Amor Fati

R.S Phillips, MA

Amor Fati

Miss R.S Phillips, ma

[The Cunning Little Vixen]

Contents 1. Amor Fati 2. Dear Mr. Grey 3. The Invisible Man 4. Figment 5. Nearby 6. A Week 7. Keep Me in your Sights 8. Stay 9. My Dear 10. Origami Heart 11. The Poppy Seed 12. L and H...

Dedicated to my extremely patient parents for their continued support and tea making

facilities.

Amor Fati-

Or in English: love your fate.

Take the plunge, life will not wait.

Broke, over-worked, unpaid and stressed?

Place your meagre trust in yourself:

you will need it before the end.

Love your fate, whatever it may be,

don’t wait or shy from the looming path

or you will miss it, years will pass too quickly.

You will wish at the end that you had

followed your fate at twenty-one

instead of the grand age of fifty-eight.

Dear Mr. Grey

I remember when I was young and Mr Darcy was the epitome,

now I only hear people lusting after this Mr Grey

and after reading the book, as interested souls often do,

I have come to really disagree with everyone and sadly, you.

Mr Darcy did not have a red room, he didn’t hit Lizzie about,

his mother wasn’t a crack whore, he didn’t sleep around.

Mr Darcy did have a sense of the romantic, of love being

at first sight and eternal remedies that will cure the tragic.

You may disagree but women now are weak, lied to by the

media and easily herded like sheep and this Mr Grey does

not want to love or be loved: he’s just a bland, violent dunce.

Mr Grey is what mothers would tear their daughters from,

fathers would fight against and brothers would burn down.

It is a sad day when young women aspire for a beating;

I’ve given up on the general population, leave them to their dreams,

just give me Mr Darcy and twelve hours of steamy hand holding scenes.

The Invisible Man

The invisible man hugs me,

protects me from my pain.

Ensures I am happy,

I miss him when he is away.

He never stays for very long,

a sigh upon my soul.

The invisible man hugs me

and never asks for more.

Figment

Love me and make me sigh.

Kingdom of legends, myths,

I have passed that land by.

The tall, sturdy oaken doors,

those glittering, joyous halls,

begged me to come inside;

I sighed and passed it by.

Now the only thing that I aspire

is to be sitting next to you by the fire:

with you my worries cease,

my face unfolds, my wrinkles decrease.

A hug and my heart has left my chest,

torn gently from my heaving breast.

You, cupping it, stare me down

and without a doubt, it is yours now.

Blood runs down and upon the floor,

a puddle of red and out my chest gore.

Transfixed, I give my life to you

and so I ignore the kingdom that I once knew.

Just to see you dear, I will walk upon the sea;

each time I leave our land, I try to function as best I can

but when my daily tasks are complete,

I seek your warm embrace to lull me to sleep.

Nearby

The Gods within me cannot speak,

the Angel’s soft harps are still.

I cannot tell you of my love.

It is wrong to speak of such things;

I shouldn’t love you

but like a bee to a flower,

I linger nearby, waiting.

I shouldn’t love you.

So I sit and watch you,

the soft curve of your lips.

I shouldn’t love you

but like a bee to a flower,

I’m instinctively drawn.

Always waiting,

always lingering,

forever,

on and on.

A Week

It’s been a week and no text did I receive from you.

At times I thought of you: the thoughts weren’t very nice.

It’s mad, what is a week? I’ve gone longer

not speaking to my parents and survived.

My phone has buzzed but it isn’t you;

weird how I feel sad when I think of you.

Do you think of me this way too?

Probably not or else my phone would

buzz and you’d message me with your love.

Love...I never thought that you would be

the one I’d adore and miss and kiss;

phone, come on and buzz away.

Perhaps she doesn’t want me now?

Phone, please tell her to text me, no matter how she feels.

Isn’t it courtesy to not run away?

Phone, please buzz your little tune;

at least send her a reminder that despite

not reading her thoughts for a week I have missed

wasting my credit on silly, smiley faces.

Keep Me in Your Sights

Keep me in your sights, never blow out the candle or turn off the light;

come back to bed and kiss me goodnight, hold my hand and wish me well.

I have gone through Hell and come out smiling, well most of the time.

