Simon Vincent Author's Blog

Todays Poem dedicated to my cousin Henry Serra and his mother

2011-12-27T11:02:00.000-08:00

Lamento II (From the book Sea Lust)

Mother of all

hold me to your bosom

one more time I pray.

Take my hand

caress my neck

with your ethereal touch

that soothes the searing pain.

Let me rest, forget,

pacify the night

so dark!

Demons lurk, bloodied

piercing eyes of scorn

disgrace abounds

and all along

foolish friends sing and dance.

From deceit the truth reborn!

Let us go then

take my hand

the eternal waves

keep endless time

in our world, our sea

sand between our toes

clouds where angels sing

velvety soft and warm.

Feels like home

the genuine for us

no borrowed crown shall do!

And Oh, your touch

the glow, aura, splendor

sanctuary for saints and sinners

purity for all

devotion, love, in splendid candor.

Fill my cup with love,

sweet nectar of your essence.

Let me gaze into your

emerald tearless jewels

that I scorn to share

like the moon and stars

are theirs, so I must bear

the stranger's turn

the fortunate souls

that fate has graced

with your blessed eyes

and golden smile.

Your face is time

mother of all.

I cherish the thought

you're mine!

Todays poem dedicated to Gerda - My Hometown

2011-12-23T07:04:00.000-08:00

JAIMANITAS, CUBA

(My Hometown)

The story was going to be written in prose

But the words started coming out in

Patterns

With rhythm

And cadence

And not like prose at all

And pretty soon the story wasn’t

Important anymore

Just the words

And their patterns

Drizzling slowly

Across that damn sheet of paper

Yellow paper

And it’s hurting my eyes

And still the thoughts and feelings keep coming

If I try really hard and hold each to my heart

For I have all the time in the world

It ought to keep me busy for a while.

There is for each of us

A paradise that was

A time to which we steal away

When too much of the present

Starts filling our day

When nothing but pleasure seemed

To matter

And no one obstructed pursuit of the latter

A time when I lived in the land

That I loved:

The curling face of each wave

Gently stroking the crunching sand

Licking the turret I could not save

That stood near the sea wall half-claimed by decay.

While the water reflecting the sun on each swell

Echoed the laughter of children at play

Casting the sound to the wind in the palms.

So the scene unfolds before me

Memories that never will fade

Ever strong, ever bright-

The paradise that was.

Come, be close.

I need your warming eyes

To spur me with my story,

And if you smile, I’ll tell you

Of the views of the past

From the windows of my soul.

The first one goes back

To the long, long ago.

When unhampered by glass

My hand, outstretched, reached the sea.

All was green palms, quite near,

A pebble-strewn beach.

To the right and afar.

Curved a finger of land

With houses and churches, all facing towards me.

I could linger forever at this.

My first window

But the salt-spray is heavy

And time has no pause.

So come, be close.

Those aren’t tears in my eyes,

It’s the spray from the ocean

Of my long, long ago.

Next I’ll show you a window

That was one wall of glass,

And within, all mundane

Just an office to me;

And all that I needed

To be lifted, transported,

Was slowly to turn

With fixed gaze to the window.

Remember in fairytales,

How roads cut through forests?

To the left was a fairyland road

such as those.

The sun as it sparkled on the glass

of hotels

Jewel-scattered the landscape

Settling down on the wave swells.

Distracting, this window,

Especially when sailboats

Hove whitely and roundly into view.

Then at dusk, a still moment,

The city was captured, the bay and the islands,

All linked by my longing

It was perfect this window,

Joining man’s hand to God’s.

Even as darkening thunder-clouds billowed

And the fairyland, wetly, was hidden from view.

Yet stay,

I’m not done.

Only one more is left.

And this one the strangest, yet brightest to me.

For the orange and white of small planes fill the air

Breaking the pattern of blue and white sky

And this window has bars

Yet it opens quite wide,

To let in the roar of machines made by man,

While on the horizon, trees fringe the runways

And occasional birds fly companions to airplanes.

