Baci n. 20 (version two... I think)

Baci n. 20
Love is a spontaneous grass, not a garden plant.
I. Neivo

How very like the common grass ,is love;
Hearty, yet tender and resilient
In the face of trials and obstacles.
Even when the earth has been scorched by war,
Drought parched, trampled and ev'ry blade broken,
The Gentle Shoot yet rises to the sun.

And we mortals rise as if to the sun
As the softest caresses of some love
Would heal a heart that time itself has broken.
Man is a beast, ever resilient
And e'en though often with himself at war
Love still overcomes all such obstacles.

Yet no matter how many obstacles
May lie under the ever-arcing sun,
The drought itself will also lose the war.
Water is the object that bestows love;
The object that waxes resilient
Offering itself to the heart-broken.

The truth is, no one is e'er so broken
That grass may not cover such obstacles
That against love, seemed so resilient.
It is e'en as obvious as the sun
That the spontaneity of true love
Was there even before the mind found war.

Tis the mind that hides itself behind war
Ever conscious of a heart once broken
From such woe as is only found through love.
Not drought, not flame, nor snow are obstacles
To the wild grass, persistent as the sun,
Hidden now, but ever resilient.

And it will prove itself resilient
As the water washes away the war:
Grass breaking forth from ground baked by the sun.
Only the outward visage seems broken,
For even the toughest of obstacles
But become the foundations for true love.

Love, like grass, is the most resilient
Of all obstacles.  Tis ourselves that war
Fearful, thought broken; pining for the sun.

Baci n. 68

A rough draft of my newest sestina, offered with no comment.


Baci N. 68
A true friend knows all there is to know about you yet still likes you.
E. Hubbard

They say love is an ever splendid thing,
But they who love, know love is not so tame,
Nor so willful as the tempest would seem.
Love does not look upon the challenges
And balk at the sound of noble reason
Lecturing about foolishness and pride.

And yet love is every sin and pride
And a far more noble, dangerous thing
Than can be dreamed of, even by reason.
And though the casual glance may 'pear tame,
It is the residue of challenges
Defeated by what does but timid seem.

I promise, there is more there than does seem
And friendship nurtured by love held with pride
Is true testament to the challenges.
I've never known love as an easy thing,
But I have grown stronger, and yes, more tame,
And I tell you that love is the reason.

And I'll be e'er grateful for the reason,
Even if it, as blasphemy, does seem;
Lost love has wisdom, and strength can be tame.
But I acknowledge love with certain pride
For it, I promise, is a noble thing
That forced me to face my own challenges.

It has never been without challenges,
Like love's fire in the face of cold reason-
And love cannot defeat every thing.
I know, as contrary-ian as does seem,
I will say it with the utmost of pride,
That letting go is strength, and is tame.

A friendship born of love might not seem tame,
Nor is such friendship without challenges,
But to lose friendship for lost love is pride.
And the love is still there, with due reason,
For my life was changed more than it does seem
Because love is an ever splendid thing.

Really, here's the thing: friendship is love, tame,
Strange as it may seem.  And the challenges
Faced for that reason, should be worn with pride.

Baci n. 08 (version 2)

Sometimes a single thought, quote, person or word inspires more than a single piece.  Sometimes they inspire great works, and sometimes they inspire great moments.  This is probably neither of those, but it still serves as an example of the multiplicity of thought that can be found, and how even they same artist can make an entirely different piece from the same source material.  Below is Baci n. 08 (version 2).  Enjoy

Baci n. 08 (version 2)

"Passion colours everything it touches."

B. Gracián

There is nothing quiet about passion,

Even if he who suffers it does not speak,

It burns as a wild fire through his mind.

He feels it in ev'ry beat of his heart

Making him restless even as he goes

Eager to prove to all the world his love.

And it is worse for he away from his love

When there is no hope to relieve the passion

Which haunts him every which way he goes.

Listen; you will hear it when he does speak

For the love that burns deep within his heart

Is the same that's reigning over his mind.

Truth be told, he's going out of his mind;

The impossibility of his love

Appeals to the romantic in his heart.

Nor would he do away with his passion,

A truth he might never be able to speak

That follows him where ever it is he goes.

It does not matter, either; where he goes

Because the world resonates in his heart.

With echoes of all that his heart does speak.

He's witnessing the world through eyes of love

Where the smallest things ignite his passion

And tests the very limits of his heart.

Every lover must have a strong heart

To carry that burden where e'er he goes;

Being taunted by such absent passion.

Hope and love are trials upon the mind,

No matter how boundless one feels his love,

Tis an impossibility to speak.

