Tag Archives: Women

The song Alfie

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.

 



https://www.jazzmusicarchives.com/album/david-matthews/fantasy-vocal-sessions-vol1-standards

Mother’s Eyes

(this is a post about our humanity and is not political!!)

IMG_1231


Taking children from their parents is what is happening at this time and place in the United States. It bothers me terrible. I think about the loss of my own two parents over the last ten years. The grieving is done. There is still a place in my mind and heart that will always miss them. My parents were in my life for over 50 years. I remember lying in bed at night as a babe thinking, ” what would I ever do if I lost either one of my parents!?” I would cry alone at night. Maybe this is what we all go through as children in our imagination? A reality for many children now in our country!!

Yesterday oldest son came home from his third week from his new job. I ran and greeted him outside. Under the olive tree I looked into his eyes and smiled. We talked and he was happy to have the weekend off. His eyes were a beautiful green. I remember that color ! The same color as my mother’s eyes. As a mother it is a wonder to see my mother’s face echoing in my son’s face!

I wrote a poem for mother about her eyes. I wound like to share.

Entitled Mother’s Eyes. Written 12/87.


Something in my mother’s eyes
told me something more!
Something in her wondering words
as we walked downstairs
Passing the front door.

Her eyes, her eyes!!
Her peace,
I felt,
She talked of crystals as spiritual,
She talked about protecting and caring
for her son and another son’s wife
I saw her and felt her smell the roses L’Amour.

I drive away from her
going to a place
she has visited before
I wondered about a ghostly her
that I never saw before.

In her eyes, her eyes
green crystals
dulled and well-rounded
as pupils are
I almost started crying
seeing the wet tears
which never left
the whites of her eyes.

Her eyes, her eyes
told me something more
then the simple room there knew
Her eyes told me of new feelings
which words can’t capture
and fear brings in its true meaning.

Her eyes and fear and lots of love
could it be I’m capturing
her soul shape
a dove?

The little secrets she threw my way,
silly me,
I bet she knows me
past, present, and future days.

I don’t know whether to be happy or cry,
All because of her eyes, her eyes.


Oldest son had an invisible friend that soon disappeared as he grew up. “Beek Owl” was a large bird that watched over him and talked to him. I tried to capture Beek’s image as son described him. We did not have much back then to create with. Some cardboard and a few watercolors for arty farty projects. I made a stencil of Beek Owl so I could always remember him.


“Beek Owl is winking at me.” said son.


Only in the shower do I sing…

Doe: a deer, a female deer, alludes to the first solfège syllable, do.
Ray: a drop of golden sun [i.e. a narrow beam of light or other radiant energy], alludes to the second solfège syllable, re.
Me: a name I call myself [i.e. the objective first-person pronoun], alludes to the third solfège syllable, mi.
Fa’ [i.e. “far”]: a long long way to run,” alludes to the fourth solfège syllable, fa.
Sew: [the verb for] a needle pulling thread,” alludes to the fifth solfège syllable, sol.
La, the sixth solfège syllable, lacking a satisfactory homophone (see below), is directly referred to in the song as a note to follow so[l].
Tea: a drink with jam and bread [i.e. the popular hot beverage made by steeping tea leaves in boiling water], alludes to the seventh solfège syllable, ti.


Hugo Wolf1, 3 March 1860 – 22 February 1903) was an Austrian composer


I wish I could sing well. In the 1990s I received my AA in Humanities. This gave me an option to take some fun courses. Do some risky stuff. I took two vocal courses. One was basic, ‘learn how to sing’, with all the fancy techniques like breathing from the diaphragm. Singing ‘do re mi fa sol la ti do’ repeatedly with one single breath was not easy.

I endured the class and sang the song Blue Moon as my final project. I sang the original “Blue Moon” a classic popular song written by Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart in 1934. When I joined the chorus as part of a class requirement. I knew my singing was not class “A” stock. We had to perform for Los Angeles Valley College’s Christmas celebrations. I was in the first Christmas sinning group. After we sang I heard a mumble from the audience…, “OK now we will hear the real singers in the next choir singing Christmas music !”

