Skip to main content

B is for I, The Lover


The lover will never be loved as the lovee
The lover will never know love as the lovee does
He’s the guy who wants to take you to pan finals even though you hate it
Even though you don’t understand the big deal
He wants to wrap his arms around you as the bass pan bumps
And whisper in your ear, the notes that the band is playing
Bum. Bum. Bum-bumpity-bump. Bum-bum-bumpity bump….

And you laugh. You laugh at first because his breath tickles your ear
You laugh because he probably skipped a beat – he who professes love of pan
Knows nothing
Knows less than you
Funny
But then the sound makes sense
The rhythm of the steel-pan moves with the light swaying of his hips
Moves with the tapping of his hands on your hands on your gut
And you feel
In your gut
That this is love. A tenor pan and a guitar pan
And a lover who’s trying to get you to understand
That this is love
Past could be and maybe… this is love.
But you will never know, never fully love him the way he loved you
He pursued, you perused
You feel into his lust
Some deep sea. Strange and warm waters…
He pulled you to the shore and wrapped a blanket over you
Pulled your hair back so you could recognise
So you could see
The lover will never be loved as much as the lovee
You will never fully know what it is to love me.

“I, the Lover”
Tracy j H
07:02:2013

*just listened to some good pan. watch it HERE  I figured... the momentary human would not get Steel Pan. but it's fun to dream. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

B in Future Traditions

THE COPY: I was sitting down listening to Norah Jones’ “Come Away with Me” and I began to think about future traditions. I thought… I want to sway with someone. Sway with my lover. To this music. More than that, I want that when we had an argument (and we’d have those because she’d be stubborn and I’d be pig headed (iChuckle)) we would never go to bed angry. We’d pop open a lover’s CD like this one and just sway. We may be as mad as hell but we would sway because we would never want to go to bed angry. And our children would know this. And they would never allow their partners to go to bed angry either because… well, because they would know better. They would sway. They would know it was better to sway. That’s the kind of man I want to be. Moreover, that’s the kind of tradition I’d like to pass on. Future Traditions. What's Yours?

B is for The League of Extraordinary Cutlasses

So Facebook is mourning. Why? A child was snuffed out. How does modern man respond? By blacking out their profile picture. So Facebook is mourning. Why? Crime has reached intolerable levels for the people of a twin island republic. How does civilized, contemporary society respond? By copying and pasting stern status updates. WE WILL NOT TAKE THIS! SEND A STRONG MESSAGE! COPY AND PASTE THIS ON YOUR STATUS IF YOU WANT A CHANGE! Not denying that social media has its power. After all, just yesterday I read of a man who – in honor of Facebook’s role in the Egyptian Revolution – named his first child, Facebook. We do not deny that Youtube and the Twitter was a beacon for Tehran, but do note, these social media enterprises merely acted as a catapult for an already serious war on injustice. My people however… are not that serious. Thus I have decided on a far more satisfying approach. Ladies and Wilderbeasts, I give you, The League of Extraordinary Cutlasses. An organization geared towards ...

B is for The Etch-A-Sketch

I’ve always thought of the Universe as a big, big mouth. And when you make a statement, it opens wide to receive it. It (the universe) rolls it in its mouth and then spews it back out in a more interesting form. Say for example, me. I said once, I want to try/experience everything at least once. And through a series of [un] fortunate events, I have experienced some real heights. I said… I want to do everything. this brought on a wonderful debate with a friend of mine who explained to me in all honesty that iCan’t do everything. Enter John Locke’s voice screaming to the world – “don’t tell me what I can and cannot do!” But he was right though. My dear friend, not John Locke. Maybe. I can’t do everything. Except I probably could. Of course when given the opportunity to try my hands and attempting the everything, I feel my tongue lean back into my oesaphagus, and slowly gallop tactlessly down my arse. Yes… I am aware of how that sounds. I’ve performed poetry at various locations. I’ve pub...