Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)

This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message.  But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.

This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"

Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."

Fact about me:  You design me.
-------------------------------------------------------

th­inking it's about time for a road trip.

create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.

to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.

travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
special temple.

Gomer, Gomer,  & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
your productivity,
endless,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,

Tennessee,
The Carolinas,
Georgia,
The South,
I rise with it,
now, again,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
of Charleston,
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
burnt children,
retuned to be whole.

learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.

missed the original
Thrilla-in-Manila,
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
after all,
it is writ in the good book,
this island,
the PhilippineS,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?

in Nevada City,
which is of course in
krazy California,
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
succinctly seeing
works in progress,
from which I
will imbibe,
so **** deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...

while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
Hug Mission,
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
cal-stratosphere,
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
going looking
further on to
Humboldt County.

in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
(Hamphshirians, Northamptontonians,
patience please)
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
my sorceress,
you know,
I am on way too.

to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
faithful friend,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.

even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.

in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am

leeward,
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
Canada,
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
warrant to
repossess mine,
they want their
poets back.

double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
here tomorrow,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.

on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
down Daytonway,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
shake hands,
and learn from him,
it's ok,
to stand down.

man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
this grand
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
soul brother.

will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
to hold
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.

this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
even bailing,
with an old dented pail
simultaneous.
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
rhymers.

have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).

souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
each other
in each other words.

You, who live in
your very own
personal hell,
I think we met there,
because
yours was
mine too,
tho not found
on any map.

maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
the Netherlands,
no longer will she be
alone.

but then again, some
very special things,
like
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.

while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
un-hide you,
among the
teeming millions,
millions of
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.

in Germany,
all the university students
speak English,
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
Missouri accent,
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
study abroad,
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.

but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
making words
I know
better, different,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?

to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
from Southampton
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
maternal instincts,
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.

Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
all revealed,
we are all naked
at least,
twice a day?

In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?

though I despise the
Dallas Cowboys,
not my  America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
and their
joyous reunification.

there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
in Auckland,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but **** sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.

Oregon,
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.

Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.

in a beautiful city,
unsurprisingly called
Belleville,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.

off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.

maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.

you, who live in just
the world,
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
unstraight,
or huge plains,
are sufficient,
to hide your
moody dust trail
from me!

somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
tapping you,
on the shoulder!

will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
a clue,
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
derby hatted,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...

my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.

Wisconsin,
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?

Pittsburgh,
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera  at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!

ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
the where!

Lagos,
where
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
written wealth?

Mombasa, Singapore,
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
South Dakota,
where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
tomorrow's wait.

Milwaukee, Atlanta,
chuck, in *PA., friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.

can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,
of course not!

Suburbia,
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;

The BBB's -

British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
B'kara!
the goodness of *Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,

did you think I would forget ya?

those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
concrete boxes,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.

even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
NYC,
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.

I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.

yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
but truly,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
will come.

*but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.

THE RAT AND THE PREGNANT WOMAN


A story poem

BY

Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])



Dedicated to;
My mother Neddy Nabisino Mayende Kuloba Makhakara
And her mother Maritini Nabengele Nasenya Mulemia Namugugu Ilungu wa Wenwa.
The story telling power of these two ladies is the primary source of my passion and love for humorous and peace bettling stories. I owe them all the recognitions.







OPENING SONG
How do I start telling this story that I got from my
Grandmothers when sited around the fire yard in the evening?
I don’t know how to start surely,
For to day I am very shy; all of your eyes
Are on me, looking at me like ocean of looking organs
But let me embolden my self with the belt
Of a story teller that my grand father gave me
And commanded me to preach peace
Through story telling in every place I go
So my spiritual service to humanity is telling stories
Is to soothe and heal wounds of humanity
By softly telling peaceful stories
Let me then cough to clear my voice and start;

Long time ago, but not very long time
Some where between the centuries of twelve hundred
And seventeen hundred after the death of the other Jewish
Story teller who died without a wife, who died on the cross
But others say he died on the stake, his name was Jesus,
There existed only two kingdoms in land which is known today
As Bukusu land found in the present east Africa or Indian Ocean coastal Africa,
The first occupants of this vast land is the sons and daughters of Babukusu
Or the ones who like selling ironsmith products
And hence the name the people of Bukusu; the people who sell,
The two kingdoms were the Kingdom of muntu and the kingdom of manani
The citizens in the kingdom of muntu were short men and short women
Handsome and beautiful, slender and not assertive in their physical disposition
But the citizens of the kingdom of manani were all cyclopic,
In their everything; the manner of walking, talking farting, micturating
Farming, breathing, snoring, smiling, singing, whispering
Their whisper was a noisy as the tropical thunderclap
They were tall men and tall women, very tall
Their young person was as short as the tallest
Person in the kingdom of muntu,
When one of the citizen of manani snores
All the citizens of Muntu along together with,
Their king Walumoli wa Muntu had no option
But remain awake throughout the night,
Because the cacophony of a snore from
The sleeping courts of Manani was not bearable,

On many occasions Walumoli wa Muntu
The conscientious king of the muntu kingdom
Had arranged to talk to Silinki wa Namunguba
The ostensible king of the Manani Kingdom
About the cacophonous sleep robbing
Snores of daughters and sons in neighbour kingdom of Manani
Only to cow and chicken away in a feat of prudence
Lest Silinki wa Namunguba will suspect him for being
A night runner or a thief of *** perhaps
Who roams his compound during the wee of the night
In hunt of any of Namunguba’s wife maybe
Perchance having gone out for a mid-night *******,
This is how legendary snores of the sons and daughters
Of Silinki wa Namunguba the king of Manani
Has remained unchecked for ever till today,

One time an ugly passer by happened to be seen
Traversing the kingdom of muntu
In the early afternoon some two
Hours after Walumoli the king
Had just cleared the last plate
Of the mid day meal from
His last wife Khatembete Kho Bwibo Khakhalikaha Nobwoya
He always eats her food last in the afternoon
Because it comes on the table steaming youthfulness
He loves his Khatembete wife, the wife of his old age
The wife he married by use and show of the royal regalia
The powers and dignity of the king of muntu
He married her when he his a king, the scepter in his hand,

