Monthly Archives: November 2013

Any Given Saturday

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Liquid dreams, she sees sunshine thru a prism

Tiptoes past the moon to dance in the heavens

Her gypsy heart sees the lines, but they blur

The fragrance of the cosmos flavors her universe

Delicate, her confidence, sprouts from a restless seed

Grows into a vine that spreads like an unchecked weed

I thought I caught a glimpse of her in the mirror one day

She winked and she smiled, but continued on her way

 

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/markchadwick/9215209587/”>markchadwickart</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 Underestimated One

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I read you, in the lines of unexpected declarations

I don’t know you, only of you, and I am …

confused by my own admiration; separate from attraction,

you are as a newfound discovery, as the anticipation

of an unopened package on Christmas morning.

 

Perhaps I’ve no right to wonder about the gifts inside,

as they should never be mine to own.

 

I’m among the inquisitive, searching your eyes for the

vulnerability of your written word. Is it there?

I dare not allow myself to look too closely.

 

I may find myself drowning in your indigo ink,

only to surrender a blue heart in the offing.

I’ll stand in the safety of your poetic shore;

Others shall ride your waves.

 

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/pablo_montt/476276950/”>Pablo Montt</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)

So the Legend Goes…

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He’s not so particular when it comes to the female sex, only requiring the usual accoutrements. He likes them in boots, skirts, or jeans. He likes to watch them walk, one of his favorite things. Long hair or short, doesn’t matter.

She can be tall or she can be short, he has affection for all, but some he favors a little more. He acknowledges there is no greater mystery than that of womankind and her gifts to history, how she withstands all that man has applied to her, still smiles and beguiles to rise to her destiny.

He desires and he loves, enthralled with her figure, the way she laughs, and blushes red when he’s with her. There’s nothing more divine than to see her wake from a restful slumber after he feels her shake.

This gift of soft flesh, wrapped in his arms, he’d never let her know he was already torn between her precious quirks he’d so come to admire and a cute young blond whose eyes burn with desire. He found himself in such a difficult place, for the women are a plenty. If he were intended only for one, why on earth are there so many?

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/yanivg/3417197925/”>YanivG</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;)

Cupid, Be Gone

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Free writing, playing with form…

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Penning the words of the lovesick, immersing my soul in their misery. Give unto me those days of carefree joy, when I knew two lovers holding hands, teasing one another with a glance, hoping for moments alone and those kisses where eyeglasses bumped against one another and awkward were the groping touches, when he said he loved her. She was the dream he ne’er dared to hope for. But his was a plight of circumstance and fear. Hers became that of a broken heart.

The heat of her heart threatened to burn her bones to ash when a cool breath from the north tempered her fiery destruction. Thirsting for any precious drop of water in her desert, his distant offerings nourished in ways she couldn’t have anticipated. His promises were broad and hopeful and passionate. He said he loved her. He was the dream she ne’er dared to hope for. But hers was a plight of circumstance and fear. His is that of a broken heart.

Lessons dealt and lessons learnt; I finally see the truth of it.
I was beholden to one and one was beholden to me,
Neither can circumvent reality.
And neither shall belong to me.
I write of love that’s lost, love that will never be.
Pain is reflected in every unwitting deception,
The brilliance of a lover’s manipulation,
The heart trusting in temptation.
 

For me, I shall stay the course, so that not even an arrow of Eros could force me off my path of contrite resignation; he can keep his bow behind his back and move on to a target willing to receive his misleading dart.

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/17084757@N00/389954025/”>Glikò</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;)

Burst

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See that rabbit run, across the lane and field,

to or from something, maybe spurred by fear,

could be imagined,

 

Could be real, unlike us, a total fabrication.

There will be no violation of intimacy in this

decade or the next; hope is a balloon inflated

one breath too far.

 

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/shewatchedthesky/2951156700/”>shewatchedthesky</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;)

tofu a la carte

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Heartache is a broken lantern, where once a light did shine,

Love illuminated and darkness had to hide

Now the shadows pull in close

Heart seams unravel their last threads of hope

Tears fall from a gruesome sky

Wounds lay open to inhibit fear,

(the infection of the past, stealer of the years)

 

Time is unforgiving and we’re all damned to realize

Promises made to love are unintended lies

Tofu sausages without labels…that’s you and I

 

 

(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/reid-bee/3579669359/”>jazzijava</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;)