I Dream Of Easters Past

 

 

 

 

The Layers

 

 

I have walked through many lives,

some of them my own,

and I am not who I was,

though some principle of being

abides, from which I struggle

not to stray.

When I look behind,

as I am compelled to look

before I can gather strength

to proceed on my journey,

I see the milestones dwindling

toward the horizon

and the slow fires trailing

from the abandoned camp-sites,

over which scavenger angels

wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself a tribe

out of my true affections,

and my tribe is scattered!

How shall the heart be reconciled

to its feast of losses?

In a rising wind

the manic dust of my friends,

those who fell along the way,

bitterly stings my face,

Yet I turn, I turn,

exulting somewhat,

with my will intact to go

wherever I need to go,

and every stone on the road

precious to me.

In my darkest night,

when the moon was covered

and I roamed through wreckage,

a nimbus-clouded voice

directed me:

“Live in the layers,

not on the litter.”

Though I lack the art

to decipher it,

no doubt the next chapter

in my book of transformations

is already written.

I am not done with my changes.

by Stanley Kunitz, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Outfit 1:

Vintage Blue Raw Silk Shift Dress: my Mother's from the 1960s

Pink Strappy High Heels: old from New Look

 

 

Outfit 2:

Blue Floral Shift Dress: a gift from a friend

Grey Ankle Boot Sandals: old from New Look

Sunglasses: very old from Topshop

 

The Soundtrack

Nina Simone: Feeling Good

 

 

Photographs taken by myself and Mr Eve, over the last two years of sunny Easter weekends, using my previous digital camera.

Some day soon the wintry weather will end and the sun will shine like that again.

 

 

The Easter eggs were painted by me.

 

 

Wishing you all a very Happy Easter, you lovely people!

 

I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

 

 

Tale From The Harem

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can you not see... that fairy tales in their essence are quite solid and straightforward; but that this everlasting fiction about modern life is in its nature essentially incredible? Folk-lore means that the soul is sane, but that the universe is wild and full of marvels. Realism means that the world is dull and full of routine, but that the soul is sick and screaming. The problem of the fairy tale is - what will a healthy man do with a fantastic world? The problem of the modern novel is - what will a madman do with a dull world? In the fairy tales the cosmos goes mad; but the hero does not go mad. In the modern novels the hero is mad before the book begins, and suffers from the harsh steadiness and cruel sanity of the cosmos.  

 

by G.K. Chesterton, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

Vintage Brocade Satin Opera Coat: made by granny Kiki for Kiki Couture in the 30s/40s

Black T-Shirt: very old from H&M

Black Sequin Waisted Harem Trousers: old from a sale at Asos

Red Sequin Peep Toe Heels: old, from a sale at New Look

Amber earrings: my mother's

 

Amber bracelet: gift from a friend

 

The Soundtrack

Marianne Faithfull: Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

 

 

All photographs taken by me, self portraits using the self timer on my little digital camera. 

 

 

Thank you so much for all your supportive comments on my last post, I feel lucky to have found such a caring and inspiring blog community. The fog is gradually lifting, although the weather outside is still freezing! 

 

I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

 

A Way Through Fog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Oh, canary, sing out in the thunderstorm, prove your yellow pride. Give me a reason for courage or a way to be brave. But nothing tangible comes to rescue my besieged sanity, and I cannot decipher the code of the eucalyptus thumping on my roof.....
The parchment philosopher has no traffic with the night, and no conception of the price of love. With smoky circles of thought he tries to combat the fog, and with anagrams to defeat anatomy. I posture in vain with his weapons, even though I am balmed with his nicotine herbs.
Moon, moon, rise in the sky to be a reminder of comfort and the hour when I was brave. 

by Elizabeth Smart, extract from By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept

via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

 

Mohair side tie cardigan: from Oxfam Online

Blue patterned top: bought from Portobello market or a market in Paris, can't remember which

Jeans: Asos

Red cowboy boots, just seen: from R Soles on King's Road years ago

Wood pile: our own, created when we cut away the unruly bracken and woodland that used to be in this field. We now have enough wood to last us in fires for at least a decade!

