Tag Archives: thoughts

Reading Raivenne

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When the Book of Me was fully open to the life of you, it was tough handling what was written on those really private pages wasn’t it?  Now that the private section is closed off to you, it’s tough not always knowing what’s written there. Especially, the private parts you think may be about you.

Sucks for you, huh?

And what if there are? Private parts written about you…

I could tell you that there is nothing concerning you, but it’s me, with a history of you. We both would know that for a blatant lie. A part of you is always going to be in that very private section of me.

I could tell you a truth that may have something to do with you, but what could you do about it even if you wanted to? Would it assuage your curiosity? Build an even thicker wall between us?

I could mind fuck with you and tell you, yes there is something, something that I can’t tell you, knowing the curiosity of such would drive you crazy. But I couldn’t live with myself putting you through that for no reason other than Schadenfreude.And I am happy to say, I now care a hell of a lot more about who I see reflected in my mirror, than who I thought I saw reflected in your eyes.

Or I could do exactly what I did, and tell you the truth…there is nothing concerning you, that you need to know about. I know, you do not like not knowing anything that may concern you. It may bug you for a hot second, but by the time you’re reading this (if you ever do), I know you’re already over it.

(I hope) you know me well enough to realize, if it really were important for you to know, I’d tell you.

So you say you can’t read me any more, not the way you used to. Is it really that surprising? We had a long time apart and neither of us are the same people anymore. I had to quickly learn to build one bitch of a thick ass wall to function around you without falling apart. The wall held shakily at first, but it is formidable now. I don’t know how to lower it.

Besides, I don’t think I should.

When I desperately need a friend to open up a page to at 3am, your name is no longer on the short list which comes to mind. While, I may still choose tell you things others may not be privy to, you’re no longer among those few 3am-ers.  Thus you no longer have access to deep private pages written any more. And that really is a shame; for you were an excellent sounding board once.

These are the new chapters of the Book of Me.

Only time will tell if you are a continuing character…

…Or already an epilogue.

Questioning

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Warm and naked
In my darkened room
My feminine softness casually at rest
Across the soft quilting of my bed
Curtains open to the night sky
I contemplate the relativity
Of distance

Inches to the map
Hours to the travel
Days to the calendar
It’s all infinity to the spirit

That would happily trade
The cooling breeze of the fan
Across my body
For the feel of a someone’s
Heated breath
Across my cheek

The slightest of frowns
Crease my brow in fear
As my head questions
All of the unknowns
While gently splayed fingers lay
Between my breasts in hope
As my spirit wonders
In all of the what ifs

I stare at Luna
Thinking how easy it would be
To turn this into something
Of the purely physical realm
But somehow I know
My questions and wonders
Will be answered in its own time
For what was touched is beyond
What the physical can reach

And in a rare act of mercy
Luna lets
My heavily lidded
Eyes fall
Dreaming
Instead of questioning
The potential
Spark

Of Plans And Raivenne

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Plans change and now my day is free
To vegetate?
No not
I.

Shades await this
bluest
sky.

I must enjoy
This gift,
Bye!

<>==========<>==========<>
Yes, another Zeno poem (Ten lines with the syllable count: 8/4/2/1/4/2/1/4/2/1 and a rhyme scheme: a/b/c/d/e/f/d/g/h/d). Because the day is too beautiful to stay in for anything verbose.

Enjoy your weekend folks – I’m outta here!

My Baby, He Loves Me…

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Drifting on a mode so deep – had to put it to words so I can sleep
Some of you won’t like this I know – but the muse goes where it wants to go

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like Chi-Town

Gangsta All The Way, ‘Cause He Know I Don’t Play
Before He Could Love Me Here, He Had To Love Me There
He Had To Speakeasy To Find The Key To Unlock My Mind
Because Once Unlocked There Is No Prohibition To What He Won’t Do For Love
Because Once Unlocked There Is No Inhibition To What I Will Do For Love
Because Once Unlocked There Is Just The Mission To Love

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like Detroit

Do-Wop Singing, Joy Bringing, Hip Swaying, Motown Playing
Hot Car Driving, Always Striving To
Giving Me The Best That’s He’s Got
Giving Me The Best ‘Cause It’s Hot
Giving It All Until We’re Bloodshot

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like New Orleans

The Big Easy – Easy Like A Sunday Morning, Just As The Day Is Dawning
Like Cool Jazz On The Hot Delta, I’m Telling Ya’ll I Never Felt A
Who Do The Voodoo, Like He Do
The Bass Of His Sax Makes My Skin Thrum
The Bass Of His Sax Makes My Lips Hum
The Bass Of His Sax Makes Me Just Wanna Succumb

