Heritage Day

Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

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Letters To You… (2)

Complications are most frustrating. I do not know how to speak to you still, I don’t even know how to begin a conversation… so I send you songs and subtle wishes, hoping that you will realize. I would love to be myself around you. I would like to whisper kisses with the rain and hope that you will feel them. I would like to be the sand on the beach you walk on, to radiate warmth and to tickle gently… I would like to be the glass of Merlot, to feel your breath on me, to fit comfortably in the curves of your lips before you indulge in a sip of me. I would like to linger as an after-taste, an evident memory of some distant time and place…

Hearing the melodies of songs that lead me into the head-space of you. I have lied to myself. I have filled the empty spaces with different faces in attempt to erase the memory of you. I wanted to banish it,to fall in love with someone else… to mean it. I cannot say that I love you, but I know that I feel you.

This takes me back to the time when circumstance brought me into the cage of convenience. Living day by day in a falsetto, I lost  hope… Sitting on the bedroom floor and moping the dirt away with my tears as a detergent. Fate took pity on me that day.

“Happiness hit her like a train on a track… coming towards her, stuck still no turning back…”…

“That was Florence and the Machine with Dog Days are Over right here on Tuks fm, please stay tuned for the latest on…government…”

Your name escaped from the depths of somewhere in me I never knew existed, and the teary smile could not be prevented then. I cried and smiled and mopped and knew that there was something I had to succeed for… I didn’t know you back then either but I felt you… you must have felt me too.

I got dressed that evening with confidence and purpose, I cleared my thoughts and proceeded to work. The night was a little cold, the restaurant was empty… I thought of you  and wondered whether I’d ever see you again. I had seen a lady who resembled you many times but I knew she wasn’t the one who stole my breath and knocked the strength out from under me.

There you were… as radiant as I had ever seen you, your face winded me and I shook like a leaf in a storm.

Composing myself, the glass of wine was delivered… then the conversation… the memory of your eyes and smile, the contours of your face… the longing to trace each of them, to follow my gaze into the depths of you. I wanted to understand the secrets to your heart and keep it with me and scream out to the world so that everyone may know that true connection is irreplaceable.

You’re such a big part of me… but I can and I have lived without you. When winter gracefully announces herself, the scent of the season reminds me of that space… that dismal moment… incapable of reaching out or speaking out or fighting, I let you slip back into the grasp of the other.

I want to be brave enough… no,not yet.

The story is not complete.8565005911_3226c37790_z

Pre-Noir

I need to create an instance, a circumstance where light is eradicated. What would humanity be if we were to live in darkness?

What would humanity see?

How would you react if you were to suddenly be shown that the core of humanity is actually demonic?

Is it so difficult to understand that darkness is at the core of our natural state of being?

When you close your eyes… you re-generate into a state of darkness. We wake to light – to

live the surface life of flesh and ‘sin’… our fake i.e: carnal-lives are composed of what we term as “light”.

Darkness does not provide for the flesh or the body… even so – some of our most physically gratifying moments stand out in our memories as moments of pleasure under a dark blanket in the arms of someone we love.

Black_4

The blind may not see but they dream as we dream and imagine as we imagine!

Switch your light off and see what happens!

Become still and unfettered.

We need  to be freed from the blinding light in order to win beneath the veil, to fight the battles that many are still unwilling to acknowledge!

What is the use of making love if our souls fail to sing out louder than our physical bodies do?

Where am I going with this?

We all want to be heard or seen, but in reality, all we actually strive for is to connect, to be FELT and RECEIVED instead of rejected. In darkness rejection would be impossible… there you would simply have the magic between souls and the texture of it.

At some point in my life, a sip of Gin could help place a smile back onto my face.

What a paradox…

Loving something as clear and see-through as Gin yet romanticizing the darkness.

The hero of my own literature shall then be named ;

Noir…

Gin Noir!

A Story of A Blue Sun

Just a poem written for someone 🙂 very late one evening!

