First Images

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At first glance, a meeting by chance

Warming up on sweltering day in the tropical summer

Later, an initial re-aquaintance

in the post race cooling waters

Effortless conversation deeper than the liquid that floated around us

Soothing our heat

A natural ebb and flow

Sunlight’s spark on a newly forming shore

A long run twelve hours hence

My skin bubbled and blistered

Unaccustomed to the equatorial temps

My hair matted with sweat

My mouth sticky- white from thirst

You lingered

Is that when our hearts first burst?

 

An attempt to capture a moment or two in time when the seeds of new love take hold without the pair fully knowing it is happening.  Snippets of memory nearly six years old that still make me smile.

‘Til We Meet Again

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The bags are barely unpacked

I take the clothes out in dribs and drabs

Stuffing them back in the drawers or laundry basket

without a care

Some strewn on the floor

as if they were discarded in a heated moment between lovers

 

We’re travelers together, you and I

Leaving pieces of  ourselves behind each time we part

My mind often goes back to the moments in flames

When lust and desire ignited our hearts

We followed no set path

Seeing only with our Third Eye

Falling into the abyss without reservations

 

I want to keep the clothes where they lay

  A suitcase half packed

 The “go bag” for the next wandering

An oh-so-sweet drifting

That next leap

Enfolded

Enveloped 

in the Ecstasy that is Us

She Said, He Said

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How do you know it’s real, she said

When each hello is ripe with anticipation and every goodbye makes you cry, he said

Yes, but what about after that? she said

When each moment feels like its happening for the first time, he said

Yes, but they don’t last, we all know that, she said

Those times are the building blocks for a strong partnership, he said

Oh so you mean what we go back to when we find ourselves settling in? she said

Yes, those reminders of why we fell in love in the first place, he said

Well, with you I always go back babe, she said

Then it must be real, he said

 

 

 

 

 

Hope’s Beginnings

This house has a story…what is it?

Image Credit: We Heart It

“Do you ever wonder what really happened in that house?”, Blake asked. They were sitting in the truck just moments after he and Julie had signed the purchase and sale on the former Stanton family property. Julie had grown up in these hills and was once close to Jeannie Stanton,  a childhood friend who disappeared one fall afternoon in their fifteenth year, never to be heard from again. Jeannie was one of seven children from that rag-ma-tag family where chaos and cracking heads ruled through the dirty deeds of their patriarch, Joe.  Jeannie’s mother was far from quiet herself, known to pull heavily on the tap at Smitty’s, the local bar where she worked serving drinks and other ‘amenities’ to the men from the local coal processing plant- long since closed and cleaned up. No one even knew for sure if all seven of the kids actually were Joe’s. The EPA finally did its job and the old brick campus had been successfully retrofitted and resurrected into  a world-class sound studio.  Famous musicians from across all genres recorded some of their best work in this forgotten corner of the state. Julia and Blake had become big hitters in attracting legendary acts to record and even stay in the area.

Blake, of course, had no idea of what to expect when he first entered Julie’s childhood world. They met in London, both working as sound engineers, honing their talent with the best of them. When Julie’s dad- an engineer and business man himself- bought up some of the old factory buildings from the government, he decided that some of them would work perfectly as recording spaces. Others he turned into research and development spaces. Soon he was attracting fervent interest from scientists keen on learning and creating new avenues into the world of sound.

On a return visit home with Blake last year, he and Julie had come across the abandoned property. Knowing its negative history had not stopped them from envisioning a place that would serve as a haven and respite for kid’s who were victims of abuse and neglect. Too many of the Stanton kids had become lost souls. Now that Julie had the means and connections to turn things around, she set her heart and mind on making it happen.

Just then, a rumbling sound came up from behind them. A fleet of contractor trucks loaded down with heavy equipment came roaring up the rough road. Blake planted  a kiss on Julie’s lips.  “Time to get to work,” she said.

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Another great gift from Kellie Elmore this week!