So, I tortured myself and took the next music class that went from learning only how to sing: to singing operettas in German, Italian and French? I really went all out when I decided to sing my final song written by Hugo Wolf. ‘Heut Nacht erhob ich mich um Mitternacht?’ or Last night I rose at midnight.

My wings melted! My voice and confidence as well. I left the course before finals because the class was too much for me. Sometimes a good challenge is about the process of just trying. I did find Hugo Wolf!

If I could sing a song. Like a sexy noir dame. It would be the song below.



Last night I rose at midnight,
Because my heart had furtively stole away,
I asked heart: where are you rushing so
furiously?
It spoke: only to see you, had it run away,
Now see how it must be with my love;
My heart escapes from my breast to see you.

In music, solfège (/ˈsɒlfɛʒ/,[1] also US: /sɒlˈfɛʒ/, French: [sɔl.fɛʒ]) or solfeggio (/sɒlˈfɛdʒioʊ/, Italian: [solˈfeddʒo]), also called sol-fa, solfa, solfeo, among many names, is a music education method used to teach pitch and sight singing of Western music

Three Naked Graces & Eight Muses

Number 12 ~ An inspirational FLOPSIDE COMIC…. where is the human mind these days……? Are we only listening to a mad man who is trying to fuck up the world or we going to take some time to?

“Turn on, tune in, drop out.”

Mr. Timothy Leary I am only pulling your leg up there in the starry sky. Yet sometimes we got to think about the big picture and who is really running the show…. it isn’t LSD it is better than that because it is the Graces and the Muses…. time for some inspiration…. this little bubble gum comic will be on the market soon….


https://hudleyflipside.com/bubble-gum-flopside-comics-only-two-buck-each/

Euterpe


Existentialism and turning 60…

“…individual’s starting point is characterized by what has been called “the existential attitude,” or a sense of disorientation, confusion, or dread in the face of an apparently meaningless or absurd. Many existentialists have also regarded traditional systematic or academic philosophies, in both style and content, as too abstract and remote from concrete human experience.”

Ageing and turning 60 is an interesting time. I am reflecting over my life. The metaphor of fitting jigsaw pieces together is the best one that can describe my experience now. I now understand the meaning of existentialism. I thought I had an idea of what it meant. Not until now do I know it truly. It is a jolting reality. The now observing the past is how one can see existentialism alive!

As a child I remember waking up at night with a strange sensation that lasted only a few moments. A surrounding feeling that came to mind. One that I could not touch, access with words, or edify. It was a feeling deep in my teeth of something other. It would go away quickly. I had that same feeling through my growing up. I always knew when the other feeling was approaching. The other feeling went away as I grew up.

K -12, my whole education experience I was asleep. I realize this now. Existential is based on contrary things. Conflict or mindfulness to the absurd world we live in. When I look back at myself I was experiencing or having an existential experience my whole young life. I was in a shadow world of social pressures and abstract ideals that where strange to me.

Only waking up occasionally to the wind on the hills or the rain while walking home. Playing in green fields with my friends.  The smell of the earth and the feel of pepper trees on my skin. The aroma of the eucalyptus tree.

I went through the motions at school. I did not study or bring books home, and if I did I don’t remember them much. I do remember reading the little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis, the King James Christian Bible, and Seven Arrow by Hyemeyohsts Storm. (Native American Myth) Sherlock Holmes appealed to me. Also, songs on the radio are moments of awareness.

I was in trauma while I was growing up too! I was living in a home with an alcoholic parent and experienced love but also emotional abuse as a regular part of my life.

My point being I was not awake to my human experience until I started waking up later in my teens by the jolt of consensual sex, youthful love, and punk music.

I remember at 18 or so there were times that a light would come on and everything seemed more intense.  One time out to dinner with my parents it seemed that the restaurant light above us turned on brighter. I was in an intense illumination. Then the light went out. This is when I was experiencing an awakening an existential conflicting experience.