But it is the only thing of which he would speak

Because it is the only thing left in his heart,

Hoping beyond hope there is truth in love.

Where passion journeys, his doubt also goes,

Creating violent storms in his mind

That only exists 'cause there is passion.

And so passion makes it useless to speak

All that's on his mind. Yet; his burning heart

Eagerly goes 'cause his passion is love.

Baci n.08

I realized as I was setting down to write this morning, that I haven't actually talked a whole lot about the Sestina project in general.  The group as a whole is called the "Bacio Sestinas".  Baci is the Italian word for kiss, but Bacio is also a kind of chocolate truffle topped with a hazelnut, and back when I lived in Colorado, I worked at Between The Covers and we sold these candies. Inside the wrapper where these love quotes, and I sort of collected them and have been using them as the inspiration point for most of the sestinas in the collection.

On another point of interest, I was first introduced to the sestina via Neil Gaiman in one of his short story collections.  It is an old Italian form of poetry with a very specific pattern.  Generally, they are written in iambic pentameter, though I don't, but the important and interesting bit is that the follow is the repeating pattern of end words. It's a fun and challenging form that I enjoy.

In a continuation of last week's theme, may I present to you "Baci n.08"

Baci n. 08

"Passion colours everything it touches."

B. Gracián

Unloved, none perceived her as a beauty;

A face made unsightly by blemishes

And a figure that's not to current taste.

Were her eyes the wrong colour, the wrong shape?

Did her inner fire not burn as brightly?

Is the world really made to be so blind?

And was it the world that made her, too, blind.

Or popular perception of beauty

That dimmed a fire that should burn more brightly?

She sees but a collage of blemishes

And curses god and devil for her shape;

A beast of fetish, not a thing of taste.

Yet love bears to all a different taste

That ever sees that to which the world's blind

'Cause it is of unfamiliar shape.

True love composes for itself beauty

Where the world descries blemishes

In a person who would burn more brightly.

And so she will ever burn more brightly

When knows how false the world's ignoble taste

Which cannot see beyond her blemishes.

She by being loved, is not longer blind

And can see in herself lies a beauty

That is true beyond any concern for shape.

When she learns to love herself, her shape;

When passion's fire burns ever more brightly

Will recognize within her true beauty.

She looks and sees a world born without taste:

The loveless world no longer strikes her blind

For she perceives perfection's blemishes.

The popular sees only blemishes

Not the irony of its own sad shape,

Because vanity strikes its own self blind.

With this knowledge she will burn more brightly

Guiding the world to a true sense of taste

And a deeper knowledge of real beauty.

Perceive that beauty is false blemishes,

A tongue without taste; beast born without shape,

For when passion burns brightly, love is blind,

Baci n. 84

"Baci n. 84" is definitely one of my less traditional pieces. I don't know where the idea came from, but the idea of the love of a tyrant intrigued me, and, for whatever reason, the quote that inspired the tale gave me visions of scifi. I am quite pleased by the final product, though I often question its value in the market place of writing... niche writing does that though. In any case, I hope you enjoy this piece. I know I do.



Baci n. 84
“Doubt thou the stars are fire… but never doubt my love.”
W. Shakespeare

Perceive my love, the fools still think to come.
Can see them silhouetted by the stars
Igniting the sky with their noble fire.
They are the most determined fiends, my love,
To think they can take you away from me
As though I but a simple village rule.

But this is my world, and this is my rule
And I beg the gods most to let them come
To learn just what it means to challenge me.
I am more the god across these far stars
And that they would come steal away my love
Will find them cast into unquenching fire.

I have searched too long through heaven and fire,
Across all the lands that lie under my rule
To find you, fair maiden; to find my love.
I’ve seen the destruction of things to come
Across the endless skies and dieing stars
To bring you, my belovéd, here to me.

But you have nothing to fear, here with me,
For you’ve ignited heart’s passionate fire
Which burns brighter than all of heaven’s stars.
Those peons who seek to take away from my rule
Are most unwise to hither this way come,
For they know not of my desire, my love.

But you will not miss your homeland, my love.
Here, always and ever, safe next to me
For their destruction is finally come.
I will send their homes and fields to the fire
That they may learn just how tightly I rule,
And how much power I wield ‘neath the stars.

Ah, see belovéd, the falling stars,
Are the headlands of your people, my love:
Now they can never take away your rule.
Your only home now is here Wife, with me,
Freed of your chains through purifying fire
To be my high queen for all time to come.

