Tag Archives: life

In The End

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21

Nights in white satin, never reaching an end
Letters I’ve written, never meaning to send
Beauty I’d always missed with these eyes before
Just what the truth is, I can’t say anymore
Nights in White Satin – The Moody Blues

We were destiny, as only the stars portend
Two opposite worlds of the equestrian track
You a portrait of its wealth, me a pole post of its lack
An interest in film creates a chance meeting
Our eyes locked in pass of eternity’s fleeting
Despite it all, these two hearts of our transcend
To have had those stolen moments with you
Were worth the obstacles we were put through
Days wrapped in gold sun, a love ascends
Nights in white satin, never reaching an end

Each loving moment together a true Godsend
More so as time lessens the hold on or plight
And we could share our love in the full day light
We were a force leaving all others in the dust
I your earth you know had my complete trust
Your heart a Gibraltar on which I could always depend
It’s beat as familiar to me as the bent of my own
But the familiar sometimes become things left alone
I wrote letters of love, as classic poets have penned
Letters I’ve written, never meaning to send.

In retrospect I would have sent each letter and more
Had I but an inkling of the plans of the fates
By the time we saw your sickness, it was too late
Your health declined with such rapid velocity
The rushes to try any means of medical restore
Introduced a side-effect unplanned
The pain became more than you could stand
A slow fade of the sparkle I had come to adore
Beauty I’d always missed with these eyes before

Somewhere in there came the chorus of rumors
That your fidelity wasn’t quite as strong as mine
One of the reasons for your health’s cruel decline
The last thing I needed was that kind of stress
I saw it as a true meter of others’ nastiness
Like your arrival, your death shook me to the core
I find myself at war with the god’s aggression
That rips from me, my soul’s one possession
In the end I oscillate between faith and rancor
Just what the truth is, I can’t say anymore

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Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 74 (October 4 -October 10)

 

Triple A…

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6

Some say I’m a nympho
And that’s quite all right.
And hell yes! I do love it so!
But only one fills me with delight

He calls me his Triple A Pet
Anytime, anything, anyplace I can get

Anytime

Soft as the murmuring breeze of a new day’s dawn
When the evening sun is about to set
An afternoon thunder shower should the mood spawn
Or perhaps during a midnight buffet

Anything

Going out commando on a dare
With nothing over my shape but a very short coat
Then sitting open in a park getting air
While he presses buttons on that special remote

Anyplace

Members of several airport’s Mile High
In the nose-bleeds, for a Knicks game at MSG
The feast at The Great Wall still bring me sighs
The weekend in the brink for the stunt at Wrigley

And I know it’s just not my predilection
Anytime – Anything – Anyplace
For he suffers from the same affliction

In limos, in cars, in buses, in trains
In a taxi during rush hour, against the door
I think we’ve hit every state except Maine
In a hotel picture window on the second floor

Anyplace

Swinging wildly with our motion
Re-enacting the latest porn
At Macy’s taste-testing lotion
And yes, that cob of corn

Anything

The times the reason how they vary
It’s not for food when we go for brunch
One crooks finger the other doesn’t tarry
At my office 3pm, because I needed to munch

Anytime

Anytime, anything, anyplace that he can
I call him my Triple A Man

Manual, anal, oral, it doesn’t end
With but a moment’s loaf until recur
To each me he’s the perfect godsend
That doesn’t mind if you call him a satyr

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Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 73 (September 20 – September 26, 2012)

I’ll Bide ‘Till Time

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20

A time long since your love I held
A memory that wants to fade
Where an abundance was once held
Reduced to dreams, images frayed

So young our love, this war so stalls
A fortnight wed, in twice passed Falls
In King’s honor I know you serve
But nights lonely, my heart does swerve

My fingers replace not your touch
Though deepest soul can recall such
In shallow dreams that hold your kiss
The gentle roughness of that bliss

Ne’er thought to feel this desperate
I bide ‘till time, returns my mate

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | FormForAll – Basic Sonnet Forms

Daily Prompt: Good-bye

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11

.
Early autumn.

Click.  Click.

He stands in front of the floor to ceiling picture window in the living room that faces the water.  Being near the apex of the hill gives him a nearly unobstructed view of the river, the bridge and the rest of the city spread out before it.  The glittering effect of the sun on the water is as picture perfect as the fluffy cotton candy clouds breaking the monotony of the azure sky above.

He does not see this.

Click.  Click.

The leaves are mostly green, but you can see the first of fall’s leaves on the lawns and sidewalks. A perfectly shaped, beautifully russet leaf lazily drifts from a tree in front of the brownstone to the street.  Even this early in the season you somehow know autumn is going to show off in a blaze of glorious color at its peak.

It does not so much as invite a shrug from him.

