happy new year from sugar and the wolf!

five foot deep

"how deep?" my tone echoing disbelief.

"five foot."

"what! well ... be careful you don't fall in, you're only
a wee thing and they may never find you."

"ERYLL!!"

two ladies of an interesting age burying a beloved pet beneath
the full moon. digging a hole five foot deep! because ...
"people garden you know!"

well, it would have been a full moon if it had been yesterday
instead of today and in the dark of night if it were not for
the five hour time difference between new york and ballantrae.

i wandered downstairs to shut the gates for the night.
although i no longer smoke, i lit up, inhaled deeply and
remembered ...

all those goldfish i buried, not all at once of course,
one by one, as their time came. i buried them under the
golden cyprus by the front steps. i have heard that some
people just flush them. can you imagine! not me, no sir,
i buried them in plastic margarine tubs, preserving their
tiny goldfish skeletons for prosterity.

i remembered ...
a small and very beloved yorkie. small in
stature, he knew no fear. he died gleefully attacking
a rottweiler, with never a backward glance, he leaped right
into that big boys jaws. when my time comes i can only hope
to be living life as intensely as he was at that moment.
the mann wrapped him in a baby blanket and layed him to rest
in a deep, cool hole beneath the lucky bean tree.

i remembered ...
a black and white cat, beloved of a man, who, until their
meeting, had no time at all for felines.
somehow, that small black cat worked his way into the heart
of a dedicated dog man. the pair developed an understanding
and for the first time in our long marriage - a cat was
allowed to share the marital bed!
the cat outlived the man by a good few years. now, his cat
ashes held in an urn, they wait to be buried in the grave where
the man's ashes lie.

i grind the cigarette out, turn my back on the moonlight and
the chill night wind.
i smile at the memories as my heart aches a little with longing
for things lost.
i just can't help myself, i chuckle and exclaim out loud ...
"damn! five foot is a very deep burial hole for a a cat..."

i flew out, i flew back, i waited a week, my boy flew in. i will
write again ...
i hope...
just not right now!

crossing the pond

the reef is off on an adventure, leaving my green and pleasant land for a three week sojourn in the rather more sophisticated environs of new york.

probably won't be posting much, if at all.

i'll be back!

1st October 1966

pietermaritzburg, south africa, the presbyterian church.

a hot, hot october afternoon, the storm clouds building up big and black in the distance.

for us though, sunshine on our faces...

manfred walter oellermann and eryll margaret hart were married that day.

my sweet mann may no longer be around but today would have been our 43rd wedding anniversary and i still love to remember that day and all the brilliant years we spent together.

happy anniversary baby!

love has no expiry date...

sleepless on the west coast.

i do not have a problem sleeping, in fact, quite the opposite!
i sleep in the blink of an eye. i fall asleep in movie
theatres, reading out loud to my grandchildren. i drift off
during the first ten minutes of a show i have waited all week
to watch. sometimes, in the middle of typing, i wake up,
slumped over the computer keys! at bedtime, i switch off
the reading lamp next to my bed, my head hits the pillow
and zap ...
i am gone.

recently, i dropped off whilst driving. not a good idea, might
lead to all sorts of uncomfortable situations. i was lucky,
it was just for an instant and there were no other road users
around. i got such a huge shock, talk about adrenaline
overdrive!

to cut a long story short, the master medics decided it was
time for ...
a drug dosage adjustment!we are talking legal, prescribed
drugs here people ... no really!

which leaves me ... hot damn it! awake at 2.30 in the morning.
awake and aware.
what next?
what a pity i left saltcoats.
sleepless in saltcoats would have made a much better title.

blood ties

yesterday was a fun day. i drove through to dailly.
my son, the new dad, was balancing on a tall and wobbly ladder
washing their front windows.
the south african granny was due to fly into prestwick
in the afternoon.
after a cup of coffee and a ham and cheese roll, michelle
loaded young daniel into his rather oversized (for him anyway!)
car seat and off we drove to saltcoats.
i sat in the back with daniel, in case he fretted, but ...
like me, the boy tends to doze off in the car ;-)
this would be the first time daniel met his five cousins,
joshua, mairin, alaska, liam and savannah.
the latest addition managed to totally ignore this
auspicious occasion and slept right through the introductions
and the honour of being held in wonderment by each and every
cousin! there are photos ... i will try and get them uploaded
to my computer.
coffee and tea for the grown ups, coca cola for the kids and
yummy celebratory fairy cakes made by auntie nikki.
then, off to glasgow prestwick airport to pick up ouma. it
was fantastic to see her face light up at the sight of her
newest grandson!
on my way home i stopped at the chippie in girvan and treated
myself to a fish supper... yum!
family ... who would we be without them ...

breathe shallow

once i wrote of need and want
of love today and tomorrow
my mind burned with an unreal intensity
love was my present and my future
my undeniable reality, i held the dream to me
with an unshakeable belief


today i write little and breathe shallow


Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

Daniel

Daniel and his paternal grandmother. oh yeah ... that would be me!





who calls this early?

six fifteen, the phone rings. i know who it is before i answer.

it is time, they are on their way to the hospital.

twelve thirty, the phone rings ... be still my heart, too soon,
just an update.

"i am a daddy!"

my boy is a father, daniel adam has come to stay.

the hospital is in kilmarnock, a little over an hour away.
i drive, i smile, i cry, i sing. i wish that my mann
was with me, to shake his son's hand and cradle daniel in
his arms.

nikki and i meet at the maternity wing entrance. excited?
... beside ourselves!
we finally find our way to michelle's room, she
is so beautiful, surrounded by the serenity of motherhood.
adam looks so tired and yet fit to burst, his bemused,
besotted gaze embraces his wife and their first born.

ah daniel... there you are! so small, just 5lb 13 oz,
small but perfect.
michelle smiles in understanding ...
"hold him" she says.

baby talk

Definitely a capital letter day ...

Welcome to our world Daniel Adam Oellermann!

First born son of Adam and Michelle.

My sixth grandchild!