My kingdom is come, and your time to rule
As queen beside me: Lady of the Stars.
Doubt they’re on fire, but never doubt my love.

Baci n. 63

As often as love and passion are the driving forces behind poetry, sometimes we poets just feel like being a little silly. That being said, the content of "Baci n. 63" is not as silly as it at first appears. There is an underlying truth and beauty that speaks in part to the ale-goggles of the speaker, but more, to the deeper truth of love; of truly unconditional love.

"Baci n. 63" was written at a time when the world seemed to be conspiring against me in the most nefarious of ways. I was broke, well into my second month of depravation in the City scrounging every resource I had, calling in favours, and swallowing a fair amount of my pride. But I found some solace in The Broken Record, a fine pub with great food, huge amounts of excellent whisky and a pool table. Anyone who knows me can tell you that this dive was just the type of place I could call home. Somehow I managed to fall in with the owner and his crew. They are a wonderful bunch of brash drinkers who were coarse and delightful in that coarseness. Blunt, honest, direct; and all far much more than that rough surface. They welcomed this lost sheep into their fine company, and I wish I could repay their kindness and company with more than this toast, but until that time; I hope this will suffice. So please enjoy this drunken toast.


Bacio n. 63
“Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none."
W. Shakespeare

We are all, here, happy degenerates
And in ev'ry mode and method, lovers
With great fondness for each other... and drink.
Brothers; is this not our bar; our true home?
Do we not drink to our breadth and measure
As equals beneath the beer mat and stein?

So come, now, you dear friends, and raise your stein.
Raise it up, you filthy degenerates,
And prepare to drink your goodly measure.
Hold up a pint as should all true lovers;
Raise it here to toast our health and home
So prepare, all ye gentlemen, and drink.

But let us pause a moment ere we drink,
And be sure there is not one empty stein,
For we toast with courtesy in our home.
We are all of us fair degenerates
And of all walks and manner, are lovers,
So do wrong to none as drink your measure.

But this is neither the range nor the measure
Of the toast for which I have sought this drink.
Few are worthy of trust, though all lovers,
So if you're an honest one, raise your stein
And welcome all merry degenerates
Who, even as you, would call this place home.

We need not trust to love within our home
For our love is one born without measure
For all and every degenerate.
You must love, my friends, if you would here drink,
So raise it, raise ev'ry beer-filled stein
And pray to always be such merry lovers.

We shall call it law among we lovers.
Forever, here, within this bar called home
To never sip alone from raiséd stein.
Wrong none for any stake nor false measure
Though you need not trust he with whom you drink
For we are all alike, degenerates.

Come, degenerates, and love as lovers
Those with whom you drink. This is a rare home,
So trust, in measure, and wrong none thy stein.

Baci n. 07

So, I'm sure anyone who knows me, knows that I'm hopelessly in love with the idea of being hopelessly in love. When I write, especially when I write of love, I work under one of two presumptions. First; am I writing how I feel, personally? or Second; am I writing for someone else? Depending on which of these takes hold, what I write may take a different point of view, and it need not always express my point of view specifically...

Which leads us to this piece. "Baci n. 07" was written for, as I mentioned elsewhere, all the beautiful Christian ladies in my life. It might surprise some of my friends to know that I, in fact, have many. It might surprise both groups in question with just how highly I regard them. That being said, "Baci n. 07" was written because it was a sentiment I thought they would find beautiful. It literally was written for them. I find it beautiful, too, but understanding my perspective is an article for a far different discussion, and most of the beautiful Christian ladies in question have been party (self-inflicted torture on their part, I assure you) to that discussion. I hope Christians in general will like, and even the general populace, but I'd be happy if it is only the aforementioned ladies who enjoy it.

Conversly, I'll be very sad if no one does.

Anyway... I've known for a long time what the premise to this one would be, but I never could figure out how to bring it to life. I'm glad I was finally able to.

Baci n. 07
"Til I loved, I did not live enough."
E. Dickinson

I always thought I was living my life,
That I, by carpe diem, was defined,
That I sucked all the marrow from life's bones.
Believed I was living the envious dream,
Free from all constraint and every care;
Unquestioned hero of a life well lived.

I saw around the world how others lived
As I followed the path of a rover's life,
Loving with a ne'er-do-well's thoughtless care.
I believed I was by freedom defined
And never imagined another dream
Would leave my own empty but for the bones.

See; she changed me, to the core of my bones;
Changed how I saw the life that I had lived;
Replaced it with a more infinite dream.
She lived a very diff'rent kind of life,
Driven by a diff'rent and greater care,
Step for step the same, but by God defined.