Click.  Click.

Children play on the sidewalk or in front yards enjoying the last vestiges of the day. Their occasional high peals of laughter break the relative silence of the late afternoon. It is a good hour before the streetlights come on and another half hour at least before the sun noticeably sets.

He does not notice.

Click.  Click.

The gentle swish-swish, swish-swish of leaves brushing against a window is somehow rhythmic.  It is the same gentle breeze causing the light curtains to sway in front of open windows as evening approaches.  Somewhere down the block just out of the line of vision the happy tunes of an ice cream truck are heard.

But not by him.

Click.  Click.

He has stood by the picture window long after the brilliant red, gold and indigo of sunset have paved the way for the now diamond studded navy night.  The grandfather clock in the front hall again chimes the passing hour.  The stereo is just barely audible above the regular sounds of the house.

The only thing he has heard and continues to hear in his mind is click.

Click.  Click. 

Click.  Click.

Click.  Click.

In reality, each click is no louder than of that of an old-fashioned typewriter key strike.  For him each is as loud as a cannon blast.

The sound of stiletto heels clicking against a marble floor of the foyer as they walk out of the door and his life.

Good-bye.

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Daily Prompt | What A Twist!

Long Fallen

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9

Painting of street worker

It’s Autumn, where the verdant leaves turns gold,
And goldenrod leaves quickly become old
And those old leaves soon become just like me
Something broken and crushed, something empty
Long fallen from the grace it used to be

Hard to believe, less than eight years ago,
I think eight, I’m not sure, the years blend so
My employer came to me one down time
And said I wasn’t pulling in the dimes
I’m a utensil that was past my prime

That as such made me particular waste
And was let go from employ with due haste
Youth started its slide from my once young face
I knew the rules, there was no pleading case
No chance of rescue in this youth built place

I started at fifteen, oh such a knave
But had a knack for knowing clients’ craves
I worked there before I had license to
Attained status, before my year was through
This job was all I ever knew to do

The cache of being ‘personal escort’
I never knew a life without support
That cache provided me some global treks
Spinning clients through my erotic hex
And I won’t lie; I damn sure loved the sex

I joked this job was custom made for me
Their faces at the point of ecstasy
And as conversant in Sun Tzu as Mr. Magoo
My clients soon found out I had smarts too
And for the price, little I would not do

Out lasted many who’ve come through the door
Damn lucky to be there at fifty-four
But like my concaved waist, it couldn’t last
My job choices were very far from vast
Don’t have much future because of my past

I’m offered some dinky job on the side
But I still had a little too much pride
To be a has-been hanging on the scene
I remember how I treated has-beens mean
When I once ruled the roost as its main queen

I’m treated like someone they’ve never known
When I tried to hold some clients on my own
With individual contact of each
A beat down was the last lesson left to teach
That everything I had was out of reach

I’ve gone from elite, to stripper, to street
Where I fidget on very tired feet
Jumping from each nameless and faceless mate
Wondering just which day will seal my fate
The seasons are my only notes of date

And it’s Autumn again the leaves turn gold,
Slowly turning other colors they grow old
Long fallen from the place they used to be
What time has washed away past their glory
And then die, a cruel metaphor of me

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dVerse Poets Pub ~ Poetics: Autumn Chill is in the Air

Ravished

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6

Across a crowded room, his eyes catch mine
Eyes half-hooded by mood lighting, half-hooded by wine
He’s careful not to glance, but for a moment pass
And I equally engrossed, by the drink in my glass

Our paths cross but briefly, among the dancers on the floor
We smile, have a polite greeting, step away and nothing more
It’s a moment over faster than a thunder’s boom
Before we’re back to hooded glances across the crowded room

But this time he doesn’t waver, he lets his eyes penetrate
I grasp the wall for some support, under the glare of its weight
Mesmerized by his power, I realize I am no match
Before I feel him deep inside me just as my breaths catch

I pretend to nod to music heard above the party’s din
But it’s really to the throbbing of his pulse felt within
Eyes closed my body tingles at the unexpected bliss
I feel the warmth of his breath release with mine in a hiss

Guided by steady flickers of strong and tender fingers
That flitter across points enflamed with a teasing linger
My eyes fly open in a flash, just all time slows
Across the room I see him nod and wonder if he knows

Has there only been a passing of a few heartbeats
That took me from the curious to the nearly complete
He stands with his smile knowing, while I stifle down a moan
And leaves me there in throbbing passion, ravished by his eyes alone

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Hyde Park Poetry | Poets’ Rally Week 72 (September 5 -12, 2012)

 

The Perfect Poet Award Poetry Rally Week 72 – Ravished

Perfect voice in an imperfect world
Muse pulls prose from words swirled

I nominate the wonderful poet  Heaven.

