Tag Archives: love

Ready at Last

I am ready at last for the unrelenting savagery or call to your actions, seductions, or even rampant affection, genuine for the time at present.

I require not a guarantee, only unequivocal intensity by and for soft strong fingers and supple form

Slay me, command me, instruct me, mark me as yours when your commands drift to my ears, will pretend i allow you to dominate me but in reality, i possess no choice.

I am supple in flesh and mind – long surrendered to your charms.

Your letters sent in secret, your annotations, my replies, bundled in brown manila, i assume secreted to a trusted friend in a Balkan enclave with suspect postal service.

The cancellations – round and particular, glue melts to tempt prying eyes. I do not mind if someone knows our deepest fondest codes. While they can set the letters to words to prose, they cannot comprehend the sweet honey you mix with Turkish coffee cooled only by the same ice cube i run along your sustaining bosom, – providing a life i could never know before.

Solarium

Solarium inducing
Hibernation
Rest without remorse

Do I change when the moon comes?

 

Sapphire Beside Me

Sapphire beside me
Horizon flat ahead
Punctually delayed
Allowing movements
And moments in time to gaze

The fulcrum point
between existence and mysterious
Too foggy for memory

We can reframe an unfilling past
To charge a refreshing future
Devoid of expectations or itineraries

These hours are only for us
Curled between Egyptian cotton
Woven in Sudan
Purchased at an Muscat souk

These hours are only for us
To stimulate senses
Of tactility and grace

A Cartographer, I Considered

A cartographer, I considered:

Spectacled, heavy on a rosy face, hidden among stacks, drawing inventions of maps – delineating frontier is between playful apparatchik and fields where the healthy and husky scrambled games I couldn’t be bothered to learn the constructed rules of play.

Name in regions of gravel and grass in derivations of Iowa towns and possibly Balkan enclaves. Tracing roads across trucking routes and Roman ruins built to the width of chariot wheels-cemented as standards for mine entrance bringing a horse to Shores, away from CPS relations to new lives, absent from home still never know I can-beyond memories, Serio-graphed into filtered ideals.

Yet an unsteady hand and overall disconnect, or even indifference, which led to a place to “settle”-build a house dead June from cures logs, and seasoned by time, after hewn, nailed and assembled by saw blade and heavy sludge, forge by a possible cousin could always remain a stranger.

The blade remains anonymous as an un-muttered pithy quote en route to cliché.

Neither did exploding suns, brilliant and fleeting, assembled in patterns, ~ shared by the patient and measured in Newtonian units – still could not muster a journey – hence gazed, but ignored as impractical, nigh impossible.

Translucent ayers, super-imposed and stacked, detailing azimuths, trajectories and elevations – separating fertile valleys (thought subject to floods) from talus slopes too steep but for mountain rams on the shady flank of Timpanogos.

Dotted dashed and surveyed, specific dots explained in legend denoting assigned capitals, provincial outposts and occasionally hamlets determined by polled populations, overseen with constructed superintendents, supported by varying address of retainers.

Intrigued by absence of obvious order though not my task to chart.

Instead, as per instinct, selected committed to memory, devoid of context, thin slices of knowledge swirling in a petri vacuum – accurate as such but irrelevant

So i journeyed to wonder about likely motivations which took Normans, Pharaohs and troubadours beyond the point of unknown return. Capes left in wakes with dates and hard-track to fortify a quest alleged to diagram flora. Among them, I reference guide notes from decades past – a vague as possible to acquire allowing white-space and risk. Packed in burlap next to a survivor’s stove and pouch of seeds and spices and an important black pencil. Only planned to go one way, impartial to return rather to chronicle the unfamiliar.

The familiar left far behind as physics might allow – exchanged possible comfort in normalcy for uncertainty contentment in ambiguity. Meandering concentric routes, devoid of patterns or ready purpose.

Answers are easier in cliché, ergo:

“I’ll know when i get there” –
Town to creek to roadside conundrum – I swirled each in mouth , pretending my palette featured a vocabulary to explain to unseeing why I hadn’t settled for seemingly ideal locales, situations and specific circumstance to flourish.

Eventually, after farm toil, beach frolic, rough nights in dangerous morass, leaping turrets of ruins and painful heaving, missed junctions and forgotten aims, at a campfire in a lake-forest with a khaki-scout familiarity, I stumbled through an unfavorable gale, onto the intended coast

I mocked myself for mis-named non-discoveries, i assumed as fragrant promised lands of plenty allowed to the intrepid erstwhile accidental navigators.

Teased over misread hieroglyphics and misappropriated meaning to stone wheels quarried a far, hauled by double-hulled craft powered by taro and current and fickle breeze.

I could no longer mock with unearned disdain, the vaunted and faulted explorers, stolen secrets leading to some anomaly errantly pro-claimed as new or proper or divine.

Earnestly deterred, i occurred to was to map a universe of flesh and thought. Breath and sounds assembled into meaning.

The crease on cheek, the measure of brow, the angle of toes, magnitude of halo surrounding chameleon eyes and the mysterious enthusiasm of all which exists between.

