Affair with Hemingway

“I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye – that was the trouble – I wanted to kiss you good night – and there’s a lot of difference.”  -  Ernest Hemingway

“They love me like a pack of wolves.”   – Ernest Hemingway

“Love is forever. Lust is for the moment. Got a moment?

 -  Michael Gorman

 

Affair with Hemingway

 

Remote corners of café

Closerie des Lilas

Summer evenings beneath stars

Sidewalk tables and stories

Late at night – mon chambre

I take you to my bed

Crawl deep inside your stories

I have my way with you

You reach out through time

Together, we do Paris

Huddled in corners

Sipping wine and champagne

Dark Smokey tables shared

Avec Fitzgerald, Ezra et

Ford Madox Ford

War stories, the bulls

Nights at Bricktops

Josephine’s rocking the joint

Gertrude’s salon

Champagne et art du jour

Picasso, Modigliani

Breathless with anticipation

I surrender and plead for more

It is the life – it is life

C’est magnifique!

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The other side of the story – National Adoption Month

After reading an article on National Adoption Month, I wrote the following poem. The author of the article blames adoption for her issues. I remember as a young child praying each night that either my ‘real’ mother appear as ‘the mother’ hated me so and couldn’t actually be my mother or that my father would find someone kind who would have us both. After my unanswered prayers, I would cry myself to sleep.

My steps took me to university where I majored in Psychology obtaining my Master’s Degree and as a single parent then began working at a private therapy clinic and with Child Protection.

I do acknowledge the woman’s pain. However, she appears to have other issues and is so focused on ‘being adopted’ she cannot put a foot forward. I’ve been the kid that should have been surrendered for adoption. I’ve also worked with both sides both as a private therapist and in Child Protection. I know how bad the system is and often the kids end up with relatives who are not far from the parent/s they were removed from and/or do not protect them from said parent/s. 
When I was about four, I began going to the next door neighbors home to help with her clients. Mrs. Jones was a speech therapist for the Crippled Children’s Society. There were often children sitting in her living room waiting to be seen or siblings that needed to be distracted while they waited. Helping with these children and being an early reader helped me to focus outside a situation that was out of my control.

The poem below is offered to all those parents who put the child first and to all those children adopted or not who are survivors of some of life’s harshest realities. This piece is also for those brave individuals who step forward and make a difference in the life of these children.  In the end, it is all about love. Some never have been on the receiving end and don’t have love to give. Some have love in abundance. My sincere wish that all would find peace. I know from personal experience that my peace came from learning, understanding and perhaps most of all, reaching out to others who were or are still in pain.

 

“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.” – Oprah Winfrey

*

The other side of the story

 

Yes! I’ve no doubt

How painful it must be

Finding out your mother

Didn’t want, didn’t keep

You

Always knowing that she

Didn’t want you

Couldn’t keep you

Left you to the care

Of others

Whoever they may be

Searching crowds

For genetic similarities

Are they a part of me?

Where do I belong?

That eternal search

For home, acceptance,

Unconditional love

 

From my earliest memories

I would pray that my “real”

Mother would find me

I must have been put

Here by mistake

Yet her proof – horrific

Caesarean scar – my crime

Fragmentizing for a girl of three

Prayers for my father to

Find someone else who

Would be kind to us both

Hatred by – the mother

The word ‘mother’ still

Makes me queasy

 

Target for her rage

Making sure bruises didn’t show

Sold off to the grandma’s

Boyfriend – deacon of the church

For him to scatter his holy seeds

And cleanse my wickedness

Father unable to defend him self

Becoming his defender

Deflecting her rage onto myself

Believing he wouldn’t survive

And I would be alone, yet

I was always on my own

Never a kind word, nor

Gentle touch

 

I tell my story not for pity

Now at last I’m free

If you were adopted

Perhaps that mother

You search for

Spared you from my fate

And others who suffered more

Knowing she was not able

Perhaps the choice was not hers?

If you were treated kindly

You’ve much to be grateful for

Try forgiving – we never forget

It is on the road to healing

Then reach out to

Those who still suffer

Taking the focus off ourselves

Catharsis for healing

*

Bisous,

Léa

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Filed under Life

You are what you read…

 

“Every day we should hear at least one little song, read one good poem, see one exquisite picture, and, if possible, speak a few sensible words.”  

  • - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

 

“I must say I find television very educational. The minute somebody turns it on, I go to the library and read a good book.”   – Groucho Marx

 

“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.”   – Oscar Wilde

 

*

 

You are what you read

 

That is what he said

I read it today

On his blog

One of the lines

On his blog post

Re-reading Borges

Caught my attention

Waved that carrot

Of taking a line

For a walk

Across a snowy white sheet

Virginal papers – now splattered

With specks of black – letters

Letters forming words

Tony’s poem puts it out there

You are what you read

I think back to the diet of this year

My summer sustained by

Hemingway – a little light reading

Then on to Sinclair Lewis

Earlier in the year there were

Antoine Saint Exupery

The Little Prince – resplendent

En français et anglais

Speaking to me in my

Annual reading of each

Jasper Fforde for humor

There is always a generous

Helping of poetry on the menu

Baudelaire, Paul Éluard, en français

Recently discovered, Serge Roy

With a generous helping

Of Dorothy Parker and Neruda,

Razor sharp wit and passion

Books about writing – reminding

Me, to just write

Journal of a Swedish ancestor

Crossing the plains circa 1890’s

The book thief, several memoirs

Biographies of the great and everyday people

Tony, it is just as you say

You are what you read

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Filed under Books

Publication – Dancing in the Rain

leamuse:

Enjoy some wonderful poetry and support a worthy cause!

Originally posted on journeyintopoetry:

This post is to let you all know that my  book Dancing in the Rain, published by Bennison Books will be available shortly. The image which I am sharing here today will appear on the cover and has been created by my dear friend Diane Denton, artist, poet and author of a truly lovely historical novel. ‘A House Near Luccoli‘. She has also written a sequel called ‘To a Strange Somewhere Fled’ which will be published soon by All Things That Matter Press. I can highly recommend the first one and am very excited about the sequel. Thank you so much Diane!

I would like to thank all of you who have followed my poetry journey so far, from its very unsure beginnings in 2011. Every single one of you who has taken the time to visit my blog and comment has had an input in this book, because…

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Wanted: lost poem

Today I will not open with a quote or quotes. Today I offer the results of a challenge by my friend Kath Unsworth over at Minuscule Moments. Kath is a very talented artist and after reading my last post here, challenged me to look in my handbag and give it the same treatment as I gave my desk. Thank you Kath. Please stop by and visit her at: http://kathunsworth.com

 

WANTED: lost poem

 

A friend tells me there is a poem

Inside my handbag

Intrigued by the thought

I reach inside to see if it

Can be found among the

Debris of this life

Simulated black leather wallet

Uncloseable, spilling forth

Its cache of business cards

Theirs, my own,

Yet there is no poem

Receipt slips from the bank,

Carte de sejour, le permis de conduire,

The last five euros of the month

Tucked out of sight,

Medical insurance card and my ATM card

Still no poem in view

Digging deeper, the book of the day, I never

Leave home without something to read

Small notebook or journal (or two) and several pens

Black (of course), blue and my favorite purple

All necessary tools for creative outbursts

One never knows when writing is essential

But still no visible trace of verse

Reading glasses and a spare, checkbook,

Tucked in the zippered pocket

Bonbons from the café and tape measure

One never knows what you will find

At the vide greniers

Despite my earnest search, I remain

Empty handed, no prose and no verse

*

Bisous,

Léa

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Imagination and a pile of junk

“To invent, you need a good imagination and a pile of junk.” – Thomas A. Edison

imagination and a pile of junk

The junk lies all around me

But does it fit in my poem?

There are several stacks of

Unread books, stories to be told

Genealogy charts, and research

From Sweden’s icy tundra

Spilling loosely across my desk

But does it fit in my poem?

A journal from the 1890’s

Confessions of an ancestor

Crossing the American plains

Covered wagon adventures

Will they fit in my poem?

This most unusual plant

A succulent – leaves like tiny chili peppers

Dark green and growing sporadically

It couldn’t possibly

Fit in this poem, could it?

There are postcards from villages

And towns around France

Stamps for posting to Europe

And beyond

Post-it notes, pens, camera, computer cables

Glasses and more – alas, nothing bears promise

Of fitting in this poem

Imagination regrets its failure

Building junk into a poem

 

Bisous,

Léa

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Filed under Humor

MTB– The things we see

leamuse:

An excellent post Claudia. I shall put the book on my list. Thank you!

Originally posted on dVerse:

Recently I read the book “Everyday matters” by Danny Gregory.
And it really moved me

It’s about sketching

It’s about coping with an accident that his wife had and how it changed their whole life

But mostly for me it’s about learning to see how the things around us really are
instead of assuming they’re like this and that

It’s about looking closely
about letting the everyday surprise you
about taking off the glasses of generalization and putting away stamps or stencils

Danny says that sometimes people draw badly because they draw symbols instead of what they see.

And when I read this I thought if we’re not careful it can happen in our poems as well

It can happen that we feel or see something and instead of looking or listening closely we take a pattern that comes close – or we write about it in a way someone…

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