at home with ann

Archive for September 2007

Imagine

Posted on: 25 September 2007

Prompted by Writers Island

can you imagine
no constraints
no constrictions
no restraints
no restrictions
no inhibitions
nobody
nothing
no checks
no controls
no curbs
freedom

freewill
free as a bird

.

can you imagine
somebody
something

builds a wall
a blockade
a barricade
an obstruction
afraid of seduction
a path to destruction
that cages her in
keeps them out

a protective shell
from the outside world
.

can you imagine
the only key

to set her free
is the key she holds

unconsciously

that unlocks

the chains

she’s wrapped around her heart

the chains

that bind her mind

scared of the dark

stumbling blind

the one key

in the world

is the one in her head

the only key

that can set her free

copyright 2007 ann raven

Juicy

Posted on: 24 September 2007

Prompted by One Deep Breath

pink soft luscious lips

lancome’s juicy tubes never

fail to deliver

succulent berries

each slick a juicy journey

chocolate flavour too

girls wanna have fun

yummy juicy fruit lip gloss

good enough to eat

 

 

.

.

.

.

copyright 2007 ann raven

So…

Posted on: 20 September 2007

one solitary tear
slides down her nose
she holds back the rest
… so perplexedcomprehension
slowly washes over her
she was a plaything used
… so confused

the friendly banter
the mild flirtation
with overtones of much more
… so unsure

.

they’re all the same
nothing changes

men play around

… so confounded

.she thought he was better
than the rest
silly girl, surprise surprise, why

… so mystified

.

.

.

.

copyright 2007 ann raven

RICH THICK STICKY RED
RIPPED TORN THROWN OUT DRIP-BY-DRIP

LIFE TRODDEN PUDDLE

Copyright 2007 ann raven

Beneath his breath sighs her name
He doesn’t want to; he mustn’t
It can never be this way
She catches it in the breeze
Bouncing from leaf to gossamer leaf
Each one drips with his frustrated tears
Through her open window
She knows
She hearsHe lays awake eyes shut tight
Willing unwanted thoughts please go away
Loath to fight wrong over right
She the substance of his dreams
Too aware it can never be
Wishing she would go die disappear
Forbidden to him he groans
She knows
She hears

.

Plucks through his memory
Traces her every line her curves
His passion stirs unconsciously
Unearthly shivers of the wind
Ghostly carry her his touch his kiss
A gale force hurricane domineers
Her moans as bodies dance as one but each alone
He knows
He hears


Copyright 2007 ann raven

they see me coming

miss vulnerability

their eyes light up rub hands in glee

another sap another innocent

to take advantage of mercilessly

they use me, abuse my trust

they are yet another in a list of others

each time I say it will be the last

I’ve learnt a lesson at whatever cost

promising myself it won’t happen again

but it does, every time, inane

I can’t change the way I am because

stupid is as stupid does

copyright 2007 annraven

Lilt me your lips,
our lost breath intermingling.
Synchronize our silence
as lazy hours ease by.
Waft cocoa, hazelnut, cinnamon,
scents around me.

Tremble with me
in paralyzing pauses.

I may no longer breathe
without breathing you.


Enciendanme tus labios
Nuestros alientos perdidos entremezclandose
Sincroniza nuestro silencio
al perezoso pasar de las horas.
Lleva el aire aromas de cacao,
nuez, canela que me rodean

Tiembla conmigo
con pausas paralizantes

Quizá no pueda respirar más
sin respirarte a ti.


Help

Posted on: 11 September 2007

curled up hard floor wet

chaos abounds tissue at

hand mops up the tears

.

.

.

.

copyright 2007 annraven

okay luvvies, first things first… the gratuitous pic of my dahling Vincent D’Onofrio deep deep sigh… I’d lurv to be his dahling… would he adopt me or… or… or could I be his live-in housekeeper, but Vincent sweetheart I would need lotsa holidays because…

… wooo hoooo, I’ve booked my next trip to see the Israeli branch of the family. I reached a compromise with mother who is coming with me. I won’t go into the why’s and wherefores, but it will be a week with my babies over Chanukah and then a week in Netanya… I think that’s a kinda geriatric resort. I’m being unfair… it’s supposed to be very nice there and many of my friends have bought apartment there. However, I have no holiday left, so it’s gonna have to be unpaid leave; oh dear! And.. and… it’s another three months before we go. That’ll be four months not seeing them… tooooooo loooooong!