Blue-Sun-web

Yellow
They said was what made the world red
And red being the color of love… meant that everything yellow
was good for a smile and a dance
But his color was blue
So he thought it true
When the world would tell him he couldn’t

One evening he slowly
headed for home after a long day of shining blue light on the world
he though to himself a miserable thought
that all was lost at bright yellow’s high cost
and about love he completely forgot
With his sad face on his chest
and a torn heart at his breast
he continued to walk on home

Until one day while shinning sadly on us
a stranger figure appeared before him
and she seemed to like his blue light
she told him that one day blue would take yellow away

His heart trembled gently
with wild butterflies in his sight
when she looked at his blue with her eyes
and such a surprise for the color of those eyes were so
shining
and loving
and blue

so since that day
when any man says that yellow is the color of a true sun
he smiles broad and brightly
and holds his love tightly
and he says’
“So?
blue is the color of love”

For K.

Glorious Mistakes (part 2)

Among the 1 800 goths: or should I say the constant of about 600 of them at my bar alone; a small and narrow face peeked at me curiously. His hair was bushy and the animated way in which he carried himself was a little difficult not to notice.

The smoke machines were heavy, ventilation felt almost non-existent and soon I seemed to have run out of oxygen. Meanwhile; across the main floor our neighboring bartender at ‘The Wizard’s Bar’ had just collapsed, however this wasn’t just due to the heat and shortage of air… In his case, slight intoxication was a contributing factor.

That same hobbit-like person came rushing to my bar,then under it and straight to me.

“Hi! My name’s Tristan! I heard that someone had K.O.’ed and had to make sure that it wasn’t you, but I can see that it might be you very soon, so you’re coming with me to get some air!”

So out I went, dodging the angry screams and violent hand gestures of the 600 obviously grumpy goths who now had one of two choices:
1. Wait for me to return
2. Wait at another bar behind at least 300 other goths.
In the end they seemed to have picked the more sensible option; 1.

That was Zeplin’s the way I remember it. Grand, vibey and never short on clientele. The music always amazing, the company never boring – it was the home that so many of us so desperately needed, but above all Zeplin’s brought Tristan into my life.

My dad was never fond of any of my male friends… And upon discovering that I am not very “straight” he seldom liked any of my female friends either so I found his excitement about Tristan in my life inexplicable, especially since he had piercings, painted his nails black and his means of trabsport was a motorcycle. They used to sit on for hours just chatting away about life and love and ambition, dreams, goals and things I had never dared attempt to speak to my dad about.

A day or two without Tristan around was too long for my dad… At times he would ask me to invite him over and I did… Tristan seemed to be just as attached to him, so when the news came to him that my Dad had left our world… He grieved with me…

A few months passed, his gentle way was difficult to resist. His persistence made him strangely attractive and the way he stole my whole family’s heart was extraordinary. He taught me to ride his motorbike, I taught him to DJ and in this way we were constantly doing things we both loved.

I broke his heart in the end… Being unable to change… Knowing that my lifestyle was never a choice, for if I had the ability to simply wake up and decide to want to be with him the way he wanted to be with me – I would have done. I did attempt to make that choice when I said “yes!” to his proposal… Yes the one where the boy gets down on one knee and asks the 4 words that most of us long to hear…

A few months passed before he could speak to me again after we realized that there are just certain things we couldn’t change. But those months went by rather swiftly and soon we began to tread on a new path of friendship. He soon found Chantal and his happiness was infectious…

Alas… A year and a few months after my dad passed… Tristan did too. In among my tears I smiled a lot, knowing that soon the two boys (my dad and him) will probably be chatting away again just where they had left off.

This post is to him and to my dad and to Zeplin’s… Neither of them exist in this reality anymore, but in my mind they will always be there… The smiling faces… The warm embraces… The grandeur and atmosphere of home… The man who understood my love for Zeplin’s and who fell in love with the personality of the boy I miss so terribly this morning.

I would say I am sorry for the mistakes I made in my life… But considering the joy they brought with them… No…

They were glorious…glorious mistakes.
They were mistakes that now give me hope for the love I know I seek… Unconditional, gentle, innocent.

Perhaps he was it?

But I’ve been visitted in my dreams by him many a time since then and he keeps convincing me otherwise.

So here’s to you Tris!

To us…

To you if you are reading this and to the glorious mistakes we’ve yet to make!

Glorious Mistakes

My Dad was an awesome man. He was soft and understanding, but when it came to certain things he could be the military style parent. There were many speeches, I remember each of them and they have shaped the person I am today.

