at home with ann

Archive for October 2007

entwined hands
slender fingers
through bodies
course shivers
boils blood
buckles knees
flips hearts
barely breathes
exploring kiss
silken skin
bruising lips
tongues within
close eyes
share the dream

copyright 2007 ann raven

Triggered memories
Clock turned back
A time gone by
Young girl
What to do
Her little baby steps
Through spring buds
Her single thought
Her path
To womanhood

Speed forward
Years passed
Like the blink of an eye
Where did they go?
No turning back
The hands of time
Caught now
In the hands of today

A new time
A new age of reason
Older woman
Yet still
What to do
Her little baby steps
Through tangled weeds
Her jumbled thoughts
Her path
Not understood

copyright 2007 ann raven


Gosh it feels a little like the first day of a new term… I’ve been away soooooo long and toooooo long.


As I clicked on ‘New Post’ and a new page opened before me, a sense of trepidation coursed through my body wondering whether I remembered how to blog, or what to say, or where to begin. Funny though, because as soon as my fingers touched the keys, the words were fighting with each other to come out.

So, where have I been?

What have I been up to that has kept me out of blogging mischief and offline?

Life has been busy; lots of ups and downs, but on the most part, life has been good.

As you know I had the whole house redecorated. The spare time I would normally have spent indulging myself on the computer, I spent house doctoring instead. It really is amazingly therapeutic and satisfying having an almighty clear out. Now, all that remains of Jamie’s things are a few clothes, two guitars, some books and lots and lots of dvd’s and cd’s. Rachel still has a wardrobe of clothes and boxes of papers, but when I spent yesterday afternoon at her place I was so excited to see the furniture had at last been built in her 2nd bedroom/dressing room… yeah… and she said she’d come over and sort more of her stuff… double yeah!! I’m trying to encourage her to come and stay this weekend.

With all this done, I shall start flat hunting in earnest now. I’ve pretty well made up my mind to stay in Essex. A part of me is tempted to move away, but something is holding me back; I guess the familiar, my old friends and surroundings. stay in Essex,


Doctoring the house did kill two birds with one stone because I had houseguests coming to stay… well not just any old house guests but great blogging friends from Florida. I opened my home to Brian, Diane and Rose.


Oh my goodness I had such a fantastic time; they were the most wonderful company and, as I write this, they are back home; I’m missing them already. I wanted everything to be perfect for them; I did my best, I hope it was good enough. It was as if we had known each other for ever and not merely a year; hopefully it will be the first of many more times we shall spend together either here or in the U.S. I can’t stand the heat and humidity of Florida; give me a chilly sunny London day like today and I’m in my element, but what’s a bit of dripping sweat and bad hair days between friends.


I didn’t spend every single minute with them; they had their space and in the middle of the week they experienced Eurostar from Waterloo gallivanting off to Paris for a couple of freezing days and meeting a fellow blogger there; they also met up with other fellow bloggers in London too.


The few excursions I spent with them I had such fun. It was kind of a holiday for me too… becoming a London tourist and seeing the sights. No doubt Brian, Diane and Rose will tell more on their own blogs when they recover from their four hour delayed flight, caused by a co-pilot arrested for being drunk (seems it made today’s newspapers) and of course, the obligatory jet lag. Still, better late and safe than what might have been; that doesn’t bear thinking about. Rose has already logged her report… you can catch it here


I’ll just share the things I shared with them, the rest is for them to tell.

Their first Sunday was earmarked for a leisurely walk around the shops and stalls of Covent Garden. At the bottom left of the above picture, you can just about see the shop name Octopus selling real cool and funky stuff below. I couldn’t resist a fun bag with kissy lips over it, but the household stuff was fantastic and I know just where I’m gonna go when my kettle or toaster conk out.