Thwarted, not ny scenery but by shaking confessions, fumbled after a stealth crossing at an indifferent frontier town. I’d escaped to my holy land I presumed for an instant before minor catastrophe.

Stalled at an unwelcoming inn where i laid myself bruised and bare to a lover temporarily transformed to a stranger after i let the truth languish, vanquished by the uncertainty of resolved and fear or wounding the occasionally innocent.

She walked out vested, blithely, pithy saying “I know” unwittingly perhaps offering just enough loft to push a tattered sail across a colour-coded sea mis-named as somewhere calm.

The explorer hides. Alone, entirely lost and surrendered to fates incomprehensible to the battered. Uncontrollable b y the hostage. Yet clinging to an adrenaline determination to manufacture strength to another foray.

Monk-like, minus faith, discipline, dogma or skill at ringing bells, relying on rice gruel and fragrant hope, the cartographer gathered charcoal, fired for unsteady hands, and a redrew boundaries to conceive an entirely new Pangea with concessions to speculate, plunder and chart assigned exclusively to only two.

Change the World with Walking Sticks

Of course i wanna change the world, not just ‘my’ world but ‘the’ world. Not force *anyone* to do *anything* but maybe somehow effectuate positive change on a global scale. Not by guns, torture, fascism or force but by walking sticks, paintbrushes, backpacks. Not 2 cars in every driveway but 2 warm lovers in every bed. Model behaviour of what i want to be and see in the surroundings lands.

All naïveté aside… While i do long for squadrons of mercenaries clad in corduroy-patchwork pants armed, with Thoreau and flowers – sleeping bags & kind words, i do realize, “Oh shit! Sounds like M0rm0n missionaries with different books.”  

If i miss you though, do not take any reason for concern from my thoughts. You are scintillating and mighty and I do not question *anything* that you do – i express my sentiments to quell your fears of loneliness and/or longing and confusion during your search for well… what you seek: love, beauty, nobility and thrill.

Say Your Name Softly

I say your name softly
hear the gracious sound
drift with my breath

I watch the sounds float
above me, towards mountains
over lakes, down rivers, across oceans
to find you when i am far

I voice the sound which
describe you, when i am weary
or afraid in need of a mantra
to strengthen me, to steele me from fear
a protective spell unburned, unheard
too sacred for others

How would another understand
an explanation, halfhearted –
how do i describe you? describe us?
to someone, anyone – in a brief phrase, a stanza, an essay
a poem

How many words required to elucidate
these two searing syllables i say
so i don’t say
but i might say,
my grace, my prayer, my hymn, my exultations
my fantasy in times of pleasure
my relief in moments of panic
my security when confused
my homing beacon, signal-fire
my rescue, my escape

Shall i say to them
your name loud enough to hear?

So they will assume who you are with an easy
definition, a convenient descriptor?

No i shall and will keep you mine. like Nefertiti’s treasure
hidden
known only to the wisest, behind the wall
in Tutankhamen’s chamber

Like shards of pottery
missing from an ancient grecian antalect or decree
the space between Mile’s notes
the breath between Baker’s croon
the noise behind a sonic boom

Be the she of my story
the only part of me
i protect without mercy
without thought
you are my essential
no compromise will i offer

You are my magician
i willingly climb into the box
to be sawed in two
there and then
i will say your name aloud
fall in with the rhythm
with each saw stroke
confidence from the obscurity
foisted by your powerful hand

I am not ashamed
but also i am not foolish
to trust my treasure
to errant mortals
to those who quickly determine
how to place you by my side

You are not for them
you are for me and for you
and for we
to savour us

My bicycle, by bicycle… I will bring you flowers in a basket, by bicycle

My bicycle, by bicycle I will bring you flowers in a basket

Anarchy and Peace and Love Are My Wishes to the World for 2017

#Anarchy #Peace #Love #Reading #NewYear #2016 #2017 #WordsOfTheProphets

Love you Forever Mom

MY BELOVED HEROIC MOTHER. LOVE YOU FOREVER. DEVASTATED.

5 proud sons converged
Last words in cold room to peaceful Mom
Held soft hand, pet her hair
Now she is for science
We go to her empty home.

P.S. Research shows that intelligence is genetically passed from Mother to Children. As such, this is how/why I’m so smart :-) #MENSAMom

from Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/BMLuulshADx/

I Remember Florida

Note: This story uses several lines from the fine Canadian band, Blue Rodeo’s album “Diamond Mine” which served as a departure point so to speak. Cheers to them ‘eh.

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Mostly now, I just masturbate. I’m not particularly attracted to my own sexuality or body, but a questionnaire I filled out in Cosmopolitan magazine said it would be both beneficial, and enjoyable. In this day and age, it’s not unclean or unruly, they said. There were also suggestion tips.

This fondling is mostly on account of my man being back in Florida. I do keep it under control however, I certainly don’t want to prefer it. I haven’t ever used foreign objects in my arousals, I’ve heard too many stories about women having problems. I would prefer to keep my private parts clean and in fine working order. Barry would agree, him being my man and all, and an arousing one at that.

Continue reading I Remember Florida