Credit: crimson-werecat.deviantart.com
He reached out to touch her
His fingertips alighting ever so slightly on the curve in her back
The small cavern just above her tail bone that allows for the slight rise to her rear cheeks
A tender spot peach fuzz soft
He moved his lips down to kiss her there
The sweet taste sowing a sensation a synchronized sigh
Scarcely sleeping she turns absent of words
Her body the response the answer and permission
“Yes, please”
Credit: aromaofislam.com
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.
Credit: tinybuddha.com
I cannot tell you that it will not hurt
That the psychic pain will sear you
burn you to your very core
I cannot tell you that your body will become a wasteland
that you will look like a refugee from the worst of domestic wars
That you will feel like a starved prisoner
trapped in a situation for which you have no control
I cannot tell you that you will not worry
That every movement will be fraught with fear about your future
That you will be staring down that black hole of endless bills and debt
I cannot tell you that you will not be angry
Foaming and raging at the actions and constant manipulations of the other
That his need for control will feel like another constraint and strangulation
I can tell you that the pain will fold itself into the dark corners of your heart
That your body once again will be fertile ground
I can tell you that you will become a citizen of your own nation
a freed captive with a belly full of self-protecting ammunition
I can tell you that every advance will be fueled by your freedom
That the once endless abyss of scarcity will overflow with abundance
I can tell you that your resentment will replaced by indifference
that you will be the mistress of your own destiny
and the queen of your own kingdom
Credit: wildgoddesslife.com
They may not know Her
But she knows their thoughts
She senses their neediness
their desires
the impulse to share their story
-a piece of themselves
She does not judge
She feels their pain
The stain
of their indignities and indiscretions
their joys and sorrows
When She walks down the street
a sea of people part
nearly bowing in reverence
to Her very presence
They cannot help themselves
They yearn to touch Her
Her very being is an illumination
a soft glowing beacon
Her attention is discreet
The slightest of touches
temper their souls
surrounding them
in a healing blue light
She is a weaver
a Tantra goddess melding together
the human and divine
A starry messenger
A natural-born remedy
A harbinger of peace if only for a whisper of time
Not sure where I got this from to be honest. Thanks once again to Kellie Elmore for taking me to a place and space I never expected to go! Plus the added bonus of adding Poem #12 to WordPress’ challenge!
Namaste’ my friends!
Credit: fineartamerica.com
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
Credit: www.telegraph.co.uk
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
Credit: intentblog.com
At the time of the dismantling I used to wonder
used to sweat in desperation
used to be ensnared in your endless games of lashing out
for punishment of things that I did not do
for the person you thought I was
the one who punished you for her own guilt
At the time of the dismantling
I felt myself wasting away
sick with a loss of control over my own destiny (or so it seemed)
eager with a morbid curiosity about your private transgressions
At the time of the dismantling
I used to wish you would become a stranger to me
someone I would pass by on the street or the airport without notice
someone I would see by chance who didn’t bring me to the brink of madness
At the time of the dismantling
I wish I wouldn’t recognize you
to turn my head in instinct at your unwelcome presence
a witness to your lingering lurking
and latching yourself to people and places where I could be found
At the time of the rebuilding
I ceased to wonder
became refreshed in renewal
no longer trapped, but free in my freedom
At the time of the rebuilding
I felt my self growing
a woman with curves and flesh
the mistress of my destiny
no longer curious but filled with awe at new love found
At the time of the rebuilding
you became unfamiliar
a transient that I passed by with ease
no longer on edge, existing on a different plane
At the time of the rebuilding
I no longer took notice of you
I see you on the street at a distance,
at peace with knowing that the long ago parting happened to someone else
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!
Nominated by the lovely poetress Annie @ http://anniesmuse.wordpress.com/
After writing and posting my 169th piece, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself nominated for the Sunshine Award! We sure could use some up here in the month of February!
So, onto the process: Write 10 facts about yourself and nominate 10 others as well.
1) I love to read and carry at least two books with me in my car daily. You never know if you’ll break down. Reading is a great thing to do while waiting for AAA!
2) I love running and have participated in the sport since I was 11. Took a break for a bit in my 20’s and love it even more in my 50’s.