Stripped bare, flesh to bone, I stood before you all those years ago and cried:

each time it gets harder to ignore...you would have thought it’d get easier;

doubt and fear quickly running rampage through a nervous heart,

it wouldn’t take a lot to tear me completely apart but I told you that,

didn’t I?

Spewed like an ending to one of my Saturday nights’;

you kept me in your sights, kept burning that candle, fixed on that light.

You held your breath, I’d have blown that flame years ago but you

kept it alive

so keep me in your sights, keep that candle burning, slam on that light;

each time it gets harder to ignore but I’ll hold onto your hand:

hope that someday I will let go but until then I am yours completely,

if not in body then in soul.

Stay

Stay with me until I fall asleep,

I don’t want to be by myself tonight.

Sing me a tune, hum it to me softly,

I will give anything to hear it.

Speak and I’m warm and cosy,

hug me and I’m sure I will die.

You are the moon behind the sun,

my light under the bedroom door.

Take my hand and whisper, hum softly,

hug me and I’m so happy I could die.

Keep me until you don’t want me,

I don't think that I shall ever mind.

My Dear

Money does not make the world revolve,

I only have eyes for you.

My heart, my dear.

When the roses bloom

and the skies are blue,

I remember us, I remember you.

The dying lament and I too grieve.

Nor does love spin the Earth,

fluttering hearts revelling in the dirt.

I only have eyes for you,

my heart, my dear.

Origami Heart

Today I bought a craft book that made me think of you:

I sat down and held one piece of colourful paper,

wondering what I should do and disregarding the instructions,

like most women often do. I folded one side in half and creased,

repeated on the plain side and folded...twice...thrice.

My hands fumbled and ripped

but I attempted this because I knew you

would like it much more than a hello kiss.

So I tried and tried,

putting many a coffee mug aside,

like a crooked man resting on a stick,

hour after hour, coffee and gum became my side kick;

At the stroke of three...just in time, I had a slightly

scuffed and lopsided heart that had so many creases

you’d have thought a child had bunched it into a ball.

You walk through the door, see the scatters of paper

of what once was a book strewn across the sitting room floor.

I hand you my heart, torn and creased, you laugh then smile;

“this is great but I’ve changed my mind, I much prefer the kiss.”

The Poppy Seed

Listen to that frightening sound:

the clicking of her heels.

She is smiling at you now,

a seed between her teeth.

The photographer’s clicks lessen,

conscious of her inopportune flaw.

Her mother is frowning from her pew

hands twisting in her lap:

eager to go and sort her out.

Your bride is closer now

and the priest has seen the seed;

Your Best Man is looking too,

the ring gripped white in his hand.

He’s looking at you now as if to

make sure that you aren’t mad.

But that seed, her preference for buns

was sort of your first date

and nothing would be more complete

than that seed gracing her face.

The Bride smiled at her Bride,

remembering a humiliating wait,

a knocked over coffee

and a twisted bun of fate.

L and H...

Today is your wedding day, the bells have tolled those foreboding knells

and many whine that your end lies waiting...

Shut the mouths of all of those who have mocked you with those ill words,

amend the prose of all those haters and say not that hardship has just begun.

There are those who wish to see the wedding day as a shackle upon an arm

but please ignore those who do not understand, or wish to see our

point of view: that the greatest joy in marriage is attaching your life to hers,

sharing in her joy and sharing in her despair too, knowing each other’s flaws,

saying yes despite, keeping each other sane in this forever changing plight.

For if love is a shackle upon an arm and many say that is true,

I wish you both to stay happily shackled until both your hands turn blue.

Miss Rhea Seren Phillips, MA is a Welsh poetic forms and metre practitioner based in South Wales.

Amor Fati is a collection of epithalamium [wedding and bride] poetry that was written in 2013: the collection was displayed at local craft and wedding

fairs throughout South Wales.

“This collection was my first true exploration into poetry and due to this the majority of the poems have been written in open form or blank verse. My

poetic style has changed drastically within the last three years and I decided that I much preferred the challenge of working with strict poetic forms and metre. Despite this, I cannot help but feel attached to these poems. These

poems began my love affair with poetry and although my style has changed, there is a need to acknowledge my humble beginnings and to enjoy their simplistic finery before finally putting them to bed. I hope that you enjoy

reading them!”

Miss Rhea Seren Phillips, MA

Copyright of

Miss R.S Phillips

[The Cunning Little Vixen]

2015

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