Tag Archives: #desire

Lovebirds

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A desire births, tender in touch yet robust in passion, and exudes as the unfurling heady jasmine with lusting reach.

It grips into my core as a hand of spirit extending from a mist into my plume of orange and green and snatches my heart. A flick of a twist and it locks in. The stronghold is immovable, a monolith rooted from sky to earth.

A piquant potion drip feeds to nourish a bed of barren. It grows to a lush rainforest of moss and thick bonding roots where compassion and honour oozes in a soothing stream of silver, shaded under flourishing, pooling umbrellas of shelter.

Yet a starkness lingers, a tugging at my quill. Perched among the flock where loneliness reverberates, I wallow and flutter and chortle and fluff … a forest of fertility, a savanna of vast, harsh dry, I’m desolate and confused in the staccato of dark and light. Fatigued.

In rickety poise, I fight against the strain of damning knots and whirring winds until I succumb to an orchestral string of sweet magnetic harmonies balanced between the poles, serene … yet jarring in the shadows.

It opens. And snaps shuts. It draws near. Then runs. The cries begin as a rain shower and gather to a downpour of screeching squawks.

There’s no consoling. Equilibrium is lost.

Only a crescendo that ebbs and peaks as a million African lovebirds startled in a frenzy chaos of flight … erratic and manic.

To dance into your shoulder among the forests and savannas, to snuggle and preen under dappled light of sprinkling sprays.

To frolic free, to cosy in our cavities of trees and cacti, as the lovebirds we are.

On every bough the birds heard I sing,
With voice of angels in their harmony;
Some busied themselves birds forth to bring;
The little coneys to here play did hie. 
~ ‘The Parliament of Fowls’, Geoffrey Chaucer (ca. 1343-1400)

The changing Want

Desires change, needs morph into something else. Solid and sound, flimsy and fluid.
Mermaid-Surfing-Sunset-Beach

Sometimes they come under a full moon illuminating a midnight sky, as gentle waves rippling into shore, where we might meet a mermaid and swim beside her to visit places only dreamed of. Other times they thunder in as booming surf smashing into a foreshore that’s stressed by rumbling, screaming storms. Beneath a moonlight smothered, we navigate uneven ground that shifts below our feet with each crashing wave, to sometimes land within the grips of a menacing shark.

How we think and what we do is no longer the same as what it was yesterday, nor what it will be tomorrow. You crave me yesterday and not today, I crave you today and not tomorrow. Not anymore.
Aspirations grow and drive us to dedications, glorious in their enthusiasm and distracting in their obsession. Infatuations can become lustful passions within that booming surf to erode our human facade and expose emotions raw.

Poles of extreme seesaw from desire to dislike, attraction to aversion. Yes and no, more and less. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up, to know what to do when, how to think and move and where to look – how to do at all. What to feel can baffle me, can baffle you. It’s material, and superficial. A yearning. A want.

So leave it. Let it be what it wants to be.

Allow the clouds to roll in, black and grey, and brace for the storm to come. It will go; it will pass when it’s done. Let the sun shine in pink and lime, bask in its tender, momentary warmth.

When it comes, and it will, roll with the ripples and soar through the surf. Blow in its breeze to go where it takes you. That way, you’ll ride your own rainbow to glide into your pot of gold.

Move with life’s ebbs and flows and let your heart do what it knows to do. Let your heart be, for it knows how to be.

Wherever you stand, be the soul of that place – ~Rumi

* This blog is part three to The want (part one) and The growing want (part two).

The growing Want

Blue_Poles_(Jackson_Pollock_painting)I glance everywhere but in the one direction I want to look, that I’m desperate to look in. My eyes ricochet off the cars parked parallel on the roadside, to people clumped in their chatter around me, chatter that I’m lost in.

I look down at the scoria under me and notice my toes curled in my sandals. I realise they’re almost cramping, and my jaw is tight as my top and bottom teeth bite into one another. I ease my clench.

My gaze meanders up my leg to where my knuckles stand erect by my thigh, as shiny red and white bulging sacks that are about to explode from my hand. My fingernails dig deep into my palms, ready to release the effervescence.

I don’t think you know what you do to me, how you make me tremble in this heat. I cannot seem to look your way, although I did glimpse you walking toward me in this crowd of waiting, in your cool swagger and wearing your trademark, dark sunglasses.

My breath labours. I don’t know how much more I can bear, knowing that you’re standing behind me and wanting to speak to you but not knowing what to say. Words about how you make me feel marble and blend in my head. Never have my thoughts been so streaked.

More disconcerting is that you must notice my scramble. I shift my dress around my shoulders and look somewhere, anywhere. As I try to breathe deep, a hint of awareness comes to me and I sense that you don’t know what to say either.

I feel your twitching and searching eyes behind me, your own agitated splashes eager to release. I must find some courage. No one has made me feel like this before. If only you knew.

I spot a seat away from this waiting and head there for a reprieve of my trembles. You’re probably watching me. I tug at my dress to be sure it’s not riding up under the bag that hangs from my shoulder. I sit and breathe deep. A sigh. That’s better. Regroup for a minute, I tell myself.

With some air flowing back into my head, I look up and see you heading toward me!

‘Come to get away from the crowd,’ I say as you approach and without thinking.

‘Yeah,’ you say, and sit beside me.

To my surprise, I feel my body relax. We begin chatting about nothing and my uncomfortability begins to dissolve. Occasionally, my words tumble to land wherever they want, but the more we talk, the easier they flow.

I wish I could see your eyes though, hidden behind those glasses. A lot seems hidden behind them and the clothes you wear, the formal, crisp shirt and dark trousers. Only the curls in your hair seem natural and free to reflect the true you, relaxed as the rubber and leather bands that dangle loosely around your wrist.

Until I notice your knee bouncing nervously. You’re feeling what I feel too! I know it. Those Pollock sparks seem to be blasting brighter and bolder between us.

An attraction that can’t be acknowledged and that remains in my heart as the secret inside my secret.

 

*The growing Want follows on from an earlier blog, The Want

The Want

A coy peek sideways and I hope to catch your glance, or even better, your smile. You must not see me steal that look but then again, l want you to catch me watching you, for then you’ll know.

You must know by now. My smiles and gestures, my hello waves. Surely they paint a masterpiece equal to a Jackson Pollock painting, of this sparking magnetic pull to you. Surely you see it, and feel it.

Standing there in your green check shirt in the late evening sun, wearing dark sunglasses to conceal looks that I hope come my way. I feel my body give in and draw into you.

Your smile that’s shy today, your swag. Great poet Rumi, knows how I feel,

 

In the waters of purity, I melted like salt
Neither blasphemy, nor faith, nor conviction, nor doubt remained.
In the center of my heart a star has appeared
And all the seven heavens have become lost in it.

 

My heart pulsates and moves up into my throat. My head spins. I should’ve been brash and spoken to you this evening. But had I, people all around would have glimpsed the Pollock sparks zapping from me to you.

I want to feel you and look into your blue-green eyes of agate without being afraid that someone will see. I want to crumble at your touch and be with you without time always running away. Our sporadic chats are never often or long enough, even when they snatch an hour in time.

It hurts to want so fiercely, churns my insides to battle as gladiators and fierce animals once did in Ancient Rome’s Circus Maximus.

I can’t tell you how l feel, for if l do, our friendship may be lost. Then you’ll be gone forever, or will you – I don’t know.

At least I have our friendship, as  contained as it is, and I ought to be happy with that. Yet it’s not enough and I want much more. I’m not sure that I can have what I want.

Maybe it’s better to have nothing, then the want will fade away. Eventually.

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