Memories of You…

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5

The air moves so softly, against a gossamer sky
The soundless grain of sand, time slowly passing by

You’ve been gone so long, and yet I still felt you near
A vivid burst of memory, which stayed so sharp and clear

I felt as though I could still feel the touch your hand
As we did those last days, along the river’s sand

With your arm draped around me, against the wind’s surge
You made me vow to go on, I heard your plea’s desperate urge

Walking barefoot, our toes gently grazed by the water’s edge
I knew by holding these memories I was breaking my pledge

It was past time to release,
My deepest heart knew
But I just couldn’t let go
Of these memories of you

Once the symptoms set in, we simply set sail
Living large in the mesh of time left to our avail

You my knight, said I was a star; a spirit like mine must glow
And once Valhalla called, your wishes I tried to bestow

I tried, honestly tried living within the masquerade
But without you, I grew dim, even stars sometimes fade

My prayers were a narrative, a psalm, a song, a prose
On the ridges of sanity, I’ve tried everything I suppose

With both compliments and curses in my phrases
I’ve damned and pleaded with the deities in phases

It was past time to release,
My deepest heart knew
But I just couldn’t let go
Of these memories of you

I would chafe at any attempt to ease my pain
As I laid your sword to rest, upon the grassy plain

I was jealous of the wind that could still touch you
With a heaven between us, it was more than I could do

The winds were your caresses, the gentle rain your kiss
And in the cold of winter, it was your arms that I would miss

That held me so close and warm against the night’s chill
I purposely slept uncovered, if you couldn’t warm me nothing will

I found comfort only in memories pretense
A pose of happiness at my soul’s expense

It was past time to release,
My deepest heart knew
But I just couldn’t let go
Of these memories of you

But then one memory crept out for sun
Shinning light on the truth of what I’ve done

The very last gift you had given to me
Before the Odin called and set your soul free

As long as I didn’t think about it, then alive you would stay
But the base of that lie could no longer hold sway

And I smiled, really smiled in a sudden release
Memory of a crown of daisies finally gave me peace

The air moves so softly, a gossamer sigh
A soundless click of time, saying goodbye

It was now time to release,
My deepest heart knew
Now I know I can go on
Even with these memories of you

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dVerse Poets Pub : OpenLinkNight ~ Week 60

Where’s Tippi Hedren When You Need Her?

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8

As a New Yorker, and I’m sure this holds for most urban dwellers, we take the sightings of the local fauna of squirrels and pigeons that manage to make the minuscule patches of green dotting the vast urban jungle landscape home in stride. It is a tenuous relationship at best. They cannot get rid of us and we cannot get rid of them. The childhood penchant for chasing and on rare catching pigeons is their burden to bear. Walking down the street knowing there are constant invisible concentric circles above our heads and it is a veritable hit or miss crapshoot every time we deign to step outside the door, is ours. These are hazards where both sides of the genus gap take loses as a survival of the fittest raw deal. Still, for the most part there has existed an unspoken, yet generally binding mutual agreement once we humans reach puberty that if we stay out of their way, they will stay out of ours.

The key words being for the most part…

I pretty much walk the same path to the train each morning for work. I have an early schedule, so I may see only a handful of people on the streets before I reach the station. Therefore, certain portions of my path can have a gathering of avian. If there are less than ten birds together, I may give a modicum of space to their gathering and not disturb them. This morning, what looked like a platoon of them had gathered, enough that it would have given Alfred Hitchcock pause. There was no going around them. I had no choice but to stake my claim as the higher species. They were going to get out of my way this time, dammit!

I was fully prepared to plow right through them and they must have sensed it as a sizable amount took to flight. I was counting on this, thus I was not surprised by their sudden take off. Nor did the two or three stalwarts who were not leaving their breadcrumbs for anything surprise me. Hard cases exist in all species and I get it. What got me was this one pigeon crossing my path instead of the other way around. Dude was determined he was going thataway and not even this human was deterring him from his chosen path. I actually had to stop short, nearly stumbling, to keep from accidentally punting the flying frack to the tracks of the elevated train platform some fifty yards ahead. I stood there with my arms partially open in a dude seriously? pose. The damned thing had to nerve to cock its head at me in a whaat? stance as it kept going.

“Damn, he could have at least said excuse me.” Was the laughing commentary from a guy who was standing outside and witnessed the whole exchange.

My opinion exactly; the nerve! Apparently this hard case didn’t get the higher species memo.

The Raivenne-0 / The Pigeon-1

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

this moment

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5

He takes a moment to stand by the window and gaze out at the morning before him.

Coming out of a good stretch, his arms are extended wide, his hands grasping the window frame in a casual lean.

