Swan Song

I recently took a walk on a beautiful spring day along Lake Lucerne in Switzerland. A lovely Swan caught my eye and I sauntered down to the pier to observe him closely. He was not alone, as many ducks were flitting and flirting along the shore, as well.

A local retiree showed up with a bagful of bread and started tossing it into the crystal blue water for the ducks to eat.  Naturally, the ducks came scurrying over and started their feast, complete with chomping, quacking and competing. One hunk of bread was particularly large, left over day old bread of the dinner party variety. The ducks gave it a go and could not manage the size nor the hardness of it.  The swan took interest in it and found absorbing obsession with it as he tried to bite into it.  His mate came from across the water and scored some remnants from the ducks. Then watched as his life partner attempted to vanquish the toughened remains of last night's human banquet.

I was fascinated by the enduring steadfast tenacity of the swan.  He wanted that bread, he ached for that victory. He kept pulling the bread to him and burrowing his beak into it. Each time it slipped away into the current, he chased it and dove at it again. With Olympic determination he pursued his desire. With passion and intensity, he used all his resources attempting to devour that which he so craved. The course rough skin of the bread firmly defeating him every time. If only he could wait, allow the bread to soften. If only his patience matched his passion.

I found myself thinking - I am like that! Especially when it comes to romance.  I burn with passion inside and when it sets fire to someone on the outside that I truly want, the fire then consumes me until I get him  and then consume him.  I am steadfast and tunnel-visioned and extremely resourceful. In all simplicity, I become obsessed. If only I could wait till the time was right, till the bread was ready, till I could sink my teeth into the skin of him and fully savor every part of him. As opposed to pulling him near and chasing when he wiggles away. If only I could find the patience to match my passion. To wait for him to soften to me, to embrace my bite, to reveal his vulnerable underbelly to me.

Maybe, just maybe, I would somehow find the courage to unlock the caged fire that continually burns within me.

Somehow this swan scene reminded me of the film The Last Station, about Tolstoy at the end of his life and his wife's struggle to preserve his estate.  I left the movie theatre so inspired by Helen Mirren's performance and so full of her romantic passion, that I walked straight to Central Park and penned the poem below.  After which I went right back to the theatre to see the film for the second time that same day!  I highly recommend it.

I Want a Love Like That...

I want a love like THAT
 one that breaks things
 one that giggles,
 screams
 one that melts like glaciers
 one drop per kiss
 over the river of a lifetime.

One that gets me outside myself
 crawls me into his veins
 for fleeting moments
 of certain, brilliant unity;
Loyal,
 like breath
 that never fails till death
 no matter the Poison it consumes
 no matter the Blockage that seeps in
 in vain attempts
 to alter its steady rhythm.

I want a love like THAT
 that leaves me full
 in the empty hours
 that percolates
 brews
 coloring my water
 with more than flavor
 coating the sieve
 of his heart’s skin
 preventing my precious
 many-savored truths
 from leaking out,
 from slipping through.

One that celebrates
 my Spring
 each tiny, bud-like
 opening of my art
 and fertilizes every winter dark
 to pull me through
 the blackest victories of my Shame.

One that takes ALL

 I have to offer
 sans remorse
 void of regret
 the key to my treasure chest,
 with the gilted grace
 to pause
 and playfully give back.

I want a love that sighs

 and sings a hymn for me
 on my very sick bed
 who wakes the morning
 with the sunshine in his eyes
 drawing me
 in complex shades of gray
 upon the canvas of the world,
 this atlas I attract
 as I search for my secret soul,
 to wrap it like the sky
 around the firmness of his waist.

 A love that brings me HOME

 with one subtle, swift embrace.

©2012 DOS

The excerpts of all of the poems presented in this blog are copyright protected, as each and every poem has been copyrighted.   For a complete copy of any poem, feel free to email your request to: duvallosteennyc@gmail.com.

Mantra Schmantra

My neighbor and I started this year off right! Declaring our goals to manifest great things with the power of intention and positive energy.  We’ve even drafted a daily mantra – “this year, I am open to welcoming the perfect available man for me into my life”.  We goad each other whenever we’re veering wayward, off the path of positivity, and we remind each other with smiley face icons and exclamation points to keep our eye on the prize and manifest only good things into our lives.  I’ve been jazzed up and on a roll – feeling sky high and affirming every positive thing (or potentially positive thing) that happens each day with gratitude and delight, confident that each of these little upbeat happenstances are symbols of my awesome powers to manifest.  I’m walking the walk and talking the talk…

Or at least I thought I was.