Not long ago I was asked to sell myself to someone and I didn’t know how… I had no idea of what my selling points were. The past while I went into hibernation, just to catch a breath and refrain from losing my mind completely – it was during this time that I thought about what it was that actually kept me from being able to step back, look at myself objectively and say, “this is what I am good at…”

I have spent a mere 22 years in the vortex of the living dead. Not presuming to know much more than the average 22-year-old female, my experience has taught me that people don’t really care about other people’s problems unless they are either family or really close friends. This is where this page fits into the scheme of things. As humans we will have our ups, our downs and perhaps our moments of stillness… But at the end of it all; we seek to find the happy ending to every sad story so that we may be able to hold on tightly, with hopefully and extra fill of faith.

I would like to share a story with you today. A story that is personal but worth hearing methinks…

To remove conflict of understanding… I have not always been dating women… And although this story takes place years after my coming out… I am still me… perhaps just a little dusted off and polished…anyhow;

The CBD of Pretoria (SA) was home to the greatest alternative club in Southern Africa. ‘Zeplin’s’ was a two-story building with 8 bars and 5 dance floors all within the genres and sub-genres of the alternative and goth scene. Just before my 18th birthday I was lucky enough to start working there. It was a dream come true. The neon paintings, the grandeur and old architecture, the friendly smiles and almost completely victorian sense of fashion along with the music that spoke in a thousand different ways to my soul – they all contributed to the home that Zeplin’s was and still is as I reminisce…

My Dad walked with me to my first day of work at Zeplin’s so that he could meet the people who would be in charge of me and to decide whether or not he really was going to let me work there . Now keep in mind that not many a parent will smile broadly upon walking in to a double story place filled with extravagant Goths and black walls.

All in all however; being as awesome as he was – my dad looked past the stretchers, piercings and tattoos… He ignored the heavy make-up and the black clothes, he walked me out and said that he believes this will be more than a home for me. I was proud then… I was proud of him and I was proud of me for being from him.

A week later I had moved up from bar-tending the quietest bar in the entire place which at that point was the ‘inferno’ bar to one of the 3 main bars… My first shift on the bar was scheduled for – Halloween 2008…

1 800 Goths later…

… To be continued

Nil Sa Saol

24/01/12 20:24

 Dear diary

‘I saw the gap again today, while you were begging me to stay….take care not to make me enter because if I do, we both may disappear’

There is no love in fear

My biggest fear is fear itself. Anger is not only an emotion but an anchor; an ointment to still the throbbing of our wounds. This tourniquet absorbs fear like a supplement and thus it grows and rules leaving no space for reason or compassion, yet it is passionate and loving.

We’ve fought many battles… It is a struggle as the self breathes down my neck hoping that I may slip up and give her gap to surface again. I can never merge with that self if I am to fulfill my curious purpose.

15/07/1994

Dear Diary

‘I will choke until I swallow… choke this infant here before me. What is this but my reflection? Who am I to judge or strike you down?’

There is no love in fear

There is no escaping the monsters although I’m not entirely sure that they are real. Toys are extras in this thriller of incapability. Strawberry is my doll; I hold her face right next to my own then turn to look into my mother’s mirror. Strawberry’s face is vibrant and bright next to my own dull reflection. Through the mirror I see how small I am compared to the vast space filled with scattered furniture… it’s been so long and she still hasn’t called, my own mother doesn’t want me. I smothered her with all my love so she left, to teach me a lesson, so that I may know anger and resentment.

It distorts; the face that used to smile is dark, my eyebrows clamp together and a tear rolls down my cheek. This chest starts throbbing and my throat is tight and lumpy, mimicking my fantasy as I seek the strength to choke this reflection to death. I know anger so where is she?

In my mind I smell her perfume; she reaches out, touches my face and the anger subsides.

She may be gone but I am hers and therefore I must take care of this girl and overcome the longing to hate, judge and hurt her petite infant.

But you’re pushing and shoving me.

You still love me, and you push it on me.’

“Gin!”

No! It can’t be.

This was it?

“Gin, honey? Mommy’s home!”

I am stumped and my throat tightens some more. In a split second the self takes over with an emotionless expression.

“Aww sweetie! Come here, mommy’s home now and she isn’t going anywhere.”

Most little minds would be thrilled, happy, crying. I want her to get away, to stop touching and smothering me, I have so many questions…

“Say something baby, come on… mommy’s missed you she loves you so much. Hug me now will you?”