Going back to the ugly passer by
It was never known where he came from
Not from the east where the Indian Ocean is
Not from the west where the vastness of the land
Of black people of Baganda and Bacongo
Baigbo and Bayoruba or Bafulana of Nigeria
Or the sons of Madiokor Ngoni Diop in the Senegal,
Not from the south from shaka the Zulu and Mandella the wise one
Not from north in the land of Dinka and Nuer, Ethiopian Jewish and the Egyptians,
The passerby was ugly and from no where, in a dress and
A very ***** dress that fumed out a malodorously stenching reek
He was a man in attires of a woman; this was a taboo in the land of muntu
He was left handed and a heavy weight stammerer, with an appalling
Protuberation of   a hunched back, an enormous hunchback
Enmassing entired of his masculine shoulders,
When the wind blew his loose dress followed it
Leaving the man’s thighs and then bossom naked,
Leading bystanders to a strange discovery; he was not circumcised
He was old like any other father, he had beards
But not yet circumcised, his ***** ends in corkscrew of a sheath,
This was a taboo in the land of muntu, in the kingdom of muntu
Which Walumoli wa Muntu the son of Mukitang’a Mutukuika ruled
For the spirits, gods and ancestors as well as foremen of the kingdom
Behooved that all male offsprings of the kingdom of muntu
Whether born in marriage or out of the wedlock
Born the blood or born as a ******* must and must be
Circumcised in the early teen hood
They must be circumcised before they grow the hairs
On the face, on the chest, in the scapula and on the areas
Surrounding the testicles, the **** and the endings of the backbone,
The man again had six fingers on the legs and on the hands
He walks slowly like a porcupine, his dress was in tartars
He was violent to every one he met
Insulting old people and old women with words
Of bad manners not used in the kingdom of muntu,
He terrified and beat young children, including the royal children
And grand children of Walumoli the king of muntu
He again had to beat and chase nine young virgins
Who had come from the palace of Walumoli the king of Muntu
Away from the forest when they picking fire wood
As well as playing a game of hide and seek with other palace lads,
The ugly passer by then chased to get hold of the
Nalukosi the first born daughter of
Khatembete Kho Bwibo Khakhalikaha Nobwoya
The beloved last wife of the king of Muntu
All other virgins ran home, but Nalukosi remained behind
In the inextricable grip of the ugly passer by
She screamed with hysteria of a hypochondriac
She screamed and kicked with her wholesome mighty
The stubborn passer by never left her alone
She gnawed the ugly passer by with
Her girlish claws of her fingernails
But is like the passer by was mentally disordered
He was a ******* of some time
He derived some pleasure and instead
Enjoyed the girlish scratches of his captive,
Before the eight running virgins reached the palace
Together with their companions, the playmate lads
The shrilling scream of the captive Nalukosi
Was sharply heard at the palace, first by King Walumoli
Who called his wife Khatembete Kho Bwibo Khakhalikha Nobwoya
To come out of the hut, the kitchen and help to listen,
Immediately Mukisu wa Mujonji the palace keeper surfaced
His face displayed genuine askance of an adept military man
Whose martial arts have rusted for a week without usage
He confirmed to the king that the cry from the forest
Is of the one from this royal home of your majesty the king
And none other than the ****** princes Nalukosi Mukoyonjo
The pride of her father, the eye of the palace,
Without hesitation the king permitted the wallabying Mukisu ,
Permission to run in a military dint and find out whatever that
Was eating Nalukosi Mukoyonjo the familial heart of the king,
Mukisu wa Mujonji who was clearly known in the kingdom of muntu,
For his swift running like a desert kite, he already twice chased
And gotten single handedly two male gazelles,
Without aid of a dog nor aid of fellow hunters
And delivered them to the king as a present to the palace
Which he achieved because of the speed of his legs,
On this royal permission he unsheathed his matchette
And went away like any arrow from the bow
His shirt trailing behind him like mare’s tail
Or like the flag on the post on a windy day,
Not a lot of time passed.
Mukisu wa Mujonji is at the spot of struggle,
Between Nalukosi and the Ugly passerby
There was no question or talking,
The first thing was Mukisu to sink the Matchette
With all of his mighty into the tummy of the ugly stranger
The bowels of the ugly stranger opened puffwiiii!
He breathed and gasped twice then succumbed to death.
His grip still strong on the leg of Nalukosi Mukoyonjo
The ugly passer by reached the rigor Mortis
When Nalukosi was still strongly gripped in his
Beastly hand, Mukisu wa Mujonji with all the skills
Used a Sharp matchette again; chopped of the hand
Of the ugly dead passer by off, from its torso
At the point of the muscular elbow,
Now Nalukosi was extricated, but not fully
From the grip of the dead ugly stranger,
The chopped off hand is still knotted at her leg
Around her leg, the dead hand also grips.
Nalukosi jumped here and there to throw away
The leg and the dead hand, but it was not easy to throw
The hand still stubbornly gripped around her angle,
*** time passed, each and every one of the kingdom came
Including the king Walumoli wa Muntu himself
And his nine wives, Khatembete Khobwibo Khakhalikha Nobwoya
Came last, as she was energyless due to rudely shocking tidings
Which the escaping virgins and lads had given her
That the ugly passer by had turned into the ogre
And had swallowed her daughter Nalukosi
That he had swallowed her piecemeal without chewing,
People of muntu came and found the ugly passerby dead
The left had chopped off its torso
But still hanging loosely on the leg of Nalukosi
Nalukosi jumping, kicking, screaming
Screaming away the dead hand from the grip of leg
But nothing had forthcame her way,
Walumoli wa Muntu could not afford to see
The hand on the leg of her beloved daughter
What could he tell his wife, is your all know
Dear reader and audience to this song;
Even the mighty and the wise ones
Generously bend when under the pressure of love,
Out of this dint, even before Mukisu wa Mujonji
Could display his next military card
Walumoli wa Muntu grapped the dead hand
That stuck of the leg of her daughter
And pulled it with another force that
No man born of woman has
Never used since the creation of the earth
By the gods and spirits of Muntu,
The hand come off, he throw it
On the cadaver of the ugly stranger,
He clicked and clicked and hissed
With anger like a wild turkey
In the African thorny forest,
He ordered the dead one to be buried
Their without haste, nor ceremony
Mukisu wa Mujonji buried the body
Quickly in a brief moment with precision
As if he was taking notes
From the lines of the poem
OF Pablo Neruda on how
To bury a dog behind the house
This time burying an ugly stranger
Behind the forts of the kingdom,
After all these women, children and men
Of muntu plus their king Walumoli
Went back to their houses hilariously
Broken into a song and a wild *** dance;
Makoe eehe! Makoe !
Nifwe Talangi Makoe !
Talangi!
Khwaula embogo sitella
Nifwe Talangi!
They sang up to midnight before
They all retired to their beds
Respective beds with panting thoraces
From heavy singing and dancing.