3) I love yoga almost as much as running. My yoga mat is near my desk ready for use at all times. I go to a hot yoga studio weekly and am now into my 36th straight day of doing yoga with a goal for a full 365 for this year.
4) I also enjoy strength training but find it hard to do when my basement is 48 degrees. Plus, I spend a lot of time shoveling snow in the winter.
5) The ocean soothes my soul and it is in these long winter days that I miss it the most.
6) I make sure to see the sunrise and sunset everyday no matter where I am. The only obstacle is usually cloud cover!
7) I love getting my hair done. For years when I was married and the mother of young children, I kept my hair very short and got cheap haircuts. That ceased about 8 years ago when a good friend of mine paid for my haircut with her hairdresser. She spent the year convincing me to grow my hair and Voila’!
8) I am grateful to be in a healthy relationship with a wonderful man.
9) My two grown sons have turned into two good men. Very little fine tuning needed!
10) No matter what life has brought to my door, I have no regrets about the choices I have made-they helped to make me a stronger person.
And the nominees are:
1) http://dorothychiotti.com/ Consistently strong writing spoken with passion from the heart.
2) http://pinkwoods.wordpress.com/ This girl can write about pain so beautifully and with true honesty.
3) http://talichaj.com/ I love her spoken word poetry!
4) http://phylor.wordpress.com/ This writer blows me away every time!
5) http://jenniesaia.wordpress.com/ Jennie’s passionate opinions and energy ring true. I look forward to her posts all the time.
6) http://markschutter.com/ What can I say? I just love Mark. His appreciation for his life shows in all his posts and his art.
7) http://graypoet.wordpress.com/ A man with a gift for rhyme and more.
Well, I just have 7 because some of the ones I love no longer accept awards or have already been nominated for Sunshine! Quality writers here nonetheless!
Namaste’
Credit: lowtechgrrl.deviantart.com
WHY LEAVE ANYTHING
YOU THIEVING BASTARD?
Tammy Lynne spray-painted that question onto a piece of plywood, dragged it to the end of the driveway and leaned it against the mail post for all the world to see (well, at least the folks who screamed by in their cars and trucks along Route 481).
Tammy had returned home from her afternoon shift at the clinic only to discover that nearly the entire contents of the small cabin she shared with her husband Kevin had been removed. He left the bed, her dresser, a few chipped dishes, dented pots and pans, the worn couch, her CD player and all of her music.
The walls were bare. All of the art work that had served as memorabilia from their backpacking trips abroad had vanished. The pieces were the only thing of value that they owned. Well, maybe the snow blower and the tools; they were gone too along with the desktop computer that Kevin’s parents gave them as an anniversary present last year. He had the audacity to even take that with him too. Luckily, she saved all of her important information on thumbnail drives. Including those friggin’ incriminating emails between him and that case manager at the hospital. Did Kevin really think she would be that ignorant not to notice how those two looked at each other at the last hospital fundraiser? He spent most of the night ignoring her. Humiliated,Tammy spent it nursing one too many drinks at the bar and fending off the paws of Kevin’s mentor, Phil Keeley. He was one of those docs with big egos and small brains who was constantly trying to get in every woman’s pants except his wife’s. Tammy was sure the night ended badly because when she woke up the next morning, Kevin was sleeping on the couch.
Good thing he had no clue where she kept her secret stash of Hendrick’s gin. The stuff was expensive and hard to find. But Bobby, the bartender down at the Newtowne Tavern, was able to score some for her last month and didn’t charge her for it. She would probably have to find a way to return the favor someday. And Tammy knew exactly what Bobby liked as payments for his good deeds. Heck, he was a hottie; she might even enjoy paying back that debt.
In fact, it was the Hendrick’s that inspired her work of art. She was two drinks down and working on her third, listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Tuesday’s Gone” when the idea came to her. She found the plywood and paint in the shed. In her drunken stupor and the coming light, she tattooed her anger on a 10×12 sheet of pine.
*An older story that I found hiding on a piece of paper in one of my writer’s notebooks. Inspired by something I observed on a road trip last summer.
Building A Life Of Hope 