She clutches onto my clothes and pulls me, she pushes me.

(At that instant I knew; I knew what fake smiles looked like… I knew how to lie!)

“It’s ok mommy!”

The anger burns through my veins as I slowly get closer to her with a hug.

“That’s ok mommy, I love you too!”

11/04/2009

Dear Diary

‘Rest your trigger on my finger

Bang my head upon the fault line.

Take care not to make me enter,

‘Cause if I do, we both may disappear.’

There is no love in fear

Memories are the music videos of our past, only the instrument that triggers them is not a remote, no one hears your mind slipping way back as the faint smell of humidity fused with medicine kills your perception of time. It thrusts you right back into the arms of that dark, daunting space of yourself as your half grown hands shove at your Dad’s lifeless body for the last time; the smell takes me right back to when I stood there not even wanting to hold her back… I needed her darkness and anger; I needed not to feel pain. It was an easy goodbye, no tears… only that invisible rope around my throat. I don’t remember the last time I told him that I love him, but he knows now…I really hope he does.

‘Slipping back into the gap again, I’m alive when you’re touching me…

Alive when you’re shoving me down.’

My pillar faded with the sunset today, he lay as obedient as I had ever seen him in the ambulance as they drove off. The night brought with it the comfort of the arms I had longed for. I look for anger, I turn my heart inside out to try and bring it out, but her hands soothe and nurture, and for this moment she loves me again. I can’t breathe as she suffocates me with the arms of peace and the breath of mist, she responds to my body and I am willing to gasp just like this for as long as I live.

‘But I’d trade it all for just a little bit of peace of mind’

Hers are the eyes I look into as I force my own to open up. Our love remains nothing but a stolen moment as she sits up and calls me ‘friend’. There will be no peace now in my mind or in my heart so the two of me rise and walk away.

26/02/2011

Dear Diary

‘Put me somewhere I don’t want to be;

Seeing someplace I don’t want to see;

Never want to see that place again…’

There is no love in fear

There are shadows along the wall and they seem almost synchronized. I recognize them and I move along knowing that one of them is mine. I close my eyes and I go back into the forest where the ‘Jedi’ mind pulls me out from the tombs of ‘Krom’*. My body feels pleasure while my spirit cries and I am afraid to stay in the forest, afraid to taint the purity I found. Self registers spirit and recognizes the undeniable bond between fog, magic, love and fear. Reality is hot, wet and dirty, oh but now I know… concrete, ancient truth.

‘If when; I say I may fade like a sigh if I stay, you minimize it anyway then; I must persuade you another way.’

A woman’s silence says much according to her circumstance. Shakespeare is resurrected through the movement of my lips while the self attempts to choke and kill contentment. I see the gap I have left and I know the war is inevitable just as I realize that this battle will be the last regardless of the outcome.

24/01/12 23:59

 Dear Diary

 

‘Staring down the hole again

Hands upon my back again

Survival is my only friend

Terrified of what may come’

There is no love in fear

Education is the artillery with a lifetime guarantee and language is the indestructible force barging bravely through borders, barriers and between cultures, enabling a leniency towards others and their spirituality or the lack thereof. The old self turns her back to me, and the new self synchronizes with the movements of the old. Fear is now a polka dot skirt around the two, walking hand in hand with certainty.

A rainbow is most prominent in the act of letting go, of coming to terms with one’s own heart which loves, hates and sins even in purity…until the colours mix to create our own shade of grey.

‘Just remember I will always love you; even as I tear your throat away, but it will end no other way’

 

Darkness is the product of light when light willingly goes back to sleep in order to heighten the appreciation for both in amongst all living things.

You must go where I cannot,
Pangur Ban, Pangur Ban,
Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ni bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
Pangur Ban Pangur Ban,
Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ni bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
  – **

Life is mist. Life cannot be without a beating heart, yet mist cannot be without fear, just as a heart cannot beat without love.

 

*Krom – ref: Irish Myhology
 
** Aisling’s Song – http://thesecretofkells.wikia.com/wiki/Aisling’s_Song
 
Ref: Tool – Pushit (Salival 2000) lyrics

CRT Threatens Website

The following was posted on ‘ Kennet and Avon Boating Community Website ‘ on Tuesday September 18 2012 @ 3:46 .

