Henry's Ramblings

A Romantic Love Letter written by King Henry IV of France (1553-1610) to Gabrielle d’Estres.
Romantic love letter written June 16, 1593 the night before a major battle.

I have waited patiently for one whole day without news of you; I have been counting the time and that’s what it must be. But a second day I can see no reason for it, unless my servants have grown lazy or been captured by the enemy, for I dare not put the blame on you, my beautiful angel: I am too confident of your affection–which is certainly due to me, for my love was never greater, nor my desire more urgent; that is why I repeat this refrain in all my letters: come, come, come, my dear love.

Honor with your presence the man who, if only he were free, would go a thousand miles to throw himself at your feet and never move from there. As for what is happening here, we have drained the water from the moat, but our cannons are not going to be in place until Friday when, God willing, I will dine in town.


*************************************
When I am bemoaning my state of "I hate when you are gone" he will say to me, "Carrie you have no concept of time at all." or "Let's rearrange the Myan calendar to add another day at your whim." or even "You defeat the purpose of us spending a moment together if you will storm off in anger." There is nothing reasonable about missing someone when they are gone and you hold them so dear to your heart, nothing reasonable at all. Love will turn the most understanding person to a pouting child and even a serial phone slammer. So when I found this letter of Henry's I thought, you see the world really does live as a romantic lives in the unreasonable state of there has to be something wrong with the world when you are gone. There was a Starbucks Ad over the Christmas season, notes written on their cups and one of them read "Our friends found us to be the strangest of couples. We only find it strange when we are apart." This I loved.

winter footprints

I gave you socks and gloves because I wanted your feet and hands warm
not because I didn't think you were capable of keeping them warm
but because I wanted it not to be something you thought about
I wanted your head open to think of things not so tangible
especially in the winter
The winter is glittering for a reason, it is the season of thinking
of things bigger than we are
it's the time to make Valentines
to write poetry of nothing ordinary
even though the ordinary can be very enchanting
if you dont believe me watch an icicle melt
to understand that while the living breathing world is fast asleep
under the cold layer of ice
that there is a piece of us quite alive and waiting and even planning
the same way I plan when I walk by the winter garden and picture violets living there
that tiny part of us that understands that like anything
even like love
like adventure
this too shall pass and it's a reckoning we seek
the epiphany to explain all suffering of the world
summed up in a lyrical phrase
to minimize pain, a whisper of "this too shall pass"
and if I were to take that sort of direction from anyone
wouldn't that someone be you?
So I will care to the little things, the insignificant,
the "I know how you take your coffee"
and "you shouldn't miss this appointment"
if only to give your head the space to dream of things
no one else can conjure
to nurture the soul that feeds mine
to give you the energy to change the world
as Ive watched you do, your loudest silent cheerleader
to remind you who you are
if nowhere else than in my eyes
floating above the earth, clean
doing the right thing when the right thing seems impossible
like Armstrong's wife cheering his footprint
she knowing that all men want to leave their mark
wringing her hands together wondering what sometimes possesses him
wouldn't he rather be with her at the opera?
of course not
no man would rather be doing something you've suggested he do
perhaps he will agree to disagree and in there
lies the hope of change
if only for a brief moment in the middle of winter

Kissing

When we are whispering in low tones
my lover and and I
and the world has faded
spinning the way the world just does
and close to me are his sweet bones
I am compelled to kiss him
take him in my mouth
and kiss him some more
as Shelley's waves crash the shore

That's what lovers do
hours spent kissing
wanting that time to be connected
to his lips
to fall into him
to steal the breath from his lovely mouth
to taste him to smell him like summer
because he smells like summer
for my lips to know the respite of his
those soft lips that speak all day
a thousand words,
that hum in the shower
it is his mouth after all to do as he pleases
until he's a foot away
and then those lips are mine


That's the promise of lovers
to steal a kiss at any moment
without notice
to lean in and just expect their comfort
that lovely wetness
the sweet curve of passion's embrace
letting me love you the way I like to love you
the way I need to love
and in that moment you see
do you see?
that I am free

You pull me to the lofty place
where time moves quickly
where your shoulder is an anchor
and my heart lives in your pocket
where there are noises outside the door
we dare not open
"Can you stay for just a few more minutes?"
I will ask of him as I often do
how could one deny such a request?
and when he presses his lips to mine
his whisper speaks of "will this do?"