Idyllic? No baby,

Not this patch of color-

It’s the view from my prison

For I can’t hear the sea.

So come, reach close,

Let your hand wipe away

These teardrops that cling

Like the salt-spray to me.

A Love Poem from Sea Lust

2011-12-21T11:05:00.000-08:00

THINKING OF YOU ONE NIGHT

Spiraling down to kiss the sea,

A falling star from heaven flees

And as I watch in lovesick awe,

The cool, black sea turns its foamy face-

So they touch and the star’s glow dies,

To live again within your eyes.

By Simon Vincent

I'm Lusting for The Sea Again here's Sea Lust the title poem from my poetry book

2011-12-20T06:19:00.000-08:00

SEA LUST

I was born to love the sea,

Nurtured on a beach at heaven’s door

I was blind, my search led nowhere

There are so many roads to the sea

I would merge, I’m not whole

Close your eyes, can you hear how the sea calls to me?

Turn around and don’t laugh as I stumble in the darkness,

A choice I was given on the road I would follow

But I’m blind and there’s nothing until I find me.

Oh God, find Simon, and then I’ll be free

To travel in my glory road to the sea.

Hey,

You can’t do it all

You go down to the sea and scrunch a seashell in the sand

Till there’s nothing anymore ‘cept the ripple of the waves at

Heavens shore.

Just you and the sea

The kind of aloneness that brings good thought, sea thoughts,

Of love and life and the tug of a fish at the end of your line

Aloneness with things God made, not man.

And it’s not the aloneness of a bleak-blank room,

Of walls and chairs and the city-sounds and city-dust

Streaming through the window.

That kind’s hell.

And brings bleak-blank thoughts and you don’t know what life is.

In the night, no ships at all

Two strangers, two people are we

Who reach, and touch

Communicating the incommunicable—

Then part

The richer for having met

The poorer for having lost

Each other.

And there’s no such thing as love

And if there is, you don’t want it anymore.

‘Cause you want to do everything

and go everywhere

and live all you can

And you can’t do it all but you want to

And a man-made thing’ll trap you

And people will discourage you and they’ll tell you to give up.

So you go down to the sea and your breathe in the air

and it’s free

and it’s wild

and it’s yours.

You see the rocks growing on the water after the rain

Reflecting ‘round the ripples of the sea

Their hard brown souls

And the smoothness of the water

Their peaks cause no break

They float atop the plate.

And a long-legged bird stands on one

Surveying his domain

A pelican waves goodbye

As I race off in my little boat

To skim the high waves

Shouting Hee Hah and Yippee Ka-yay!

Bucking like a cowboy on the rolling tide

Lord, the waves are rough today!

Hey, look what the waves did to the sand

The tide relaxes, then rushes back.

Do you think those seagulls will attack?

The sun burns brownly to our skin,

Back on shore a white-breasted bird

Spreads his crooked black wings

So high and far, out of reach.

So I rest my wave-tossed body the sea has wet

Drip down into the sand-brushed blanket

Lie hotly; touch her hand to mine,

While within my heart love soars.

All life reviewed in a single day

As the sea washes the shore

And you can’t do it all but you’ll try.

Go on,

Laughing at the people reading record-album covers in the store

And sitting on buses and benches, and more

Dead than alive.

You can do it all…do it all,

Go on till you die

Reaching for God’s golden shore

And Death’s all that can stop you

From doing more.

Todays Poem - Homage to Hemingway

2011-12-19T08:39:00.000-08:00

ODE TO PAPA (HEMINGWAY)

Tell the gypsies death is not a smell

Send the author with a message to where they dwell.

They must be told without delay.

For there’s but one way to keep death at bay

And it would be sad if, concerned with smell,

One by one, the gypsies fell

Never knowing death comes calling

Odorless, when called upon.

Poem For Today my favorite Lamento from Sea Lust

2011-12-16T08:32:00.000-08:00

IXV

Ear of a sow

And a purple cow,

Dance, Devil, dance.