After that, the real highlight of the afternoon was a short stroll for English afternoon tea in beautiful surroundings at the Savoy Hotel. Not something I have ever done before; not something I’m ever likely to do again, but the whole experience was brilliant and scrumptious; very relaxing and a delight to be so politely and courteously waited upon. Of course I can’t go anywhere without seeing friends; they were trying to get seated, but were out of luck. For once I got something right and had pre-booked… yummy yummy!

The next day we, and a million families on half-term, headed for the South Bank. In our case we particularly wanted to see the Dali Exhibition at County Hall. Luckily there was no queue; all queues seemed to be for the London Aquarium or the London Eye. I do have a soft spot for Dali; his eccentricity as well as his awesome talent. Most of his quotes are so outrageous; here was a man who truly believed in himself, in his work and in his talent. I’d been dying to go to this exhibition since my first foray into the world of Dali-ism in Bruges eleven years ago, filled with nostalgia and fond memories of that good time in my life.

The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant. Salvado Dali

That Monday (unlike today’s beautiful day) the weather was not quite as kind to us as on the day before, being a dull damp day, but it didn’t put the dampers on us from having a great day out. I love walking along the South Bank and looking across the Thames at the diverse architecture where modern melds with old and somehow it works. Brian took some amazing shots and hopefully he’ll post them on his blog… he has a very photographic eye.

Wrapped up, we headed towards the Tate Modern where we were welcomed by Louise Bourgeois’ magnificent sculpture Maman 1999. Her eclectic works are on display until January; we didn’t manage to see her exhibition that day, but I’m sure to go back.

It is a great privilege to be able to work with, and I suppose work off, my feelings through sculpture. Louise Bourgeois

Sad as it may sound, I was really excited to see what all the fuss was about surrounding the Tate Modern’s latest arrival in the Turbine Hall; Columbian artist Doris Salcedo’s 167 metre crack called Shibboleth… me thinking it can’t be all that cracked up as it’s supposed to be.

I know that art doesn’t act directly. I know that I cannot save anybody’s life, but art can keep ideas alive, ideas that can influence directly our everyday lives, our daily experiences. Doris Salcedo


I loved it loved it loved it… it is meant to represent the divide in modern humanity and society. “The long legacy of racism and colonialism that underlies the modern world.” I make no claim to understand art or can see Salcedo’s interpretation, I just know what I like when I see it.


Unfortunately time was moving on and we were getting weary, but we couldn’t leave without dipping our aching toes into the Poetry and Dream collection. Me being the ultimate dreamer and wannabe poet and Brian being the consummate and talented poet that he is (which btw is how we met, through his poetry).


I was enchanted by Francis Picabia’s “Otaiti”. I am no art expert, but apparently this is a technique known as transparency. It seems that the ethereal quality is heightened by applying thin layers of paint and varnish producing a translucent effect. Otaïti is one of a group of paintings known as the Transparencies in which, Picabia noted, ‘all my instincts may have free reign’. It seems he was renowned for his iconoclastic, mocking wit, and his willingness to move from one artistic style to another. Picabia said that he liked to change his ideas ‘as one would change one’s shirt’. I wonder if that’s as often as I change my underwear!

A free spirit takes liberties even with liberty itself. Francis Picabia


Reluctantly we left the Tate Modern behind us and after having a quick look at The Globe Theatre, we made our way across the Millenium Bridge and the Thames to St Paul’s to take a very uncomfortable ride home on the Central Line, inspiring Brian to write his awesome ‘Ode to the Underground’ something us Londoners sure can relate to and are too too familiar with. Grrrrr… I hate the tube.


The next couple of days my guests trekked the streets of Paris leaving cinders to catch up with the chores. However I had a treat in store for them on Thursday. I didn’t know how they would enjoy it, but a night at the theatre was in order and my ab fab fav musical Les Miserables seemed particularly appropriate since they’d just seen Paris. It was my 4th time, although I was curious to know how many Les Mis virgins were in the audience that night.