 

 

The Soundtrack

 

 

The Verve: A Storm In Heaven

 

 

 

All photographs taken by me, self portraits using the self timer on my little digital camera. 

 

 

I've been having a tough time for various reasons over the last month, so that quote of Elizabeth Smart, although a little histrionic, has suited my mood. Thankfully I am finding my way through the fog, as I know I can do. 

 

I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

 

The Witching Hour

 

 

 

 

  

Her Kind

 

by Anne Sexton

via 1

 

 

I have gone out, a possessed witch,

haunting the black air, braver at night;

dreaming evil, I have done my hitch

 

over the plain houses, light by light:

 lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.

 A woman like that is not a woman, quite.

 I have been her kind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have found the warm caves in the woods,  

 

filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,  

 

closets, silks, innumerable goods;

 

fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:

 

whining, rearranging the disaligned.

 

A woman like that is misunderstood.

 

I have been her kind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have ridden in your cart, driver,

 

waved my nude arms at villages going by,

 

learning the last bright routes, survivor

 

where your flames still bite my thigh

 

and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.

 

A woman like that is not ashamed to die.

 

I have been her kind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

Black dress: Nicole Farhi warehouse sale

 

Black spanish lace: passed down from late granny Kiki

 Black suede court shoes: bought many years ago from Hobbs

 Isis pendant: from a car boot sale

 

 

The Soundtrack

Dead Will Dance: Into The Labyrinth

All photographs taken of myself and my beautiful Mum by Mr Eve, using my little digital camera.

 

 

 

As I've been too busy to take outfit photos or blog this week, I thought I'd share some photographs, for those of you who haven't seen them before, from a post first published last year at my other blog Idle Bakes in celebration of Halloween. I've always wondered, why only show a witchy post in the autumn? After all, "witches" lived all year long. No doubt if I had been born in the 1500s I could've been called a witch, as so many unconventional women such as ourselves were in those days, and burned at the stake for no good reason. Witches were nothing like the modern stereotype of cruel carbuncled hags, they were ordinary people, young and old, who were scapegoated for not "fitting in" or for being poor, and blamed for everything from the bad crops to a death in the village.

I'd like to think that those days have passed, but the present conservative government's victimisation of the disabled and the most vulnerable in our society shows a remarkable similarity to the witch hunts of the burning times: nowadays people are left to die through extreme poverty and neglect instead of being burned alive.

 

I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.

 

To The End Of Winter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring Quiet

 

 

Gone were but the Winter,
Come were but the Spring,
I would go to a covert
Where the birds sing.

Where in the whitethom
Singeth a thrush,
And a robin sings
In the holly-bush.

 

Full of fresh scents
Are the budding boughs
Arching high over
A cool green house:

Full of sweet scents,
And whispering air
Which sayeth softly:
"We spread no snare;

"Here dwell in safety,
Here dwell alone,
With a clear stream
And a mossy stone.

Here the sun shineth
Most shadily;
Here is heard an echo
Of the far sea,
Though far off it be."

by Christina Rossetti, via 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Outfit:

 

Vintage fur cape: made by granny Kiki for Kiki Couture in the 30s/40s

 

Red dress: bought in a charity shop, originally from Whistles

 

Red cloche hat: bought in the sale from Village Hats (www.hatsandcaps.co.uk)

 

Vintage patent mary jane shoes: granny Kiki's in the 30s

 

 

Vintage gold heart locket: An heirloom handed down through the generations.

As a child, I placed those photographs of the two of us in the locket after my dear mum gave it to me.

 

 

Beaded handbag: a gift from my aunt and uncle years ago.

 

 

The Soundtrack

Paul Weller: Wild Wood

 

All photographs taken by me, self portraits using the self timer on my cheap digital camera.

 

 

 

 I'm delighted to be a part of Visible Monday, hosted by the lovely Patti from www.notdeadyetstyle.blogspot.co.uk, click on the website link to see her outfit and those of many others.