Erato On The Pull

I was out last Thursday walking to a night club for a little amusement. Maybe pull some bird. It was a lovely full moon, with a faint misty haze before it, diffusing its soft light; scent of jasmine strong in the cool night air.

Erato, as Wikipedia explains, is one of the Greek Muses that inspires lyric poetry, typically romantic and erotic verse. And Selene is the goddess of the moon I’ve often written of.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the forum (club), no sooner than I composed the haiku as a note on my cell phone, some women crying and smelling of spilt beer stops me in the street, tells me about the recent death of her mother, and asks if I can help her back to her hotel. She clearly was having trouble with the vertical axis, so I help her out, find the hotel, and see her up to her room. Next thing she’s wanting me to come into her room and spend the night.

While this sounds like some teenage fantasy come true, I really didn’t fancy her, and it would not have been proper to take advantage of her in such an emotional and drunken state. I had to tear myself away from her as she tried to pull me into the room.

I think I should be careful about invoking Erato’s and Selene’s names in my haiku in future, cause I clearly I got more than I bargained for.


Milkweed pod from the cover of Words And Music and back of liner notes for The Book Of Secrets.This morning while walking Baka and listening to Lorenna McKennitt’s album The Book Of Secrets, I started to think about the suggestive photo of the milkweed pod on the back of the liner notes.

I imagined a woman lying nude and asleep in my bed, me awake, simply watching her, and how much would I ever come to understand her. I then wrote these two versions and I couldn’t decide which of the two expressed that thought more clearly.

So far, nothing has happened yet after having invoked Erato’s name twice in one morning, but the day is far from over yet.

Restless Dawn

Again late night or early awake. Found myself once more at the ebony keys of my laptop. Watching the tweets of people I follow, looking for something to spark a chat or inspire a thought. Not to say I have no thoughts, but at 2h20 in the morning one has a tendency to fade to black for a time.

By The Silence Of Night

A wet cool Sunday evening. Almost perfectly quiet outside, except for the occasional slosh of water as a car passes in the street below to disturb the steady trickle of rain. Then from out of the night comes a single clap of thunder, like someone yelling at the neighbour’s hound to be silent.

Later I find myself wide awake during the pre-dawn hours, unable to sleep. I rise, go to my study, and light several candles. Even though the glow from the laptop screen is enough to read by, it lacks the warm ambience that flickering flame gives.

As the candles burned, my thoughts drifted towards more erotic sensations and the need to share them. A sort of 9½ Weeks moment.

The slow tint of ghostly blue light signals the coming dawn. I dress and opt to walk Baka early through dawn drizzle in damp silence. No lights from windows, no passing cars, just a dark bluish shift to sombre grey light as the day slowly comes into view around Cannes.

Once more @jaava provided food for thought as she settled into her evening. A gracious hostess.

But finally with the grey dawn, came a westerly bringing with it more steady rain to nourish the trees and flowers of spring; a wine urn totted by a godly servant amongst the thirsty guests of a Greek banquet as they lounge or cavort in accordance to their whims and desires.

Alternate States of Mind

Typically I can work amidst distractions such as music, the chatter of cow-orkers, instant messaging pings, and twitter except when I have one of those mental blocks a programmer sometimes gets when faced with a problem the resembles a maze of twisty passages, all alike. Then the slightest bat of an eyelash or breathless whisper can derail the locomotive of my thoughts.

It’s as these times, that I’ll play with Baka a little, fold the clean pile of laundry, go for walk; essentially fall back a step and remember to breath.

I eventually broke through the past week of writer’s block and felt the world shift. My colleague, Steve F. in the UK, was so pleased to hear of the successful conclusion as we talked over Skype that he had me wait as he disappeared for a moment, distant sounds of bumps and bangs, only to return with the sound of a quick click and hiss of a cold one being opened in honour of the occasion. Cheers.

Today is one of those lovely sunny, slightly breezy, spring days in Cannes. Baka and I once more strolled through the fée gully, with the Jasmine now in bloom, along with the Judas and Wisteri.

I of course tweeted my #haiku of the experience and then out of curiosity visited twyric to see it presented with a picture. I was pleased with the choice. I sat and read some of the others as they passed by and noticed one from @jaava that struck a familiar chord.

Update 30 Apr 2009

In Supplication

I found @fishtron’s supplication to some unnamed goddess (probably a waitress at her local café in Vancouver) like a cry or scream into the night.

As a teen I thought of the Moon as a messenger between distant lovers, where I used to lookup and entreat the Moon to carry a message to my first love, when I lived in Sydney and Waterloo.

Selene, the Greek goddess of the Moon appears in many myths and has a couple of names and incarnations. Personally I still see her a part messenger, part cupid, often coquine. Though sometimes I wonder if she’s the goddes of blue balls and cold showers.

I’ve often referred to the Anemoi, the Greek gods of the winds. So a cool spring evening walk, with many floral scents carried on the wind, made me wonder if Boreas also suffered from blue balls.