#FWF Free Write Friday: Image Prompt

by Kellie Elmore

Magdalena

Source: We Heart It

Source: We Heart It

She ambled out into the hush of the city’s streets,the Arctic air at once taking her breath away and filling her lungs with renewed life. The spectacular chill washed away the late night’s pungent plundering. Another evening another man.  Pure bliss coupled with an exacting need to refill that sugar in her bowl.  The dark season only increased her need for the heat of skin on skin. She liked the anonymity of it, never knowing quitewhat to expect even when she was well acquainted with her conquests. The conversation ended as soon as the key unlocked his door. She wasn’t interested in small talk or the intimacy revealed in some random deep conversation. Each encounter was a relief and a revelation, each getting their share and never once feeling used or abused.

She never liked to stay, never enjoyed the tangling of limbs and sheets in the aftermath. Never wanted to greet the day with him. She preferred a quiet exit as he lay soundly sleeping. Nights like this when the world seemed dead asleep were hers and hers alone. She could make first tracks. Listen for the squeaky crunch of her boots on newly fallen snow. Shelter  herself beneath the awning of her umbrella. Alive,silently satiated, but still simmering with anticipation, awaiting the sensual mystery of a subsequent surrendering.

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#FWF Free Write Friday: Time and Place Scenario

by Kellie Elmore

An image prompt that took off down an unexpected path. But hey, isn’t that what free writes are all about?  I am thankful once again to Kellie Elmore for helping me tend to my muse! XO

At Last

Credit: wallpoper.com

I remember the first time I saw you.

Walking towards me in the heat of the day.

I remember that first conversation.

Hours of intimacy, our skin pruned and blistered from the water and sun.

I remember that feeling of connection.

Immediate ease, our bodies in unconscious rhythm.

I remember the endless days awaiting your arrival.

Airport greetings, my heart leaping and skin tingling.

I remember the soft downy covers.

Sheltered from head to toe, your heart on mine.

I remember knowing we were forever.

When just the sight of you

or the sound of your voice

or the touch of your hand

feels like the first time.

Another prompt from dear Kellie that gets to the heart of the matter. In love and in life it is always the small moments that count.

Click on the link to read other talented musings!

#FWF Free Write Friday: Ponder This

by Kellie Elmore

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Tangled Vines

Credit: www.crystal-life.com

Greta waited until her husband was fast asleep. Then she’d tiptoe out of their bedroom, pull on her overcoat and mud kickers and practically run to the barn. She need not have worried about waking the sleeping giant next to her. Bert usually drank himself to sleep most nights. As long as she fed him three squares a day, he usually left her alone. After a full day of working the vineyards with the field hands, he only desired about six tall ones for his last meal.

Tonight, she only heard the long low whistle of the train as she scurried across the grassy path.  Franco must have sensed her arrival for he lay there waiting on a blanket in all his beautiful bareness. The tower of burlap feed sacks created a cozy and well-secluded nightly hideaway for their nightly assignations.

Franco was a brute of a man in the fields, sweat pouring from his body as he hauled and lifted these same sacks for cultivating the robust plantings along those thousand acres of heavenly grapes.  But his strength turned to tenderness when he took Greta into his arms. Their love-making was transcendent, nearly tantric in its ritual. She did not hesitate to offer herself in ways she could never have imagined; opening herself to him, discovering her pearls of pleasure. A feeling of intense vertigo, a loss of total control, near groundlessness drew them together time and time again.

They had been together long enough now to know that what they were experiencing was not fiction; not just sheer physical attraction. But until they could untangle themselves from their daily reality, this was all they had. They held onto each other and they held onto hope.

IT’S FREE WRITE FRIDAY!!

This is Kellie’s Prompt:

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#FWF Free Write Friday: Word Bank

Here is your FWF prompt:

You may use any of the following words as inspiration for your piece, or you may use all of them if it does not hinder your ability to write in free flow.

train – burlap – fiction – pearls – vertigo

Enlightenment

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Credit: www.fotolia.com

The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.
Mahatma Gandhi

When I round the curve in the road, my thoughts unexpectedly go back to her and that not so long ago time when she was the “other”. The past lingers for just a moment then disappears as the road straightens and I head for home.