*****************************************************
We have approached the season of kissing, the season the bossy republican calls, "Carrie's favorite thing." He will tease me that this holiday is like Christmas, my birthday and the fourth of July all rolled into one. It is the holiday of the romantic notions that float around in my head and land usually somewhere interesting. I had a greeting card business once and Best Friend and I would spend endless hours making Valentines, covered in glitter, listening to Carly Simon songs.

I don't think I will ever tire of my fascination with little hearts cut from paper that are made to look like lace, or the idea that someone would save a Valentine forever and ever and yes, ever. I know I have been in love for awhile now and I still get caught in it's romantic trappings, i.e. forever thine, forever mine, forever ours. How could anyone not fall in love with someone who wrote that to them?



" Good morning, on July 7
Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - I can live only wholly with you or not at all - Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits - Yes, unhappily it must be so - You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. And yet my life in V is now a wretched life - Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men - At my age I need a steady, quiet life - can that be so in our connection? My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together - Be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.
ever thine
ever mine
ever ours"

You see Beethoven didn't just write great music, he wrote of love. He wrote three love letters similar all during a three day stretch and never indicated who they were written for. Lovers share such secrets in quiet whispers when they are sure they are alone. I know I do. I am planning a Valentine or two, are you?

A thousand kisses deep

Leonard always breaks my heart from the first time I heard Suzanne only to realize she was my Best Friend and I wanted him to sit on her sofa and have her make him tea like she does when I am feeling out of sorts and play scrabble or some other word game that she will win and I will win just because I have her company. So I was listening and looking sort of working through my head a poem about the word obtuse and was looking for a poem Cohen had read. He was reading part of a poem at the opening of one of Tori Amos' songs. I was struck by the beauty of it. "I heard of a man who says words so beautifully that if he only speaks their name, women give of themselves to him. If I am dumb behind your body while silence blossoms like tumors on our lips it is because I heard him climb the stairs and hear him clear his throat outside our door." It was so beautiful it stopped my breath for a few seconds. Then my phone rings with a text just happened to be what I needed to read. Perhaps the first day of snow won't be dark and gloomy and well winter. Yes, winter has started and as I am missing my garden today and my parents (at this time of the year my mother almost always smelled like sugar cookies) I found my brother yesterday who comforted me with the words, "You are the only other person in the world who would understand missing our parents." With the snow bring the holidays. I told myself I wasn't going to decorate this year and I already have the lights up, so much for intention.


Cohen wrote a hundred versions of the poem and ten songs. In the second version I love that he refers to himself as a melting snowman.

The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it’s done –
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it’s real,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,
I’m back on Boogie Street.
You lose your grip, and then you slip
Into the Masterpiece.
And maybe I had miles to drive,
And promises to keep:
You ditch it all to stay alive,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

Confined to sex, we pressed against
The limits of the sea:
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
I made it to the forward deck.
I blessed our remnant fleet –
And then consented to be wrecked,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,
I’m back on Boogie Street.
I guess they won’t exchange the gifts
That you were meant to keep.
And quiet is the thought of you,
The file on you complete,
Except what we forgot to do,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat . . .




1. You came to me this morning
And you handled me like meat.
You´d have to live alone to know
How good that feels, how sweet.
My mirror twin, my next of kin,
I´d know you in my sleep.
And who but you would take me in
A thousand kisses deep?

2. I loved you when you opened
Like a lily to the heat.
I´m just another snowman
Standing in the rain and sleet,
Who loved you with his frozen love
His second-hand physique -
With all he is, and all he was
A thousand kisses deep.

3. All soaked in sex, and pressed against
The limits of the sea:
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
We made it to the forward deck
I blessed our remnant fleet -
And then consented to be wrecked
A thousand kisses deep.

4. I know you had to lie to me,
I know you had to cheat.
But the Means no longer guarantee
The Virtue in Deceit.
That truth is bent, that beauty spent,
That style is obsolete -
Ever since the Holy Spirit went
A thousand kisses deep.

5. (So what about this Inner Light
That´s boundless and unique?
I´m slouching through another night
A thousand kisses deep.)

6. I´m turning tricks; I´m getting fixed,
I´m back on Boogie Street.
I tried to quit the business -
Hey, I´m lazy and I´m weak.
But sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go
A thousand kisses deep.

7. (And fragrant is the thought of you,
The file on you complete -
Except what we forgot to do
A thousand kisses deep.)

8. The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it´s done -
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it´s real
A thousand kisses deep.