I care not for sorrow,

I grieve not in pain;

Always I’ll find tomorrow,

Underneath the cold night’s rain.

Rain that washes down the castle walls

Built so gently

Through the day.

Built on laughter

By nymphs at play;

As I lay watching

To snatch their joy,

Catch it quickly and carry away

Some of the madness the nymphs display.

Then I’ll dance and kick my heels

I will count the purple cows

Jumping over the frozen moon.

Until morning brings tomorrow,

Another castle to melt in the rain.

For Monica

2011-12-07T06:58:00.000-08:00

DAWN WATCHERS

Oh Dawn, translucent

tapestry of colors and luscious jewels

Come, Aurora, share with us

the light and the morning's dew

On your velvet cloak that brightly brings

the promise of hope anew this day

Shame the night devoid of hue

your mystic canvas

Nature's hand, divine the force

The palette of heaven, anxious

for the master's stroke, awaits

Then, in the east there comes a ray

it strikes the blow, the black to fade

And from the west, a mighty glow

the embers of love reborn, eternal flame

that fades with night and glows in the sky

Crescent moon watches all,

Venus, too, from high above.

Poem for Wed. 12/7

2011-12-07T06:31:00.000-08:00

My Passion

I don’t belong here, I know it

But only say you love me

And my heart soars, quivers

Each word, each syllable impacting, moving me

From all that’s practical, real around me

To the warmness that is you.

In your soul I’ll nestle, shielded, huddled

So much power has your love, that your words

At the first sound makes me tremble

All ensconced with joy and bliss

Like the magic prince

One kiss upon your supple lips

The parting of your smile

I beg you please, three small words

My kingdom for the taking

So many faces, events, the “stuff”

That makes me who I am

My heart on fire…I pray

But the phone rings and I think of you

Empty now the bed we shared

Empty my embrace, my arms outstretched

And in the room, bodies come and go

I stay, now alone in every way

Life goes on but I hold back

The void of love, in deep sorrows I lack

My need for you

But you are gone, your heart in check

To meet new faces, see new places

Leaving me behind… waiting, wanting

Looking at the bed and the pillow

That caressed your head beside me

Yearning for the touch, one more kiss

Before departing, missing you.

And so I yield the mighty pen

That makes me who I am

And as I surrender to your memory

I am so alone, I search for words

And when they come,

It’s you and you alone, I miss you so.

My life is an ocean, rippling waves

Lapping at your feet

Rising, falling in the restless tides

That wonderful pacifying sound

Ocean meets shore, You are my shore

The never-ending reaching for you, my land

In this our place bound by time

All my soul dispersed in myriad waves

Each lapping, cursing your indifference

And sometimes a glassy calm,

That quickly ripples into a thousand mirrors

Each reflecting your eyes that haunt me still, and

Your smile that melts me to the shallows

Of the rocky shores and reefs that only now

I see with tear filled eyes

Then into this uncertain chaos,

The breathless wind of your sighs

Whirling all the untamed waters that you dread

There, lost in fertile valleys

I am no more,

What a curious thing

For one who was an island, a rock of ages

I now exist only as part of you

Embracing the thought of you

While outside, only smiles appear.

How deeply felt,

How deeply felt…

Measured by the impossibility of expression

----A sunset and a sunrise from my bedroom

----The first snow, kissing the windowpanes

----A tree stripped naked in the very moment you

chance to glance its way, then trembling, poor sycamore

covered with crystal drops of ice, too soon gone.

Evergreen would be a bore!

Mariachis strolling in the dark,

A lovely voice soaring like a lark

Or violins, tugging at your heart

Or a big brass band

Trumpets, clarinets, trombones, backed by

Deep voiced drums

The sweet sounds of music, and Oh so many more

How they fill my soul, soothe my pain

I revel in the earth,

My spirit lifted for the glorious

Homebound flight

And what is heaven but earth entire

Pure of heart and full of faith

When at last my heart shall break in two,

And free at last, encompass all of you.