The music is as magificent as ever, although its move to the smaller Queen’s theatre with its smaller stage, imho, diminished it somewhat. On the most part, the cast shone, with the exception of the innkeeper and his wife. Master of the House is actually my least favourite song, but for others it is the highlight of the show; I think the actors in those roles that evening were miscast. Javert and Jean Valjean though were the true masters of the house.

We had great times and great experiences and we didn’t stop talking. Brian is my muse; his poetry blows me away, but he has also just come out with his first novel Real Magic and I’m gonna plug it, plug it, plug it. Please please check it out. We have thrashed out an idea for a joint effort of a story/book which I am really excited about. His enthusiasm gets me fired and I don’t want to disappoint him… it will be interesting to see where this leads.

… and now my friends are home; my house is empty again and life goes on

… and I shall have more time for all of you. I’m so looking forward to playing catchup. I’ve just realised it was my two year blogging birthday last week… time for a new look methinks. Watch this space!

Hey Mr DJ

Posted on: 11 October 2007

Another day over
Down the pan
For some the night has just began
Ya hit the sack
Knowing it’s over again
Euphemistically told to go away
Got a headache, not tonight,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, not any time
DJ plays the late night love songs on the late night show
He croons into the mike, “Relax, chill out, unwind, let it go”
Those lyrics, every single line
To make ya cry
“Don’t walk away, don’t leave me alone”
“Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone”
On and on and on and on
“I’ll be the one who’ll love you till the end of time”
“Sometimes I think you’ll never understand me”
“Que sera, sera… what will be will be”
All those words
Those sad sad words, those melodic rhymes
It shouldn’t be allowed, no, not listening to this stuff
When the going gets tough
And ya feeling rough
And you’ve had enough
Not wise, not wise
Although, maybe they’ll sound happier with a glass of wine
“It’s all over”
“If you leave me now”
“Baby, you’re the one that I want”

Nah, it’s getting worse
Poetry; musical prose in every note and every verse
You cannot sleep and ya toss and ya turn
“She looks at me and says do I look alright?”
“And I say, you look wonderful tonight”
You can’t believe it’s over as the song man says
“Can’t believe it’s over… I watched the whole thing fall
Summer turned to winter, winter turned to snow
Turned to rain, to tears upon your face”
No, you can’t do this; you can’t take it no more
Stop putting yourself through this torture
Reliving the past, then
Worryin’ about the future
Turn it off
Snuff him out
Hey Mr DJ take your records off
No more love songs or for evers
No more heartbreak never never
And no, no Mr DJ, you ain’t helping things
No sir, indeed
No thank you
“Breaking up’s so hard to do, don’t you know you know that it’s true”

copyright 2007 ann raven

they say it’s good to talk
get it off your mind
I don’t know
who does one turn to
to confide
the worries churning inside
your guts burning
turning your mind
into jelly
you can’t think straight
can’t string together
your thoughts your words
and then if you say it
it may really happen
like before
the fear you fear above all else
bury it
suppress it
let it go
say it isn’t so
then it isn’t
then it can’t be
then it won’t ever be
best keep it to yourself
don’t let anyone know

copyright 2007 ann raven

Gosh, don’t know what got into me, two new poems in one day, this and the next post… I must have something on my mind. Shhhhhh….It’s strange when something disturbs you and you just can’t, you can’t say the words, so somehow you leave faint clues that something bothers you and maybe hope someone, not just anyone, but someone special will pick up on it, because it’s too awful to spell it out in black and white or voice your fears out loud, but if someone asks, just maybe, then maybe would you… but they don’t, they don’t see or maybe they do, but they are afraid to ask or they simply don’t care enough… or maybe it’s better that way, left unsaid. I don’t know.

troubles written over face
feels out of place
done nothing wrong
no disgraceexpressions… words
in black and white
don’t seem to come out right
lack meaning
come back to bite

innuendo… nuance
say its fine
but, not really
if someone cares to read
between the lines

can’t blurt it out
gives subtle hints
that all’s not well
unspotted or plain ignored
cannot tell

illusion… allusion
written in a body language
and words unsaid
a subliminal message
of life and death

copyright 2007 ann raven


Posted on: 1 October 2007

It’s a miserable day in London town today… positively raining cats and dogs and I have a list of errands to run as long as my arm. In the meantime waiting for the sky to dry I should have a sense of satisfaction that I have worked my way through a pile of ironing. I don’t. Maybe that’s because I’ve just had some new carpet laid (the only thing that ever gets laid in this house is new flooring) but I’m sure it’s not the colour I ordered… or maybe it was. Things look so different in the shop.