Each week, I return to the space that provides solace and heat. A place in that not so long ago time that seemed to call my name. The road was dark then, the route unknown. Each visit an escape hatch from pain.

Perhaps I was conceited enough to believe that he would never leave-never mind deceive. Then we became another cliché. Middle-aged man leaves wife and kids for younger woman. How trite and how true.

The knowledge came in bits and pieces. An off-handed remark made by a close relative. Phone calls saying he needed to help a friend.  Concentrated text messaging during our son’s sports game. A trip out of the country that appeared to happen as an unplanned event.

Then he said her name and it became all too real. Well, you can’t put words back in a box once they’ve been hung in the air. I felt slayed. Chopped up. Diced into tiny pieces. Shattered like broken glass. Tossed into the trash.

And then we met. Quite by accident. On a cold, dark holiday eve. A face to her name. Polite exchanges and then an awkward and quick exit.

It is hard to hold your head up when you feel like you’ve been slapped in the face. It is hard to stand up straight when you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.

I needed to detox, to purge. So I took to the only path that would help peel the pain away. The space of healing energy and consolation.

Then she appeared once and again over time. In that sacred space. Ironically, it was easy to be gracious then; perhaps because she had cast him aside. Friends and relatives were aghast at my charitable demeanor while in her company. But it would have been too easy to take the low road. Did I really want or need to speak of him or treat her in a degrading way?

Certainly it would be simple to converse with someone in this way. Someone who had been naked with your husband. Easy to cause her discomfort or guilt. But I had moved on. Grown confident inwardly. Better to show healthy growth than to sow bad seeds.

Since then, there have been others with him. The door may have been a revolving one; and still could be if only in his mind. I need no “others”. I need only myself so that I may love and trust one other.

The sacred space is mine now. I share the energy with other souls bound for the glory of feeling grounded and balanced. We renew one another as we journey down our own paths; some curved others straight. Always honoring the light of one another.

I use memories but I will not allow memories to use me.”

Deeprak Chopra

Lover’s Creed

trust[4]

Meeting for a late night meal

Not quite strangers, Not quite friends

But something else unborn and unspoken

 

A forward movement,

                   A relevant transition,

A certain shift

resonating between and within us

 

The repast remained barely consumed

Our hearts full of anticipation instead

 

The ease at which we came to be joined

An affirmation that it was meant to be

 

The darkness deepened outside

The air breathing its long December chill

But here in this space lay newborn warmth

Eyes wide open

 Souls ready to receive

 

Two lovers sealing their covenant

A confident expectation

A credulous commitment

 

Thus, on this night,

in this blood-thin blackness

this achy, gasping vortex of interminable frost

A recollection of our whispered pact

soothes me in a blanket of torrid heat

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#FWF Free Write Friday: Trust

Just one word this week. It can mean many things can’t it? I am grateful to have it back in my life. I took  a trip down memory lane for this one. And I am glad that I still am making more with my beloved!  Perfect way to end the week.

I AM ME

passion for love by bagdadi d411qag11 750x557 How to Develop True Passion in Your Life

Image Credit: Passion for love by Bagdadi

My verse, you say?

 I have not a clue.

My words are my life.

My thoughts a singing stream, a babbling brook and a raging river.

I wear many faces.

Fierce Female but not a Fatale. 

Passionate Protector of my Progeny.  

Irenic but Fearless in the Face of Falsehoods and Fallacies. 

Vivacious, Vigorous Vibrant Vamp.

Physically Fit Phoenix Fertile in Mind, Body and Spirit.

My Work on this Earth has yet to be Complete.

My next Calling is in the Making.

I Sense a Worthy Cause.

But I Know One Thing:

Who I Am Makes a Difference

NOW

#FWF Free Write Friday: O me! O life!

The following is the speech, and it is your FWF prompt. What will your verse be?

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?” — John Keating (Robin Williams) Dead Poets Society

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