after a guilded butterfly ~ coriolanus i.iii

For Denice Hicks, my mentor, my muse, my friend.


January eyes swimming in a dark roast
beneath cerulean skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts dance between her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

Cobblestones and weary bricks
measure a lonely street,
counting patterns,
counting feet.
Awaiting that forgotten man
who comes to sit awhile,
burbon tears slipping through his broken smile,
forget-me-nots reaching for his sole
breezes pushing past his shadow-
fireflies on patrol.

January eyes, an unmasked Muse,
in disguise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts woven through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

Concrete steps and paper bags,
a simple home this lonely street,
quieting his whimpers,
quieting his feet.
He's forgotten life,
no more to dream,
newspaper headlines cushion his sleep,
burbon tears fall silently
down his wrinkled face,
no one to care for him;
his soldiered friends turned to epitaphs,
left alone-
battlefields haunt his shadows,
no more to love,
not even a trace.

January eyes drowning in blackened waters
beneath the ashen skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts mending through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

Stepping stones bound with leather and spines,
covered in dust;
words within,
words to trust.
A fairy queen and lovers' quarrels-
stately kings, crowned with laurels.
A ghostly father,
a son's murmured speech,
a tempest whirling 'neath a nectarine sky,
breezes sifting through the pages-
this Muse awakening moments
within reach.

January eyes, uplifting yesterdays
in humbled reprise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts beating with the rhythm of her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

A pebbled past and wearied soul,
overcome by poetic measures.
He's counting sunsets,
counting treasures.
He longs to remember tomorrow,
pushing past his sorrow.
Sunny tears encircle his crooked smile.
She reaches for his soul,
whispering music past his lighted shadow;
she has played her role.

January eyes peering through a locked door,
beneath the Poet's skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts unlocked with her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

white, cold, virgin snow upon my heart ~ the tempest

Snow, snow, SNOW!!

Alas, the gathered snow is melting from the world of alabaster, leading it's inhabitants to a greener life; leaving behind it's glistening treasures in puddles of stolen memories of a once frozen world...

Okay, so that would be the poetic way to say it, or I could be a bit more realistic and say:
"Well, there's a little snow left on the ground here and there, but mostly everything has turned to cold mud."

Yep. That's probably more like it.

You see, this was my first REAL snow experience. Little 'Ole Nashville received about 10 inches of snowfall, and for a Florida-girl-gone-San-Diego-then-on-to-Nashville transplant, this was a pretty amazing experience of a weekend. The snow started falling on Friday morning, and literally didn't stop until Sunday.

Friday night, about four inches had fallen and I was in awe. Melissa and I didn't have rehearsal and decided to brave the winter chills and blustery snowfall for a night at the theater. Nashville Shakespeare Festival was performing The Tempest (one of my favorites) and I was determined to make it to the show.

When we arrived, covered in snowdust, the girl behind the ticket counter told us that their ticket machine wasn't working right, and that we would have to use sticky notes as our stubs (she wrote our seat numbers on them and that we had paid). So, with our programs in hand, and our sticky notes attached, we went up the staircase and into the upper lobby. The ticket-taker, looked at our sticky notes, and then politely asked us if we needed help finding our seats. Now, normally, this would seem to be a noteworthy question, however, there were not even 15 other audience members in the theater, as it wasn't exactly a night for travelling outside the home. (Nashville pretty much shuts down at the mention of snow.) Melissa and I looked at each other, then turned to her and said: "Well, can't we just sit anywhere?" To which she sweetly replied: "No, you have assigned seats, but feel free to move when the overture starts, if the seat you wish to occupy still isn't taken." Melissa and I proceeded into the theater, looking at our sticky-notes, when we realized that each of us had been assigned a seat in different rows! We weren't even sitting together! So, as we laughed and stumbled through the theater giggling, we started scouring the rows for our respective letters and numbers, pausing at row "K" accidentally. A lady sitting in the seat at the end of row "K" looked at us and quickly said: "Oh, am I sitting in your seats? I just took a seat on a whim, and didn't look to see where I was supposed to be assigned, so I'll be happy to move if--" We cut her off, with a smile, and said, "No really, we don't know where we're supposed to sit, and according to our sticky-notes, we aren't even sitting together!" So, I looked up toward the front of the theater, and seeing that the ENTIRE front row was empty and the time was 7:29pm and the show was to go up at 7:30pm, I grabbed Melissa's arm and we sat down front and center.