I'd never questioned how I was defined
Until I saw my life as skin and bones;
A soulless traveler of selfish care.
I told you that I thought that I had lived
Not realizing it was an empty life
Because I did not believe in God's dream.

This woman awakened me from my dream
And shared with me how her life was defined;
How Jesus Christ had given her, her life.
How I loved her, this stupid sack of bones,
How love made me question how I lived
And how much I had never thought to care.

She changed all of that, and now I do care.
Through love I found my faith; through love a dream,
And see that I have never my life lived.
The road by her love and God's will defined
Has given spirit'al flesh to these bones
And given me a higher call to life.

I lived a sad life with never a care
Beyond these old bones. Now she's changed my dream
And God's re-defined how my life is lived

Baci n.03

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a hopeless romantic, and although everyone knows it, I don't think anyone really knows how deep a vein it is. In truth, though, I don't really know how anyone sees me, but if they had to listen to everything that my mind conjures, I am sure they would be sick of me too. This hopeless romanticism finds its greatest escape in the tracings left by my pen, and the digital marks left upon my keyboard here for all to see. I am rather obsessed with love. That being said, let it also stand that it is not only romantic love that catches my interest.

There are so many layers, levels and planes and I try to explore them all. I have stated before that writing is a lonely business, so I suppose that is one reason love has its fascination for me. I spend so much time in my one worlds, and so often as a casual observer in the real one, that I have become rather detached. This is the Ouroboros; my fascination begets itself. Desire finds an expression that breeds its own loneliness.

Yet even though there I am so often cut off, and by my own doing, every once in a while, a person comes along who pulls me out my introspective revelry and into a world of pure joy. Every once in a while, true love enters my life. I'll admit that more often these days, it has been love of an unattainable kind, but I have never let that block the friendship(another kind of love) that grew, even if romance never did. But because I felt the love; because it moved within my soul, my life was changed, and I am forever grateful for it. Below is another Baci sestina, and yes, I know it's corney; but for all that, it is also true.


Baci n. 03
"To love a person is to learn the song that is in their heart.”
Anonimo

I always thought my song a quiet one
That all the melodies and minor keys
Were desire's fair echoes upon my soul.
I found much beauty in those subtle hues,
And so, too, I thought them the sound of love--
For, whate'er else could be so beautiful?

Twas then I found something more beautiful
And honestly believed she was the one
As my whole world moved to the sounds of love.
Were locks I never knew til found the keys
That opened up my eyes to warmer hues
I never thought could hold within my soul.

And your song was so warm; so full of soul,
Was no wonder I found you beautiful,
Bathed as you were in a good life's hues.
Can true love ever belong to just one?
Are there really only so many locks and keys
Or has life given us its all to love?

You carry in your heart a song of love
That changed fore'er the one within my soul;
You enlightened through those vibrant keys.
I know now my song was not beautiful;
Too somber to be loved by any one
Until gained from you such passionate hues.

And though I see now, life, through warmer hues,
Tis only 'cause the mark left by your love
That pulled this noble life from a poor one.
Though you were not as partner to my soul,
The time that we shared was so beautiful;
We've diff'rent locks now, seek different keys.

You're off to strike diff'rent chords now, in new keys
To share with all the world, your love's hues
By making other's music beautiful.
She's gone now, and took a piece of my love,
Though she left me with a piece of her soul
A whole man stands now where once was no one.

Not the only one; not the only keys,
Just my fav'rite soul. She altered my hues,
And music's love; now I'm beautiful.

baci n. 30

So, I have been working up some characters for a new play I'm concocting, but I cannot seem to figure the main character out. There is no doubt in my mind that she is the main character, or that this is her story I'm going to be telling, but I'm having problems figuring out who she is. Most characters we, as writers, bring into being are wonderful amalgamations of people we have had contact with. Even minor personal traits of a person we have met only once can find their role in a character. Sometimes we use people we know as a basis for a character(though I've only really done this once, with permission). Most of the time, at the beginning, I think; "Who does this Character remind me of?" Even if the character (as often does) turns out little like the person whose memory inspired at least part of their being, at least it gave me a good starting point. I have used myself a couple of times, and those unfortunate characters have had far more miserable lives than mine can compare to.

So, I suppose, that is part of my problem. I cannot figure out who my main character reminds me of. Creating a character out of thin air is much harder than anything else I can think of. I think about all the different writing "tricks" I know; different lectures I've heard, and I find myself at a loss. It is interesting knowing you have a story to tell, and knowing at least a little bit about the character, but knowing that, unless you know the character, any conceit at a plot is useless. It is the character's story after all, and if she is not here, than her story really isn't.

