collection
in an ol'time string-tie purse
around with you

my heart skipped a beat
and broke a little
fracturing
as you showed me your
treasured memories

who is this
passing by my life
with such simple
and similar interests?
I thought
as I watched your eyes
dart
from stone to stone

I lost track
of the story
of each pebble
as I lose track
of each tear I sigh
as I remember those moments

you!
placing my rocky heart
in a tiny string purse
to carry 'round with you.

Katrin, how very lovely to have these poems written for you on here . I also collect rocks, stones, fossils, driftwood. They spill from pots and shelves in my house. It's nice to take the outside inside.

Diane

I do that, too... and still couldn't manage to not bring home just a tad of Hydra, though far more reasonable this time.

In fact, the muse Katrin has inspired such details that I'm tempted to once again question [if only mentally] any prior connections .


~ Lizzy

Aaahhh! The chocolate! Cadbury, as good as the Swiss chocolate!

Dreaming back,... I guess the string on the little purse gets loose and memories of hot, red sand, blue sky, green bushes, and emus running by are spilling out. I love it, that desert, with all its contrasts!

"Johnny’s got a pocketful of dreams-
It’s patched and there are cake crumbs in the seams-
To you it may not to be a lot
But all the treasure Johnny’s got,
He carries in his pocketful of dreams-
A beetle in a matchbox, a tiny piece of string,
Some sealing wax and carpet tacks
A bell that doesn’t ring-
When Johnny grows to be a man,
Into a world that’s tough,
He’ll soon be told his pocketful of dreams won’t be enough-
But if he owns a great big car,
a swimming pool and yacht,
he’ll never be as happy as the time when all he’s got
is a beetle in a matchbox
a tiny piece of string,
some sealing wax and carpet tacks
a bell that doesn’t ring…"

Nan Witcomb

Yes, since I live close to the beach, the treasures are accumulating in my home, too. Driftwood gets transformed into little angels and chimes etc.

Dreaming back; to a time when I was sitting on that table in that hostel wondering: who the hack is he? Talking to a bunch of strangers, discussing God and the world. Sitting in a broken down car with a stranger, and when the fear was rising I was doubting my sanity. What was I thinking? Until I found Leonard' s tapes. And he sings: Baby, I've been waiting,....for the miracle, for the miracle to come.
And I was wondering: who is he?

Are we still in Crickhowell? Where is Crickhowell? Maybe we should get going to some unknown destination.

Take care guys and be careful with that musing!

Katrin

I'm still for the pub. Let's have a few beers and see who is a happy drunk and who is otherwise inclined.
What songs shall we in the back sing, Diane in that Welsh haven/tavern?
Some with a smudge of melancholy, one with a roar of anger and perhaps a few that make our souls soar. We should run the gauntlet and satisfy all the emotions, don't you think?

Diamond.
(deceased)

Do you remember Diamond?
The man in the pub
always talking of matrix opal.

You whispered to me once
"He is a sad and sensitive man".
I didn't see it
but you did.

I talked with him one night
at his corner of the bar
in that pub full of life
-he called me over
and after I told him
you called him "sensitive"
he opened up to me
told me his story...

"I got no family
they're all dead
my wife is dead too
killed in a car accident years ago.
So she called me sensitive
what does that mean?
Is it a good thing?"

A very good thing, I said
as I saw and felt his sorrow burn
and melt his eyes.

We had a world champion boxer.
"I was Johnny's sparring partner
his favourite
I was bigger and I hit hard
Johnny liked that
it toughened him up
I sparred for fun
never a professional
didn't want to
too busy driving trucks around this beautiful country".

All this I heard
his tears I saw
...felt
thanks to you
and your melancholic observations.

Do you remember Diamond?
Do you know why you enchant me?

Hi Mat ~

I know people prefer to be compared only to themselves [well, unless it's to Leonard ]; however, this poem reminds me immensely of a Harry Chapin song. For me, this is a supreme compliment, in that whole lives came through via the details. Not that there had to be that many details, but those that were included were vivid and highly representative of layers of people's lives. This poem 'took me' to that bar and to that man, your conversation, his life, and your woman friend. A short story in just a few lines. Thanks for the poignant pleasure.

~ Lizzy

Hi Mat

What I like about this poem is, that it is about connections. ( Sorry Lizzy, I mentio it way too often, but it is such a big topic in my life) . Truly recogizing the person, animal, plant.. I am with in that presence, in that very moment, seing the sensitivity, vulnerability and to hold space, whether it is through a conversation or silence, that is true connection. It is beauty and it is love. Sometimes I am shocked how little I see and how little I am seen.
Mat you must have liked your woman friend a lot. I am sure that these poems enchant her too.

Lizzy, you are such a good soul.

Katrin

Hi Katrin ~

No need to apologize to me on that at all. I agree with what you've said about connections, and I don't feel you can mention it too much, when truly being seen occurs too seldom. It's a big topic in my life, as well. I didn't focus on that aspect, but it was, indeed, beneath it all. I'm glad you haven't yet chosen to pick up your satchel and move on.

Thank you very much for your compliment. Your timing is impeccable. I can only extend the same compliment to you.


~ Lizzy

You were Venus


You were Venus
who stood there
supporting the roof of our mine

I sat away- in the dark
He worked

and you held the light and watched

supporting our madness
with your gypsy scarf
trailing
down your back
the golden skin
the feminine form
...and those legs...
in this cave
in a pair of cast-off shorts
looking like a goddess
lips pouted
eyes flickering
finger-tips touching the earth above

you were Venus,
my love.

I'm still for the pub. Let's have a few beers and see who is a happy drunk and who is otherwise inclined.
What songs shall we in the back sing, Diane in that Welsh haven/tavern?
Some with a smudge of melancholy, one with a roar of anger and perhaps a few that make our souls soar. We should run the gauntlet and satisfy all the emotions, don't you think?

Hi Mat, and all! I think we should sing Delilah, which is reguarly sung with great gusto by all when it crops up on the juke box in the pubs over here. I think it covers a few emoticons...

I saw the light on the night that I passed by her window
I saw the flickering shadow of love on her blind
She was my woman
As she decieved me I watched and went out of my mind

My my my Delilah
Why why why Delilah
I could see, that girl was no good for me
But I was lost like a slave that no man could free

At break of day when that man drove away I was waiting
I crossed the street to her house and she opened the door
She stood there laughing
I felt the knife in my hand and she laughed no more

My my my Delilah
Why why why Delilah
So before they come to break down the door
Forgive me Delilah I just couldn't take any more
Forgive me Delilah I just couldn't take any more

I like these lines from your poem (second to last one, still catching up, never will quite make it, but nomatter):

So she called me sensitive
what does that mean?
Is it a good thing?"

A very good thing, I said
as I saw and felt his sorrow burn
and melt his eyes.

It speaks to me of the beauty of tender expressions in people's eyes.

Lizzy, you have an avatar! It is very noble-looking. Joan of Arc? I like the colour-combinations of red and grey.

Cheers,

Diane

Lizzy, you have an avatar! It is very noble-looking. Joan of Arc? I like the colour-combinations of red and grey.

Yes, I finally do ... and noble-looking is true , you're so right. Lightning's wish come true ~ far sooner than I expected. It could've been many months with me .

Yes, Joan of Arc, I'd say... confirmed by its creator, Alexis aka Judith Fitzgerald . Both names fit .

I agree on the red and grey... their particular shades work very effectively together.

Lizzy, your avatar rawks. Then again, so does Jeanne D'arc, no? Did you know she was left-handed?

~ Lizzy