Sass In the Satin

 

I’m not often caught by surprise, used to be common til I

Drowned in men’s lies, and then you appeared before me

Like a cloud across the sky, better keep moving lest you

Get caught by surprise; see this Southern belle as a quest

You need to con, or fall for her completely…wouldn’t

That be fun? Oh geez don’t let my bud catch any of

Your dew, for the heart squeezes tight when it

Considers me and you; berries on the bush, yes

The temptation is one for the ages, whispering

“Live your truth” are the voices of the sages; and

We shall surely dance around this rhythm we

Know; marionettes flail their arms and legs

As we clap for the show; gentle is the touch,

Sweet your very taste, lustful on the vine,

Your hands are full of grace. Throw caution

To the Wind, let your freedom find a trail,

No justification needed when you

Set that final sail. This is but a rhyme,

Don’t be so morose, figure a bag of candy

Is sweeter than your prose, and just as I have you,

You’d surely take flight, as a bird with healed

Wings after a grounded fortnight.

 

photo credit: <a href=”https://www.flickr.com/photos/paloetic/4576171463/”>paloetic</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

Beer and Napkins

Shy guy with the soft smile and gentle eyes,

She found herself in that awkward place where

The gaze floats unintentionally, holding

Brief moments of curiosity and attraction,

Belly flutters and the wonders of discovery

Flavor the air like honeysuckle in bloom,

One drop of its sweetness desired…

He inspires with a gentle kiss and a whispered

Hunger to feel the rhythm she moves to; oh yes,

They will dance

Over a Glass of Red

Eager is the night, stars’ egos on display,

(Shhh…their charm lies in their confidence)

Anticipation heats the space between reaching hands

You speak, and your words are golden streams,

Heard as a blur as I watch your lips with need;

I know your kiss, as you do mine

The waiting is torture, but exquisite, I’m sipping

The moments like you do your glass of wine

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/kubina/153871205/”>Jeff Kubina</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)

 

Tangential Elements

A little prose for the day…and truly tangential for I was heading in a completely different direction when I began to peck at the keys today.

She wonders if he knows the strength of his spirit, for it surges across the landscape like a river seeking a path, cutting its way through difficult terrain. She admires him, reveres him for keeping his course through suffering. Would be easy for him to give up, accept his lot in life, but his light shines, and she has been soothed by its warmth and for that she is grateful. She has found freedom in his kind of love – not one of superficial promises or declarations, or false assumptions of “more.” Instead, they move in the deeper waters of life’s ocean, where the open heart of the universe embraces their need and want and desire without judgment. He is, at once, complicated and simplistic, and she dances with both sides of him without missing a beat because she has been moving to the same rhythm her entire life. Theirs is an intimacy of understanding, likemindedness and dreams. Deep thought and exploration for truth and meaning suffers him to write. Seeking to understand the dark places of the heart propels her ramblings. Their pens both strike the paper not to share some wisdom from within but instead in an effort of hopefulness, in order to discover that which lies within the vibrations of life. They never reach for an umbrella when the words begin to fall like rain. Instead, they lift their heads and open their arms and get soaked.

Sweet Nothing

There is a space between us,

Where time and life exists

Words run thru like current,

The charge felt within the flesh

Distance is a pencil, miles recorded in smudging graphite

Could they be erased, you’d be here tonight

Thoughtless as spilled sugar around our coffee cups,

We’ve no mind to hurry, there’ll be time for us

As a bird spreads its wings, we shall soon fly

Soar across the vast expanse, a place for you and I

Even if the space between is filled with empty breaths,

Even if we are encumbered by certain circumstance,

Temper the grin that has surely formed,

Let silent lips utter happy sighs

Dream your fantasies and hold them close

You cling to yours and I’ll cling to mine

 

 

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/shazlypics/2744672501/”>A.Shazly</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

The Quiet Places

 

We came together in the quiet places, those that allow the

Echo of birds’ voices to resonate across the field,

Those that allow the drip, drip of rain to plop onto a metal roof,

Where sun porches are a necessity and tea glasses are kept filled;

We lay, spent, in the afternoon and the evening time,

Our own hushed voices only that above a whisper;

Our conversations drifting from the silly to the desperate,

From those whom we have loved to love unreturned,

There, we found ourselves examining the motivations and

Asking those questions of one another we cannot ask of them;

The answers limited, the answers exaggerated by our bent

Perceptions and nothing was accomplished but for the

Release of passion between two lonely hearts

 

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/zedzap/4664908938/”>Nick Kenrick .</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

 

Hope

Should I have hope, that which Ms. Dickinson wrote of?

Mine has feathers, but a wounded wing, for it cannot seem to perch

Mine has a tune, which it does not sing, for it’s been silenced by hurt

Hope has been described, by me, as a balloon inflated one breath too far

Should I hope to dream of love, I fear it’d drift away on a fallen star

I should not hope, lest be confined to a cell of unnamed strife

Where the heart and the soul and the mind derange

Where the bitter taste of loneliness fans invisible flames

Where life and certain slumber slither beneath cracks in the door

Shall I hope? I think I shall hope forevermore

 

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/digitalart/3065769907/”>digitalART2</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)

In the Moment

I haven’t even looked for the words, no desire to see them plop down on the page,

heavy like an elephant sitting on a cedar branch;

I have been living, silly me listening to the sounds of the air

Moving thru the leaves of spring branches;

Some unneed for the written; beyond me.

I am, for once, untorn between reality and fantasy;

I am… in the moment and the moments are good.

Exchanging June Gifts

 

Sweetness, designs on a fragrant bloom

No fuss, pomp and circumstance

Rejected for a thorny stem;

Lesser truth be known by Romance

Or the romantical on whim;

Pride is the dress worn by the bride,

 

Deceit is that worn by her groom

Justify your plan, no man has

Time to find a pebble on the moon

 

 

The Wrinkling Up Years

 

There was that time, you remember now, when the puppets all sang

For the strangers in the know, and dreadful silly lines took all the

Virgin’s souls, and the dancers raced thru their dance upon the stage,

And the curtain lifted once, but not a single one got paid

 

We told little stories, just to set the story straight, but we lied

And we joked about the timing and the place, and no one even

Cared that we were all past our best bloom, cause the waiter

Carried trays of spirits to us in every tiny room

 

She was a Jezebel, but she put on quite the act, and the guys

Got all excited when she revealed her tiny rack, but the

Girls in the corner stayed around in the back to allow the

Summer haze to fill the space their ego lacked

 

Don’t you remember Henry and the smile on his face when

The fields were full of poppies and the houses full of grace,

When prayers lifted high to disguise the saints’ disgrace

We keep praying now for the memories that we chase