There is connection and disconexion between
The living and the dead, the living fear the dead
And dead loves the living,
The dead want the company of the living
For the living to accompany in the land of the dead,
When the ugly stranger was killed
And buried uncircumcised with the hunch
Not plucked out of his back
The gods and the livings dead
In the realm of the ancestors
Of the kingdom of Muntu were not happy,
They never wanted uncircumcised old man
With a hunch back to join them
And worse enough with the six fingers,
The gods and ancestors really god annoyed
That Walumoli wa Muntu has done them bad
He is only caring for the living, the pre-mortals
Especially his last wife and the daughter
But he has neglected the ancestors,
Why trash to ancestors a stark humanity,
They communed among themselves
And resolved to sent Namaroro
The god of dreams, dreams as messages
From the ancestors and dreams from the gods
Namaroro visited Namunyu Lubunda the palace
Prophet in the Kingdom of Muntu to pass
The message vesseling unhappiness of the ancestors
And gods in a blend of gloomy read to execute
A vendetta;
This is when in the wee of the night that Namunyu Lubunda
Dreamed and had a vision of a old man from
The east is warning of the coming long spell of starvation
That will befall the kingdom of Muntu for ten years
                                      That Namaroro told Namunyu Lubunda
As for ten seasons of foodlessness
Behold a begging kingdom
Behold a starving throne,
The scepter of Muntu is a disgrace
To the holder
Then Namunyu Lubunda set forth by dawn
To the Palace to meet Walumoli wa Muntu
In his, palace before any other royal chores come up,
Both good and bad luck combined
Only to have Namunyu Lubunda to get the king at the palace
He got him fresh and relaxed chewing the cup of fortune
In his full ego, all his wives had submitted to the morning dishes
To his dining hall in the palace, he moved his hands from
One plate of food to the other.
Namunyu Lubunda entered with a submissive salutation
To the royal, He bowed and declared the glory of the king
In typical standards of the ethnic composition of the house of Muntu
Walumoli wa Muntu Mukitang’a Mutukuika
Majave Kutusi Mbirira Omwene esimbo ya
Kumukasa,
Walumoli responded with a feat of dignity to Namunyu Lubunda
The palace prophet, as he roared to him; come in
Come in son of Lubunda son of our people,
He did mention the name of Namunyu Lubunda father
As he fears his words may escape with the power
Of his kingdom the scepter of Muntu
To other insignificant families in the kingdom,
Let me announce what brings me here; intoned Namunyu
Go ahead and announce my holiness
s the prophet of this kingdom; responded Walumoli,
Misfortune is awaiting the kingdom
It will eat this kingdom away
Like a ravenous hyena on the ewe’s tail
The ancestors and the spirits of this land
This kingdom of yours the son of Muntu
Are immensely offended with your recent behaviour
In which you commandeered all villages
In your kingdom; from east and west
The **** the innocent passer by
With your owner hands that handle the scepter
You killed and lay to rest the foreigner
A pure omurende to the kingdom of muntu
You buried him uncircumcised without contrite
In the cemeteries of our foremen who asleep and circumcised
Why did you lower the dignity of our forefathers
Who never share a roof with uncircumcised person
To share the ancestral realm; our emagombe
With hunchback foreigner not circumcised?
This kingdom is condemned to all spell of curse of death
Ceaseless hunger famines and starvation
Women dwindle in their reproductive capacity
Rarely will you come across a pregnant woman
Food will be difficulty to put on the table
Even the sweat of your brow will go to naught,
You will not be buried with insignia
Like a pauper you killed will you be buried
The house of your wife Khatembete Kho Bwibo
Khakhalikha no bwoya is a house of no consequences
For even your daughter Nalukosi stands cursed
She will not mature to be wedded into a marriage
She will hover the earth under heavy agonies of hunger,
My assignment is done and over
With or without your permission let me go.









THE FIRST SONG
Our song continues dear brethren
Come join me in arms we sing
Joyous singing of these songs of peace
Telling the world peaceful stories
As we enjoy sitting together around my grandmothers fire yard
Warming our selves to her lovely fire inherent in her good stories,
These songs will sing the glory and success of the king of Manani
It is an irregular Ode to Silinki wa Namunguba the son of Mwangani,
The son of Tunduli, the son of Wajala Njovu, the son of Welikhe, the son
Of manyorori, the son of Chumbe, the son of Kajo, the Son of Mabati, the son of welotia,
The son of sikele sia mulia, the son of Toywa,the son of siruju, the son of Mango, the son of Mulwoni sinyanya Bakhasi, the son of Mbakara , the son of Makhakara wa Nambuya, the son of Mukoye mulala kukhalikha w0nga, the son of Zumba the son of God.
Silinki

Dearest Destined Jewel,
                                         Of longest heartfelt yearning, Bestow on thee, Hamlet awaits, Ophelia picking flowers, Magnolia branches speaking, Beautifications of Spring.

Supreme buds of new life,  Magnoliaceae of Queen bees, An enterprise of wonder, Symbolic child's enchanted play, Faeries in flight whisper attractions, Fondness, Les fleurs du mal.

Ample blossoms, Bosoms of delight, Devouring light, Little birds sing, Nestling, Chirping a languishing cacophony, Blissful unawareness, Nature nurture the soul.

A slip then fall, Nearby church bells distract, Into abyss fallen, Elevated body all at once, Floating amidst flora, Drowning, Petticoat woven dress, Resting on fresh valley water, Immersion, No contention, Hamlet awaits.

© Sia Jane

For Sia

wake up unscrubbed,
sleep still in the eyes,
dream crusted,
probably unaware, child,
that you are a poem
sleeping

when a little girl,
reverting, designing
real from dreams,
processing, reforming,
the dreams lusting
to be poems
to go awandering

no wonder you have
more first names
than the rest of the world
combined

who you gonna be
this day?
undecided?
a new name adopted?
why not...

did you think I didn't notice?

the degree of yours ungranted,
I favor most is the one
you
never take
unless given
but always only
offer all:
friend

escapade thy 'they' thru
their assorted flavors,
nose rings, tongue piercings,
take 'em all, on the train ride to

see Sia run
see Sia play
see Sia read

see Sia lead
her troupe known only to me as the
Sherwood Forest Baker Street Irregulars
on adventures all over the U.K.

someday you will get a degree
from Peter Pan in
all grown-up-ness,
settling down,
but I surely hope not,
for I will then be sadder,
way sadder than I am
even now,
a different generation man,
when
forgone, missing,
the little dream crusted girl

Paalam sa munting kinang sa kanto ng iyong mga mata. Sa unang alab ng huling araw magpapaalam ang bihag ng tanikala. Walang humpay ang daluyong ng mga ala-ala.

Salamat sa unang halik at iyong natatanging labi. Mula sa una at sa huli. Ito na ang huling paalam. Papadayon din ang araw, bukas o sa makalawa, o hindi kahit kailan.

Walang luha o sugat na lalatay sa iyong balat. Hindi kailangang manatili sa ala-ala nating dalawa. Mula dito at sa mga susunod na araw, buwan, at taon.

Para sa ating dalawa ang paalam na ito. Hindi na kailangan magkubli sa anino ng masaya at masalimuot na nakaraan. Ito ang ating hudyat, ang ating kidlat mula kay bathala.

Para sa muling pagkinang ng iyong mga mata. Sa ala-ala ng buwan at ng mga bituin. Sia lahat ng bagay na nagpangiti sa iyong puso at labi. Paalam aking dagat, aking asul na langit.

Minamahal kita.

It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane

A moonlit dance beneathe constellations
      not Taurus or Gemini, Delphinus or Orion
                 but stars we named together
                   linking lines from star to star
       hands pointing in air so cold
a tear falls and
                           another
  leaving a roadmap on my cheeks
            that you
                            chase
                           ­            chase
                                                  chase
   ­         lifting the palm of your hand
                 so cold to the touch I shiver
            feeling the beauty of my tears
         that glisten like Venus in the midnight sky
             of this cold Parisian night
  you smile in jest and
     I misplace the space
  between you and I and that sky
  whispering "do you love me?"
    how could I resist the beauty of
                 our second to last kiss.

© Sia Jane

I don't even know what to write, or say.
And for a person who has written so many poems,
on this site,
it is kind of unbelievable.