The floor to ceiling windows engulfs his nude form in sunlight, giving him an ethereal aura, an other-worldliness punctuated by the horizontal slats of the open Venetian blinds.

Momentarily oblivious to all around him, he is living art work of shadow and light.  I’m afraid to so much as breathe too deeply or quickly for fear the sudden displacement of air will travel the distance between us, disturb him somehow and thus break this moment.

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…Just putting a memory to pixel…

Still Pissed…

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2

Yes, this is an Akin rant, because I am still pissed….

Is there is a dearth of viable children available for adoption via the usual ways as is, that we have to use legislature to replenish the stock?

The moral majority has the right to have their opinion on who, what, when, where, why and how and for that matter how many we choose to use our vaginas. After all, it is just opinion, and like assholes, almost everyone has one and it has little bearing on how we lead our sexual lives except where we choose to let it. As the kids say “YMMV”, but I personally do not give a fuck.  Actually, that is not true, I do give and receive fucks – not as any wear near as much as I’d like, because I do have standards after all, but I digress…

The moral majority however does not have the right to legislate what we, as a legal adult females of sound minds and bodies, will allow in or out of our vaginas voluntarily (the harm to animals big and small not withstanding – because I know some idiot reading this is going to think it).  They damn sure should not get to lay down the law on all females simply because it goes against the moral/religious stance of some. Attempting to define what is considered “rape” and then what to do with any potential pregnancies that may result from it, by people –the majority of whom are male and one of whom, who apparently did not pay attention in sex-ed and does not know shit about basic reproductive biology- has galled me to no end, especially this week.

Forcible rape. Date rape. Statutory rape. Guess what they all have in common?

They are all still RAPE.

This is punishing the victim on a grand scale. We all know for all the rapes reported, there are so many more that are not. Therefore, the responsibilities any pregnancies resulting from such -for those females who do not have these mysterious magic vaginas that shuts down and blocks insemination when being raped as Akin stated- are solely on the female. I know there are states that will uphold rapists’ rights to fight for custody of their children should they be so inclined (which is whole other level of punishing the victim), but is there a law that mandates all convicted rapists who father children must take full responsibility of them whether they want to or not?-No.  However, whatever spawn is planted in our wombs we may soon be ordered to give birth to whether we want to or not.

If the woman is not crying bloody murder about the event, she asked for it? Tell that to the woman in an abusive relationship that hasn’t found the courage to leave yet.  Maybe the college girl hanging out with someone she thought was a friend and is slipped some GHB in her soda will be okay with it, but I doubt it. Does anyone remember back in the late 80’-early 90’s when women were taught to not fight, but just lay there and take it because they were more likely to live through it? Tell that to the women who heeded such advice. Perhaps the 10-year-old girl taken advantage of by a male family member who was too scared to say “no” that she (and let us be honest her mother also), must keep the lovely memento left behind as a reminder for the rest of their lives?

And really, even if the female (or mother of the female), CHOOSES to keep the child due to her own personal reasons, would she want the father to be in the life of the child?

And just for the sake of devil advocacy – let us take rape out of the picture altogether.

I am a middle-aged peri-menopausal woman who already has two adult children and damn sure does not want any more. How much do you want to wager -should I find out the condom broke- just how ecstatic I will be to learn that I just re-upped for a minimum 9 month, but potentially another 18-24 year gig due to government decree. I love my sons, but I have raised them and they are living their own lives now. Raising children to adulthood is work and my job is done. I have officially entered consulting mode for which there is no chance of being let go from my services and I like it that way. I am not starting over, nor am I putting the child up for someone else.  I am saying it right here in print – if it becomes national law and I would have to give birth to said child – there will be a “vacation” to another country in my immediate future and I guaran-fucking-tee you I will not be the only one.

As I will be out of the childbearing game soon enough, this really isn’t about me any more.  It is for all the other females of this age on whom such legislature will affect.

Most of the ones attempting to control our wombs and lives through such laws were not around, or old enough to really remember life before Roe v. Wade.  To them and to the ones who think I’m blowing it out of proportion and need to let it go, I’m telling you, if we don’t wake up and continue to fight to keep these from becoming laws, we’re all going to be pretending we do not know about the many uses of wire hangers again within a few short years.

This was my Facebook status Monday morning:

Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (regarding the ongoing trend to legislate the female body below the belt): I am a grown ass woman, the only persons who have any “legitimate” say about what is allowed to come out of my vagina are my gynecologist whose job is to check it out and the lucky ones I voluntarily allow in.  All else need to Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

I feel as though I have spent the past few years explaining/defending/exercising my right to control my own vagina so many fucking times, I’ve had it up to here *levels palm just above pubic area*

Or as my girl ‘Monds likes to say ‘Iz ded”.

It’s Thursday and I am still pissed…