When I entered the punk rock world in Los Angeles I experienced this existential conflicting experience increasingly. The people and music really stirred me up. I awoke to the absurdity of life in a good way. I found my mind, voice, and soul all aligned. I began to acquire knowledge easily. I read ecstatically. I found out that I had an engaging and intellectual mind that had not been touched by the k-12 academia that tried to teach me.

I don’t think we can continue to live in an existential conflicting reality. Yet in these such moments when the existential happens.  This is where we can find our authentic self. I am very grateful!!


13001228_10154209230472780_6514813593644270740_n


“…child psychologist Bruno Bettelheim believed that fairy tales help children cope with their existential anxieties and dilemmas.”


In Return

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.


 

Promethean fennel

The wild fennel is growing in my garden,
From the Santa Monica Mountains,
Only a few seeds thrown around my land,
From the staff-sheath that I have,
Near my hearth.

My wild Promethean fennel,
Smells of licorice and earth,
Feels like numinous beats,
Waves from the coastal region,
Myths revealing through my soul.

Prometheus freed by Chiron,
Fire consumes my heart,
Compassionate green healing,
Of my mind and dreams,
Love will grow tall and strong
My wild Promethean fennel.

The flourishing membrane

 

Thalia
Thalia (/θəˈlə/; Ancient Greek: Θάλεια, Θαλία; 
"the joyous, the flourishing"

Breaking through 
Breaking through the membrane
Of turning 60
Letting go of
Youth, maidenhood and giving birth
Entering the world
Of crones and seniors with purple-grey hair.

Wise witches who stand
By old dark shedding trees
they sweep the cobwebs away
My repellent membrane.

Holding me back
Calls of youth, music, and romance
Death must be a friend
Calm and gentle friends
It’s my heart I worry about!

Will my tenacity be strong enough
To make It through the membrane
Will I be whisked up
By my elder ancestors?

My hands that look like grandmother’s
My need for love, friendship and companionship
Will I take my magic with me
The golden thread that brings meaning to old age?

Mystery, adventure, humor and longing
Will these qualities still inspire me
As my muses tease
Will my muses be waiting for me 
On the other side as I wrestle 
With this dark and flourishing membrane?

A Gift from Saturn and a Poem for Him

Winged centaur
Invisible sounding hooves
Upon the backyard cement.

Lifted me upon his back
We flew through
The rain, clouds, and satellites
Rounding the earth.

Straight and fast towards
Saturn’s castle
He is to give me a gift.

I’ve waited upon the words
Of Buffalo yesterday and today
“Today Saturn will give
You a gift… today today!”

I waited and wondered
Tonight, as I watch the hearth fire
I heard the call towards Saturn
As before …

I rode over frozen land
Blue ice and white paths
Over all we flew 
centaur’s wings outstretched
Gracefully I slip off the centaur.

I walked towards the big door
Dark but when opened
Filled with light and beings
Those who lived there
Those who were visiting like me.

An earthling's visits are often short
Saturn, I found
Up the golden spiral staircase
Waiting with a smile
And comfortable charm.

Saturn gave me a gift
A green box
Asking me
Not to open it now.

Wait until I am home
And place it over the fire
On your hearth,
The gift will reveal
Itself to you.

My journey home was fast
I made a space upon my hearth
Above the fire
Then turning to look out the window.

The wet outdoors
From a cold rain
Found me hoping
For a real cymene.

Of the ascending centaur
Glissading and glistening
Away from my soul through the rain
Under a full peeking moon.

Saturn told me
To write a poem about the green box
A gift from him
And so, I have.


 

Third Winter Wonderland Poem


An event to read and talk
I got lost 
I woke up encrusted with "how could Is?"

Lost I found myself fishing my dream
finishing my dream in waking time
awake with a cup of coffee 
kitty on my lap.

The large ten inch long lizard
3 inch width creature
still reminds me that
it might still be at my front door.

It's encrusted skin of scales
as it pushed against the rosemary bush
and the lights in the night sky
after the crescent moon set.

Winter is cold
family wants to sleep
more food and coffee
studies, words and protesting.


 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/encrusted/