My first poetry anthology, "Wanderlust" - Sia Jane Lloyd
is now available via Amazon.

This place (Hello Poetry) has given me something I could never return or give words to.
Such acceptance, courage, love, belief, determination, inspiration...

Thank you for making me realise my dreams.
I couldn't have done it without you.

I love you all so so so much xoxo

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wanderlust-she-travels-her-mind/dp/1492952346/ref=sr11?ie=UTF8&qid;=1392582925&sr;=8-1&keywords;=sia+jane+lloyd

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Ci sono matrimoni ti adoro e poi ci sono i matrimoni ti adoro .drop-dead cose bellissime che sono così assolutamente bella .siete quasi a corto di parole.Questo è uno di quei matrimoni.Una serata italiana mozzafiato con una splendida attrice sposarla focoso produttore musicale sposo .il tutto circondato da familiari .amici e momento dopo momento di "Miss Havisham incontra Florence and the Machine " pretty ( SI ) .E 'il tipo di giornata che sarà quasi certamente passerà alla storia SMP e si può vedere tutto catturato beauitfully da Matthew Moore nel pieno galleria .

Condividi questa splendida galleria ColorsSettingsHistoric VenueStylesRomanticVintage

Da Sposa.Come attrice e sceneggiatrice dal commercio in Hollywood era destinato fin dall'inizio che il nostro matrimonio sarebbe stato una produzione.Invece del matrimonio norma mio marito ed io stavamo cercando di creare il set di un film che sarebbe davvero trasportare i nostri ospiti in un altro mondo .

Oltre al fatto che siamo entrambi persone molto artistici in generale .Zach ed io sono piuttosto contrario.ehm.voglio dire gratuito .Zach è più di un ragazzo jeans e t -shirt .E sono più di una Jimmy Choo e vintage sequined vestito da cocktail tipo di ragazza .Così.quando è arrivato il momento di sposarsi .volevamo trovare un modo per fondere i nostri due gusti : lui .casual e me.fantasia .Lui .rilassata e me .drammatico .

Entrambi abbiamo subito concordato un matrimonio di destinazione perché sapevamo che volevamo che il matrimonio sia intimo.E abbiamo voluto l'evento per essere più di una vacanza collettiva di una sorta di omaggio al nostro coupledom .E non posso dirti quello che una decisione perfetta che fu.Abbiamo optato per l'Italia .un piccolo paese vicino a Lucca chiamato Borgo a Mozzano dove avevo trascorso del tempo in un college di canto lirico .( . Te l'avevo detto che ero toity hoity ) Borgo a Mozzano è in Garfagna - i monti selvaggi e selvagge della Toscana .

Sono ossessionato con la grandiosità sbiadita si possono trovare in Italia - e la villa che abbiamo scelto per il matrimonio (Villa Catureglio ) incarna proprio questo - edera a crescere senza di pietra antichi .ulivi dappertutto .quella luce splendida che sembraesistere solo in Italia .Per noi .non c'è niente di più bello di patina e abbiamo voluto fare che l'attenzione estetica del matrimonio .

A tal fine .i colori del matrimonio sono



tirati direttamente dalla decolorazione della pietra dal salmone al grigio al blu al verde .C'è un intero caleidoscopio di colori solo nella pietra .Volevamo la decorazione di nozze per avere un tatto organico ad essa come se fosse parte della villa .
Il tema per il matrimonio è stata Miss Havisham incontra Florence and the Machine .La descrizione mi piace dare è il matrimonio dovrebbe apparire come se fosse istituito un centinaio di anni fa e poi solo dimenticato .Nel corso del secolo gli elementi ha assunto l'edera e muschio ha cominciato a crescere nel l'arredamento .l'età sbiadito la tovaglia .E ora il matrimonio è quasi una sensazione spettrale ad esso .Per me non c'è niente di più romantico della storia Havisham di un matrimonio congelato nel tempo .E mi piace l'accostamento di bellezza e decadenza .

Abbiamo ovviamente avuto un po ' di una sfida tirare fuori questa visione dall'altra parte del mondo .Inoltre .abbiamo voluto utilizzare uno stile più eclettico decorazione di solito si può affittare da fornitori di nozze ( in particolare in Italia .dove l'estetica matrimonio sembra essere per lo piu vestiti da sposa ' permette di trasformare la villa in un club di Miami ! ' ) .Così abbiamo dovuto ottenere creativo che è dove abbiamo avuto così tanto divertimento .Io e mia mamma .insieme con i nostri wedding planner .pettinate attraverso diverse Thrifts negozi a Firenze di raccolta ( ad un prezzo abbastanza ragionevole) antiquariato favolosi che abbiamo usato per decorare il tutto .Abbiamo trovato splendidi vecchi specchi che abbiamo appeso nella limonaia .Siamo andati in un vecchio magazzino di tessuto a Prato e aveva le tende fatte per la cappella e altrove.Abbiamo anche trovato il tessuto lì per fare la nostra bella pizzo tovaglia di tela !La sua incredibile come se siete disposti a caccia .si possono trovare cose incredibili ad una certa sconto .Pettinatura attraverso depositi di risparmio italiane potrebbe non essere il paradiso per tutti .ma per me e mia mamma è stata veramente !

Zach .ovviamente .a condizione che la musica .che era un misto di corrente di musica indie con musica dal 1920 per la cena per riflettere il nostro desiderio che il matrimonio si sentono sia d'epoca e indie .Abbiamo finito per avere 55 dei nostri amici più cari e familiari .e non avrebbe potuto essere più perfetto .Abbiamo tutti trascorso alcuni giorni insieme prima del matrimonio .

Il matrimonio è iniziato nella cappella privata in loco : una splendida .piccola cappella di pietra abbiamo trasformato in una scatola gioiello etereo .Abbiamo comprato un po ' di velluto stupendo e tessuto di seta floreale da un magazzino a Prato .che abbiamo trasformato in tende romantiche per vestire le finestre .La cappella era piena di Kartell Louis Ghost in armonia con l'atmosfera un po ' spettrale del matrimonio .

Le damigelle d'onore camminato lungo la navata nella splendida marina .1930 ispirato abiti da David Meister come il nostro indie amico musicista rock ( mio cugino ) ci serenata con le versioni acustiche delle nostre canzoni preferite ( "C'è l'Amore " di Firenzee la macchina ." primo giorno della nostra vita " di Bright Eyes .ecc ) e 'stato così incredibilmente speciale per avere mio cugino cantare per noi .

** indossato un abito di Reem Acra ( Olivia ) che scorre in avorio con maniche argento cappuccio bordato .Mia mamma e mia sorella e ** preso a Kleinfeld in un trunk show .Il look era molto presto Grey Gardens glamour del 1930 .Pensate Poco Edie quando era giovane e bella e piena di promesse .O signorina Havisham in gioventù .

