Tag Archives: men

Jazz

your first ancestors
had geographic ridges
purple-blue crisscrosses
once slashed gaping open
crimson that mouthed
“wade in the water chillan” 

you called people
responded the blues
bent in depressed
trances third fifth and
seventh like pancakes
flattened by a spatula

you ragged people
shagged under red
lights to a syncopated
rhythm AABBACCC no
more cakewalks just sexy
marches and falling Maple Leaves 

© Pamela A. Rossow

 

 

Home

bases loaded two outs
on deck switch hitter
swinging the air seasoned
with spicy yellow mustard
and tangy sauerkraut
clay disturbed rising as
cleats ready themselves
hamstrings taut calves
tensed oxygen gulped
next up pawing then the
pitch cracking contact ball
sprouts wings flies out of the
park crowd kinetic screaming
energy he runs rounding
bases 1st 2nd 3rd home

Pamela A. Rossow

Symphony of Saws

I’m sitting here working and loud sounds may be heard outside (despite the Cat. 5 rated hurricane, impact resistant, glass windows in my bedroom). By loud, I mean very loud since if the sounds were softer, I wouldn’t hear them at all.  To many people, these sounds would be considered “noises.”  If my ears don’t deceive me, a heavy duty concrete saw is being utilized as well as a tile saw.  These sounds should irritate me but they don’t.  Years of growing up with a dad, who worked around the clock as a full-time firefighter and part-time carpenter, have provided me with enough “audio memories” that, instead of aggravation, I experience contentment when hearing the sounds.  Must have something to do with the association of loud sounds with progress (my dad was, and is, the type man to finish projects). So, I’ll keep writing to the symphony of concrete, tile, and hydraulic saws and know that my neighbor will soon be enjoying a beautiful pool patio.

 

Love Letter Fest

Friends, welcome to my Valentine’s Event. A “Dear ?” love letter which you have written (whether sweet, sarcastic, or saucy) and will post your links below in the comment section so we all can have grieve, giggle, or gasp!  I will admit. When this idea jumped into my brain, I wasn’t daunted.  HOWEVER, as I sit here about to type my own letter, I’m overwhelmed, a tad bit intimidated, and wondering what on earth I was thinking when I started this.  Those of you who know me well are aware of my stubborn perseverance.  Hence, onward.  Enjoy and happy Valentine’s Day.  Not the commercialized hype but the everyday love we hold in our hearts.


Dear _______,

Many of you have directly or indirectly shaped me into the woman I am today.  I wouldn’t be Pamela without you.  Some of you have taken my heart down spiraling staircases into dank, dark basements where I suffered pain, wrenching hurt, abandonment.

A couple of you have led me through enchanted forests where rainbows arched overhead, the grass was soft, the castle walls had crumbled, and we loved as first loves.

Still others have taught me the foundation of love, how love isn’t based on emotions, how it demands action, requires being able to mouth or write two words (I’m sorry), and mean them.  That anger doesn’t necessarily reflect lack of love, although, at times, it may indicate lack of “like” (or sheer frustration).

Another has shown me that no matter how much I get angry, or question, or cry, or vent, He will remain faithful and, even more amazing, love me despite me.

All of the individuals who do not hesitate to pick up the phone to let me know they care, reach out with a card or letter, laugh with me, scream with me, or who hold me when I cry across the miles in a tight, virtual embrace.

Then there are the up close and personals who cling to me, climb me as if I am a tree, and hold on with little arms tightly clasped around my neck.  There are older ones who reach out when I least expect them to, grab my hands, sit close to me on the sofa, or hug me unexpectedly in passing.

There are those of you who have touched me so deeply that even though we are separated by this seemingly vast expanse of the other world you continue to move me, fill me, motivate me, cheer me on, and you are alive to me in my dreams, my memory, my soul.

There might be a person out there on this planet who could, through honest eyes, stir up flames in me once more.  Who, through sincerity, persistence, humor, character, empathy, gentleness, and time, has the capability to evoke in me passions which have yet to be completely drawn out.  He may exist. . .

In the meantime, I love and am so loved.  For all you, hole fillers, and you, hole makers, I thank-you.  It’s been real, raw, and, at times, raucous.  Even though, some days I harbor a few, wee regrets, I wouldn’t change any of it.  I have learned and will continue to learn.  My heart’s love journey (I hope) has, like my parent’s wedding song, “only just begun.”

All my love,

Pamela 

Goals

 

 

Need to be
kicked in
thrown in
slammed in
dunked in
hit in
long as they
make it
in.

Pamela A. Rossow

Shared at the Thursday Poets Rally (Week 38).

I was nominated for the Perfect Poet Award. I honor it, thank Jingle, and nominate Danroberson for this week.