Kindly note that the article is not my own, however I felt the need to share it.

Thank you!

CRT threaten our web site with libel

This web site’s Editor received a letter from CRT recently threatening to take court proceedings for libel against the web site because of statements made in articles revealing and commenting about BW/CRT’s relationship with hire boat holiday brokers Drifters Leisure Limited. CRT has also asked the editor to remove the articles, to make an undisclosed donation to the CRT as recompense, and to publish by way of apology information which is already in the public domain athttp://www.whatdotheyknow.com/request/shares_in_drifters_leisure_limit#incoming-305070 in its own response to a Freedom of Information request.

The Editor refutes the allegation made by CRT for the reason that the articles in question are based on evidence. Analysis and comment about the issues covered in the articles is in the public interest and in particular in the interests of boat dwellers without home moorings.

When big organisations try to silence their critics using threats to sue for libel they do not always get the outcome they want. We would remind CRT that it cost McDonalds around £10,000,000 to pursue a civil libel action against London Greenpeace activists Helen Steel and Dave Morris that was only partially successful. Eventually Steel and Morris were awarded £24,000 compensation in the European Court of Human Rights because they did not get a fair trial on the ground of inequality of arms. That is, they were low waged people with no resources to defend themselves against the action; legal aid is not available for defending a libel action, whereas McDonalds could afford to spend thousands of pounds each day to hire top lawyers.

The threat of court action was received shortly after CRT Chief Executive Robin Evans refused to withdraw derogatory statements about boaters without home moorings following a complaint made to CRT. There appears to be a double standard at work here.

Despite a request by the Editor for clarification of the exact words that are alleged to be defamatory, CRT has not responded. Here is the correspondence between CRT and the Editor:

21 August 2012

DEFAMATORY ARTICLES POSTED ON

http://kanda.boatingcommunity.org.uk

We write regarding the following articles posted on the aforementioned website:
“CRT Head of Boating runs hire boat company” posted on 12 July 2012; “BW had shares in hire
boat company” posted on 19 July 2012 and “Discredited CRT Legal Director and Head of Boating
booted and shrunk” posted on 5 August 2012.

Canal & River Trust considers the unsubstantiated references to impropriety, allegations of
misconduct, bullying, harassment and discreditation in conjunction with the Canal & River Trust’s
directors and senior employees and their positions or office and the malicious unauthorised
mockery of the Trust’s logo published in the aforementioned articles to be calculated to disparage
Canal & River Trust and its directors and are therefore defamatory to Canal & River Trust within
the meaning of Section 2 of the Defamation Act 1952.

It is clear that you are either author, editor or publisher of the defamatory statements referred to through http://www.boatingcommunity.org.uk reverting to http://kanda.boatingcommunity.org.uk as
envisaged by Section 1 of the Defamation Act 1996 and therefore it was your responsibility to take
reasonable care that articles published by you do not contain defamatory statements and images.
Should you allow the publication of the statements to continue, Canal & River Trust will be left with no option but to consider civil proceedings against you.

Accordingly, we request that you cease publicly displaying the aforementioned articles on your
website or elsewhere without delay. We further request that you publish the attached text by way of
an apology and make an undisclosed charitable donation to the Trust as a way of making amends
in line with Section 2 of the Defamation Act 1996.

28 August 2012

I acknowledge receipt of your letter dated 21 August 2012 that you sent to
info@boatingcommunity.org.uk. I require you to provide detailed clarification of which specific words or statements in the articles you have referred to that you consider to be “references to impropriety, allegations of misconduct, bullying, harassment and discreditation in conjunction with the Canal & River Trust’s directors and senior employees and their positions or office”. Please specify in detail your arguments for asserting that these words or statements could be construed to be calculated to disparage CRT and its directors.

I would be grateful for your response within seven (7) days.

4 September 2012

Further to your email, I would be grateful if you first clarify whether you are an editor or operator of the website http://www.boatingcommunity.org.uk. If so, please let me have your correspondence address together with an address of your solicitor (if any) and confirm whether your solicitor is entitled to accept service of legal documents.