I thank you for my soul, my love

I came within a breath of losing all

Raising the devil’s curtain on our stage

Softly unveiling the proscenium

From where I stood exposed under the lights, trembling

Against the cold, grey breath of death

Penitent, screaming to the Lord.

Oh! How we strain our lifeline

When we clutch the weight of sin.

Enclosed in my humanity,

My vision narrows,

Then a ray of light comes streaming

Crazed and wild, focused

Rapier pointed

My soul impaled on the blank naked, wall of fear

It surrounds in darkness, it consumed me

There I stood, trembling on the light-hook

Deserted, except for your love and will

And as I drowned enclosed in my humanity

A voice,

I followed, I listened, I ate, I drank

I am free, I am healed, I am loved.

New Poems

2011-12-05T10:15:00.000-08:00

Sea Hunger

From within, the cabin porthole

Presents a view of Rodriguez Key

Floating greyly beyond the reef

Palm Fronds laughing at the pink-tongued sky.

And I within mock Dunsinane,

Look down at my idle hands and ache.

Heaven on Earth

Earth look up, with laughter

In your eyes,

The Son of God stepped down,

And in our midst he lives;

He came to save, redeem us all-

The God of Mercy answered our call.

But Earth, beware, though Christ

May bless, to bring us

Joy, Eternal Life.

His life He’ll give.

So Earth look down, let teardrops

Fill your eyes,

The Son of Man stepped down,

And now all dead He lives.

Art Gallery on Ebay

2009-09-29T18:31:00.000-07:00

Just opened a store in ebay to try to sell some art works and finance my writing. Please take a look
http://stores.shop.ebay.com/Art-Gallery-at-Faro-Blanco-Media__W0QQ_armrsZ1

Justine and Balthazar

2009-09-26T08:16:00.000-07:00

I must admit that in all my reading I had never heard of Durrell which of course makes me not so well read. He is a great writer.

About Justine. Wonderful writing if sometimes a bit verbose and his use of uncommon words for describing something simple, well lets just say his poetic license if much higher than mine and most of the reading public. He was a book club selection and I am glad for it.

Justine is a modern woman. She lives by a different set of rules than the women of her age, she is a Katherine Hepburn type. The men on the other hand are impotent. They are passive bystanders. She moves, digests, uses them and in the end she leaves them.

About Balthazar; I found this book a little easier to read. Perhaps because I already had an introduction from reading Justine. Balthazar as a character is never quite clearly defined. However this book seemed to have some flow and plotline. I would have named this book Hussain, Nessim's brother is to me the most compelling character. At first a benign good brother who tends the farm and takes care of the mother. But the cleft lip. A good hint at the imperfection that is to come. His lovesick obsession with Clea and subsequent murder of Toto because he comes on to him and he thinks its Justine because of the ring. Well it blows your mind. Durrell sets up Clea very well for the next installment.

Alexandria is the mother city with her ample bosom of diversions and ethnic flair.

But its the language and the rhythm of Durrells prose that makes you feel that you are experiencing a book not just reading it. Well done.

No Country for Old Men

2009-09-24T13:27:00.000-07:00

My son told me to read the book and think about reading McCarthy. I am totally hooked on this great writer. I will read his other books and see if they are as good as this one. There is magic in his prose. A magic that comes from living the life of the west, the down-to-earth, rooted characters. In McCarthy's words these characters are very real and you feel they could be your next door neighbor or family. Awesome dialogue. He tells a story with the least amount of words. Every word counts not a one is wasted. I predict the Nobel in the future for this most american of writers.

2009-06-04T07:12:00.000-07:00

Just finished reading Stalins Ghost by Martin Cruz Smith. Im a big fan of Arkady Renko, the most human of all detectives who always gets his man or woman. Martin gets a bit literary with this book, some new phrasing which left me guessing sometimes where I was in the story. However not distracting to the point of stopping as I have done with some books and coming back when I was ready to follow and not just following like some sheep. Some authors do this to me. Anyhow, loved the story and the new woman. The boy was not an endearing character but I understood his place in Arkady's life without a family. I like the way he ended with the idea that the book was not about one, but many ghosts, we are all haunted by our very own ghosts. Good quick read.