Today, waiting for my bag to at the tedious conveyer belts in baggage claim at JFK, a very handsome man stood beside me and made eye contact.  He had crystal blue eyes, like marbles, hidden beneath dark framed stylish glasses.  Well coiffed hair, dark, with a hint of gray at the side burns. Slender, tall, casual chic in style.  Overall, a handsome man who surprised me and made me smile.  Well, all of my efforts at positive energy did manifest one thing – for maybe the first time EVER, my bag was the very first one to appear.  I almost applauded right there on the spot.  This little bubble of jubilation was not lost on my handsome observer.  I shrugged demurely and said “now that’s a first!  I feel so lucky!”  To which this apparition of beauty replied “You should play the lotto”, his blue eyes lingering upon me and making me feel all girlie and ebullient inside.  “Maybe I will” was my rather clever retort as I awkwardly gathered my bag and carry-on and prepared to leave.  Turning in his direction, I made eye contact once again – you know the kind that registers, hovers, makes it feel wrong to break away.  I stood there a wee bit dumbfounded and couldn’t think of anything to say but “have a good day”.  He looked ever so slightly surprised and returned my parting salutation with a gentle “you, too”.  I walked away feeling something had gone terribly wrong.  A little loss, a tiny grief, made each step gangly and uncertain as I headed toward the ground transportation exit. I even hovered a moment, hoping he’d end up in the taxi line directly behind me. When I finally saw him again, he was on his cell and looking around for his ride.  We had the briefest stint of eye contact once again and then both of us continued on with the rest of our lives.

What happened to being “open to welcoming the perfect available man for me into my life”???  I couldn’t find one single flirtatious word, one little hint of sex appeal to invite this handsome stranger to open up to me?  Is all of my mantra talk just BS? And do I let it slide in the heat of battle when an opportunity finally does arise?  How many times do my words go unspoken?  Do my desires crouch and hide, waiting for some other perfect time to make a well rehearsed and scripted entrance, stage right?  Is there a playwright alive who could write me some lines for just these types of moments?  How can I claim to be open and welcoming when all I do is clam up and rely on courteous pleasantries whenever a potential beau catches my eye?

As I rode all the way back to my Manhattan home, I felt the positive energy of the last few weeks begin to fade. The reality check of another potential loss hung heavy in the air, and I found myself thinking of my very first crush. High School.  Oh God, was I smitten!  And no, I could not talk to him either.  A tacky little 8 year old boy blew my cover, telling him all about my fatal crush. But sometimes I wonder… sometime I wish… Had I told him myself, who knows?  Maybe I wouldn’t be needing all these mantras today.

Sounds in the Rock

Stillness

 escapes me

 when your trumpet rings,

 heralds your entrance

 across a barren stage,

 void of props, scenes

 from the theatrical games

 we used to play.

Motion

 gathers, curls, creeps

 a rising tide of whirring thoughts,

 hula hoops

 that ring ‘round

 the rosy patches of my mind

 bright spots amid the brainy gray

 pink perfect memories

 that mottle the cortex

 and muddy the music

 of my speech,

 interrupting

 disengaging

 unforgiving the fits and starts

 reclaiming the spotlight

 in this thwarted present

 of Here and Now;

I stammer

 and hang glide

 across the valley

 of the longest moment ever

 in the hope of landing safely

 near you.

You are coming at me. 

Lightning strikes my kite

 and keeps electric jolts

 from pouring like rain

 through my very toes

 that reach for you.

Rays of love light

 dart

 from the open sunrise of my mouth

 shining the cresting wave

 of my frozen tongue

 high

 vaulting from the red ringed roof top

 of my teeth

 an echo

 failing to launch

 to land,

 to speak.

…

(and then later, the poem ends with…)

The words retract

  before they even begin,

  bountiful in volume

  this unheard symphony

  your approaching presence sings;

  in the second of a lifetime

  You pass by

  ungreeted

  once again

  by Me.

All the noise within Me

  turns

  to watch you wander away

  silently.

©2012 DOS

The excerpts of all of the poems presented in this blog are copyright protected, as each and every poem has been copyrighted.   For a complete copy of any poem, feel free to email your request to: duvallosteennyc@gmail.com.