Ball Count: one bright orange one adorning my little olive tree, two more stones and a bright purple sword

Is anyone out there fond of pigs… oink oink grunt grunt? Well that’s me. I’m a big fat pig. I bought this little itsy bitsy tub of mini oreos… I mean tiny, they were soooo tiny, and before I knew it I’d eaten them all. To make matters worse I didn’t even like them that much and I felt sick sick sick. I confessed to a friend hoping to alleviate my guilt at my oinkiness, but did not feel absolved. I am bad bad bad… if I had a curly tail it would be dangling in shame.

I was really saddened to hear that Pavarotti had died. He and Placido Domingo and Jose Carreras brought opera and the classics to the people. There was a lot of airtime devoted to him last night. Anyway I spent a little time myself trying in my usual incompetent way to upload, or is it download, a video from youtube of Luciano Pavarotti and Jon Bon Jovi. I got messages saying there was an error but they couldn’t identify it… thanks!

.

Here’s the link if anyone wants to see it and I’m sorry, but it’s the best this technophobe can do. It is absolutely beautiful.

I got an award, I got an award… chanted in little girl sing song voice. Not quite the same as last week’s prize (which hasn’t yet arrived) but chuffed just the same. Well, you may ask (or you may not) how did I get this… by knowing my nursery rhymes. It has been bestowed on me, and many other nursery rhyme mavens by Akelamalu. I don’t know how to put things in the sidebar of this blog, so it shall be sitting alongside my other awards at London~Love~Verse where I do know how to put pics.

.

Which brings me nicely to my last dithering post. Thank you for all your comments and ideas and thoughts. I think most of you are right, everything should be lumped on one blog, excepting mrsbg who is, afterall, a person in her own right. My mrsbg muse has deserted me… actually I think my muse has dumped me. I do hope I can give mrsbg the kiss of life because I am particularly fond of her. Maybe when we poor saps in the UK get S5 I shall be inspired once again.

The next step forward would be a new look, but that is way too much to expect from me. A friend designed this one, but I can’t play around with it like I can with my London~Love blogs. If I try to redesign this I may well lose everything. Oh I am so indecisive. So until I can get my act together, normal, but intermittent, service shall resume.

I recall some time ago mentioning my new book club and wondering if anyone would like to add their tuppence worth about the books we’re reading. The book club is thriving, but I’m sorry I haven’t had much of a chance to talk about it here.

Here’s a run down of the books we’ve read and discussed so far.

The first on the list was Interpretation of Murder by Jed Rubenfeld, a lawyer and lecturer. It got a general thumbsdown. I confessed to quite enjoying it, only quite, since the writer was obviously intent on giving us great doses of his knowledge of psychology and Freud’s famous Dora case, Shakespeare’s Hamlet and architecture all thrown in together and it simply didn’t flow. The only character I warmed to was the detective, I wonder why? The rest were like cardboard cutouts. It wasn’t a great story and it really wasn’t a particularly well written one either **

The next up was amazing. It is Adichie’s debut novel. This young woman is 25 years old and her writing is a dream to read. The story is moving and quite disturbing. It is set in her native Nigeria and is about a wealthy family at a time of political unrest. The father had been converted by missionaries and it tells how his piety affects his family. There is a paradox between his love and respect of G-d and Jesus and his attitude to his own pagan father who he wants nothing to do with and to his children, from whom he expects nothing less than perfection *****

No self-respecting bookclub would not feature Khaled Hosseini’s The Kiterunner. It is set in Afghanistan and in America. The prevalent theme of this story is strength of character, or rather Amir’s weakness of character. He fails to understand his jealousy or why he does terrible things to his friend/servant Hassan even after witnessing his friend being subjected to a gruesome assault and abuse. He has opportunities to right his wrongs and at one point his father’s friend, who understands him better I think than he understands himself, says, “There is a way to be good again.” He is not inherently a bad person, he is weak and he is flawed. It is beautifully written. *****

Following this one, we decided to read The Bookseller of Kabul and do a comparison as both books are obviously set in Afghanistan. Seierstad is a Norwegian war journalist and it is an account of her three month stay in the spring of 2002 with a not so typical Afghan family, in as much as they are literate and middle-class. The book is non-fiction. Her account has caused controversy and although the names were changed, the family were easily recognisable in their native home. The father who does not come out in a good light, although he believed he was doing right by everyone, is suing for defamation and at one time was seeking to move to Scandinavia. His first wife, or rather his No.1 wife, is reported to now live in Canada. It tells of how life changes under Russian and Taliban rule and then through a coalition supported democracy. Seirstad spends much time with the women of the family and hears their stories, their heartaches, their dreams ****