Born at 12.06, weighing in at 5lb 13oz. Small but fighting fit!

on boobs and burial rituals

i am truly blessed in my children, all three are exceptional...
kind, loving, thoughtful, articulate and intelligent, arrogant and argumentative!
practically perfect!

my boys look out for me, protect me when necessary, keep in touch regularly and envelop me in bear hugs
when we meet. if i have a problem they will offer their advice and find a solution, they have even been
known to offer advice when i was unaware i had a problem!

my daughter, my first born and my best friend.
my daughter is the mother of five loud, loving, demanding, energetic and opinionated children.
they are my grandchildren and therefore ...
without fault!
however, even i have to admit, five children equals a full time job.
my girl still manages to home school one of the five!


tuesday was the "trip to the bank to deposit the cheque" day. i opened my bank account with barclays bank, bicester, when i first arrived in the uk. barclays is big and reliable.
one small problem ...
in scotland, barclays branches are a rare find ...
i do most of my banking over the internet but once a month i need to visit an actual bank building.
the closest barclays is about an hour away in ayr. there is also a branch in saltcoats where my daughter and her family live and that is only another fifteen minutes away. so, bank days when i am heading north i usually treat myself to a mom and daughter day as well.



so ...
there we were, drinking coffee and catching up. i was relating the tale of my latest visit to the doc and excitedly informed her that doc had offered to refer me to glasgow for a breast reconstruction.
for the info of "them as might not be aware" ... i had a bit of a ruckus with breast cancer about fifteen years ago.
for one reason or another i never 'got around' to having a reconstruction.

me ... " i think i might just do it, g says the nhs glasgow breast clinic do excellent work."

nix ... "yeah, why not mom, maybe they can fix your foot at the same time!"

me ... "nah, i think that might be a bit much!"

nix ... "i suppose ..."

me ... "sheit nix, just imagine, i will have forever perky breasts. even when i'm old (er) and
(even more)saggy everywhere else my boobies will still be perfect ... heh. i will be
buried with pert artificial mammary implants"

nix, laughing ...
"ha, ha! i wonder what future archaeologists will have to say when they start uncovering
female human skeletons, buried with silicone cones on their chests?
they will probably come up with some weird and wonderful religious reason for certain
females needing to be buried with silicone cones to accompany them on their journey
into the next world."

hmmm, indeed ...
life is so full of possibilities and improbabilities. i mean, all it would take is one itsy bitsy
major disaster. we might lose our computers, our paper work, our records.
future generations would be left to wonder ... how, why, what for?
who knows, my skeleton might some day be an important archaeological find. news headlines might scream ...
'three thousand year old skeleton found, weighed down with strange man made cones!'

damn! i won't just be having a breast reconstruction, i'll be making history!

enough already with the idleness ...

enough already with the idleness ...




Yeah, well … maybe it's time to write again. Must admit I have been sneaking back to the world of blog for the odd visit just recently.

So … what happened? Where was the reef?

Been wondering about that one myself!

Reef the writer, the poet, the revealer of personal life details … kind of crashed and burned for a while there.

Could it have been nicotine withdrawal?

Will we ever know?

Do we even care?

Not really!

gone fishin'

the muse - 2

the poetry of my heart



as if

my heart hangs heavy in my chest
dead weight at the centre of myself
as if the hand of God were squeezing
the essence of my life force
the barren taste of life without you
lies bitter on my tongue
yet i so longed for this freedom
the right to lust and hunt another
freed of the obligations of faithfulness
allowed the joy of a companion
close within my reach
i will not ask you to forgive me
you gave me only what i wished for
if ever you mourn love lost
know this wolf howls at the emptiness
a dark world engulfed in your absence
know too, that this wild heart
will love you always

Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann




just be bad

ah fuck, i am so angry
i'm friggin' spitting mad
why should i play the good, nice girl
when i can just be bad
i'm tired of waiting for you
your excuses have run out
it's time to fish or to cut bait
i really start to doubt
no more will i be begging
or asking for your hand
if you decide you want me
you buy the wedding band
no further word will pass my lips
of living at your side
i have a place, i'm happy here
you want me, you decide
you organize, you rearrange
you beg and i might come
until you do, i'll live my life
i'm sick of acting dumb
you need space and you need time
there always is a reason
why you and i can not be close
until another season
so take your time, enjoy your space
you have all that you need
you sort yourself and settle down
believe me, i won't plead.......

Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann

the muse

in my (not so humble) opinion, i wrote some of my best poetry for herself. during our somewhat tempestuous romance, i was so divinely obsessed with the woman, my mind filled with words. words of love, passion, anger, disappointment, loss. we broke up, i was devastated, we made up, i was ecstatic!
i wrote and wrote, she was indeed the most marvellous muse ...

i have never shared with the world the poetry i wrote for her, it was too immediate, too personal. it was ours and ours alone.

the great love affair is finally over, there is no longer any contact between us.
herself no longer read my blogs, i am once again free, free to share my thoughts, my emotions with
my readers. there is no longer a need to censor my writing out of respect for another.

sometimes glad, sometimes sad ...

i am free to share with you ... the poetry of my heart ...


dreamsharer

take my hand and walk with me
in the world of my imagination
where dreams become words
and words reality
and i will show you the magic
of love in a thousand different ways
for you are deserving of a great love
to be romanced and adored
forever cherished
beloved dream sharer

Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann


a little less

blue skies today and sunshine
my pain a little less
my heart a little lighter
perhaps love is only an addiction
causing agonizing withdrawal
day three, day seven
three weeks, three months
enduring addictive resurgences
upsurges of regret
for the lost love ,the missing romance
nudging at the brain,causing irritation
feelings of self denial
once more requiring willpower
perhaps love is only a habit
which if resisted will retreat
turning the pain of today
into the gentle memory of tomorrow

Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann

is 7mg enough?

yesterday i entered my third month of nicotine deprivation!

the past four weeks have been ... a bit rough. halving the amount of nicotine in my patches, not easy.

yesterday, down went the nicotine content again, only 7mg now. naturally i am as bad tempered
as a bear woken early from hibernation!
fortunately i live alone, having only myself to mutter, curse and be annoyed at is a definite plus.
towards the end of the next four weeks i will gradually start to regain my humanity, and then ...
bingo! i will have no patch at all. no patch, no nicotine, oi!

what i do have is rather a nice little "cruise account" garnered at the expense of all those cigarettes
i did not smoke.

finally over ...

herself and myself have been struggling through the disconnection process for the past three months.

should we be in contact or not?

could we, should we remain friends?

should we, could we resurrect our relationship?

it is hard to let go. difficult to turn away completely from the one you once loved.

almost impossible to imagine your life without them.

we have been tearing each other to pieces.

today it ended.

fool

fool, a word, so easy said
rolls off the tongue quick silvered
who is a fool and who is not
is fool to be found in the demeanour
or does attitude shine through
announcing to all, there walks a fool
or is the title fool a cry ringing
in the dark depths of abandoned
was once the fool esteemed, cherished
now spewed from the gut, expelled
with anorexic fervour, unpalatable
dismissed, defeated, purged

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

the art of suffering.

