Amber slips away

 Dakota Ambre Betti Hamilton & Cyanara cardunculus

A SLOOP of amber slips away  

  Upon an ether sea,      

And wrecks in peace a purple tar,    

  The son of ecstasy.

Emily Dickinson

Some years ago at a tertulia (a Spanish word for a gathering of people who will converse about music, culture, politics and even futbol) at Subeez, I said, “I cannot find any woman at least over 50 to pose for me with nothing on.” The short haired and elegant Ambre Dakota Hamilton looked at me and said, "I will." I  remember that she was about to publish a book. She was in the process of writing a novel, Freedom's Just Another Word (Harper Colins - 1998) about women in prison and at the same time telling us her name was no longer Ambre but Dakota. I jokingly gave her the name of Dakota Formerly Ambre (sort of trying to relate her name to the 1944 romantic, and quite racy, novel Forever Amber by Kathleen Winsor).

Like many of my subjects in my files she has vanished.

In situations like these I like to cite the New Testament words of Christ, “Do this in remembrance of me.”

I remember you well and thank you for these photographs of which I can only place these two here because of the era we live in. Sometimes I wish I could paint.

More Emily Dickinson
 
Sleep
When August burning low
Pink Small and punctual
A slash of blue
I cannot dance upon my toes
Ah little rose
For hold them, blue to blue

The colour of the grave is green
Its temple stands, alway,

The Woman in white 

 Her Grace is not all she has  

To know if any human eyes were near
Linda Melsted - the music of the violin does not emerge alone
The Charm invests her face
A sepal, a petal and a thorn
The Savior must have been a docile Gentleman
T were blessed to have seen
There is no frigate like a book
I pay in satin cash

Emily Dickinson's White Dress & a Hunter of Lost Souls

El vestido blanco - The White Dress
Water makes many beds
 The viola da gamba
 But sequence ravelled out of reach
 A parasol is the umbrella's daughter
 Without the power to die
 Lessons on the piny
Ample make this bed
How happy is the little stone

 Sleep is supposed to be
The shutting of the eye
I dwell in possibility
when Sappho was a living girl
In a library
 A light exists in spring
The lady dare not lift her veil
 I took my power in my hand
 I find my feet have further goals
 I cannot dance upon my toes
The Music of the Violin does not emerge alone
Red Blaze 
He touched me, so I live to know
Rear Window- The Entering Takes Away
Said Death to Passion
 We Wear the Mask That Grins And Lies
It was not death for I stood alone
The Music in the Violin Does Not Emerge Alone
I tend my flowers for thee
Lavinia Norcross Dickinson
Pray gather me anemone! 
Ample make her bed
His caravan of red 
Me-come! My dazzled face  
Develops pearl and weed
But peers beyond her mesh
Surgeons must be very careful
Water is taught by thirst
I could not prove that years had feet
April played her fiddle
A violin in Baize replaced
I think the longest hour
The spirit lasts
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/03/i-left-them-in-ground-emily-dickinson.html
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http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/currer-bell-emily-dickinson-charlotte.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/and-zero-at-bone-with-dirks-of-melody.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/05/charm-invests-her-face.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/tell-truth-but-tell-it-slant.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/theres-certain-slant-of-light.html

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http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/adjusted-to-tomb.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/i-could-not-see-to-see.html 
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http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/12/dirk-commemorate-itself.html

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