Welcome to my World

Welcome to the domain different--to paraphrase from New Mexico's capital city of Santa Fe which bills itself "The City Different." Perhaps this space is not completely unique but my world shapes what I write as well as many other facets of my life. The four Ds figure prominently but there are many other things as well. Here you will learn what makes me tick, what thrills and inspires me, experiences that impact my life and many other antidotes, vignettes and journal notes that set the paradigm for Dierdre O'Dare and her alter ego Gwynn Morgan and the fiction and poetry they write. I sell nothing here--just share with friends and others who may wander in. There will be pictures, poems, observations, rants on occasion and sometimes even jokes. Welcome to our world!

Friday, July 22, 2016

Love poems and Shadows

Ordinarily I do not tout any of my commercial writing on this blog and I will only make a very small exception to that rule today. My last post I talked about “Dusty” and “Tuan Perak” who were special friends, guides and much more to me as I struggled though things many people experience at five to ten years younger than I did. The connection between them and my published work will be revealed shortly

I left home much later than the average person did in the 1960s because of my efforts to make a real go of the business I worked in with my Dad, breeding, buying and selling and training horses and mules. I dearly loved those animals and ‘stuck it out’ for them through some fiercely difficult and painful times. Finally though, I realized there was truly nothing more I could do to save the situation.  Bad things happened to my family and even to some of my beloved equines, but I admit a lot of it came about due to Dad’s proclivity for making powerful and dangerous enemies by his own twisted ideas and plans and speaking out for causes that were then very unpopular. But that’s another story.

 At any rate, those two very special men kept me afloat and gave me reason to live when I felt sure there were none left. They shared a birth year but little else—except me perhaps. They did not know each other or even really more than a tidbit or two about each other’s existence for they were part of different worlds. As had been my habit since my early teens, I wrote a lot of verses for both of them, poetry I collected and published in my one formally published book in the genre,Walking Down My Shadows.  I call that thick volume my “autobiography in verse” since it follows at least the romantic aspects of my life from the age of about twelve until the years right after my husband’s death in 2003. The book is on Amazon in both print and electronic forms and is probably priced a lot higher than it is worth, at least to most people, but in some ways it is the most honest and emotional work I ever penned.

The blue cover shown above is Vol 1 and the green Vol 2 in the ebook form. The cover of the print version is half in each hue.  Here then are a few samples from its pages, the first two dedicated to “Dusty” and the next pair to “Tuan Perak.” I loved them then and I love them still.  Each of them is an indelible part of the tapestry of me, body, spirit and mind. Words are all I can give now but they are a heartfelt gift—still.

A Promise  (3-21-65)
Whatever happens, I love you
However far you stray,
I’ll always wait here for you
And think of you each day.
Though miles may separate us
And much may come between
Forever with me are the dreams
That in your eyes I’ve seen.
Whatever happens, I love you,
Please do not forget.
At first I fought against it
But now there’s no regret.
When problems all surround you
And you’d like to run away
Remember that I love you
And find the strength to stay.
When worries overtake you
And doubts come crowding in
My heart is there beside you
To help you fight and win.
Whatever you do, I love you.
Hurt me if you must
As long as you keep loving me
You have my total trust.
When the road is muddy,
When the job is long,
My love is there beside you
Be it right or wrong.
Never give up hoping
That love will find a way,
That I will be with you
For keeps, Dear One, someday.

One September Night (9-20-65)

T’was an Indian summer evening when
I wandered down the hill and then
Found myself at last with you
Doing all that I’d longed to do
     The many lonely nights that I
     Would sit alone and sadly sigh.
     Finally we stopped and found we were shy
     ‘Til you arms encircled and drew me nigh.
 Clasped against you sure and tight
 I knew at last love’s sweet delight,
 Knew what I’d waited for and missed
 As time and time again we kissed.
      I melted then with each caress
      And wondered how, I must confess,
      You could make your strength so tender.
      Your gentleness won my surrender.
Did my broken sighs not say to you,
“I’m yours to do with as you wish to do?”
I said things I’d never dared before,
Returned each kiss and begged for more.  
     Soft as a shadow was your touch
     Which told me you loved me so much
     You could check your heart’s desire
     And subdue its flame to gentle fire.                                                
Your heartbeat steady I could hear,
A strong sure rhythm beneath my ear.
I lay there limp in your embrace
And wished myself no other place.
     For I longed to stay right there forever
     And wished we would be parted never.
     Your words of love I cannot recall
     Exactly but I treasure all

Sunday (6/69)

Was it just yesterday?
The air was warm, in motion.
Your eyes were warm, deep and still.
Metallic in the sun, your hair
like water rippled by the wind.

If it was yesterday . . . .
The wind blew our words
away, but eyes spoke clearer.
In no mime of love, we lay
apart, looks only touching.
And the grass is crushed where we lay.

And it was yesterday.
Your hand, leaf-brown,
tender in its strength,
I might have touched
but didn't, couldn't. . .

So where is yesterday?
Your face, unsoftened angles,
is still in my eyes but
the line is drawn again
black and plain between.
                                                      Still, the grass is crushed where we lay. .

Love is Saturday Afternoon (3/70)

A hand in yours, a hand in mine
And our vibrations all combine…
She is not mine, nor really yours
But through her innocence secures
From each of us the love and trust
That we dare not give to just
Anyone, completely. Daring
Veils your hesitance, and sharing
Sensitivity I but fall,
My shyness is not veiled at all.
            Walking thus, I wonder whether
            She would have us brought together
            If she held, in small brown hands
            The clue and key to fate’s commands.
            Strange little changeling, pixie-elf;
            I swear I love her for herself—
            Although I guess it’s helpful too
            That she is so much like you…
            I’m humbled that her love I share
            And weep for the child I’ll never bear.
Alone, my steps soon lost their lilt.
Tired again, I could but wilt,
Slouching home with burdened arms
And heart-remembered old alarms.
Conscious that I could not belong
And fearing that to wish was wrong,
Yet remembering, still I think
The lovely warmness of that link—
A hand in yours, a hand in mine
And our vibrations all combine.

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