Pacificmelody's Blog

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Modern Love

Modern Love

You look at me
As if from a great distance ~
As would a survivor in a
Lifeboat ~ look at a
Doomed man on the deck ~

I can tell in your mind
I am already gone ~
A memory from the past
You have unfriended me ~
And blocked my access
To all your social sites ~

I fear that if I come to call
Your maid will tell me
You’re not in ~
Not into me, no ~

Never again will I be
On your guest list ~
Nor will your friends
Be my friends any more ~

I am no longer in ~
My flavor has lost
Its brief appeal ~
I’ve fallen so far from
My place near your star ~

And even though I knew
This day would come ~
The pain is startling ~
More intense than ever
I’d foreseen ~

And I will always see your eyes ~
The day you never even said goodbye ~

(Originally published February 17, 2012)


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The Time of Dreaming

allweneedislove-0b3a1a5c0432f6db9d75e3175d6fa6da_h

My sheets are tangled
And my thoughts race
Was I only dreaming
Or was I truly
Remembering

There was a man’s face
Almost your face
But the eyes were wrong
He did not look at me
With love

There was a hunger
But there was fear as well
Though what he had
To fear from me
I’ll never know

Was this a memory
From another lifetime
Or a hint of a lifetime
Yet to come
It is a mystery

But not all mysteries
Require solution
And you are here and warm
And the dreaming
Is soon forgotten


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A Brief Encounter

Tamara de LempickaI had the perfect dress once. It was forest green, a supple jersey material, which embraced me in its warmth. The neck was scalloped, and it was mid-calf in length, with sleeves that stopped six inches above my wrists. It flowed in a smooth sweep from my shoulders, with nothing to interrupt the purity of its line, and it hugged me like a lover. The skirt was full. If I picked it up by the hems, I could lift my arms up above my shoulders. If I twirled around and sank down on the carpet, it spread around me like the petals of a flower.

I paired it with a triangular, peach-colored shawl I had crocheted, and I wore it with the point aiming down my right arm and the ends crossed over my left shoulder. On my feet I wore little black suede pumps, all rounded toes and high heels; they looked as if they’d been made for me. A matching purse with a gold chain shoulder strap and two pairs of gold earrings completed my ensemble. I had brushed my hair until it shone like spun gold, and with lips painted coral and sexy sunglasses perched on my nose, I was ready to face the world.

This may sound like a lot of work, but when I’m getting ready to go out, my costume du jour is an important part of the armor I wear to protect myself. At any rate, the reward for all my efforts came later that afternoon. I was strolling along, when I met a couple walking arm-in-arm. We smiled and nodded and passed each other by, and then the man called out to me, “Oh, miss, my wife and I love your look!”. I thanked them and walked on, day completely made. That was at least 15 years ago, and I’ve no memory of what happened to the dress, but even now, when I remember those words, I smile.

(Originally published December 12, 2009, on seeing a young lady with a very put-together look.)


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Only an Illusion?

shepherdess-fixd-lgI was noticing a scratch on a piece of furniture when an old memory surfaced. It was of a story I’d read many years ago, written, I believe, by a Unity minister. The details may not be exact but the gist is close enough.

She told of visiting a dear friend who was not easily able to get out. It was a pleasure to come to her home, which always seemed filled with interesting and lovely objects, everything shining with a patina of polish and loving care. And over all, the lady spread her mantle of charm and gracious welcome. Her invitations were sought and prized, and her guests uniformly left her with reluctance – and happy memories.

And it came to pass that the friend died. The minister had been left a small bequest – a painting she had once admired – and on impulse had gone to the home, where she knew the lady’s sister would be sorting through her things. She wanted to visit once more the place of which she had such fond memories.

It came as a surprise to her when she walked in, that the rooms were not at all as she recalled. Everything was shabby and a little worn. The paint was peeling, the upholstery faded. The pretty little shepherdesses and their swains, the lovely china plates, all were revealed in the harsh light to be inexpensive souvenirs. It seems the lady had imbued her modest possessions with the grace and beauty of her inner being, so that everything and everyone around her, became a little finer through being in her company.

As an epitaph, you couldn’t do much better. Fitting words for a life well lived.