The Lovers’ Chronicle 13 July – a difference – verse by John Clare – art by Mordecai Ardon

Dear Zazie,  Here is Mac Tag‘s Lovers’ Chronicle to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle 

Dear Muse,

a difference a dream makes…
wow, why is everything white, our bedroom
is not all white, has to be another dream
maybe this is an asylum, they are always
white, right, visited one once, the one
papa was committed to by my birth 
mother, though it shoulda been her;
this is a deep family secret, by the way
we never talked about it after he returned
i think he was subjected to shock treatments
because he had to relearn things he once knew
anyway, y’all know it can git dark up in here
so better not be any surprised looks ok;
suppose papa fared better than John Clare


© copyright 2024.2025 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

first song that came to mind,
music by María Grever, lyrics by Stanley Adams;
’’What a Diff’rence a Day Makes’’ by Dinah Washington
’’Another fabulous voice gone too soon’’
agree, but she recorded some memorable
songs, includin’ this one
which Grever, who was from Mexico,
wrote as ‘’Cuando vuelva a tu lado"
’’Which translates as, when i return to your side’’
thank you my dear for your fluency in Spanish,
the English version better suits where we are
not so much a difference in days anymore
could go on about the difference in years,
two years removed from when everything changed,
when we could say our lonely nights are through, dear


© copyright 2023.2024 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

no changes from day to day, what about from last year, no, more of the same, which is good, most days given to the importance of you, here, still the reason; he leans back to read what was written, has another sip of, tequila and spicy pickle brine with a splash of lemonade and soda, might have to give that a name, Anna of course; where to next, could recount what a difference it has made just to let the thoughts loose on the page with you

© copyright 2022.2024 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

from last year to this
you are what has made it

hidin’ no more
my feelin’s across the page
i dare to gaze upon what is to be
new memories in place of dreams
a kiss and bid hello to what matters

i look forward to sharin’ this
with you as we continue

© copyright 2021.2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Pale Love, Pale Rider

weary, i haste to bed,
the dear repose for limbs
tired and worn, so to begin
the journeys in my dreams

not sure i can learn how to compromise
the wild dream ideals and the necessary
realities without comin’ apart at the seams

my only interest, lies here with you

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

the blankets closer about
passin’ out of shadows into
the wan moonlight

glancin’ at the face
upturned, the eyes
wide, lookin’ back

would that the thievin’ minutes
fold up that we might never part

i think that we most
need to talk and grieve
for that is the best music

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

i hid most of the time
till i could not bear it
i hid to my despite

along the way,
a memory left in each place
wherever need arose

pause and gaze
in wide wonder

a kiss and bid good bye

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

does not get much
bigger than this

a year removed
from a date with
what lies beyond,
and a few weeks
into solitude,
my what changes

believe i am mostly sound
though might need a little
more time for assessment

certainly fit
for tellin’ the tales
so have a seat
and we shall
release the wounds

© copyright 2017.2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Oh, would that I were able to kiss you now…

Wrappin’ the blankets closer
about her, he carried her
From time to time, passin’
out of the black shadows
into the wan moonlight,
he glanced at the white face
of the girl lyin’ in his arms

He laid her down in the shallow
hollow of a little ridge
With her face upturned,
she opened her eyes,
wide, starin’ black
“Is— it— you?”
Yes
“Where— are we?”
In a safe place
Do not be afraid
“Are we— in a cave?”
Yes
“Oh, listen!… The waterfall!…
I hear it! You’ve brought me back!”
Rest came that night
But no sleep
They did not want sleep
Above them, over the dark rim
of the cliff , shone the stars
Tonight they were different

As they lay there
with the sighin’ cliff winds
in there ears, the stars above,
they felt the difference

© Mac tag/cowboy coleridge copyright 2016 all rights reserved

You know
You know that I am here
More near to you than anyone

What means it then that we are sundered so
If these hopes that flow from you are true
Help break down what between us stands

For bein’ without you is unendurable
Because in you I found, because I know
What you know best, be not therefore afraid

Souls need not burn for souls
Spirits need not cry for spirits

© Mac tag/cowboy coleridge copyright 2015 all rights reserved

John Clare

Today is the birthday of John Clare (Helpston, Soke of Peterborough, England 13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864 Northampton General Lunatic Asylum, England); poet, the son of a farm labourer, who came to be known for his celebratory representations of the English countryside and his lamentation of its disruption. His work underwent re-evaluation in the late 20th century; he is now often seen as a major 19th-century poet. His biographer Jonathan Bate called Clare “the greatest labouring-class poet that England has ever produced. No one has ever written more powerfully of nature, of a rural childhood, and of the alienated and unstable self.”

On 16 March 1820, Clare married Martha (“Patty”) Turner, a milkmaid, in the Church of St Peter and St Paulin Great Casterton.
He continued to publish books of poems, including The Shepherd’s Calendar (1827) and The Rural Muse (1835), but they did not sell as well as his first book and he fell out of fashion. He became a tenant farmer to support his seven children. He drank too much, started to lose his mind, and was sent to an insane asylum. In 1841 he escaped and walked 80 miles back to his home, eating grass by the roadside along the way because he was so hungry. Eventually he was sent back to another asylum, where he spent the last 23 years of his life, believing he was Lord Byron or Robert Burns, and writing some of his best work.

• I hid my love when young till I
  Couldn’t bear the buzzing of a fly;
  I hid my love to my despite
  Till I could not bear to look at light:
  I dare not gaze upon her face
  But left her memory in each place;
  Where eer I saw a wild flower lie
  I kissed and bade my love good bye.
  • “Secret Love”
• I hid my love in field and town
  Till een the breeze would knock me down,
  The bees seemed singing ballads oer,
  The fly’s bass turned a lion’s roar;
  And even silence found a tongue,
  To haunt me all the summer long;
  The riddle nature could not prove
  Was nothing else but secret love.
  • “Secret Love”

And today is the birthday of Mordecai Ardon (Max Bronstein; Tuchów, Poland July 13, 1896 – June 18, 1992 Jerusalem); painter. Ardon was seen as the father of the regional approach in Israeli art.

After settling in Jerusalem, he would go on to become a teacher in the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design in 1935. Between 1940 and 1952, he served as its director. From 1952 to 1963 he became the artistic adviser to the Ministry of Education and Culture of Israel.

Gallery

Mac Tag

thanks for stoppin’ by y’all

Song of the day Sixpence None the Richer – “Kiss Me”

Thou art supreme Love–kiss me–I am thine! – Emma Lazarus

So you must go; kiss me before you go. 
Oh, would the busy minutes might fold up 
Their thieving wings that we might never part.

– W.B. Yeats

I often think that what we most need now is a great humorist. – Isak Dinesen

 To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance. – Oscar Wilde

It’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It’s much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all. – Sylvia Plath

Let's talk and grieve,
For that's the sweetest music for sad souls.

– W.B. Yeats