I know I haven’t been around much, although I’ve penned a few attempts at verse… nothing special. I won’t apologise for being MIA as I usually do, as I really want to do. Life has to be got on with. Blogging is a lovely distraction, but it is not a duty and duties come first. I wish I could say it was because I’d been whisked off my feet by my knight in shining armour, scaled the highest mountain, swam the Channel, written/painted/composed a masterpiece, appeared in loci, performed with Bon Jovi, won the lottery, ran the marathon, dined and danced with Vincent D’Onofrio or just had fun… none of that is true. The truth is not glamorous or romantic; it is a dash of wishful thinking with a bucketload of responsibility.

I admire anyone who follows their dream. Is it their destiny… is it written in their stars from the moment of their birth or conception? What dreams do we really hold? I don’t have a clue for myself, although I say I am a dreamer, a proper daydreamer. I can close my eyes and imagine… oh yes I can imagine, but it’s all pie in the sky. Reaching a decision on the basics is hard enough and then when I do, invariably I make the wrong one.

Want want want. We hear it all the time. I want, you want, he wants, she wants, we want, you want, they want. Is anyone truly happier when their material wants are met? Is that what dreams are really made of… owning the latest must have appliances, i-thingys, cars, holidays, fashions? Are our dreams a sense of ‘want’ too, or are they safe because they are just dreams, reverie, whimsical vagaries when we allow our minds to wonder and wander? Or are our dreams lifetime ambitions that we strive to achieve and will they satisfy us when they’re reached?

I am not saying dreams and wants are the same thing, or a bad thing. I don’t see it written anywhere ‘thou must be happy all the time’ but to find true happiness I guess we have to dig deep into ourselves and be satisfied with what we see and who we are. If not, only we can change ourselves and change our wants and dreams accordingly. A fundamental element of happiness relates to our hearts and souls, the people we are, the spiritual, the nonmaterial part of us. Whether one follows a faith or not, we all have a heart and soul and conscience that guides us.

On the most part we are ordinary people with ordinary lives… the fantasy dreams of our imagination that briefly take us away from it all are welcome diversions, pure entertainment. The dreams of hope and aspiration keep us moving forward, kick us from complacency and give us the drive to reach goals… they don’t have to be world newsbreaking goals, but personal small goals.


Life changing dreams is something else. That takes guts and belief… the guts and belief you can succeed, the guts and belief that if you don’t, it doesn’t matter. No regrets because you tried your best; the regret would have been not following your dream and giving it your best shot.

Yes, I admire people who know their dreams and pursue them; see them through. Would I have the guts to follow mine if I knew what they were? I don’t know… I truthfully don’t know.


Do you?


You see things; and you say, “Why?” But I dream things that never were; and I say, “Why not?” ~ George Bernard Shaw

If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time ~ Marcel Proust

There is nothing like a dream to create the future ~ Victor Hugo

Without leaps of imagination, or dreaming, we lose the excitement of possibilities. Dreaming, after all, is a form of planning ~ Gloria Steinham

To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe ~ Anatole France

Dreams are necessary to life ~ Anais Nin

It lies not in our power to love or hate,

For will in us is overruled by fate.

When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,

We wish that one should love, the other win;

And one especially do we affect

Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:

The reason no man knows, let it suffice,

What we behold is censured by our eyes.

Where both deliberate, the love is slight:

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

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

October 2007