The drapes are closed, no light shines through,
Darkness exceeds expectations.
Lovers find their way by feel, stubbed toes not withstanding.
Stifled giggles, shedding of clothes, stumbling drunk in anticipation,
Oh there you are! A touch, a taste, bodies all aquiver,
Hesitate on the precipice. Pull away, fall into, immerse, succumb.
Oh mercy!
Peace, people.
how do you know you are loved
when the words aren’t spoken
and the old ways no longer
offer themselves as proof?
longevity should count
for something, right?
but emptiness fills
the bitter whole,
dried and empty,
aggravatingly
withdrawn
and, oh
so very
cold.
he plays a little club on tuesday nights, a seedy little place off main
the voice, still strong after all this time; yet he never did sell his name.
his songs, sad and sweet, sift through my soul transcending time and tomb
my lonely heart answers the way it knows best; i feel i must call home.
invoking the loss of my family, of my false securities
his songs call out my every conceit and bring me to my knees.
home will you take me back? i’m so damned tired of this road
i thought, oh i thought i could make it, until i heard his songs.
when was the last time, and did we know then that it would be?
no, for if i had understood i’d have held on forever, the end would never come;
i’d will it away.
there were tears that neither of us understood at the time.
i laughed them off. “this was too beautiful,” or something equally inane.
maybe if i hadn’t laughed, if the tears had continued, the denoument
would have only
been an interlude.
This was inspired by these stills from the film The End of the Affair.
Peace, people.
Eating alone
at a booth meant for four
I watch in envy the
gaggle of women gathering
noisily for lunch.
They are older than I am,
sixties and seventies,
but I would join them
in a heartbeat if they but
said the word.
Do they realize how lucky
they are to have
whatever it is that bonds
them?
I hope so.
Peace, people.
a ladder might have made climbing easier, but ladders are for wussies.
so i backed up and took a run at the wall, jumping up to hang my fingers on the lip.
scrabbling feet searched for a hold, catching a fractured brick just right only to have
pieces of mortar crumble into rubble beneath my feet.
dropping down i crouched, defeated by the scale.
by now a crowd had gathered egging me on
“try!” “you can do it!” some cheered; others jeered.
renewed determination coursed through my brain trickling down to trembling limbs.
once again i made the run, leaping with all my might.
chin knocked wobbly, i fell back in the dust, chest heaving, eyes watering.
a wee face peeked over from the other side. “can i give you a hand lady?”
“sure, child,” i said, taking his hand and stepping over the barrier.
Sometimes in the early morning
after my man has left for work,
but before I have left our bed,
I hear a melody playing behind
my eyelids, soft yet insistent.
Instantly, though, once I open
my eyes, the sweet strains are
dissipated, music diffused all
throughout the greater cosmos,
and in vain I seek the source.
Creeping stealthily from covers
I tiptoe through our quiet home
pausing with held breath hoping
to surprise the makers of music,
but at hide and seek they excel.
The tiny musicians, for they must
be faeries, or related small folk,
lurk just outside of my eyesight’s
range, giggling giddily of that I
am sure; mischief is their nature.
So I return to bed, to the comfort
of my blankets and snuggle down in
a cloud of cool cotton and fleece.
My breaths lengthen, my eyes close,
and the music begins playing again.
I actually do hear phantom music, and have my entire life. Until I mentioned it to someone else I just assumed everyone heard it. While that used to freak me out, now I just accept the music as a quirky blessing. It’d be nice, though, if I could get a number one hit out of it.
Peace, people!
justifiably angry
broken heart
pieces scattered
irretrievably lost
dissolved dreams
visions mattered
unerringly paired
soul’s mate
conscience scolded
tearfully rejoined
love’s patience
now rewarded.
I am woefully out of shape. Most likely this is a direct result of a severe aversion to exercise and a fondness for Krispy Kreme donuts.
Rather than do anything to remedy my lack of physical fitness, I just turned to Pinterest to sum up my feelings. Sharing one’s feelings is healthy, right?
i want to look like jennifer aniston:
firm legs, tight butt, an angel’s smile.
instead i’m closer to chris christie
in looks and girth and style.
peace, people!
I found a strange appendage, long and large and warty
Hanging ’round my business, sorting dirty laundry.
“Who goes there?” I cried, fearing some loathsome beast.
Don’t mind me, the creature smiled, I’m having a great feast.
You do know, it continued, your life is quite a mess,
Of politics, and feelings hurt, and choices, not the best
When at your age you should be content to sip your lemonade.
Your hair, your style–too bold, and your ways, unstaid.
Slow down, you’re old; and your actions too frenetic.
And face it, girl you should by now be feeling apologetic.
Why waste what time you’ve got on earth writing all the time,
When sad to say you haven’t gained the necessary skill of rhyme.
The creature paused to take a breath, and finally I saw
It was just a pathetic nose above a gaping maw.
“Scat, you boogery old snot locker,” I said.
“Keep out of my business. Worry over yours, instead.
And like any good bully, away that nose did skulk
To lick his wounds and have himself a good self-righteous sulk.
Peace, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 