Una volta sposati.ci siamo spostati nel cortile della villa per cocktail e antipasti .Qui abbiamo avuto una splendida sorpresa in programma per i nostri ospiti .In lontananza .hanno iniziato a sentire una band che suona celebrativo della musica tradizionale italiana .La musica gradualmente si avvicinava sempre di più fino a quando attraverso l'ingresso alberato oliva villa apparve una marching band di 30 elementi ( concerto bandistico ) !Tradizionalmente .in matrimoni italiani .la banda del paese suona dopo la cerimonia e quindi abbiamo avuto la band Lucca locale non solo per noi !Sono un gruppo favoloso composto da tutti.da 8 anni a 80 anni di età che suonano musica tradizionale popolare italiana con una perfetta imperfezione .

Il look del momento dell'aperitivo era stupendo !Le bevande erano servite nella Limonaia (dove sono memorizzati i limoni durante l'inverno ) .La limonaia è onestamente da morire - è così Giardini di Miss Havisham / grigio con bellissime porte francesi che si aprono in questo spazio magico coperto di edera e altri vitigni appesi .Inoltre abbiamo decorato le pareti con un miscuglio di bellissime .specchi antichi d'oro che abbiamo comprato a diversi negozi di spedizione intorno a Firenze tutte in diverse dimensioni e forme .tra cui un gigantesco specchio antico ( 6 ​​metri di altezza ).che poggiava sul pavimento .Abbiamo chiesto il fiorista per portare ancora più edera da aggiungere alle pareti e tessere intorno gli specchi per farli sentire come se fossero lì da secoli .Sono sicuro che io sono l' unica sposa che ha chiesto il fiorista per rendere il luogo un aspetto più decrepito .ma onestamente .hanno fatto il più magnifico lavoro .Fiori Toscana ( il migliore !) Hanno fatto i fiori .

decorare l'interno della limonaia sono stati sedie antiche e divano acquistati al mercato dell'antiquariato di Lucca .Abbiamo finito per trasformare la limonaia in una grande e formale salotto che era stata troppo presa dagli elementi .La vestiti da sposa giustapposizione di mobili antichi con la limonaia rustico e il suo pavimento sporco di terra è esattamente il tipo di contraddizione abbiamo giocato con tutto il matrimonio tutto .

Dopo le bevande è venuto a cena.I nostri ospiti hanno camminato attraverso la villa - su un altro bel cortile alberato con alberi di ulivo decorati con centinaia di candele appese .Tra gli alberi .c'era un lungo tavolo coperto da una tela di pizzo splendida avevamo fatto in una tovaglia di tessuto che abbiamo comprato da un magazzino all'ingrosso a Prato .Il tavolo era decorato con candelabri e vasi antichi .pieni di arrangiamenti romantici e selvaggi fiori traboccanti sul tavolo .come l'edera salì i candelabri .Kartell sedie fantasma linea la tabella interrotto solo dalla sedia antico occasionale alle due estremità - e un divanetto d'epoca al centro del tavolo per la sposa e lo sposo .Veramente il tavolo era un capolavoro .E come gli ospiti mangiavano .abbiamo avuto 1920 riproduzione di musica che ha appena aggiunto all'atmosfera .

Invece di una società di catering .siamo stati fortunati a trovare ( grazie ai nostri wedding planner ).un famoso chef per cucinare il pasto per noi .E ' fondamentalmente la Paula Deen d'Italia e che ha fatto un lavoro impeccabile .L'abbiamo presentato con un po 'una sfida .perché volevamo un pasto completamente vegetariano .Ma lei tirò fuori splendidamente !

Dopo cena la torta è stata istituita nel grande salone della villa circondata da splendidi muschio e posto su una base antico con una splendida patina - abbiamo acquistato da un vicino cantiere di salvataggio .La torta è stato ispirato da Wedgewood con intricati avorio dettagli su ogni livello completo di cammei fatti a mano dal nostro artista torta maestro .Melanie .e sormontato da una corona di ispirazione vintage .E ' stata veramente mozzafiato.(E assaggiato incredibile come bene ! )

Dopo aver mangiato .abbiamo camminato lungo una passerella a lume di candela .giù la proprietà alla loggia ( una veranda coperta di sorta ) - in pietra antica .Abbiamo trasformato questa sala in sala sigari / grappa .Abbiamo voluto contrastare la pietra semplice e maschile con la decorazione femminile e morbido .Abbiamo drappeggiato le finestre aperte con ricco tessuto in velluto .E abbiamo acquistato un assortimento di mobili antichi da negozi di spedizione per vestire lo spazio come lampadari splendidi pendevano dal soffitto .

Poi sulla danza .Abbiamo convertito abiti da sposa on line il vecchio fienile in pietra in una pista da ballo / club - completo di photobooth !Qui abbiamo avuto la più divertente giustapponendo il moderno con l'antico .Una barra incandescente con avvolgono una delle colonne centrali della stalla .come il barista ci ha servito bevande.Lampadari di cristallo appesi alle pareti .Abbiamo decorato la stalla con decorazioni semplici e moderne - divani moderni bianche pulite - tutto arredamento bianco contro la pietra - come abbiamo ballato nella notte .Uno dei lighting designer premiere in Toscana illuminato lo spazio in blu e viola per aiutare a completare la trasformazione.

nostro matrimonio è stato davvero la notte più magica che mai.I nostri fotografi .Matteo e Katie hanno fatto un lavoro impeccabile come catturare la bellezza e l'atmosfera della manifestazione .Fotografia

: Matthew Moore Fotografia | Fiorista : Toscana Flowers | Abito da sposa: Reem Acra | Cake: Melanie Seccaini | Coordinamento evento: matrimoni Internazionale | Hair + Trucco : Katie Moore di Matthew Moore Fotografia | Luogo : Villa CatureglioMatthew Moore Fotografia .L'Arte Della Torta di Melanie Secciani .Toscana Fiori e matrimoni internazionali sono membri del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .Matthew Moore Fotografia VIEW PORTFOLIO L'Arte Della Torta di Melanie ... vedi portfolio Toscana Fiori vedi portfolio Matrimoni internazionale VIEW
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=211
http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/498535353535_393159.jpeg
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1

sedikit demi sedikit, aku sudah tidak merasakan kamu di cangkir kopiku setiap pagi.

entah rasanya mengapa sangat sangat habar. seakan kamu sudah benar-benar pergi dari sini.

tidak ada yang membuat jantung ini seakan sudah tidak berada di tempatnya lagi ketika mataku menangkap sosokmu.

aku tahu, nantinya memang kamu akan pergi. mencintai pilihanmu yang lebih sempurna dariku.

aku hanya manusia, mi querido. aku bukan dia yang lebih dari manusia normal. dia spesial untukmu. sedangkan aku tidak.

oh, tidak. aku tidak pernah kemana-kemana. aku tidak pergi. aku tetap disini dan menunggu. hanya sepertinya kamu saja yang tidak pernah sadar jika aku disini.

sudah menerka-nerka. semua ini akan berakhir tidak berbalas. semua ini berakhir sia-sia.

tapi apakah kamu tahu?

semenjak kamu bersama dia, aku sangat menikmati hobiku merangkai aksara tentangmu. walau kadang maknamu sudah terasa hambar.

kamu tahu mengapa? karena tangan ini tidak akan pernah mampu meringkuh wajahmu dan mulut ini akan kaku ketika bertatapan denganmu.

aku membiarkan tangan ini menari-nari diatas papan kata dan merangkai karangan tentangmu.

