Friday, October 1, 2010


The Fortune Teller

She sat with fear in her eyes
Contemplating the upturned cup
She said 'Do not be sad, my son
You are destined to fall in love'
My son, Who sacrifices himself for his beloved,
Is a martyr

For long have I studied fortune-telling
But never have I read a cup similar to yours
For long have I studied fortune-telling
But never have I seen sorrows similar to yours
You are predestined to sail forever
Sail-less, on the sea of love
Your life is forever destined
To be a book of tears
And be imprisoned
Between water and fire

But despite all its pains,
Despite the sadness
That is with us day and night
Despite the wind
The rainy weather
And the cyclone
It is love, my son
That will be forever the best of fates

There is a woman in your life, my son
Her eyes are so beautiful
Glory to God
Her mouth and her laughter
Are full of roses and melodies
And her gypsy and crazy love of life
Travels the world
The woman you love
May be your whole world
But your sky will be rain-filled
Your road blocked, blocked, my son
Your beloved, my son, is sleeping
In a guarded palace
He who approaches her garden wall
Who enters her room
And who proposes to her
Or tries to unite her plaits
Will cause her to be lost, my son…lost

You will seek her everywhere, my son
You will ask the waves of the sea about her
You will ask the shores of the seas
You will travel the oceans
And your tears will flow like a river
And at the close of your life
You will find that since your beloved
Has no land, no home, no address
You have been pursuing only a trace of smoke
How difficult it is, my son
To love a woman
Who has neither land, nor home.

~Nizar Qabbani

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Willow Manor Ball

This is one of those inviations that I cannot possibly turn down. I am talking about the devine Third Annual Willow Manor Ball ~! My date for this evening was Dr.Gregory House. He unfortunately comes to pick me up in a tiny little tin can. I was not pleased and quickly informed him that my dress will not fit in there. He grumbles, I politely ask him to wait outside. It is what it is and I must move on and dress.
After my 2 hour bath, I pour some Black Orchid on me, while I contemplate the single piece of jewelry I will wear. One must always be tasteful at these affairs or you will not get invited back.

A single solitary yellow diamond that I picked up at Sotheby's will do.



I found these gorgeous shoes earlier this year. The minute I eyed them, I knew it had Willow Manor Ball written all over them.
Then the Pièce de résistance! My beautiful dress! I was careful to chose something that would not steal the thunder from Willow. She is so sensitive about those things poor dear, as if I ever could! You like it don't you? Subtle, like a young deer.

Arriving at the gate of Willow Manor, I was met with so many dashing gentlemen. All eyes were on me. I quickly told Dr.Gregory House that after that awful ride holding on to my antlers, I could not possibly continue the date. I passed him off to Willow to entertain, I think he has fallen in love with her because he did not want to part from her the whole evening. She has that effect on men. That is why there are so many handsome gentlemen at the ball.

I danced the night away, but not alone so do not feel badly for me. You see for the minute my one true love saw me, we reconciled. Yes, it is him again that followed me to the ball and would not leave my side. Some rude woman told me it was the antlers, I know better, it was the love.

A full moon and Mr.Ramsey. What more can a girl ask for? Another perfect ball. Kudos to you dear Willow.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010


In The Summer

In the summer
I stretch out on the shore
And think of you
Had I told the sea
What I felt for you,
It would have left its shores,
Its shells,
Its fish,
And followed me.

~Nizar Qabbani

Monday, September 27, 2010


The Eve of St. Agnes.

St. Agnes Eve? Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold;

They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,
Young Virgins might have visions of delight,
And soft adorings from their loves receive
Upon the honey'd middle of the night,
If ceremonies due they did aright;
As, supperless to bed they must retire,
And couch supine their beauties, lily white;
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.


Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline


Out went the taper as she hurried in;
Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:
She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin
To spirits of the air, and visions wide
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
Paining with eloquence her balmy side;
As though a tongueless nightingale should swell
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.

A casement high and triple arch'd there was,
All garlanded with carven imag'ries
Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot grass,
And diamonded with panes of quaint device
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,
As are the tiger-moth's deep damask'd wings;
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,
And twilight saints, with dim emblazonings,
A shielded 'scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.

Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,
As down she knelt for Heaven's grace and boon;
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest,
Save wings, for Heaven:—


————Her vespers done
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;
Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees
Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,
In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,
But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.

Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay,
Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;
Flown, like a thought, until the morrow day,
Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain;
Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray;
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.

Stol'n to this paradise, and so extranced [sic],
Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,
And listened to her breathing. ——
————Shaded was her dream
By the dusk curtains:—'twas a midnight charm
Impossible to melt as iced stream:—


He took her hollow lute,—
Tumultuous,—and, in chords that tenderest be,
He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans mercy:"
Close to her ear touching the melody;—
Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan:
He ceas'd—she panted quick—and suddenly
Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:
Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.

Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,
Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:
There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd
The blisses of her dream so pure and deep,
At which fair Madeline began to weep,
And moan forth witless words with many a sigh,
While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep;
Sho knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye,
Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly.

"Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now
"Thy voice was at sweet temble in mine ear,
"Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;
"And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:
"How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear!
"Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,
"Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!
"Oh, leave me not in this eternal woe,
"For if thou diest, my love, I know not where to go."

Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far
At these voluptuous accents, he arose,
Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star,
Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose,
Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odour with the violet,—
Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows
Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet
Against the window-panes."


"Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land,
"Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed
"Arise—arise! the morning is at hand;—
"Let us away, my love, with happy speed.—

And they are gone: ay, ages long ago
These lovers fled away into the storm.

~John Keats
Painting by John Everett Millais