9. (I jammed with Diz and Dante -
I did not have their sweep -
But once or twice, they let me play
A thousand kisses deep.)

10. And I´m still working with the wine,
Still dancing cheek to cheek.
The band is playing "Auld Lang Syne" -
The heart will not retreat.
And maybe I had miles to drive,
And promises to keep -
You ditch it all to stay alive
A thousand kisses deep.

11. And now you are the Angel Death
And now the Paraclete;
And now you are the Savior's Breath
And now the Belsen heap.
No turning from the threat of love,
No transcendental leap -
As witnessed here in time and blood
A thousand kisses deep.

you would think

You would think the carved Jack O Lantern faces would keep the squirrels out of the pumpkins but no they burrow through the back and turn the fall pumpkins into a condo. I have put out several pumpkins now and they are all squirrel condos and in a few days they will be gone when I throw out the rest of the garden. Richie's near me for his birthday and we had a lovely lunch, went and did a little shopping finding him some things I wouldn't dare pick out without him being with me. He came back and washed a few of the windows that you had to reach on the ladder and we are off to the movies. Because it's his birthday I will let him pick. I picked Anna and the King once a long time ago and have never heard the end of it and now he uses it as his excuse to pick for me.

I saw my kid last weekend because we had a family function, a funeral for some family members that passed together in an accident. Everyone was back at the house and although it was a sad event it was nice to see everyone to have them all close at the same time, as the kids get older its a rarer event. Even though Rich had spent the summer living at the house its nice to see him, spend time with him as an adult. We seldom run out of things to talk about, it's the comfortable conversation, nothing of his future plans, He seems happy and for me that's what's important. At his age I had a child and a family and he's braver, doing it all on his own, forging a life for himself.He loves the job and being on his own and I love it for him.

I mentioned to him that crazy Jeannie was back and we both laughed. "Mom does she still think Luxor is in Vegas?" Of course she does. If only there were more stringent laws about who can collect disability she wouldn't have time to write. Do you endlessly try to contact someone you claim not to like? claim being the operative word here.

Do you know that I love you?

This morning the little gray cat climbed in my lap
and while I rocked him in the gray light
I was marveling how nature comforts us
and when we must comfort her
I am in turn in the garden
pruning or pulling plants, fall's ritual dance
making room for next Spring's eager bloom
or comforting one of her creatures into twilight slumber

And for further evidence of nature's wonder
I would use for argument's sake your arms
those wondrous pieces of nature's design weren't just for
laborious garden tasks or painting but for harvesting my soul
and giving me a place to lumber like that silly
gray cat who will later be chasing bits of yarn
in the same kitten excitement with which I chase your heart
the tender part of you saved for moments of quiet
in the shade of a white cross
when no one can find you when you are living alone
but never alone

You are the silent robin who swoops from his haughty perch
to thrill me with the touch of a wing on my cheek
a touch of teeth brushing my ear
and it's all I can do but stand frozen in nature's awe
how she built the elusive creature I love
with that line from your neck to your shoulder
that artists have tried to capture over and over
in the eternal struggle to capture man's strength and his tender beauty
and as many times as I paint blue birds or tender azure flowers
I will never paint anything as beautiful
as your left thigh wrapped in denim

And as nature herself summons the clouds and pushes
us through another day in sturdy fall wind
I can close my eyes and feel your hand in the small of my back
leading me from a crowded room
to a quiet place where there is only me
and always only you
and were there two people who ever desired to be as alone
as much as you and I
who could leave the world behind knowing the wind will still blow
the flowers will push their way through the dirt
and no one should miss us because no one knows
oh no one knows how you comfort me so
fly down and dance and dance with me now
let's sway to and fro and twirl a little in fall's magesty

I wouldn't ask them to understand you see
there are cynics in libraries and never one in a garden
there are naysayers in board rooms
but I would believe you anything
There are women who would be contrary just for contrary's sake
but when you ask me the question
that you asked me today
that you've asked me enough the time tested question
"Do you know that I love you?"
I can hear the inflection
as I can feel the October winds blow the leaves from my heart
and as they blow away they even sound like a yes
yes yes yes yes yes

********************************************

I have been attempting to get the cats to wear a sombrero I found with best friend at a garage sale. They all freak out of course so I am introducing it to them because you see I want to make a Christmas card of them wearing a sombrero, at least one of them. I am thinking this is like bailing the ocean or asking feenie foodie to be at good at something but I am putting in the effort. The babies like to play with the little neck tassel and dirty just carries it around with him from room to room taking a nap with it. They are endless entertainment. The garden is just about wrapped up for the fall and I put a few pumpkins outside, one carved like a jack o lantern and the other in tact. The squirrels have been eating them at the jack o lantern to the core and the other has a big hole in the back so they can go in for pumpkin seeds for their daily ritual of burying things for the winter. I like to feed the outside animals it keeps them from getting too close and it just makes me happy so I don't mind sharing the garden with them.