Amidst the magic of the scenery, and the flight of the mischievous spirit Ariel, played by Denice Hicks, and the eloquent and wonderfully talented Brian Russell who played Prospero, and the humorous Trinculo and Stephano, it was a play to watch again and again. My only complaint was that I got to see it only once. I should give the cast their due honor by writing an audience member's review, which perhaps I shall, and send it to them for their own personal gain. For too many times, we tend to watch a show with a critical eye and dote upon the mistakes, yet this cast proved to take a well-beloved Shakespearean play, and bring it to life with a new light and much needed rekindling to a show that can be performed with a mundane routine about it.

After the show, we stood outside the theater on the street corner, throwing snowballs at the passing cars. It was, after all, my first real snowfall, so throwing snowballs at oncoming traffic was a must! Luckily the drivers waved and smiled at our revelry, instead of stopping the car and chasing after us! We grabbed a bite of sushi and a small carafe of sake at PM, right across from the Troutt Theater, and then headed home for a midnight stroll through the snowy streets, taking pictures, making snow angels, and running after late-night passersby with our snowball ammunition.

In bed by 2am, no doubt to be awake and at rehearsal the next day, I dreamed of dreams I hadn't yet lived in my sleep, for now my head was filled with wintry thoughts and icy memories of a tempestuous, winter's night.

that may be, must be, love, on thursday ~ romeo and juliet

How many times is too many to tell someone you love them?

Does it start losing its meaning if it's said too often, or does it deepen each time you say it because you've grown to love someone so much that you can't imagine not telling them you love them when you get the chance?

George Sand once said:
"There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved."

Is that true? What if the amount of love you have to give causes pain to another, because they can't return the love equally? Then is that the paved road to unhappiness for both parties? Or is it an obstacle to be overcome?

"Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence."
~Henry Louis Mencken

Indeed. To love creatively and to find joy in the shadows of pain and sorrows, to seek peace when everything else is at war, is to have put your left brain to sleep for a while and to caress the imagination from within. You can win a battle of right and wrong with facts and proven theories, but to win a battle of wits, you must lead with the proclamations of your heart. To win a battle of the heart, you have to be able to hear the rythm of the heartbeats from the one you love and decipher the code into a lanuage you understand. I believe it's a battle that's won and lost many times over throughout every relationship.

"They do not love that do not show their love.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
Love is a familiar. Love is a devil.
There is no evil angel but Love."
~William Shakespeare

Tis true.
The perception of love comes through the language of love, and as it's been said, there are many love languages. But to not show love at all, proves to be believed that one has no love to give.

Love brings us together, and tears us apart.

There is nothing that makes me grieve more than love, and nothing that makes me happier than being loved.

I sometimes wish I was the Tin Man. Wouldn't life be easier if we were hollow?

but now to task the tasker ~ love's labour's lost

Updates on my 1-9.

1. finish writing my children's book. ~ So far I have been making small changes, but nothing huge. Hopefully my inspiration will magically appear in my brain and translate to paper.

2. hire an agent for commercials and film. ~ I need to get new headshots first. Since I'm really getting into even better shape with SWING!, I'm gonna wait until that's over and then get headshots and hire an agent.

3. voice lessons. ~ Nope.

4. find a way to appear on "Ellen". ~ No clue yet how I'm going to accomplish this one.

5. watch every Cate Blanchett movie ever made. ~ There are 29 movies available to watch at the moment, and 2 more are being released in theaters this year. I watched "Paradise Road" this morning which makes a total of 20 films of hers that I have watched.

6. pour myself into 2 of The Bard's plays. ~ I need to pick 2. I haven't done that yet.

7. start a new and interesting reading project. ~ As I have decided to read a biography on each of the U.S. Presidents, this is the new project I have started. Mr. Washington arrived last night, so it looks like we'll be spending the next 401 pages of his life together.

8. discover new wines. ~ This is something I should do tonight.

9. read 1 play by Christopher Marlowe. ~ I have chosen to read "Edward II".