If not, please let me have names of the website editor and the website provider together with their contact details. In the meanwhile, I note that the articles referred to in my email of 21 August 2012 continue to be published on the http://www.boatingcommunity.org.uk website. The website operator and/or editor was put on notice that Canal & River Trust considers the contents of those articles defamatory Accordingly, should this matter progress further, I reserve the right to bring this fact to the court’s attention.

4 September 2012

This is an open letter. I acknowledge receipt of your email of 4 September 2012. I have noted your comments. I am the Editor of http://kanda.boatingcommunity.org.uk (the “Web Site”) and the author of the articles and images that you refer to. The Web Site is not run on a commercial or for profit basis. For all other purposes I am the publisher of the Web Site in that I make the decisions regarding what is published and I perform the electronic publication.

I am not represented by a law firm. I am assisted by the National Bargee Travellers Association (the “NBTA”) and by XXXXXX as McKenzie Friends in this matter. I would be obliged if you would copy any further communication to legal@bargee-traveller.org.uk.
XXXXXX of the NBTA will respond to your enquiry to him in relation to the technical details of the web site.

I observe that you have failed to respond to my request for a clear specification of the specific words or statements that your client alleges are defamatory. Because of your continued interrogation of me, should you not proceed in issuing a claim in this matter, I shall make a complaint pursuant to s.2 Protection from Harassment Act 1997.

It is also material to this matter that, insofar as your client is required to disprove statements when making a claim alleging defamation, the NBTA has now provided evidence, verifying the maladministration on the part of your client, to the Waterways Ombudsman. The NBTA shall refer to additional evidence as appropriate.

I reserve my rights in all respects.

4 September 2012

Without Prejudice Save As To Costs

I write further to my first email of 4 September 2012. I note that the statutory functions of CRT (including the management of the waterways) remain a  public function. Therefore in relation to this public function, CRT remains bound by ECHR. I note that CRT has sought to curtail my fundamental freedom to impart information and ideas regarding the management of the waterways. It follows that your client has violated my Convention rights under Article 10 ECHR. I would be grateful if you would convey my request to your client that it ceases and desists in violating my Convention rights under Article 10 ECHR immediately.

I reserve my rights in all respects.

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Lord Byron’s Virtue

She walks in beauty – – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to the tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
She walks in beauty – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies
One ray the more, one shade the less
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o’er her face – –
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
She walks in beauty – – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies
And on that cheek and o’er that brow
So soft, so calm yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow
But tell of days in goodness spent
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
She walks in beauty – – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies.
Very different from Don Juan isn’t it?
I thought I would share this because it is not very often that poetry moves me this much. Since I cannot read it aloud for the entire world to hear the best I can do is share it here and hope that many will stumble upon this post.
We often find that musical pieces and songs do tend to get old (not including the classical pieces that is).  We see it everywhere, there’s a ‘Top30’ countdown every week and each week songs fall out and new ones take the place of the old ones.
Fortunately it does not work that way with poetry…
Lord Byron won’t be kicked off the chart by Walt Whitman only to be replaced by Wordsworth followed be Yeats. How about having a literary duel; Shakespeare vs Pratchett… hmm? Can you imagine how chaotic things would be if it worked that way with literature?  I do not mean to say that they all sell the same or that everyone likes them, only that they will remain in the chart in the long run.
She Walks in Beauty is a brilliant piece… what makes it brilliant is how relative it is to our times although it was written almost 200 years ago. Here the expression of beauty is done through the opposition of dark and light. He almost blends the two, creating the necessary balance for genuine beauty. It is also lovely how he uses ‘the night’ as a source of beauty.
As someone who values everything that is genuine and real, tangible, innocent and honest – I must admit that I adore this poem and that Byron has most certainly taken up one of the top spots in the chart of my heart.
I wish the world would let go of the new and start dusting off the shelves of antique beauty. There is so much more to be found there than in any other form of entertainment that we have now. Where are we headed to?
If the author of a piece like ‘Don Juan’ can spend himself entirely on a piece such as this one, then surely we ought to have a little more longing and appreciation for innocence and simplicity.
‘All that’s best of dark and bright’
‘One ray the more, one shade the less’
‘So soft, so calm yet eloquent’
‘A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.’
I am yet to read a more exact description of beauty, and if such does exist we need to look around and ask ourselves, “How long before beauty becomes a myth in our world?”
‘She walks in beauty – – like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies’
 Just a thought really!