The Gypsy-daughter's silken journey (poetry & photos)
This is an older poem written for a creative writing class assignment. Though it was written nearly a decade ago, it still sings to me. In fact, now in 2017, it may even speak more to me than it did when originally written.
The assignment itself was to follow the style and substance of a designated poem. Needless to say, my poem could not be a carbon copy of the exemplar piece, save in format. In fact, I learned that, when writing a poem deliberately in the style and tone of a specific piece of writing, the designation "after" followed by the name of the exemplar poem is considered appropriate.
I decided to use a very special set of photos to go with the "Gypsy" theme of the poem. At the time I wrote this, my friend Tamara had a marvelous shop in Carlsbad, CA, called Global Heart. She featured an amazing array of clothing, accessories, art, and knick-knacks from around the world. She allowed me free access to capture the feelings, colors, and tones of her shop through my photos.
So...this poem & photo essay contains my own particular viewpoint on parts of my life journey----the parts of me that still want to dance, sing, and create poetry, even through a prolonged hiatus!!!
(after The Mapmaker's Daughter)
The Gypsy-daughter's Silken Journey
The roadway of self-indulgence is precarious and uncertain.
it is a gypsy caravan
peopled by diverse needs
driven by unacknowledged desires
travelers enter and leave this pathway for a whim
it is the ember and smoke
of a gypsy fire drifting
with the autumn winds across the roadways
impromptu dancers as fluid in motion as a waterfall
it is the skirts and ribbons
that flash in the shadows
as the evening's meal churns and bubbles
to overflow onto the campfire
the roadway of self indulgence is paved with choices
the choice of contributing time and effort
a pleasure found in cutting the onions and carrots
the choice of planning just the right spices and herbs
to pleasure and nourish the palate and sate the hunger
the choice of indulging other senses, feet slapping a
rhythm in time to the beat of a tambourine
the choice of feeling the soft silk of a red scarf
flowing through fingers, across hands
draping subtle transient shadows
in a moment of ecstatic self indulgence.