a non smoker for six weeks and four days! damn i'm good, not happy of course, no, no, no! why would i be?
after all, two weeks and four days ago ...
my nicotine patch ration was halved, yep, you heard me, halved!
oy! my poor wee synapses are torturing me ...
my first month was easy by comparison.
the scary thing is, in one week and three days they are going to halve the nicotine dose again. aarrgghhh!

i would love to be able to say...
"i feel so much healthier, i am so glad i chose to be a non smoker."
of course, that would be just one big old fib!
i am an addict and i am miserable without my nicotine fix.
i gave up smoking for financia reasons.
to be perfectly honest, if i won the lottery, i would grab the first cigarette available and never stop smoking again.

ok ... i'm done whining, well, for today anyway. i might still allow the odd whimper to escape my lips, no point in being too hard on myself!

euphoria

she tells me
that on the scale of normal
i am a little off
nothing bad you understand
bi polar one
saying i love you
with too much feeling
falls under the heading
euphoria
how very boring
deep feelings are caused by
mental instability
no really
fuck



she tells me
that i write poetry
when my state is
euphoric
while i might agree
that i am hardly normal
i often wonder
if discussing my ups and downs
in psychiatric terms
is a less than positive sign
in a hoped for
romantic liason
time to reconsider
fuck

she tells me
that my rising fury
makes her laugh
because it is so ludicrous
how very unfortunate
to so dismiss my feelings
i wonder does she laugh
at her patients
or do dollars somehow
repress the need to
smirk and chuckle
am i a lover
or a patient
fuck

i tell myself
red anger rising
bursting peaceful banks
flooding my mind
is uncomfortable
but oh so inspirational
my ego sings
of freedom to bring chaos
into my placid world
invite her in
and you will write forever
feeding on the pain
of turmoil
fuck

i tell myself
tread wary woman
there is more to life
than poetry
would you sell yourself so cheap
sacrifice
the quiet depths of self
the peace, the quietude
on the desperate alter
of art
turn aside
while you are still whole
for you were not born to pain
fuck

Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann

A World of Progress TeamZine

A World of Progress TeamZine

walking the dog

if only ...




in the heat, yep i said heat ... we do indeed have Heat with a capital H!
walking miss muni is hard work.

lil' miss has her very own fan club, do i know these dear folks...
nope, not really.
the thing is ... muni knows them! if she sees/smells/whatever dogs do
them up ahead, she feels a deep need to speed up from our normal canter
to a full blown gallop. indeed!
should her friend be behind us, lil' miss applies brakes,
without prior warning. this practice tends to leave my body
in forward motion whilst my shoulder dislocates.
she ... puts doggy bum on the ground and waits.

ahhhh, heaving and pulling is so humiliating ... sigh.
it is also pointless!
i am a great fan of the dog whisperer, i walk erect, i own the road,
my beloved bullie dog, enthralled by my leadership of our small pack,
should trot at my side, ignoring all others!

hey caesar! how about a trip to bonnie scotland, to whisper direct
into those beautiful pointy ears. no matter how many times i mention the
fact, miss muni refuses to understand/accept... the only one leader per pack rule!

enjoy!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amdEVSIJh1g

why me???

nobody sang


i have stories to tell
which would make your hair curl
the loves and the leavings
of me and my girl
the passion, the drama
it's hard to believe
i'll have you all bawling
and begging reprieve
no mortal should live
through such turbulent times
the ups and the downs
the heroics and crimes
in the end with a whimper
not even a bang
the end of the music
and nobody sang

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

team gina butch/femme

twenty two

it is simply
life
moments filled
with terror driven
heart pumping
fear
pale of face
palms wet
and clammy
filled with
an uncertainty
last felt
when only
a beautiful bud
on the thorny bush
of living
sometimes
we have a need
to prove the lie
i am not afraid
to ride
the roller coaster

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

thorns

the delectable ms sugar has asked me to make it clear ...
that she, herself, was not my first magical muse. herself had no part in causing the suffering and misery which inspired these works.

this tragically one sided affair of the heart preceded the meeting of sugar and the wolf! since our paths first crossed, the magnificent ms sugar has always occupied the position of "muse most marvellous".


thorns


show me the way
to reach your heart
through your barrier
of thorns
they guard you well
my hands grow scarred
with the trying
my inability to abandon
the desire of my heart
my wish to know you
my longing to journey
the path of life with you
allow me no choice
the attraction is inevitable
the pain unavoidable
your thorns repel
and still you hold my heart prisoner

Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann

my first magical muse

i had never met her ... i fell in love anyway.
i fell in love with her mind and her photograph.
i fell in love with her words.
we emailed across the atlantic.
she taught me about messaging.
a stranger who took my breath away.
a stranger who understood me.
a woman who amused and entertained me.
a mind so sharp.
an extraordinary soul.
she refused to meet me, told me i was crazy ...
"you don't fall in love with a stranger!"


in time i came to accept her rejection, i moved on.
eventually, we did meet.
i was already involved in a new relationship.
i physically shook as i waited to meet her.
she was every bit as beautiful as i had imagined.
we spent the day together.
as my train pulled out, taking me back to new york,
she shouted out to me ...
"now i can say it... i love you!"

i wrote poetry for her, in love, anger, in sadness and frustration.
i wrote to woo her and to impress her.
she was the one. the one who first unleashed the torrent of words.
words once locked in my mind.

i doubt she kept those poems, i have lost many,
erased either accidentally or in anger.
the remaining ...
remain unread!

time to share them with my readers.


Begging - with apologies to Dr Seuss

Woke up this morning

And thought of you

Got back into bed

As I have the flu

So I'm

Sneezing and wheezing

And sniffling all day

But I'm begging you angel

Won't you please

Come and play

I've been writing great letters

For three months or more

My whole life laid out

Quite prostrate on your floor

I ring and I ring

You don't answer your phone

My frustration is mounting

I wail and I groan

How you can resist me

I don't understand

I'm simply the greatest

In all of the land!

Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann

cone or cup

if only love was like ice cream
imagine if all you had to do
was wait patiently in the queue
juggling your indecision
like a hot cherry in your mouth
pull out your wallet and pay
but first, will it be dutch chocolate
or buttered pecan, banana/toffee...
an almost irresistible temptation
cone or cup, small or large
one scoop or two, unavoidable decisions
flavours, born in memory
flicker across the tongue
how often do we take the safe road
choose a single scoop vanilla cone
only to gaze lustfully on
as melting strawberry stickies other fingers
and outlines a stranger's lips
the sunday afternoon queue shortens
the small shop full of the babble
of children, unrestrained, running amok
soaked in sunshine and steeped in sugar
so easy to buy ice cream
you only have to want, then wait
if only love was like ice cream


Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann

to waver

seven days
seven days
of nothing much
and now you start
your evil drilling
snaking sneaky
through my panic stricken
mind
for what, for why, i cry
how many bars of chocolate
must i eat
to still your iniquitous
insistence
yesterday was strength
no problem
i had the beating
of you
today, day seven
you whisper sweet, sweet nothings
turn my head
from sensible to needy
i know where you lie
waiting for me
tonight i crave sleep
to shut your ceaseless nagging
from my mind
which longs for an excuse
to waver and draw deep
the curling trails
of nicotine's addiction


Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

the longest day

.

who knew there were so many minutes in an hour! damn!

i made it - twenty four hours as a non smoker.
hey people ... we have to think up a more positive title, non smoker holds negative connotations for me.
i want to be able to say ...
"i am a ... "

come to think of it maybe "i am healthy" will do.

the nicotine patches they prescribed are great, my nicotine addiction is being well fed whilst i learn to live my life without the paraphernalia of smoking.

wednesday's child

today is wednesday, i was born on a wednesday ... wednesday's child is full of woe.
well, actually, i was not - full of woe. the child me was pretty happy go lucky.

the adolescent me, now that was another story entirely.
hormones screwed with me, teenage angst, och man!

then i grew up and developed 'post natal depression' and eventually ... 'a chemical imbalance'.
you would never know that i was a depressive, no way, i am so full of happy pills, i have almost forgotten how to be miserable.

almost but not quite.
lack of misery is not a good place for this poet to dwell. generally, my writing thrives on extremes. sadness, anger, disappointment, passion, and occasionally a little joy. not too much though! in times of emotional famine, i find even minor irritation inspirational..

where was i...
today is wednesday and at 11.00am i have my second appointment with the stop smoking nurse.
the hour of nicotine denial draws ever closer.

i need not worry about the weight i will gain when i stop smoking. oh no, it seems that even contemplating the loss of my beloved smokes causes my weight to climb!

this morning i was on the verandah smoking, watching the world go by and luxuriating in the thought of my soon to be ultimate misery - life sans nicotine.
my woe levels were rising rapidly! and then ...
my mind went off on a path of it's own and started calculating.
how much money would persistent self denial in the camel stakes save me?

at least £25.00 a week ... yoiks that is minimum ... a hundred pound a month!

good grief! that is £1200.00 a year!!

huh ...

holidays, cruises.

sailing the norwegian fjords.

the great wall of china.

the nile.

an olivia cruise!!

who needs jangling nicotine nerves? time to go where i have never dared before ... the land of no smoke.

uh oh!

day 30

yippee! april is over and i am done with the 'poem a day poetry challenge' ...
and ... last but not least ...

day 30

For today's prompt, I want you to write a farewell poem. After all, we are saying farewell to another wonderful National Poetry Month. Say farewell to this month; say farewell to a vacation spot; say farewell to a bad relationship; say farewell to work; say farewell to school; say farewell to saying farewell even.

no end

if we begin,
somehow, sometime, somewhere,
we must end.
my friend, my lover, my teacher,
one last time,
hold me, touch me and remember.
love has no end,
speak no sad farewell.
locked in time,
love's memory lives on.

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 29

For today's prompt, I want you to title your poems "Never (blank)" with you filling in the blank with a word or phrase. Then, write a poem based off your title.

never forget to enjoy

there are times when i feel
that my life is a bind
with my joints growing creaky
and my eyes going blind

my brain, once like lightning
now more like a bus
starting and stopping
with noise and much fuss

teeth, once white and strong
are now kind of crumbling
when young people speak
it sounds like they're mumbling

i rush into a room
then stop and just stare
i question and wonder
why the devil i'm there

"och woman" i think
the good times are over
time to stop searching
for that four leafed clover

and then, the sun peeps
through a gap in the cloud
my children say something
which makes me feel proud

i walk on the beach
i hear the sea crashing
bare foot on the sand
the world's feeling smashing

the breeze carries sound
of kids and their laughter
a frisbee flies past
with a dog chasing after

a drink of cool water
like nectar from heaven
a friend's popping in
at a quarter past seven

i think we'll eat chinese
and drink too much wine
we'll gossip and laugh
damn! my life is so fine

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 28

For today's prompt, I want you to write a sestina.

a sestina???
who the hell knew!

within town limits

tell me why you keep ducks
surely your choices are limited
unless you intend to breed a champion
that might offer some light
or perhaps you are in competition with your sister
some challenges are difficult to refuse

i guess they don't create much refuse
they don't attack from above, no one needs to duck
noise wise you might be in trouble sister
for someone whose resources are limited
not so easy to make light
when the time comes they need a champion

still, it would be champion
i doubt you would wish to refuse
without question, up at first light
lots of head room, no need to duck
surge ahead, no longer limited
by the unreliability of your sister

the two of you, sister versus sister
both determined to be champion
the competition unlimited
if i were asked to judge, i would refuse
a competition for ducks,
held on an oval field in sun light!

are they heavy or are they light?
you might inquire of your sister
after all when it came to ducks
she was the team champion
when she wanted to bat, who could refuse
even though we understood her chances were limited

physically we all have limits
emotionally, some are dark, others light
at any point we are free to refuse
we are not alone, we have sisters
fellow travelers eager to be our champion
never forget, it all started with a duck

do you need to duck or refuse to be limited
were you born to be champion, a shining light
will you lead the sisterhood or refuse

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 27

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem of longing. You or someone (or something) else should be pining for someone or something. Maybe a cat is longing to get outside the house. Maybe a teenager is longing to get away from his or her small town. And, of course, there's always the longing poem of love.

the dark

when i am alone
my heart longs
in the dark
as memory stalks
empty corridors
where love
once danced

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 26

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem involving miscommunication. It can be miscommunication between two people or misinterpretation of some sort. I will leave it up to you guys to deal with it however you want.


impasse

i seem to have a problem
going on within my brain
i need to write a poem
and it's causing me much pain

the subject of the poem
today is meant to be
miscommunication
and what it means to me

a grand misunderstanding
of meaning, speech or words
but nothing comes to mind at all
this prompt is for the birds

i understand the concept
but that's to no avail
unless i write some words quite soon
i fear that i may fail

so please, remove my writer's block
i feel i'm at a junction
this miscommunication gig
is causing brain malfunction

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

to simply be

i used to walk for exercise, oh indeed, a dedicated stride through the village, past the church and the school, along the foreland and along the seaside path which runs behind the garden centre.
if the weather was good, i walked and congratulated myself on my lowering blood pressure, my soon to be vanquished cholesterol and my self discipline... if the weather was iffish ... well, i stayed at home, watched the telly and ate another bar of chocolate!