Wao did not Woo them!

2009-05-25T07:32:00.000-07:00

Well, what can I say the Pulitzer does not make a book popular, it makes it famous. The Simon Vincent Book Club was almost unanimous in their dislike of Junot Diaz's masterpiece. It was my selection so I had to defend him. Imagine that, this lowly author/poet defending the professor and prizewinner. I did my best. In the end they did not buy my breakdown of his electric modern prose. I believe it was a great piece of writing by a good writer who loves to play with words and the reader. I finally added that he will surprise readers with a great novel one day. One with more plot and story and less wordplay. To no avail. My group was not moved. Thumbs down for this prizewinner!

On to the next round! Star already has her author and choices. Who the hell is Christopher Moore? Oh well that is what clubs are about expanding our reading horizons. Happy Reading, Simon

Win FREE books by Simon Vincent

2009-05-16T08:38:00.000-07:00

Win FREE copies of Waypoint 90 and Sea Lust by going to these links on Goodreads.

Waypoint 90

http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/663-waypoint-90-in-the-chambers-of-the-sea

Sea Lust-Poems from the heart

http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/587-sea-lust

On Hearing Simon Vincent Read Aloud

2009-05-12T07:52:00.000-07:00

I recently sent in some of my poems to WLRN writers under the sun program to see if I could read my poems on radio. Just today a nice lady, Alyssa, wrote me and maybe, just maybe I will read on radio. Talk about excited, I feel like a kid. I will read my poem On hearing Eliot Read Aloud. It moved me back then to write some lines.

ON HEARING ELIOT READ ALOUD

The ghost of a moment
When candlelight flickers,
The ghost of a chance
To gather more treasure,
To store away hours
Enveloped in shadows,
Wrapped up in the timbre
Of the resonant voice
As he reads from the poet
The sound reaches through me
And enters, and settles,
Exciting and soothing.
While candlelight flickers
Each word finds its meaning-
Breathless. I, captive,
Aware of the author,
Yearn to discover
All Eliot’s dream-world,
I will wander forever
Through the land of his voice.

Poem from Sea Lust

2009-05-11T07:51:00.000-07:00

THINKING OF YOU ONE NIGHT

Spiraling down to kiss the sea,
A falling star from heaven flees
And as I watch in lovesick awe,
The cool, black sea turns its foamy face-
So they touch and the star’s glow dies,
To live again within your eyes.

By Simon Vincent

Unaccustomed Earth

2009-05-11T07:50:00.000-07:00

As a first time reader I had only one preconception, I had seen the movie version of "The Namesake". I really enjoyed the movie. I will read the book in reverse order, for I like to read the book and then see the movie. Anyhow back to the "Earth". I can see why she is a prize winning author. She has that gift, a unique prose, it is simple when compared to Garcia-Marquez lets say, no hidden metaphors, no slick word play. Elegant unassuming prose that moves the story with real characters. Yes she overdoes it with the Bengali heritage, but that is who she is. I write and try as I might I can't shake my cuban roots, it permeates my prose, my brain as I filter my words in my adopted language of English, which is my best. Her stories are like her characters, some are sharp and biting some are subdued and so normal they can be a bit slow to read at times. But take the last story about the photographer, his life is so rich that his photographs seem pale. I look forward to more stories from this woman. She is one of our best writers.

Paris Holiday

2009-05-11T07:49:00.000-07:00

Well what can I say about visiting Paris for the first time, nothing and everything! I am speechless when it comes to Art and History, everything has been said, a lot more eloquently than I could, but I can tell you that it is unforgettable and will remain with you forever. It is as they say, Paris--then you die! Or something like that. Monet's lilies were incredible. And seeing all the Modiglianis, and Picassos and Cezannes and Van Gohs and on and on...you get the picture.
I sipped my espresso on the small table on the cafe by the plaza in St. Germain and thought about Hemingway and the rest of the lost souls. I wrote my scribbles and felt more alive that I have felt in a long time. But then came time to leave. And as they say looking forward to the next time.