In honor of the closing fall garden and big bruce



subtitled in Italian because some very sexy things are said in Italian, just saying.

"She'll let you in her mouth if the words you say are right."



Girls always love the boys who are tougher than the rest.

The Passion of Irish Men

There are many photos of Yeats, this is my favorite. He looks wise and yet a bit tired, all of man but yet human, the best part of man. He looks deep in thought and perhaps even a bit tired. It's harder to nail down the perfect Yeats poem, there's too many choices, too many thoughts that roll through your head like red wine. I found this one though and thought of Will rocking his new Lilly and since I havent found the words for my own Lilly poem offer this to that gentle reader:




And as any bickering session always turns with the one I love to the time he's spend for just him, pleading with him to push work aside in my own unique fashion, I do love Down in the Salley Garden. It took me awhile to find the right song version, knowing that my Irish father would have wanted a soft gentle voice to sing the song because he wrote of her snow white feet.



DOWN by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white
feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not
agree.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white
hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.


In 1923 Yeats won the nobel prize in literature and unlike most writers and poets finished his best work after being given the prize and the first Irishman to claim the coveted honor. He sang his song for an an entire nation of people and loved their legend and even loved the occult. He noted Shelley as an influence and I love his works as well, he had great taste. When Shelley wrote about a kiss it was as though no one else had ever heard of kissing before and wouldn't feel the same about it after.

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In another's being mingle--
Why not I with thine?

See, the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower could be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;--
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

PB Shelley

I digress. You only have to look to pop culture to know how many have read Yeats' work and who love him.



And when one things of ephemera you think of the disposable use of a theater ticket or a playbill from some musical in new york you've seen once but it became part of you. So he compares this throw away memory of life's time passing to love.

"Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning."
And then She:
"Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"

Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
while slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."

The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
ell like faint meteors in the gloom and once
a rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
on the lone border of the lake once more;
turning he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
gathered in silence, dewey as her eyes, in bosom and hair

"Ah, do not mourn," he said,
"that we are tired, for other loves await us;
hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Bfore us lies eternity, our souls
are love, and continual farewell."

**********************************************


And my contribution?

Maybe it's the weather
perhaps the fall, the leaves falling in their deadening dance
someone wrote a dream on every one of those falling leaves
a dream of what they imagined their life to be
in a trip to the opera
to watch a woman dressed as an egyptian princess
sing in italian
everyone suddenly understands italian when its full of such pain
and in fall's opera
there is a young woman
so full of passion's promise
that her cheek turns red with blush
at a man's sweet smile and whispering italian phrase
and to conquer the girl with porcelain skin
he would tell her most anything
he will regale her with stories of white horses
and princes
and their love how it lasts forever

In a quiet moment leaning near a tree
she will ask him
"when is the last time you kissed a woman because if you didn't
you'd die?"
In that question his armor will fall to the ground
and he will be a tiny woodland creature
scurrying for ground cover

and if he is brave and aren't all men who murmur in italian brave?
if he is brave he will stand on the stage
and be naked
and say what he wants
and let the leaves fall where they will
passion is temporary after all and love is not
love is the tender moment when someone holds your hand
because the next moment isn't so easy
and he wouldn't want you to be alone

A man can live on little love
I have discovered this
but when he ia asked to live without passion
something of him dies
he stops believing in the white horses
he's sure they are all gray, and weary and dunked in bleach
their tails pulled into threads

He won't charge into the room with a sword
there will be nothing to fight for
his lawyer will write your lawyer a letter
and when someone asks him "what's wrong?"
he will smile that charming smile and tell you, "Nothing, perhaps I'm just tired is all."

Perhaps it is the weather
perhaps it's the smell of the leaves
maybe it's mozart's inspiration
or seeing one of Yeats' faeries in the garden
while you are pulling up the dead plants of fall
suddenly in the fall air and it fills his lungs
in the shadows all over the ground
suddenly love isn't enough and maybe it never was