now, i walk no matter what the weather.
when muni stops to sniff (such a dedicated sniffer), i stop, lift my head, feel the breeze on my face and breath in the salty smell of seaweed or the rather forgettable stench of freshly manured fields, whatever the village has on offer for a particular day!

muni stops a lot and stares ... at what , who knows? the country is an exciting/scary place when you are six months old and your previous home was a kennel, somewhere on the outskirts of london.
today we stopped to stare at the lambs, alone i don't get near them, with a dog companion ... they are interested and inquisitive. i think they feel her youthful energy and are attracted to her.
later we stopped and stared at an absolutely empty field, eventually i started to notice how the short, ungrazed grass was blowing and rippling in the breeze.

i no longer walk to exercise, i walk to look, to breathe, to simply be.

day 25

For today's prompt, I want you to pick an event; make that event the title of your poem; and then write a poem. Think birthday. Think holiday. Think whatever.

eat, drink and be merry

minado japanese restaurant
long island
new york
eat as much as you like
buffet
special occasions
welcome home, happy anniversary
goodbye forever
i love you
an endless array
of japanese dishes
hot, cold, sweet, sour
soft, crispy
a celebration of over indulgence
no limits
except those imposed by appetite
food to flirt over
an abundance to argue over
did you ever imagine
that there would be
a last time

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 24

For today's prompt, I want you to write a travel-related poem. It can be human travel, the migration of swallows, the trafficking of drugs, etc. Some sort of movement from point A to point B


the journey

once beguiled by an unimagined future
i would, with very little thought
pack my bags, impatient to be gone
perhaps i should have questioned
gone from what, gone to where
why did i, so very much desire to be
somewhere else, nowhere in particular
merely a new and different place
another town or country or continent
where although the sun still rose and set
the light held a strange newness
where birds greet the unborn dawn
with a song unique to this traveler's ear
i flew from you and to you, entwining
to them and from them, unraveling
the past falling away in the distance
as i traversed the never ending road

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 23

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem of regret. Get creative with this one, but there should be some form of regret either expressed or hinted at (even if ever so slightly). You do NOT have to use the word "regret" in the poem, though it's fine if you do.

waste

the ache of error
a remorseful refrain
a little goes a long way
guilt and regret
self indulgent wasteful emotions
the past is done
bewailing our mistakes
does nothing to right them
learn from yesterday
forgive yourself
forget

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 22

For today's prompt, I want you to write a work-related poem. Work doesn't have to be the main feature of the poem, but I want you to "work" it in somehow. And remember: There are different types of work. Of course, there are the activities that gain you fortune and fame (or not), but then, there's also housework, exercise, volunteering, etc. I'm sure you'll "work" it out


all work and no play


work can be good
if you love what you do
if you do it with pride
while your monies accrue
wake up in the morning
somewhere to go
a purpose to living
a future to grow

i worked for some years
in the days of my youth
i worked to earn money
and that is the truth
i did not like doing
what other folk said
following orders
a process i dread

one day i got married
and baby made three
cooking and cleaning
more suited to me
more time to think
more time to be free
enjoying my life
with a kid on my knee

now i am older
a pension is mine
no need to work
i can play with my time
i write, i may study
travel and read
grow flowers in a planter
i don't have to weed

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 21

1. Write a haiku.

rolling thunder storm
loud enough to wake the dead
tonight the frog sings

2. Write about the haiku.

i don't like writing haiku
i find it much too hard
consisting of such short thoughts
my mental flow is marred

i think it's very clever
and if you can you should
but me, myself i'd rather
go outside and chop wood

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 20

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem of rebirth.

no pain

he disappeared inside himself
and waited for time to pass
no pain if he hides deep enough
living in the grey is unacceptable
society objects to the disconnection
they subject him to the mind menders
who prod and question and insist
they ply him with happy pills
medication to encourage rebirth

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 19

today's prompt is to write an angry poem. That is, a poem about someone or something that gets angry. Could be a person, animal, or even them there angry clouds. As usual, I'm excited to see which unexpected directions y'all take with this prompt.

the final freedom

my rage reassures me, i am right
you are wrong, blind, intransigent
i am indubitably superior
my ego dances with delight
blood rushes to my brain
my pulse pounds
anger is a red emotion
as powerful as lust
to feel it rising, taking over
to allow myself the loss of control
is the final freedom
we wear our thin veneer of civilization
so proud and sure, one might imagine
an impenetrable coat of shining armour
beneath, an instant, a breath away
lies the animal instinct, the rage, the fear

All materials Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 18

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem with an interaction of some sort. The interaction does NOT have to be between people, though it can. For instance, you could write about the interaction between a bee and a flower; or an owl and a field mouse. Or just write about a traffic cop getting into an argument with a speeder. Just as long as there is some sort of interaction going on.

pub talk

sitting in the pub
perched on a stool
waiting for my cheeseburger
wondering if i should
have a beer
local farmers i suppose
four of them
"can't let a woman have a working dog"
"you are so right!"
"absolutely ruins the dog"
"women just don't understand"
"aye, no way should a woman
be allowed near a working dog"
"too much mollycoddling"
a tight knit group
drinks in hand, men with working dogs
obviously a superior species

All materials Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 17

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem with the following title: "All I want is (blank)," where you fill in the blank with a word or phrase of your choosing. Some example titles, then, could be: "All I want is to eat fried chicken"; "All I want is world peace"; "All I want is for everyone to tell me I'm beautiful"; or "All I want is a handful of quarters."


all i want is one more day with you


just an ordinary day, nothing special
one more day to be held in your arms
to laugh and hold hands
one more day to hear your voice
to talk and talk
one more day to sit in the shade
and together, find the meaning of life
one more day to thank you

all i want is one more day
in which to take the time
to do and say all the small things
so often neglected in the rush
of the day to day

all i want is one more day with you

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 16

mamma mia! was it my idea to take up a challenge to write a poem a day for the WHOLE month of april?? yoiks! i must be crazy, i mean, i know i am ... crazy, what i mean is crazier than usual. i have reached my boredom threshold, the thought of writing another poem to order ... ughhh.

poetry should flow from the mind, the heart, the soul,the very fibre of one's being.it should flow, not be pumped out, day after day.
at times i have such a need to write, to empty my head of the words which assail me. those times, i will write poem after poem until i am satiated.
sometimes i will not write for weeks or months!

no matter - a challenge is a challenge - so be it! a poem a day until april's end.