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like Compton

Timberland Wearing, Rough-Neck Swearing
All The While Smiling Cause We Doggie Styling
Free-Styling On Crenshaw Where They All Saw
The Liquid Ounce¸ Ounce, Ounces Of The Forty
Drip On The Flounce, Flounce, Flounces Of My Booty
In The Bounce, Bounce, Bounces Of The Hoopty

My Baby
He Loves Me

He Loves Me Like The Big Apple

Creating It, Making It, Taking It, Never Faking It
So Good It Makes Me Weep For The Sexing That Never Sleeps
Ain’t Got A Damn Thing To Say When He’s Laying Down The Broadway

Shoes On The Counter, In The Hall, Still Outside The Front Door.
Buttons Splattered, Clothing A Tattered, Scattered Mess On The Floor
No Shame In My Game ‘Cause Don’t You Know?
I’m Well Versed In The Language Of Fellatio
Going From “oh baby, oh baby, oh baby, oh.”
To “Oh Baby! Oh Baby! Oh Baby! Oh Baby! OH!”

Back Stinging From The Sweat In Trails His Nails Left
And Moaning For More ‘Cause I’m Not Done Yet
Tom Catted, Hair Matted,
Sheets Twisting, Sweat Glistening,
Cock Throbbing, All Out Sobbing
And That’s Just Him . . .

Menage A Trois? Yeah! Fuck That And Get The Strap!
Tongue Dripping On The Cunt Dipping For
The New Jack Trick Of The Deep Licked Long Dick
Where I’m Laid Down To Get Jacked-On
Where I’m Held Down To Get Sucked-Off
Where I’m Tied Down To Get Fucked Up

Stroking, Stoking, Toking, Smoking
Steaming, Streaming, Screaming, Creaming

MY! BABY! IS! LOVING! ME! UNTIL! WE! ARE! FUCKING! EACH! OTHER! AS! HARD! AS! THIS!

And Oh – Did I Tell You About My Baby?

He Loves Me…

>==========<

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 37

Two Princes

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Two New York princes on a subway train
Two different styles, two different manes
Mister Business so perfectly dressed
While Mr. Free Spirit’s so casually tressed
One baby bottom smooth as always
One hasn’t seen a razor in many days
Mr. Business is the model of all things materially
But it’s Mr. Free Spirit who captivates me
Is it the flip-flop sandals on his feet?
Or that reappearing dimple in his cheek
Head bopping in beat to his own tune
In a way Mr. Business’ would never swoon
Business is cool as in ice, Spirit’s cool as in fun
Maybe I’ll take the money under another sun
But for today Mr. Free Spirit is the one

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Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

The Flip Side

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Him: You will never be as bad as you’d like people to think you are.
Me: True, but I will never be as good as you’d like to think I can be.

Had to “Friend Zone” someone who truly did not want to be there. Worse, by putting him in that friend zone, I may I have lost him as exactly that.

I know far too well how it feels to be on his side of unrequited. Knowing that I’m doing the right thing, instead of the easy one, does not make being on this side of it any easier.

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

 

 

Liebster Blog Award

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I am pleased to have received the Liebster Award from one of my newest followers, Eva Van Pelt.  You can read some of Eva’s lovely words on her blog “Words Dripping From The Night Sky“. Thank you so much Eva, I am honored my words have touched you so deeply to give me this.

Liebster (German) is in Dutch language – Lieveling – my dearest, a word used for the one that is your most special, the one you love beyond borders.

In accepting this award, the recipient agrees to:

1. Show thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks for the award and let them know.
3. Post the award on your blog.
4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people in the Blogsphere.
5. And, lastly – have fun and spread the karma!

A difficult task to choose only five of all the amazing blogs I visit, but here they are in no specific order:

Girl Griot: If You Want Kin, You Must Plant Kin
My fellow Slice of Life-er, is a friend I just don’t get to see often enough.  Reading her rich words was one of the deciding factors in my finally choosing to blog . She is inspiring.

Andrew Wilmot: In Narro Veritas
Andrew creates worlds with his words that frighten and intrigue and captivate you. Luckily for us, that extends to more than just the written word as he is equally talented in several art forms.

Charles Mashburn: Marbles In My Pocket
I have followed Charles for a few months now. I enjoy his wonderful short stories, poetry and the daily reminder that He Is.

Bajanpoet: Poet: Whispers
A recent find, his words whisper, scream, laugh tease and pull you into them. It is almost scary how often he and I are of the same mind, in spite of the many, may miles between us.

CastingPearls: Blowing Big Bubbles
So many say they give you a piece of them when they blog. Once you read CP’s words, you will know it for the sometimes gut-busting, sometimes gut-wrenching, always heart pulling veracity it is.

Visit these wonderful bloggers and browse around, your soul will thank you.

