The Princess Chronicles: VIII + +

[Sweets America]

When,
In the beginning,
The first words from you reached my screen,
My heart missed a beat,
And I allowed myself to hope.

You do know that hope is a great part of me.
I hoped that, maybe, this PrinceMyshkin man
Could be interested in sharing more with me.

He wrote such beautiful poems,
Had some wise comments
And, as I was timidly arriving,
He took my hand firmly
And with immense tenderness at the same time.
He was a stranger still,
But his touch felt familiar.

A part of myself,
The part that you are helping me to fight
Was telling me that Jerry Newman could not possibly
Find all this beauty in me.

What a surprise!
What a delight!
When I realized he did!

You teach me all that you know
You inspire me to write poems
You love me wholeheartedly
You make me want to open myself and to give you everything I find in me...

You make the baby and the woman in me
Shake hands!

How could I not be myself
When this myself is adored
And celebrated?
When I see this wonderful myself in your eyes and in your smile?

Jerry?
Jerry!
Jerry...
How sweet that this name
Which, before I met you,
Was only the one of a cute little mouse,
Became my happiness!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Hey!!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Wait! Wait! We exclaim at each other
over the intermittent fidelity
of our voice connection with each other.

Wait! Wait! We bid each other silently
as time and the passport office
withhold each other from each other’s
arms. Time is a liar and a cheat!

Time is a murderer as I repeat
to you over and over again
Wait! Wait! I will be there!
I will certainly be there
and there will be here

and here will be everywhere,
but meanwhile, Wait! Wait!
Wait... for me!

[Sweets America]

First, allow me to quote the great poem by Galway Kinnel, entitled ‘Wait’.

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don't go too early.
You're tired. But everyone's tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.


Now, in your last poem, I love this:

