Here’s a song that had me hocked since 1966 at 8 years old. Now a classic Jazz standard. One of those songs that moves through my life and enhances the human experience. Making life lovable in troubling times. The original film Alfie is a sweet film with major dangerous life lesson learned. Michael Caine is beautiful. Shelly Winters’s character is one that I can now relate to more thoroughly in my feminine older years. The song Alfie is a deep and reflective song. Originally song by Cher when she was a rather unknown street singer/ musician. Yes, they, “Sony & Cher,” did hang out with Rodney Bingenheimer. Who cares after all these years.
“The title song, “Alfie”, written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David, was sung by Cher over the film’s closing credits in the US release. It became a hit for British singer Cilla Black (Millicent Martin sang Alfie on its British release) and for Madeline Eastman and Dionne Warwick. Numerous jazz musicians have covered it and it has become a jazz standard.”
Here is an interesting example or another jazz standard interpretation that I found lovely of the song Alfie.
The Gals and Michael Caine in Alfie (1966)
Alfie (by David K. Mathews featuring Amikaeyla) from DAVID MATTHEWS — Fantasy Vocal Sessions Vol.1 Standards released 2018.
A song for the heart. Always good to hear.
A new Inspirational Bubble Gum Flopside Comic…
13~ Asteroid Goddesses
Of all the places I’ve been, never thought Id end up living my senior years so close to the place where I grew up. Walking around the block this morning I heard an air conditioner turn on. Yes, summer is here in the San Fernando Valley. A flash back took me to the sound of rocket engines being tested at Rocketdyne. It was scary to hear that sound as well as the pressure of jets breaking the sound barrier or the loud alarms that went off on Fridays. The end of the world science fiction days. Last month at Los Angeles City Hall I viewed a very old image of the Mission on Sherman Way or the Hidden Chateau. Only fields were surrounding the old mission.
New apartments are being built near there now. So many apartments where wild flowers once grew. Now the streets are filled up with cars, cars, cars. Except for early Saturday and Sunday mornings when the streets become like they once were. When the fields were filled with wild rabbits we chased on our horses. Increasingly building apartments, with our much thought, are going up everywhere. If I could I would put a hold and consider the congestion all of this is creating. Really?
Youthful friend Ruff and I once pulled down signs off the hills where we grew up. Thinking that this would stop the hills from being covered with large houses smooched together. It didn’t help at all. My home town still holds magic if you go looking for it. The clouds over Rockeydyn still shine with a weird hue. Yes, I did see it all UFOs and beyond.
Wild Promethean fennel still grows in blocked off housing gardens built in the 1950s. If the plant is noticed and not destroyed with weed killer. The smell of the Santa Monica hills still spread a mist of longing for hikes. Even if only around the block. Hawks, owls and raccoons and coyotes still come to visit. I hope I don’t end up in the nursing home around the corner? Well, maybe that would be alright?
It may seem backwards but not from my mothering heart. My son now faces his first romantic suffering. What can I do but be silent & be there for him as he works and plays. I know his heart is broken. He must endure and become stronger and with empathy move on. To oldest son “he” is the Wild Rose…. and she is the “young boy.” It is OK to change things around…. both are not safe from the pains of love, first love!
Poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Lieder by Franz Schubert.
The Yucca Poem
pon the wall was a painting
Simply framed of a Yucca plant
My parents’ home enfolded it
Hanging on the living room wall
always smiling at me
The artist’s hands painted
it upon a wild hill
I looked at it all my life
From babe until the painting
Was stolen away after
my parents’ death.
It had a constant white bloom.
Curiously I looked
at the flower many times
I am sure it sung me to sleep.
The Yucca is a wild plant
The aromatic California
further into the valley and hills
Tall thin and tenuous
boldly spread throughout
Yucca calls us to our
nobility of character
Yucca calls us
to a wild uniqueness
Singing if you listen quietly
A hum older than we know.
Receptive, illumination and synchronicity, I’m a wise old blooming flower, waiting to be pollinated, I’m receptive to what I shall become, Let life approach me, I do not have to go seeking, I have all I need to succeed, I’m a beautiful rose,
wise, good and ready.
I can be trusted, I follow things through, I speak my mind, Let the spirit of god / goddess, move over my deep dark waters.
Receptive as an open flower. Now, waiting for life to impregnate me.
“The Rose makes honey,” the rose gives honey in return.
Posted in Holly Duval Cornell's Poems & Pose
Tagged Art, beauty, Depth Psychology, Esoteric, Goddess and Home, poems, poetry, postaday, spirituality, Synchronicity, Women, Writing