When Winter Cradles Spring

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According to the calendar, this is spring’s first day
I can just make out the tinges of green on its way
But one more winter’s snowfall has one last say
Making this day, just like my heart, somewhat gray
Those first hints of green are a melancholy thing
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

The spring day we met, the ground still had snow
And like the seedlings underneath a love began to grow
And the years like sunlight increased it’s glow
But on a snowy spring day, you were taken so
Trapped in a time warp, my eyes start to sting
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

It has been a few years now, since you’ve died
And I concede, the tears grow less, that I’ve cried
I would love to say my pain has turned its tide
But on days like today all would know I’ve lied
For me it’s a lamentation, the morning birds sing
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

When I look at the walls, in the spaces somewhat bare
In my mind’s eyes, are the pictures of you, still hanging there
The seasons come, the seasons go, in their time allotted share
But this, not quite winter, not quite spring, holds bittersweet air
I tug at the finger that sometimes wears your wedding ring
My love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

Sometimes I’m hit with pangs that my heart can barely stand
But they’re starting to fade, like the tide wearing away sand

Those first hints of green are a melancholy thing
Trapped in a time warp my eyes start to sting
For me it’s a lamentation, the morning birds sing
I tug at the finger that sometimes wears your wedding ring
Wondering if, no when, my heart will ease its painful cling
Oh my love I miss you most, when winter cradles spring

>========<

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

* I wrote this poem eight years ago when my husband was very much among the living.
* Six years ago on this day, he became my late-husband.
* Two years ago this week I started this blog, referencing the above write, but somehow never posted it.
* Today I note, yet again, how time flies regardless of fun and I post and I remember and I smile and I give thanks again to all of you who have chosen to follow along with me on this path, no matter when you picked up the trail.

Raivenne

in public passing

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I reference Whitney Houston in the following as she has become the latest occurrence of that which has garnered my ire, but I mean this in deference for all troubled celebrities who pass…

Does any one remember “don’t speak ill of the dead”?

I don’t understand this vitriol that occurs whenever a fallen celebrity dies. I concede my interest in Whitney Houston of late began and ended within the length of whichever song of hers popped up on my iPod. I enjoy the beauty of her voice for however long I may (or may not) have the song on replay until I move on. She was a talented singer and that we my never her anything new from her again is a loss for those who enjoyed her singing.

Those of us that don’t find the humor of such disrespect (especially within minutes of the announcements of the person passing) and dare call the critics to task don’t know how to take a joke or are taking things too seriously. No I, like millions of other Houston fans, did not scour the Internet each day for all news Whitney. That did not make us any less of her fans or make her passing any less meaningful to us in our own little ways. The disrespect of the dead is bad enough and some also choose to also belittle the living who want to take a moment to offer their respects even if it’s only something as simple as a single line Facebook status.

Did she take a superstar career and blow it all to smithereens? Yes, no one denies that. Ninety-point-whatever of us in this world get to fuck-up in relative private and will never have our laundry out but to a select few. In this world of information overload, most celebrities don’t have that luxury and intentionally or not, Houston’s laundry was there for all to gander. Eventually, even she owned up to her mistakes. Yet, because she (and other celebrities) don’t get a chance to “redeem themselves” in the public eye, it justifies the internet critics carte blanche to spout whatever snarky bullshit they feel like in the guise of being funny. Why? Just because the dead and their grieving family will likely never read it, does not make it any less hurtful. It is not gallows humor, it is just mean. So no, I do not feel compelled to pat such behavior on the back.

Just remember whether you (the critics), become famous, infamous or not, some day you will die and someone is going to talk about you.

Let he who is without / cast…

‘Tis The Season

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‘Tis the season full of joy
smiles on the faces of every girl and boy

Presents wrapped by the tree, searching for your name
trying to guess the contents – toys, clothes or a games

Singing carols by the fire,
or listening to carolers, outside the door
Not worrying about the last cup of eggnog
knowing there’s more

Snow covering the streets,
adding to the yuletide
I remember when I used to see it all from the window inside

My Christmas fire, is the heat felt through a grate
Though I haven’t even had much of that as of late

A new coat for me is someone’s thrown away old
that I find here or about
The only game I play, is guessing when to leave
before the cops throw me out

I’ve long since given up on the Christmas deal
I count my blessings that I make it to the next meal

The snow covering the streets, freezes me to the bone
for all the shoppers on the street, I sit here alone

Moving from one corner to the next, just to the pass the time
wishing for more than a nickel or dime

I get more dollars than coins these days, for some reason

Oh right, I remember…

‘Tis the season

>===<>===<

Entered in:

Poetry Picnic Week 18:
Snow, December, Winter Vacations & Wildness,