For today's prompt, I want you to pick a color, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem that is inspired by that color.

pink

remember summer
the almost endless days
hot sun skin, prickly pink
slow and lazy with the heat
sipping a glass of white grenache
sweetly pink and cold as ice
the crimson sun falls
into the darkness
the sky hums pink
the dying light's bequest


Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 15

For today's prompt, I want you to take the title of a poem you especially like (by another poet) and change it. Then, with this new altered title, I want you to write a poem.

the rent man

"i know you are home!" said the rent man
as he peered through the dirty glass
he raised his hand and knocked again
with the dolphin made of brass
his new white van stood smart and proud
in the rubbish strewn back street
the engine purring soft and smooth
while the litter blew beneath
"i know you are there" he repeated
his voice was growing loud
in a neighbours house, a curtain twitched
soon enough there would be a crowd
behind the door with the dolphin
nary a creature stirred
everyone knew when the rent man came
even the cage bred bird
"three months rent you owe me
my patience has run out"
he turned away, then whipped around
and gave the door a clout
"tell them i came" said the rent man
as he peered at the house next door
"tell them i kept my promise
but next time i'll bring the law"
he strode away to his new, white van
he revved the engine hard
"i'm telling you i have had enough
you had best be on your guard"
the empty streets rejoiced
as the rent man drove away
soon there were children playing
the end of another day

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

original title
The Listeners by Walter de la Mare

day 14

First prompt: Write a love poem.

a child of chance

i looked up and you were there
small and neat and unusual
my pulse quickened with delight
my heart, once lost and cold
trembled with the hope of healing
a step closer and you were in my arms
time slowed and a universe was born
our own creation, a safe harbour
for two, for me, for you, for tomorrow
was our love a child of chance
or destiny at last fulfilled

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann






Second prompt: Write an anti-love poem.


love is like

love is like the chicken pox
it appears suddenly
progresses rapidly
it itches and hurts
you end up covered in scabs
which you have a need to scratch
beware, should you do so
you will be scarred for life
as with all things natural
eventually it passes

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

the passion

day 13

prompt - hobby or hobbies


the passion

what is a hobby
something we do
or make, or perform
or create
in order to while away
the time
in order to keep busy
and have no need to think
unless of course
the doing, the making
the performing
creating
holds us so enthralled
that without question
we must follow our bliss
in which case
it would not be a hobby
but a passion

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 12

prompt - "So we decided to (blank)" and fill in the blank."


so we decided to keep talking

communication is important
at the very least
an attempt should be made
it is difficult to speak
when you are scared shitless
and slightly inebriated

the light of the moon
softened the unfamiliar
eoghan cleared his throat
pursed his lips
and pronounced loudly
to all and sundry

in that undeniably poncy accent
he oft times affects
when he is looking for trouble
"my friend here intended no offence
he merely stated his preference ...
for a pint of guinness"

the fire crackled and sparked
a slight breeze
billowed the wood smoke in our direction
silence fell
the strangers turned their attention
on my friend eoghan

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day eleven

day 11

prompt - write a poem about an object (or objects)

the knife

damn, that swiss pocket knife was an excellent buy
of cause it was one heck of a long time ago
but, twelve rand for a swiss pocket knife...
all red and shiny with a white cross
quite a weight in the hand, it had everything
and, in your hands, it could do anything
i bought it at king's sports shop, pietermaritzburg
a birthday gift for my still fairly new husband
man you loved that knife, it never left your pocket
anything required cutting, screwing or general prodding
out came your knife, you could fix anything
that knife fitted you hand as if it was part of you
now your knife lives in the drawer next to my bed
i don't carry it with me, i am afraid i will lose it
when i hunger for the touch, the comfort of you
i scrabble through my ever untidy drawer and find it
that red knife with the white cross,
the multiple blades, the cork screw, the toothpick
i hold it tightly, my thumb rubs it's scarred casing
your knife, my knife, the knife

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 10

prompt - friday

friday strikes


friday is the snake of the week
it greets silently
nothing special, another work day
as the day wears on
friday coils around your ankles
with honeyed promise
much later the friday snake
slyly, trips you
you sit up bemused and wondering
friday strikes

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 9

prompt - memory

the scream

memory
the greatest gift
the most terrible...
memories of boundless joy
and unbearable pain
beyond our control
biding time
memory waits!

i remember my first born
my colicky baby
we had waited...
six long years for her
visions of pink and white
sweet baby smell
new born innocence
hah!

i remember the reality
the dirty nappy shock
no sleep ...
most of all i remember
pacing up and down
jiggling my first born
rocking her, singing soft
singing loud!

i remember colic
will i ever forget
a screaming infant...
obviously in pain
nothing to do but comfort
and wait it out
i walked, i waited
i muttered!

i remember that baby face
red with pain and rage
i peer down...
time's ever moving corridor
i watch her grow, mature
i see her tragedies
and her triumphs
my daughter

remembering is never having to forget ...

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 8

prompt - routine or routines

a somewhat routine procedure


i wake up and ponder
the new breaking day
and if it's worth rising
or if i should stay
tucked up in my covers
as quiet as a mouse
avoiding the cleaning
required for the house
but no i must waken
and leap from my bed
make coffee, go downstairs
start smoking instead


old habits die hard
i've heard people say
some habits die fast
as i found out today
a sweet little puppy
is just what i need
so i went out and found one
i did, oh indeed!
this morning i woke up
and leaped out of bed
the pup needs to wee
and the pup should be fed

so ... i did have a routine
which now is no more
if i wait and make coffee
there's a pee on the floor
first thought when i wake is
get up and get out
you can't lie and ponder
when a dog is about
get dressed, get your boots on
it's time for her walk
the sun's almost risen
dog owners don't balk

i guess from now on
my routine will be
leap straight out of bed
take the dog out to wee
then feed her and walk her
take time out to play
then... relax with a coffee
and ponder our day
old habits die hard
but when i see her face
i'm left with no routine
not even a trace


Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day seven

Prompt #1: I want you to write a clean poem. Take this however you wish. Clean language, clean subject matter, or cleaning the dishes. Of course, some twisted few will automatically link "cleaning" with hired hitmen. That's okay, as long as your poem is somehow linked to clean.



whiter than white

some people
are cleaner than others
you know
they rub and they scrub
they stitch and sew
their houses are shrines
to the stern god of clean
if there are gaps
well they scrub in between
the washing flaps whiter than white
on the line
so neatly pegged out
these folks take the time
to do what they must
in the very best way
and never leave things
for a still to come day
the furniture shines
the bedding is fresh
the children all glow
from their over washed flesh
if they drink from a cup
it is soon washed and dried
put back in the cupboard
where cups should abide
the windows are cleaned
once a week if not more
the sun's pouring in
making beams on the floor


how i wish my house looked
as perfect as theirs
you would never find dust
not even upstairs
but somehow i find
i have so much to do
like sleeping and smoking
and going to the zoo ...