Kepada Kamu.

Kita terlalu sama. Suka menangis diam diam. Kelihatan tegar di luar, padahal hancur di dalam. Ketika kini kulihat tawamu yang terlalu keras, aku tahu bahwa kau sedang tidak baik baik saja. Kau memang ahli bermain peran, tapi tidak di hadapanku. Cobalah hidup jujur terhadap apapun yang kau rasa.

Tuhan tidak menciptakan apapun untuk sia-sia. Hidup tidak melulu soal bahagia, tapi juga sebaliknya. Itu kemutlakan yang tak bisa kau tolak. Seperti sekarang, jangan selingkuhi perasaanmu sendiri, menangislah. Sungguh, tidak ada yang salah dengan jatuhnya airmata. Airmata bukan penanda lemah, sebaliknya itu pertanda agar kau tidak lengah.

Setiap kita memiliki lukanya sendiri sendiri. Juga, memiliki cara sendiri sendiri untuk memulihkannya. Airmata adalah cara lain kau berbahasa dan mengungkap rasa, ketika kau tak sanggup mengolah kata. Biarkan luka terbawa oleh setiap tetes airmata yang menitik sukarela.

Terkutuklah mereka yang percaya ‘anak hebat tidak menangis’ lalu menurunkan kebijakan yang tidak bijak itu pada anaknya. Mereka pasti mati rasa.

Izinkan aku menemanimu, tanpa banyak bicara, memberi petuah yang menjemukan, atau bertingkah konyol agar kau tertawa. Aku hanya akan duduk di sampingmu, menemani selama kau mau. Dan sesekali memberi genggaman, untuk menguatkan.

Note: bahkan airmata adalah buah tawa, saat aku bahagia bisa menemanimu dan mendengar cerita kegiatanmu seharian.

Sia:
And another one bites the dust
But why can I not conquer love?
And I might've got to be with one
Why not fight this war without weapons?
And I want it and I wanted it bad
But there were so many red flags
Now another one bites the dust
And let's be clear, I trust no one


You did not break me
I'm still fighting for peace


Well I've got a thick skin and an elastic heart
But your blade it might be too sharp
I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard
But I may snap when I move close
But you won't see me fall apart
Cause I've got an elastic heart
I've got an elastic heart
Yeah, I've got an elastic heart

The Weeknd:
And I will stay up through the night
Let's be clear, I won't close my eyes
And I know that I can survive
I walked through fire to save my life
And I want it, I want my life so bad
And I'm doing everything I can
Then another one bites the dust
It's hard to lose a chosen one
Sia and The Weeknd:
You did not break me (You did not break me, no, no)
I'm still fighting for peace

sebuah tatapan kosong
teriak! harapan perlahan hilang
lalu, lahirlah sebuah manusia tanpa wajah
di hujani batu demi batu rasa asa

jangan kalungkan pelangi di lehernya
karena akan di curi dan di hancurkan orang
seperti timbangan keruh dan pergulatan gelap

"bahagiakan saja aku!"
terdengar suara perempuan seperti letusan
di sebuah lorong sempit, sepi tak bertuan

apakah salah tuhan menciptakanmu?
dengan senyum yang menawan
dengan hidup yang penuh warna
dengan hidup secercah matahari pagi
dengan hidup yang bersinar seperti bintang
dengan hidup yang kata orang penuh arti

lantas, salah siapa?
kalau pada akhirnya dia hanya di hujani rasa sakit
seperti anjing liar dalam tubuhnya
mengonggong sampai hati padam,
lalu lupa akan sinarnya

dulu dia pernah mengecap manisnya hidup, dulu..
di hujani sejuta kata rayu
sekarang dia jatuh, tergeletak
bersama matahari menggantikan rembulan

lalu, biarkan langit tampak mencolok
setelah kurvanya kehabisan mekar
dan biarkan langit tak lagi elok
sebab kini mimpi terlihat samar

ingatan pada sebuah kotak
berdebu dan usang
tentang dambaan seseorang yang lewat
dengan wajah kemarin

mungkin, mengingatmu seperti pagi
selalu sederhana.
ingatan..sebuah ingatan

tentang dirimu yang hancur, di sia-siakan
di peluk lalu di injak-injak orang, di buang

tentang tegarnya dirimu menjalankan alur cerita
cerita naskah sang pencipta

tentang dirimu yang berjalan dalam kelabu
karena jejakmu lupa warna
tentang dirimu..yang penuh arti tapi bukan untuk dia

seperti pisau bermata dua
seperti senapan berpeluru dua
salah satu harus mati
atau
kita berdua, mati.

Diagnosis: Anorexia Nervosa
Status: Recovered.

So my point in writing... am I doing this for myself? Maybe... or to inspire others? Maybe...
Or to simply just show and say, that I am through this. Through what? Through all that growth that you encounter when you truly engage yourself in recovery.
This does not mean I will not grow further, learn more. Develop and engage. It doesn’t mean I have been able to shut the door once and for all on my mental health struggles (I was trying to be as politically correct towards myself using that term).
It means, I trust, I believe, and not naively, that I have done the hard work.
I have stepped outside of the mirror.
I no longer believe I can only live half way, a half life, between sickness and wellness.
It means, I know, I will never, get sick again.
Many may laugh, or shake their heads at that. And yet, what I am writing here is filled with so much faith and trust, that I can be sure of myself. Even if no one else in the world believes it, I do. And I know it, because I have made a choice.
There were some backwards and forwards, to relapses and re-growths, but each and every fall, I chose to learn. I chose to take to therapy. I chose.
I choose life.  And so that means, the commitment to life, to myself, that I will always take the route that leads to more life, or to more hope...

And so getting well. What happened there? Well, after years of self abuse, of anger turned inwards, after trying to destroy myself in every single way possible... I wondered, inquisitively, what would happen if I used all I had learnt in hospital, all the positive energy directed at me, the words my therapist would say to me... I wondered, what if?
That if, turned out to be the most amazing curiosity. It is why I am safe, well, “recovered.” I don’t use the term recovered lightly. I recognise that my whole life will mean being mindful, it will mean self awareness, it will mean vulnerability. But what I am certain of, is that each year that passes, I grow and gain strength in ways I never realised I could.
I use “recovered” because I don’t believe I am “in recovery.” I have done the recovery. I have done the putting food in my mouth, consulting a nutritionist, the ridiculous amount of weight gain that allowed me to be healthy. I am done with the depression, the endless anxiety, the self harm.
I say “recovered” because as Marya Hornbacher writes: “I mean flat-out eat-normally stay-healthy get-comfortable-with-your-body-and-actually-like-it recovery.”
Few believe it exists. In fact, I was told my numerous doctors I would never recover. I would always be chronic. Sick. In need of hospital.
It exists. I know that. Because it exists for me.
Recovering has meant finding a voice, and using it. It means putting food in my mouth, it means seeing friends, engaging in life, seeking out healthy ways of coping when I feel overwhelmed, scared, anxious...

I live.