Simon Vincent Author Newsletter

2009-05-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

SIMON VINCENT AUTHOR NEWSLETTER

News and Information from the Author
Issue No 1, Volume 1, April 2009
Editor: Star Bradley
Publisher: Simon Vincent
http://www.simonvincent.com

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“Too many parents make life hard for their children by trying, too zealously, to make it easy for them.” -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, poet, dramatist, novelist, and philosopher (1749-1832)

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IN THIS ISSUE

1 Newsletter Special Offers
Waypoint 90-Novel $5 Off Regular price
2 Book Giveaway
Answer Question and Win FREE Book
3 Simon Vincent Book Club Updates
4 Web Site Pick-Of-The-Month
http://www.goodreads.com

5 “SIMON SAYS” –Author Updates
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1.
Inaugural Newsletter Special Offers –CLICK ON LINK BELOW

http://www.simonvincent.com/Newsletter.h...

2. BOOK GIVEAWAY OFFER

ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTION AND WIN FREE COPY OF WAYPOINT 90 (the first two emails to respond with correct answer will each win a free copy)

Question: What is the name of the “old man” in Hemingway’s famous novel “The Old Man and The Sea”
mailto:simon@simonvincent.com
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3. Simon Vincent Book Club News and events.

This month’s meeting of the BookClub will be on April 24, 2009 at the authors’ home in Miami. We will be discussing “The Unaccustomed Earth” by Jhumpa Lahiri.

Last month’s discussion was lively and upbeat as there was unanimous appeal and all-around good comments for “The NO. 1 Ladies Detective Agency” by Alexander McCall Smith.

May’s selection is “The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao”, by Junot Diaz.
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4. Web Site Pick-of-the-Month-
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In this section we will highlight websites considered to be of special value to book lovers and readers.

http://www.goodreads.com

Goodreads is the largest social network for readers in the world. We have over 2,000,000 members who have added over 46,000,000 books to their shelves. A place for casual readers and bona-fide bookworms alike, Goodreads members recommend books, compare what they are reading, keep track of what they've read and would like to read, form book clubs and much more. Goodreads was launched in December 2006.

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5. Simon Says-Author Updates
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I has been a very interesting month. The highlight was my trip to Paris, France. Below is my journal entry on the last day:

“I was really moved yesterday by one of the attractions of this great city, the Monet Lilies, and then the impressionists, Renoir, Cezanne and Modigliani and yes even Picasso. But it was the lilies that Monet gave to the people of France that moved me to the point of inspiring me to create. Not like him but inspired by the effort of this great man who saw beauty right around him in his home. It was awesome. I was wearing a blue sweater that made me feel one with the blue of the canvas I wanted to mold in with the water and wade, to disappear into the land of his strokes, and become one with him, I felt his beauty and I was glad for life and for feeling. It was the highlight of the trip. It was a fabulous experience and Paris seduced me and my heart. Like Pop always said.”

My work on my new novel, “The Weight of Sin” is coming along slower than I’d like but feel very close to the end and looking forward to finishing the editing so that I can start on my next story. The new characters are anxious for their birth.

Simon

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2009-05-11T07:30:00.000-07:00

Sea Lust-Poems from the Heart

If poetry can be said to be the songs of the heart, then this is a book of heart songs, the deeply felt emotions of a heart that is searching, seeking its own unique way through the labyrinth of human emotions and experiences that make up a life. As you read his words and listen to their song, your heart will soar and your pulse will quicken, his words are like the sea flowing through your fingers as you wade in a crystal clear ocean. When the heart speaks, what we hear is truth. Truth as seen through the eyes of a poet, a poet at heart.

Hello from Key Largo

2008-03-24T13:53:00.000-07:00

To all readers, here lives the poet. From the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy and all in between. Let me know what you are thinking this fine March day. Simon