I will certainly be there
and there will be here

and here will be everywhere,


Beautifully written, lover!

~~~~

While we are waiting
Desire grows
Computer files are nourished
With more words.

While we are waiting
Feelings are experienced:
Patience, longing, despair...
What ifs...

While we are waiting
Each little syllable
From each other’s voice
Is welcomed
Into open arms

Wait!
Record!
Listen!
Read!
Write!
Love!
Be loved!

When my skin
Reaches out to yours,
Minds will be overwhelmed;
Words will caress ears;
Hands will stroke secret places;
Smiles will melt into kisses;
Prolonged, passionate sharing.

No more waiting.
Or
Maybe

Wait!
Rest inside ―
Of me.
Let my hand
Learn every inch
Of your skin
By heart.

Wait!
Till our breath slows down
Till the covers of our eyelids put our pupils to sleep
Till a reassuring darkness envelops us
Till all that you feel
Is my hand in yours,
Here, or there, but always
At home.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Would you believe
my lover berates herself
for not knowing this or that
which, she believes, everyone else
in the entire world knows and so
she must be an inadequate, inferior person!

She who has already explored
the geography and geometry
of her own heart and mind,
the Amazons, the Orinocos, the
cloud-splitting Himalayas,
the black, black-holes,
the super-novas and white dwarf
stars, the entire swirling
never-to-be entirely comprehended
multiverse out-there
and in her beautiful, capacious mind!

Everybody knows something different
from everybody else!
You know yourself and
you know me...

[Pendragon]

Would you believe
my lover berates herself
for not knowing this or that
which, she believes, everyone else
in the entire world knows and so
she must be an inadequate, inferior person!

She who has already explored
the geography and geometry
of her own heart and mind,
the Amazons, the Orinocos, the
cloud-splitting Himalayas,
the black, black-holes,
the super-novas and white dwarf
stars, the entire swirling
never-to-be entirely comprehended
multiverse out-there
and in her beautiful, capacious mind!

Everybody knows something different
from everybody else!
You know yourself and
you know me...

Sounds like a good time to lower the lights and put on Jim Croce:

Time In a Bottle

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that Id like to do
Is to save every day
Till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
Id save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

Jim Croce - 1972

[PrinceMyshkin]

Sounds like a good time to lower the lights and put on Jim Croce:

Time In a Bottle

WHAT! Are you telling me that that so-and-so was writing songs to my sweetheart!!!!

Lovely song, thanks...

[Sweets America]

Sounds like a good time to lower the lights and put on Jim Croce:

Time In a Bottle

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that Id like to do
Is to save every day
Till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
Id save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

Jim Croce - 1972

Thank you, dear guardian of our love, you're always there to put some sweet words in here... you warm up our hearts!

[Sweets America]

I’ve studied the black-holes,
And I know every inch of my own darkness
Some of which you have brightened
With a mere brush of your hand

I know the complexity
Of my mind
Where the virgin princess
Curiously stares at the nasty girl,
Wondering...
While the baby, weeping,
Searches for the woman.

Your hands, again, reach out to my inside
Brush away the wetness
Of the tears,
Hold the baby tight
And rock it, while you are singing:
Hush, little Sophie, don’t say a word,
Jerry’s going to buy you a mockingbird...
And if that mockingbird don’t sing
Jerry’s going to buy you a diamond ring...

Yes...I know You, Jerry,
― Mein man, mein geliebteh ―
And I’ve learnt more about Sophie
Since I’ve been looking at her through your eyes;
I know this ‘us’ that we are creating.
The baby-love we have given birth to.

Look at how it smiles at us, its innocent face
Holding one of those mysteries
That is never to be fathomed out!

[PrinceMyshkin]

Imagine! If you and I were reading these exchanges between two other people here, what would we think of them, of this? That we are two besotted souls who have fallen in love with their own fantasy? An old man flattered by the attentions of a much, much younger woman - or girl, rather? A girl with a father-fixation, flattered by an older men, a former professor, published author with a facility for words and all the time in the world to court her and fill her otherwise somewhat lonely hours?

You know my pessimism! As I know your stubborn hopefulness!

But let the world look on at us, however it will... some with suspicion; some even with derision; and one or two who themselves have risked everything for love, with comradeship!

How happy I am! Scared? Of course! AND happy...

[Sweets America]

If I was reading these exchanges between two other people? I would think ‘how lucky they are! How I would love to be loved that way, to count that much in the eyes of another!’. This is magical to me. This is beautiful. Love is so precious and should never be judged. So, I would not judge those two people.
As I told you, yes I do find a father in you, and that does not disturb me because love has no boundaries. I am not scared of feeling that way. My love for you is multiple. People might want to try to find reasons behind this love, reasons that would make it an immoral love, but, for my part, I just wish to experience this love because it makes me happy, and it has the same effect on you. You are a wonderful man, with a great intelligence, and I am happy to be the one who brings you happiness.
Your pessimism will have to deal with my hopefulness. When we ignore what the future will bring, why choose to wait for catastrophes? Wonderful events have equal chances to happen! What if a wonderful event happens and you have wasted time in expecting something bad? And if things turn wrong, at least you will have spent some time filled with hope before having to deal with problems, eh?
Love is worth the risks, always... Of course we can be scared, but whenever we feel that way, we will have each other’s arms where we can find protection and reassurance.

How I love you, Jerry!

[Pendragon]

As you both know, I read the exchanges between the two of you with that outsider's point of view. Love is like a river, it will follow the path that it must. Among my mountains is a place well known worldwide, about two hours drive: The New River Gorge Bridge. Bungee jumpers and base jumpers come from everywhere to take that plunge. And The New River does something odd. It flows North, instead of South, even though that meant cutting through a mountain. Had it turned South, it would have quickly come to flat sandy soil.

Love is that way. One word love doesn't know is "impossible". Once you understand that, there are no barriers that cannot be breached.

So I find nothing unusual about the two of you, except that you expect people to find you unusual. People who look for something always find it, even if they have to invent it. If they cannot see the beauty of your dreams and desires, allow them to sit in the darkness and gripe. They will anyway.

Go on with the blessings of one who knows himself what it means to have people not always understand. But I'm fortunate enough to understand love.

Pen

[Sweets America]

As you both know, I read the exchanges between the two of you with that outsider's point of view. Love is like a river, it will follow the path that it must. Among my mountains is a place well known worldwide, about two hours drive: The New River Gorge Bridge. Bungee jumpers and base jumpers come from everywhere to take that plunge. And The New River does something odd. It flows North, instead of South, even though that meant cutting through a mountain. Had it turned South, it would have quickly come to flat sandy soil.

Love is that way. One word love doesn't know is "impossible". Once you understand that, there are no barriers that cannot be breached.

So I find nothing unusual about the two of you, except that you expect people to find you unusual. People who look for something always find it, even if they have to invent it. If they cannot see the beauty of your dreams and desires, allow them to sit in the darkness and gripe. They will anyway.

Go on with the blessings of one who knows himself what it means to have people not always understand. But I'm fortunate enough to understand love.

Pen

Thank you for your kind words. That is true, that love does not know what 'impossible' means.
I like your 'People who look for something always find it, even if they have to invent it.', this might be true! And in several ways. This might be the case for people who want to criticize and judge us, BUT this might also work for Jer and I, if we expect people to judge! This could nourish paranoid thoughts!

Thanks again, Pen, for your wise words.

[PrinceMyshkin]

“The road to true love
never does run smooth,”
they say, but they say
anything to cover up the pause
in the conversation of the wise.

It’s not the road
but those who walk on it
with unsteady legs, tottering
from scandal to shame,
stumbling or worse,
needing to stumble.

But love will smooth the way.
Love will point out the boulders,
the pot-holes, the brambles
extending over the path.
Love is the extended hand
at once gentle and strong.

[Sweets America]

Over the path of our love,
Were friendly branches
Gently holding us as we were walking;
I knew those branches would prevent us
From falling too hard to the ground.
―Just in case―
But
I never thought we could really fall.
―Not this way―

With a violent brush of your hand
The branches were broken
And we fell.
So unexpectedly!
So hard!
In the fall, my heart made a cracking sound;
I injured myself
And lost some blood
Along with part of my trust in you.

In the fall,
I desperatly tried to reach out to your hand
Even knowing that this was the very hand that had slapped me
With the violence of your confession.
Tempest, storm, hurricane
Destroying part of our castle.
––Damaged communication
––Chaos in letters
When, with your shameful desire, teachers became cheaters.

I woke up today, and it was still raining.
On our world, in my eyes.
But,
The acid rain is being replaced by a cleansing one
As my tears are washing away anger and hurt.

Tomorrow,
When I meet you,
There will be no words.
Only a silent hug
And the anxious hope of feeling
Love
Holding us, too, and still there, as it
Waters the trees
To make new branches grow.