© Sia Jane

Party girls don't get hurt
Can't feel anything, when will I learn
I push it down, push it down

I wont get hurt if i pretend
I will never end this charade
I 'm not playing games
I push it down till i turn into a diffrent girl

I'm the one "for a good time call"
Phone's blowin' up, they're ringin' my doorbell
I feel the love, feel the love

I am here, im the one they need
They call me a push me on my knees
They keep calling until i stop feeling anything
but i feel the love
the always needing, always wanting love

[Pre-Chorus]
1,2,3 1,2,3 drink
1,2,3 1,2,3 drink
1,2,3 1,2,3 drink

Throw 'em back, 'til I lose count

Throw em back till i stop dreaming
throw em back till I stop hoping for something better
throw em back till i lose count

[Chorus]
I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier
I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist
Like it doesn't exist
I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry
I'm gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier

I'm gonna live like i wont wake up tommorow
I'm gonna live like my life isnt a mess
I'm gonna live until i forget what my life is like
I'm gonna wipe my the tears from my eyes
*I'm just holding on for tonight

**** head, struggling for breath
Final hit, before the red
Light flashes, warning to stop
Over dose, **** the innards
She never chose to lose this
Battle, between herself & it
Where'd she go, lost in space
Chasing herself, a dog with his tail
Praying to an above, to lead her
Straight laced, not swerving off track
Please God save me, her last plea
Before another day dawns, her final wish
Sketcher, tweaker, where's that syringe
The lights too bright, reality a curse
Rolled up in rehab, another ghetto kid
Not this girl, high class, white, moneyed
Lost to the night, speed freak, hopeless
Drowning in addiction, using again
Chemical structures defining her fate
Her brain the game
Disfigured face, unrecognizable eyes
Family love, isn't ever enough
Rushed to ER, another broken soul
Promises that drugs will save her
When only she can ever
Save herself
This time, she's not another life
Lost
The Gods sure blessed her, not with
Her wish
So she's packaged off to rehab
The third times a charm, right?

© Sia Jane

I think perhaps as a writer, we seek the adventure, the unknown, the destructive, not only to know we are alive but to know what it is to live. We live fast, we love without restraint, with impulsive desire. Are we the tortured, the wounded, the broken, abused. We have lived a thousand lives, loved a million times. We dream, we idealise, we fall in love unintentionally, we make mistakes, we endure deep suffering and we fall to the hands of lust within a heartbeat. We choose to show our *******, our *****, our hearts or our souls. We refuse to sell our mind, to which we must always remain held to. Our body is a vessel, one of productivity made victim to abuse. It's such neglect, despair, that leaves us enveloped in patterns of trauma and deeply embedded psyache. Once touched, our bodies remember as an elephants mind always will. We are tainted, scarred, stained by another's love, lust, cheating, lying, crying, kissing, losing, dreaming. We are the risk takers, the ones who dare step into the unknown and often don't adhere to rules and regulations of societal ideals. We crave love. We crave endless excitement. We crave the adrenalin rush of a new lover. We don't settle. Wanderlust writes us. Each journey shapes us, choosing a new direction, experimenting with style, fiction, autobiographical tones. Landscapes colour our pages, pollute the rooms with a myriad of paints, smoking out those who don't endure, slaves to the written word, a pledge to keep reading pages of paper, dusty from step ladder high book shelves. Finding joy in limited first editions, autographed and locked behind glass doors.  Fairy tales whispered by Hans Christian Andersen - The Snow Queen in a pop up book laced with glitter and scintillation. Falling into stories, Alice's rabbit hole, lost to liquor saying drink me. The young ingénue, naïve and shy, her first role acting, embodying the spoken word through the masters written script.

© Sia Jane

Tak tahu mengapa tiba-tiba Fatima terjatuh. Orang-orang pikir dia tertidur. Mereka mencoba membangunkan, namun sia-sia. Disentuh dengan hati-hati, tak juga berhasil.

Fatima dengan sepasang burka berkeliling di dunia ide. Mimpi-mimpi yang awalnya ilusi, kini nyata. Dia menari-nari diatas kesedihannya. Fatima mondar mandir mencari-cari sepasang burkanya. Burkanya yang satu dipasangkan di kepala pak Kucing.

Pak Kucing adalah teman yang baik. Artinya dia menemani Fatima dalam ide dan materi. Pak Kucing berkata bahwa Fatima adalah gadis yang cantik. Fatima terharu mendengarnya, tetes-tetes air matanya jatuh membasahi burkanya.
Pak Kucing menghibur, dengan membacakan teka-tekinya;

"Tiba-tiba, orang-orang merasa sia-sia berhati-hati. Mimpi-mimpi kini menari-nari, mondar-mandir mencari-cari tetes-tetes teka-tekinya"

1997, 13 AUGUST, THURSDAY

You were laid in your mother’s arms,
All soft black hair and little eyes,
You took your first cry.

2014, 13 AUGUST, WEDNESDAY

Today’s your birthday,
The austere sun is burning,
Like an orange Cyclops-eye.
It’s as if Mother Nature knew
That today’s a special day.

Let the rapture abound and
Your day shall be decked with
Gold and
You shall find bliss in your
Dreams.

Orange is your colour,
Isn’t it?
Was your first shirt orange?
Fire is orange,
And you have fire inside you.
You are the fiery one who’s
Man enough to just be
Silly,
Instead of
Tough.

Your goofy stories
Never fail to tickle our funny bones.
Your adorable doodles
Capture the hearts of all.
But most importantly,
Your endearing laugh
Will stay forever etched in the mind.

Even though I’ve only known you for
114 days,
I regard you as
One of my greatest friends.

Just remember that when you’re feeling down,
Or ‘cb what is there nice in me sia’,
Look a little longer
Stare a little harder into yourself
And you’ll see,
There are some nice things
That you never noticed about yourself.

So in the noblest way,
I wish happy birthday to the one,
Who makes me laugh,
Because he can.
Hope all your wishes come true,
And your birthday cake is as sweet as you.

Benedetto sia'l giorno e'l mese e l'anno
e la stagione e'l tempo e l'ora e'l punto
e'l bel paese e'l loco ov'io fui giunto
da'duo begli occhi che legato m'ànno;

E benedetto il primo dolce affanno
ch'ì ebbi ad esser con Amor congiunto,
e l'arco e le saette ond'ì fui punto,
e le piaghe che'nfin al cor mi vanno.

Benedette le voci tante ch'io
chiamando il nome de mia donna ò sparte,
e i sospiri e le lagrime e'l desio;

e benedette sian tutte le carte
ov'io fama l'acquisto, e'l pensier mio,
ch'è sol di lei; si ch'altra non v'à parte.

Pianificare un matrimonio Texas tutto il tragitto dall'Inghilterra non è esattamente quello che chiamerei un compito facile .ma per questa splendida sposa e lo sposo è stato uno che è venuto insieme senza soluzione di continuità .Sto parlando di una squadra impressionante di fornitori .amici favolosi + parenti e romantico giorno di tempo piovoso tutti insieme per creare una relazione seria sognante .Vedi tutto catturato da Geoff Duncan proprio qui .