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day six

prompt - write a poem about something missing. It can be about an actual physical object or something you just can't put your finger on (like "love" or "the spirit of Christmas" or something).


a matter of distance

once, there were two
i found them on a dusty shelf
elegant, waiting for me
who else would want them?
two brass herons, for a pound

i took them home
they stood on the corner
of the walnut bookcase
shiny, yellow brass
against the dark wood

now there is one
tall, polished, brass heron
alone on the shelf
of the dark wood bookcase
in the shadowy hall

the other, the missing...
at home in another place
with a different time
how many years did they share
side by side

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day five

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about a landmark. It can be a famous landmark (like Mount Rushmore or the Sphinx) or a little more subdued (like the town water tower or an interesting sign).



The good ship "Varyag"

if you ever come to scotland
and you drive the ayrshire coast
when you reach a place called lendalfoot
you'll hear the people boast

we have a mighty monument
down there besides the waves
it's big and bronze and russian
to mark a great ship's grave

she rests beneath the firth of clyde
not a long way from the shore
her history is told in tales
and sung in songs of yore

fifteen ships surrounded her
demanding her surrender
her crew they fought with bravery
in order to defend her

they fought until they could no more
still they refused to yield
they scuttled the ship "varyag"
and so her fate was sealed

the japanese recovered her
in nineteen hundred five
they sailed her as the "soya"
her legend was alive

eventually they sent her back
eleven years along
the russian's were to celebrate
in prayer and dance and song

in nineteen hundred seventeen
the ship set sail once more
this time to undergo repairs
upon a british shore

the october revolution
caused the russians to forget
the brave ship "varyag"
had still not sailed home yet

they sold her to the germans
sailed her up the firth of clyde
when she reached our lendalfoot
she hit some rocks and died

so if you drive by lendalfoot
make sure you stop and see
the famous russian monument
which means so much to me!

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann


the story of the "Varyag" and a photo of the monument may be found ...

"http://www.russiatoday.ru/Top_News/2007-09-09/Scotland_perpetuates_memory_of_Russian_warship.html

day four

prompt - For today’s prompt, I want you to pick an animal; make that animal the title of your poem; then, write a poem.


the english bullterrier


I am Munnin of Ragnarok
what's that you say ...
funny sounding name, huh, peasant!
google it.
my ancestry is excellent
my mama is Bilboen Lucifer's Daughter
oh yes indeed ...
impressed now are you?
Terjo Lord of the Ring is my papa
your eyes widened there!

we are big boned and beautiful
my mouth is show perfect
why are my ears bandaged?
obviously you are one of the ignorant
occasionally, my perfectly formed
pointy bullie ears, well ...
they flop, flopping is not good
hence the ear gear!
it is a passing phase
soon my ears will point wickedly at the sky

who might you be human?
tell me your ancestry
pure mongrel you say...
and not young either
your hair is quite silver
and to be honest
your teeth have seen better days
your legs still look pretty sturdy
perhaps if i decide to take you
i will still be able to walk you for a while.

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day three

prompt - "the problem with ..... "




"the problem with christmas"

there's a problem with christmas?
well yeah, what can i say ...

christmas is expensive
buying, buying, buying
all those gifts that nobody really wants
in the beginning
i am in control
then as the big day draws closer
panic takes over
forget the budget, flash the credit card


and exhausting...
indeed!
shopping is bad enough
christmas shopping is way outside of awful
small sticky handed creatures rampaging
yep! i said rampaging and
i meant it
small feet stamping, their sweet voices ...

christmas day dawns
the day after christmas eve
time to wake up and work
why do they call it "the holidays"
it takes an alarm clock to wake me up
that early!
a really big turkey takes a while
to grow all crispy and gold and succulent

thinking vegetarian
wonder how long one of those nutty roasts
needs to cook for
probably not that long, hmmm...
not a chance, thinking
mutiny, insurrection, would follow
no way my carnivorous kin
would fall for that one

the family arrive
the adult children argue about acorns, architects
anything actually!
the youngsters leap around in an excess
of energy
knocking things over and continually
asking for something to drink
what's with kids and "i'm sooo thirsty" anyway?

finally, we sit...
months of planning, hours of execution
the table groans
christmas crackers crack and wine spills
adults read their mottos with glee
while the kids fight over the cracker gifts
we drink, we eat, too much
we remember the year the table cloth caught fire

the problem with christmas ...
there is a problem with christmas?
must have slipped my mind
i'm warm and full of good food
my family are chatting and dozing around the fire
i can smell the good coffee, almost ready...
there must have been a problem
i'm sure i'll remember before next christmas ...

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

day 2 - poem a day challenge

prompt word - outsider




the distance


was he born an outsider
or did it grow within
the distance, the difference
which separates him

he lives in his own world
looks out through the bars
his perceptions quite altered
through autism's scars

he practiced a smile
though he did not know why
he is learning control
as the years pass on by

he wants to hold tight
but he must turn away
avoiding eye contact
a price he can't pay

he used to strike others
with rage bubbling out
releasing his fear
with a fist and a shout

now he waits and he watches
he follows the crowd
he still is confused
but he's doing us proud

when he meets people now
they really don't know
the struggle he has
just to go with the flow

so son, turn your back
i will hold from behind
in the way you can bare
in the way which is kind

"hold me tight nan" he says
"it makes me feel better"
and "oh by the way
do you like my new sweater"

"rub my shoulders"... so tight,
with the burden of living
in a world which is strange
and fraught with misgiving

an outsider, for ever
is that who you'll be
trapped in a mind
which will not set you free

Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

the april poem a day challenge

thanks to margo moon of the starr ann chronicles for alerting me to this competition!
organized by robert lee brewer of writer's digest - poetic asides, those of us of a somewhat poetic bent, are challenged to write a poem (inspired by a prompt) a day for the month of april...
yoiks!

thought i would share my effort for the 1st april 2009 on the unfolding enigma blog ...