The Story of Lucy Gault is for next month. I know nothing about it and shall get a copy later today. Here is Amazon’s review. Actually I have just got a copy since starting this post this morning in the middle of cooking, cleaning, laundry, dentist ouch, bank etc. (my usual Friday) and my friend was not impressed, yet from the synopsis below I was quite excited, although a little nervous, about the storyline. I am not sure it is one I would have chosen for myself.

A difficult novel for any parent to read, William Trevor’s The Story of Lucy Gault recounts the tale of a young girl whose Protestant family is driven from its rural Irish home in 1921. Eight-year-old Lucy is in love with Lahardane: the old house itself, the woods, the nearby beach, the shells and fir cones and sticks that she collected like treasure. The day before her family is scheduled to flee Ireland, leaving the house and furnishings in the care of trusted servants, Lucy runs away. Her parents, finding a scrap of her clothing on the beach, assume the worst. Days later, they leave Lahardane, choosing not to settle in England, as they had planned, but to roam Europe in their grief, leaving no forwarding address. But Lucy has not killed herself; she’s only broken her leg in the woods. Eventually she makes it back to the house to find her parents gone. She spends her childhood waiting to be forgiven for her wicked act, postponing all happiness until she can be reunited with her mother and father. Revealing more of the plot will spoil this lovely novel for its many readers. It is enough to note that Trevor’s characteristic depth and emotional complexity are fully realized here in the watchful reticence of his young heroine and the strange but beautiful way she finds to express her own forgiveness. –Regina Marler

I have read other books in between, one called Disobedience which is about the lesbian daughter of a learned Rabbi. It was dire, both the story and the writing. In some ways the writer’s style was not dissimilar to mine and I realised I didn’t like it… hmmm! I was not put off by the subject, it was just not well done.

I am currently in the middle of Hosseini’s long awaited second novel A Thousand Splendid Suns also set in Afghanistan and Adichie’s second, Half of a Yellow Sun, which is set in Nigeria at the time of Biafra in the 1960’s. So far both are excellent, but they are not on our list.

It amazes me what becomes bestsellers. I realise much is to do with hype and good marketing, but I also realise that as I have boxes of impulsive shoe buys that pinch my feet and sit in the wardrobe gathering dust, so it is the same with books. Bestsellers do not necessarily mean best reads. The number of books I’ve bought and couldn’t finish far exceeds the number I’ve bought that I couldn’t put down. Interesting… eh?

In the meantime I have just procured three ‘new releases’ journals from the library, which I have to return. I find it just as hard to resist buying books as I do pretty lingerie and shoes and bags and Vincent dvd’s… see I’m not totally shallow. Please do share what interests you; I’d love to know your recommendations; what you enjoyed and what you hated too.

I have prattled long enough, although I started this post early this morning and have cooked dinner in between paragraphs… the mishpochah (family) are coming and the place is such a mess. I really didn’t have a clue what having decorators in actually entails, but it should be worth it in the end… says she!

Hoping you and yours have a restful weekend and Shabbat Shalom

ani mitz’ta’eret
ani lo tovah
ani menasah
aval od lo y’cholah
anachnu yadidim
ani yodat
aval col hazman
ze rak mah ata rotzeh
lo mah ani rotzah
al col sh’anachnu medabrim
lo echad, lo sh’taim
aval col milim
ze mah ata oseh
mah ata choshev
mah ata koreh
mah ata kotev
ze mah shlomcha
aval ani margishah
ani lo chashuvah
ani col cach atzuvah
lamah ze c’ayleh?
tagid li, mah karah?
biglal ani ohevet otcha
col cach harbeh
sh’co’ev li hanefesh
v’co’ev li halev
ha’emet, tagid li
ata od lo ohev oti

copyright 2007 ann raven


the loves of my life

at the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet ~~~ plato

thank you…

... to everyone whose pictures and videos I have borrowed; if anyone would like theirs to be removed, please tell me and I shall be happy to do so

all words here are mine ~ I’ll tell you when they’re not!

from long ago

in case I forget what day of the week it is

September 2007
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