ColorsSeasonsFallSettingsInnOutdoorStylesCasual Elegance

Da Sposa.Dopo Jon ed io siamo fidanzati nel gennaio 2013 .ci fu inizialmente un sacco di avanti e indietro sopra dove il matrimonio reale avrebbe avuto luogo .Jon è vestiti da sposa dalla costa meridionale dell'Inghilterra .e miè èdal Texas .e anche se la gente continuava a dirci che era il nostro matrimonio.quindi dovremmo avere nel posto che ci rende felici .ci stavaè èvuole che sia davverodifficile per tutti della nostra famiglia e gli amici per farlo .Alla fine abbiamo deciso che aveva più senso avere in Texas.come ** TALE una grande famigliaèe al momento abbiamo pensato che sarebbe sicuramente ottenere un tempo migliore ( sì proprio! ) Ed essere in grado di avere il matrimonio all'aperto.Inoltre .un paio di Jon ' amici inglesi ci ha detto cheñ è èEtter nonèce l'ha nel Regno Unitoè èvolevanoè eo da qualche parte esotica .come il Texas !è è/ em >

Jon e io sapevamo che didnè èvogliono avere il matrimonio in una grande cittàècosì Dallas .dove hoè èoriginario .è stato escluso abbastanza rapidamente .La nostra posizione di nozze e il tema di ispirazione in realtà provenivano da uno dei matrimoni Jon ' groomsmen "che abbiamo partecipato insieme il primo fine settimana mi sono trasferito nel Regno Unito all'inizio del 2011 . Loro matrimonio era nelle Highlands scozzesièpiù disabitata .selvaggia .zona remota voipoteva immaginare .Abbiamo volato da Glasgow .affittato una macchina e guidato altre 3 ore a nord nel bel mezzo del nulla .La maggior parte delle persone che frequentano il matrimonio alloggiavano nello stesso albergo ( o nelle vicinanze ).per tutto il weekend ed è stato questo ( probabilmente centinaia di anni) edificio in pietra si affaccia su un bellissimo lago .La vecchia chiesa caratteristico era solo la strada - e stranamenteèversò prima.durante e dopo tutta la loro cerimoniaèsuona familiare .E 'stato davvero romantico anche se durante la cerimonia .perché eravamo tutti rannicchiati in questa calda chiesetta con il vento e la pioggia che urla fuori .Abbiamo apprezzato molto l'idea di fare una cosa simile dove tutti alloggiava nella stessa zona ed era in campagna - e tutti abbiamo potuto trascorrere il weekend insieme .Abbiamo pensato cheè ñal sicuro dalla pioggia in Texas estate.anche seèci stavaè èaspettano Scozia meteo !

organizzare il matrimonio in Texas da Londra non ha dimostrato di essere un compito facile .In un primo momento ** pensato che ero in cima delle coseènon eroè èlavoro e sono stato in grado di ottenere la maggior parte dei miei grandi fornitori prenotati.Ma poi ** trovato un nuovo lavoro nel mese di luglio e che ' quando le cose sono diventate davvero difficile .** sottovalutato quanti piccoli dettagli ci sarebbeèma fortunatamente per meèmia mamma e papà davvero tirato insieme e aiutatoèmolto .** trovato un sacco di mie idee per i più piccoli dettagli su Pinterest ( come si fa ) e ** trovato il materiale che avevo bisogno di fare loro su Etsy .Vorrei ordinare tutto il necessario per una delle mie idee e quindi provare a lavorare con mia mamma per vedere come si potrebbe ottenere fatto .I vasi di muratore sono un esempioèho ordinato 100 vasi di muratore .etichette.cannucce .ecc e li aveva spediti alla mamma .Poi ** avuto la vestiti da sposa mamma di passare le etichette per invitare la mia ragazza (che è INCREDIBILE tra l'altro) e aveva tutti i nomi stampati sulle etichette e ha dato di nuovo a mamma che li bloccato sui vasi .E così la maggior parte dei piccoli dettagli sono stati fatti in questo modo!I donè èche avrei potuto fare tutto senza tutto l'aiuto straordinario che avevoèmamma.papà .il abiti da sposa on line mio coordinatore e altri fornitori sorprendenti.

Jon e ** volato in Dallas la settimana prima del matrimonio per aiutare a finire alcune cose prima del giorno e per abituarsi al cambiamento di tempo orribile.Il weekend di matrimonio iniziato nel Austin sul ​​Giovedi prima perché il Inn Above Onion Creek richiesto l' intero hotel è stato affittato per tutti e tre notti .È finito per lavorare fuori fantastico e mi ha dato una notte in più da trascorrere con tutta la mia famiglia e gli amici Jon ' in un unico luogo .L'intero weekend è stato davvero speciale (ovviamente la notte del matrimonio reale era il migliore !) .Ma è stato incredibile .non solo avendo tutti i nostri cari in un posto.ma guardando quanto bene tutti andavano d'accordo e quanto divertimento tutti sembravano essereavere .

Tutta la settimana che porta al matrimonio .Jon e mi era stato nervosamente controllo le previsioni ogni cinque minuti .Purtroppo .una previsione di pioggia sarebbe semplicemente non andare via per il giorno del matrimonio reale .ma è tenuto saltando dal 20 % al 50 % e di nuovo al 20 % - la tortura totale.TUTTI continuava a direè ñhhh donè èpreoccuparti !Non ' sicuramente pioverà .Essa non fa maièprobabilmente sarà cielo sereno !èquindi non era davvero stressante a tutti quando tre ore prima della cerimonia .la pioggia peggiore cheè èe visto in anni laminati in ( ben che potrebbe in parte essere perché drizzles solo a Londra).ma letteralmente il cielo stava cadendo .Probabilmente ero un piacere essere intorno in quel periodo .Per fortuna



.come ** detto primaèavevo fornitori incredibili che erano in grado di tenere tutto insieme ( mentre io ero un disastro ) e tutto si è rivelato splendidamente .La pioggia cessò per la cerimonia (per fortuna ).e il cielo si schiarì che ha fornito anche un bellissimo sfondo per tutte le foto di gruppo .Tutto sembrava essere scorre senza intoppi e ci siamo divertiti così tanto a parlare con tutti e ballare verso la fine della notte .
couldnè èpotuto essere più felice di come è andato tuttoèera letteralmente tutto ciò che avremmo potuto sperare.Ci siamo sentiti solo come se fosse volato da troppo veloce!Fotografia

: Geoff Duncan | Cinematografia : Jerry Malcolm 2nd Generation Films | Cake: The Cupcake Bar | Cancelleria : Love And Wit Paper Co. | Hair \u0026 Makeup : Erica Gray | DJ : DJ Floyd Banche | Ufficiante : Sarah Reed | Alcol: Specifiche | Cerimonia \u0026 Reception Venue : Inn Above Onion Creek | Coordinamento : stile e la grazia Eventi | barman : Bar Divas | Rehearsal Dinner Luogo : Iron Cactus 6th Street | vacanze : Illusions AffittiThe Cupcake Bar è un membro del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .The Cupcake Bar VIEW
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=450
http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/358835353535_394276.jpeg