two perfect crystal glasses

driving through the bushveld
on our way from somewhere
going nowhere in particular
the road, long, black
shimmering with mirages
there it stood, a farm stall
more of a lean to really
built of cracking planks, grey with age
and a rusty corrugated iron roof
the sign was large and clear
"ice cold homemade ginger beer"
the car tyres abandoned the smoothness
deserting the tarmac for the bump and slide
of the stony, dusty roadside
as he hit the brakes
the sound of sliding gravel
the motor died
the country silence engulfed us
i open the car door and swing my legs out
my new white sneakers land with a plop
on the thick dust and gravel
i glance down at my shoes
now coated with a fine red film
the angry heat sears my throat
the air is as dry as a dowager's skin
we lope over to the semi shade
where the rusty iron roof juts out a little
behind the makeshift counter is a smiling face
and a tin bath, full of ice, somewhat melted
swimming in the almost frozen water
old two litre cola and lemonade bottles
long emptied of their original contents
filled now with that nectar of the gods
"ice cold homemade ginger beer"
happily, we bartered money for liquid sustenance
the work worn hands which accompanied the smiling face
lifted a full bottle from the bath
it rested on the stained and dusty counter
melted ice and the dew of evaporation
sliding down the bottle
gathering in a wet ring
where wood and plastic meet
the smiling face turned and from beneath the counter
produced, two perfect crystal glasses

All materials Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

an alien from new york

herself arrived safely. of course there was a small drama at glasgow airport, there usually is with herself. there must be something suspicious about the princess, immigration often pull her small american self out of line and question her. probably all those vitamin tablets she carries around with her, guess on the xray they look like the chance for a major drug bust!

now, as you probably already know, herself has decided to move to scotland. oh yeah ... my castle is under seige!
change is in the air!
me, myself, i live on the top floor of an old victorian house. there is plenty of space and huge windows through which any available light pours. my furnishing style... well...
my friends who love me call it shabby chic ... heh!
i live right next door to a charity thrift shop and my home is furnished with that which others have cast off (or should that be out?). plus a few precious pieces i brought from home when i moved to the uk five years ago.




herself does not really approve, the princess has standards. keeping the princess happy is pretty high on my list of priorities. she has my permission to turn our home into the very epicentre of style ... just so as it doesn't cost me, myself wads of money.
there are limits, of course, aren't there always...
non negotiables ...

so now ... she prowls my home with a predatory gleam in her eye! a tape measure clasped to her heaving bosom, her cheeks flushed with a passion for change.
to be honest ... it does make me a little nervous.
change is good ...
adapt or die ...

will i survive? will our small village survive being invaded by new york? will we manage to retain our intrinsic qualities. will i be allowed to lie on the new couch with my shoes on?
so many questions, so little time.
one thing for sure, the wonderfully comfortable, shabby and saggy, doggy smellin' leather couch is out of here.
for sure!

aaarrrrggggghhhhhhhhhh...

why does life have to be so darn complicated?

cat in a box...

or ... the oft neglected art of appreciation ...

a written tribute to herself, not nearly enough, my small effort to express my love and appreciation.

as we know, herself is moving to scotland!

for myself, a nomad, born to a clan ruled by the travel gene ... moving is easy, second nature, something i have done all my life.
you decide to move, you decide what you need to take with you, you pack, you move.
of course, we may suffer a nervous breakdown or two along the way, but, what the hell ...

herself is a much more settled being. ms m has lived in the same country, the same state, the same town, the same house for ... omg! all i can say is, an unmentionably long time.

uprooting herself and her beloved meows, packing a few valued possessions and shipping them across the pond. for herself ... this is the stuff of nightmares.

have you ever attempted to move two cats from new york to glasgow?
whilst avoiding the six month quarantine period?
hah!

perhaps herself would like to pen a blog on the subject!

for me ... it is enough to say, it is difficult, damn difficult.

i must admit, in my less saintly moods, i listen to herself's tale of unfolding drama and mutter (silently)into my cup of cooling coffee ... "aww, for pete's sake, friggin' cats, more trouble than they are worth!"

a nomad tends to travel light, if the move entails ocean crossings ... well then, we tend to find our animal companions a new and even better home than the one they shared with us.

as herself is wont to exclaim ...
"how very un-american! we love our pets as if they were our children!"

sorry sweetheart ... it takes all types.

in a rather more serious vein ...
my beloved ms m
i am aware of the tremendous trauma you are experiencing. it is not easy to uproot ones self at our time of life. i understand the pain of moving, leaving behind family and friends, well known weather patterns, familiar suburbs and shopping malls. i realize the difficulty a sun worshipper has in moving to the land of the low cloud! at least in our part of ayrshire you will never have to shovel snow again. mind ... there was the infamous winter of'63 ...

i long for a bowl of your real italian pasta (with so much cheese my cholesterol count is bound to sky rocket!). i miss your quick wit, your giddy laughter, your enigmatic smile. i miss the daily challenge of interacting with and exploring your fine mind.
i look forward to sharing the rest of my life with you.

i thank you, my non nomadic love, for having the courage and tenacity to leave the familiar and journey far from your roots for the sake of our love.

dreamsharer

take my hand and walk with me
in the world of my imagination
where dreams become words
and words reality
and i will show you the magic
of love in a thousand different ways
for you are deserving of a great love
to be romanced and adored
forever cherished
beloved dream sharer

Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann

funny how ...

trust is such an important part of a relationship.

herself and myself have now been together (on and off!) for five years and three months.

i have to admit that somewhere along the rutted and dusty road we have travelled, i lost faith.i lost my trust in our relationship, i allowed doubt and hesitation to creep up on me.
i no longer believed that we were destined to be together.

my ardour cooled, my desire to share dissipated, my passion for our romantic relationship dwindled ...

my love for herself became as gentle as a snowflake landing on an unaware arm.
speaking for myself, love does not die. my love merely became easier. it grew easier to endure the physical absense. easier to involve myself anew in the possibilities of life around me.
i no longer wished to pursue love, i was content to while away my time. i had no need for another, she would always own my heart ...

and then ...
it happened ...
herself decided ...

scotland and myself were a viable alternative!
her home went on the market.
her cats visited the vetenarian and suffered the indignity of needles in preparation for international travel.

i wished i could believe!

fear ruled my mind, i refused to allow myself to even imagine a future together.
she would change her mind, something would come up, no point in allowing myself to hope again.

i flew home to the motherland and steeped myself in family and friends. the sun touched my skin and reminded me of yesterday. the heat and humidity melted my coldness, i began to believe, i regained my trust.

a small spark, a beginning ...

i believe!

we will grow old together. we will love and laugh and argue our way into a shared future.

i have found my lost passion, i have regained my need to have and to hold. my heart bubbles, my mind imagines.

it may take a little time ...

but ...
i believe!

"wordspinner" ... a baby blog

i have a new poetry blog, well actually i have two but ...

wordspinner is my newest baby blog!

i wonder what a baby blog would look like? where would one find a baby blog? are they born or do they hatch?

i digress,

"wordspinner" is where i will share my personal favourites ... the words i have written which please me most.