So, talking about characters, the one below is based loosely upon myself, although in this case, his world is much better than my own.

Baci n. 30
“A kiss is the sweet prize, long sought after.”
Anonimos

How long had he sat there disconnected,
Plugged into cyberspace, yet still alone;
Closed to a world that shunned him long ago.
Could he ever be free of such a world
That assails all through pop-ups and bill boards
Selling sex and love to those who have found none?

He dwelt in both worlds; and though lived in none,
He was not from desire disconnected;
He sought love, not lol-cats on message boards.
He sat in the coffee house near alone
'Cept the barista who shared his small world...
Had she smiled at him a moment ago?

He had caught her glance once, so long ago,
At a time when he was plugged into none,
A look that invaded his ev'ry world.
He could not from her be disconnected,
On WOW, when tech-ing, and when all alone
She'd posted on all his mental message boards.

Could he see beyond his cubical boards
And see the life he dreamed of long ago?
Was he really trapped behind them; alone?
Yet she saw a truth where he could see none
And would not let him stay disconnected
For she did love him most, in all the world.

She moved to bring him into a new world,
Beyond illusion's false partical boards
That kept him forever disconnected.
He had caught her, fair nymph, so long ago.
Found love when she had been looking for none:
It pained her, now, to see him there alone.

She joined him as he sat there all alone
To bring light into his dark little world;
And because without him, her world had none.
She saw his obsolete mother boards,
And his OS out of date long ago...
Her kiss, old ENIAC disconnected.

How disconnected, lost and alone,
A moment ago... Her kiss claimed his world,
Beyond those broken boards, for love needs none.

Baci n. 42

It is hard to say where inspiration comes from, because it comes from everywhere and anywhere at anytime. The trial of the writer, or any artist, is to be ready when the muse strikes; to be open to the idea presented.

Sometimes Inspiration couples with the Muse, and such moments an artist lives for. We rarely feel so alive as when Inspiration and the Muse are in the throes of passion. The rest of the world ceases to exist for a while, and we might as well be as the prophets in "Heroes" for all the attention we pay the world. It is the strongest drug; and it is a drug with no proveyers; no way way to find an easy fix; the only redemption in fulfillment of the dictates of the Brain-child.

More often than not, however; we will be struck by one or the other; Muse or Inspiration. These, though lesser drugs, are enough to carry us; an oasis in the desert as we search for Shangri-La. We must ever be ready to take advantage of these moments, whether they are addressing new projects and new ideas, or simply moving our current project to its next phase. The time can be great between the Inspiration of an idea, and the fruition brought by the Muse, and though there is a real satisfaction in finishing any project; no matter how proud and happy we are of such finished works; we pine for the True Child, the Artist's Messiah; Born of the God Inspiration and Mary the Muse.

The last two posts were such True Children; but we love all of our children, so I will leave you with "Baci n. 42," a child whose Muse lived long before it's Inspiration, and a fitting piece with all of this talk of the Muse. With no further ado:

Baci n. 42
“With your kisses have I painted my starry sky.”
Anonimo

I was lost and lonely til I found her;
An aimless wanderer in search of love,
Thinking that I knew just what it should be.
Homeless, I traveled following my heart,
Guided by the moment and wayward thought
And chasing an ever elusive dream.

But then she came to me as if a dream
Filling my head with bold visions of her
And stole my breath far beyond any thought.
She granted me her favour, which is love,
And awakened me to the depth of my heart
Showing me just what I was meant to be.

Yet knowing that, knew not how I should be;
Out on the ocean as if in a dream
Aching to do what I felt in my heart.
So here I am, filled with whispers of her,
And I'm coasting on the currents of love
Driven to pursue the most fleeting thought.

She is the fuel behind every thought
And see now the visions of what should be,
How my stories will fill the sky with love.
I sail now in an ever waking dream
And in each is a star born of her
As I seek the wind with all of my heart.

Tis with my pen that I follow my heart
Watching each moment pass as a brief thought
Bringing all of my soul in line with her.
My pen, as sextant, shows where I should be
And I leave behind the words of a dream
Guided by her favour; her thrice blessed love.

Her favours are kisses; my stories her love;
And I willingly go with all of my heart
Receiving them; welcome as any dream.
Such kisses are inspiration's true thought
Encompassing all that I will e'er be
Because out on the sea, I am with her.

I am lost in her, filled, now, with her love;
As well it should be. She has kissed my heart
Giving birth to thought and a star filled dream.