Mirror Mirror

Well, it’s Monday and sad to say no humorous blurbs to post (at least not yet).  Too much time apart from my niece and nephew and my big kids. . . grown ups just don’t bring it like the children do!!!! So, this is more of a reflection blog.  My best friend and I were talking till late last night about many things (sorry mom and dad for hogging the phone).  We ended up able to rant, laugh, cry, and get serious all in one conversation (isn’t that what best friends are about? you can completely be yourself and you’re not nuts)? Towards the end of the conversation, something struck me that was pretty profound.   We started our adult, married lives back when (before we met) in completely different places, yet, through the years, traveled similar roads to where we each are now. Today, we are in comparable spaces in many aspects. Each of us wanting to be loved, to keep our families intact despite extenuating circumstances, to be secretly rescued without having to compromise values like honesty, communication, and self-awareness (although, we know our knights most likely won’t be individuals in gleaming armor who guide their horses over hurdles, deftly climb turrets, and profess poems of endearment).

Despite the similarities, we are often in opposite mind sets (and places, she’s married, I’m divorced).  During these times of differences, we realize that we are mirrors to one other.  Depending on who is gazing into the mirror and who is being gazed upon by the reflection, we end up like yin and yang (for lack of a better metaphor).  Our life experiences, dreams, hopes, darkness, failures, defeats, injustices, joys, sweetness bring us to these places where we can look at each other and see (cataract free) from the viewpoint of the other.  This constant viewing of life through the lens of friendship (and the other’s situation) helps us to more clearly define who we want to become as individuals.  To be strong women.  To have hope.  To be self-aware.  To not be so jaded that our hearts become hardened to truth and love.  To know that our journeys are really just beginning (even though we often feel like we’re smack in the midst of them).  To know that we are granted this gift of one another and, through each other, we can support ourselves, our intellects, our emotions.  To recognize that we are part of a larger, global community.  To know that we can make differences in our own lives, each other’s lives, and touch other people as well.  This friendship, micro extending macro, can impact other people for the better.  We’re learning what must be learned and, at some point, we will become teachers of positive change.  Wow, I can end this here on a sociological note (since we both share the same degrees too), it’s late, and I’m not sure I’m presenting this observation too clearly.  Good night friends (or good day)!

P.S. youtube’s copyright issues are more than annoying. . .nearly every good video is being pulled b/c of infringement!  Grrr!


Blog

 

 

 

 

I subscribe to you

your RSS feed

emotions hopes

fears dreams spilled

pressed networked

on-line a way to

glimpse bits of

soul keyboarded

into existence

I subscribe to you

your RSS feed

capturing pieces of

raw unedited you

Pamela A. Rossow

Gray Mist

This morning was a foggy one.  Not too common for South Florida.  I still get caught up in the emotions of the mist just as I did when I was a child.  I used to be enthralled with the ghostly weather and would scurry to a quiet place to create, pencil in hand, scratching a mysterious story into existence.  As an adult, I still feel a connection with that young girl.  Only now, in addition to the dash to my quiet place, I acknowledge the uncanny sensation of ties to those who passed.  Who are now caught in a misty limbo of sorts, misconceived as haunters, who are the ones haunted.  I can relate to their restlessness, their shadows.  Memories, donned in disguise, creep in and stir up latent emotions that persist under the conscious radar.  I am left, like a viewer seated on a cold, padded folding chair, in a darkened room.  An old projector flashes images in black and white on the bare wall in front of me:  wet children in soggy socks smiling, laughing their way down a slip and slide,  mockingbirds shrilly calling, waiting, fluttering to land in my cupped palms, greedily gobbling crimson cranberries, a butterfly garden bathed in moonlight, the intoxicating, overwhelming perfume of  night- blooming jasmine, being cradled, feeling safe, protected for the first time in more than a decade, by someone who was my home, although I had been displaced,  whose frame wasn’t four walls and a roof, rather a soul enveloping embrace. The fog has lifted, somewhat, but the pregnant, gray clouds overtly hint at imminent, cleansing precipitation. . .

Sexy Domestication

It’s nearly Christmas.  Translation:  baking.  While guys might get turned on by V8 engines, raked front ends, and flex ratcheting wrenches, some of us, domesticated women, realize that a KitchenAid stand mixer means sexy.  The power and force behind this 30 lb. beast means durability and high performance.  What more could we ask for?  Maybe a direct drive, all steel transmission?  Yup.  A burnished, spiral, dough hook?  Yup.  A six quart, stainless bowl with handle?  Uh huh.   Okay, I admit it.  I’m sorta in love.  Since baking is pretty much a labor of love, it’s all good, right?  So guys, enjoy your Craftsmen and Makitas.  I’ll be in the kitchen, mesmerized. . .

Special Relativity

you in the North Pole
I in the South charged
particles moving in and
out velocity dependent
dipoles connected creating
force and special relations
mixtures of interlocking
electricity + magnetism
F=q(v+B) no monopoles
here just quantum-mechanical
phenomena magnetic flux
and possible permeability

Pamela A. Rossow