The body comes last as she bounds into chaos,
the day, to work on no breakfast for starters,
watching her weight as is the call
of her generation, Twiggy-thin or else
considered fat, little choice in the matter
but to subsume any physical appetites
which, by the way, include sex, employed
more to entice than to enjoy;

He doesn’t know where to begin, start
with the basics, try to be a gentleman
like his doddering father and wonders
why it isn’t working, generation gapping
all around his tired visage;

Why are women so unpredictable, masters
of emotional language he cannot grasp, even
with a lifetime of education and experience,
competence lending comfort and yet
here he is, fish flopping on the deck
of his own boat, sun scorching thin skin,
not yet dead but not wholly alive either;

Two halves of one whole, promise to love
and cherish and why is this one thing
so hard, this constancy; how is it
that love itself seems never enough?

28 thoughts on “Bricolage

    1. Haha, yes. Wrote this in pieces while observing humans in the wild public domain. πŸ˜‰ Suddenly yesterday while pondering what to post, the fragments began to gather into a whole. Aloha, Eliza, and thanks 😚

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  1. Love the title, and this is a bricolage of random truths. Though it’s difficult to accomplish, we might desire to be the ones who tend satisfactorily to the needs of both our internal and external hunger for fulfillment. Bricolages of “soulful materialism.” Hope this finds you well, amigo πŸ™‚

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    1. Love, love your idea of soulful materialism. Sweet! Yes, I am well, thanks for that dear one, having a smashing visit with a friend of over 25 years’ duration. Enjoying revisiting past histories in the company of one who knows me well. Love to you and yours, Mahesh! 😘

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    1. Glad of mellow as well. Enough drama for a lifetime, just growing up and trying to navigate the world, nevermind relationships! Aloha, Betty. Hope you enjoy the wind-down to your week. ❀️

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      1. Omg, Betty, and isn’t it the truth!? I don’t think it has strictly to do with our age either – time is really compressed and flying by like the saucers and cups in a Mad Hatter Tea Party. See you on the flip side when it’s all over πŸ˜‰ xoxo

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  2. A very thought-provoking poem, Bela. As Mahesh said, bricolage and love are two words that go hand-in-hand, and this tells of random thoughts. Love is a funny language…you feel it yet it is hard to put in words and also hard to express in general. It keeps each other guessing, and it’s sort of like a game where you have to guess how one feels but can never be sure. But I suppose over time it becomes easier – the more time you spend with someone and watch them, you learn what makes them tick. In your poem I like how you allude to different definitions of love: self love and love towards others. I think we all need to love ourselves and recognise who we are before we can truly give ourselves over to another bigger love out there πŸ™‚

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    1. Aloha Mabel – yes, if we are wise, we realize the complementarity in relationship and learn to appreciate its subtleties, though many are lost in the thrall of roles and stereotypes like I allude to in this little offering. And yes, so true that we must cultivate self love before we are truly capable of sharing and growing in love with others. Thanks for your thoughtful comments – always! So appreciated. ❀


      1. ‘learn to appreciate its subtleties’ Subtleties seems like such a cute word…and the small nice things and actions that we show towards each other are in fact often cute and much needed. Always appreciate your poetry, Bela ❀


  3. “not yet dead but not wholly alive either” – strangely everyone achieves the first, the second may be difficult to maintain as a constant, but it certainly comes in little moments, though often not consciously lived, but the reminders linger as memorable hindsights.

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    1. Vidur, this is a particularly astute observation: “Memorable hindsights,” indeed. I do believe that feeling wholly alive may best happen if one is mindful, however you are correct in saying it is difficult to ‘maintain as a constant.’ Pain and suffering can throw one’s best intentions under the train.
      Aloha, and thanks for taking time to comment!

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