That means you are getting older by the minute. And wiser. And remembering things, as this poems makes you do.
By M.G. Daniel
Loves, let us learn to love with love – and freedom, not with fear or fights or fisticuffs or threats or throwing shade or fuming (about posts on social media for example), thinking we can truly know the message or meaning of another’s thoughts. Loves, love. Not with constant finger-pointing, fright or festering fury, forcing famines of affection, or forgetting our form, for it is forever Love. Loves, will we find fidelity if we go fast and too furious fanning flames of fantastical fables in the fluttering green eyes of faithful fiends, falling into furrows flailing and fixing failures, or furthermore fathering the flight to fame and fortune of fillies fleecing the folly of forsaking, the fated and the fêted:
The flight of the foraging, flapping about your foyer, forging peace, fomenting fun.
I find going through old photos such a smile-inducing, relaxing, mentally recharging and all-round joyful activity. Lots of “mindfulness” moments in those flashbacks. I’ve been working on overcoming my usual anxiety/reluctance about sharing my photos online and I’m putting this one up in the Throwback Thursday spirit. It’s from the launch (in Saint Lucia) of my poetry chapbook Mindfield at a bookstore in Castries, a joint event with another local author, the late politician George Odlum.
While I am at it, here’s the original book cover – see more on my Writings page.
The sea is a hungry dog/that churns inside your head/while he consumes your whole and spits you out/to taste the ice-cream on your stout/smorgasboard of devotion/unyielding to his mauling/while ocean lays you bleeding on the beach/and pirates celebrate/a low laid private’s finish./Then faithful doggie falls besides you like the sea/ wave in flat out growling loyalty/guarding and reclaiming its shipwrecked commodity,/Sea people love their sea.
Oh dear, dear. Who knows, who knows, what the mind can get up to in sleep. I woke from a dream in which I was writing the above. Yesterday, a friend from school days visited with me and our conversation got around to the poems we memorized as part of our English Language lessons in elementary and secondary school. Then she went on to recite, without a pause, one she said she frequently recalls when walking along the beach in Saint Lucia, a favourite by James Reeves.