Man in Space

That Time was Forever

2007-08-14T07:48:00.000-07:00

Languidly his eyes blinked
in the evening light and he lay
spent and tranquil
watching her dress

The thump, thump
of his beating heart
reminding him
and he sighed
"I love you."

How time shifts and moves
so unexpectedly,
as if in a dream
bubbles floating
tender moments rising
toward heaven

She turns and rests her gaze
upon his naked frame,
the house that holds
that which rarely can be held,
twinkling eyes
Frankincense
and mirth within
that crooked grin

Reminding him of why
and why and why
are the thoughts
of butterflies
and Levi's
and laughing Armadillos

Anna's Picnic

2007-03-21T07:17:00.000-07:00

Anna's picnic was a simple affair
that first spring day
with the wildflowers stretching
upward after a long rest
And the kisses that landed
lightly on her cheeks
and lips like the misty morning dew
clean and sweet

Then every spring
steady as a calendar
life came to that spot
the one with the windmill
and the grass that the children
rolled on while kisses landed
on cheeks and lips
more firmly now planted
like the trees steady and strong

Breath turned to sigh
and children had children
who planted kisses of their own
every spring
for a day that was grand
and full with water and life
blossoming tender

It's true, you know,
what they say
about the whispers of love
that echo in the turning
of the mill
and if you stand upon the grass
and stretch upward as the flowers do
you can hear the laughter
of children and feel kisses
land lightly and you can know
somehow
that Anna smiles.

Fragile Felines and Feelings of Pink

2007-03-09T08:20:00.000-07:00

My cat is about eighty-four years old. In cat years that is. She's a great cat, she lays around the house, she loves on everyone, eats and is generally to old to raise much of a fuss about anything. She has always been an inside cat, so sometimes when the weather is cool and the house is open to the spring breezes she'll find herself transfixed by the outside world.

She sees the opportunity of an open door before her. She'll sit right at the threshold wagging her tail and you can see the wheels of her mind turning.

"Should I go? It looks fun. What's out there? Scary. I'm going to go, wait no, I'm not..."

She'll sit up, put a timid paw on the ground outside the door stand for a second and withdraw at the slightest sound or movement that is unatural to her. Sitting back on her haunches she looks, longingly, too frightened by her own shadow to venture forth into the wilds of the backyard.

Then, it happened, the day came when she actually stepped outside. Her whole body made it outside for about five minutes. She sniffed and peered and skulked on the patio and I thought for sure she was a gonner. She would take off in her newly found freedom and we would never see her again. I mean all of her dreaming had brought her to this point, right? Her future waiting to be grasped.

Wrong.

As soon as she had walked around outside a while you could see the muscles on her back relax and her tail swish gently back and forth, she was completely uninspired by what she thought was the adventerous. Almost imediately she had a sort of bored expression on her face. Insolent, in a way. Looking at me with those sharp green eyes I could just about hear her in my head.

"Yeah. It's no big deal."

And with that she slowly, nonchalantly walked into the house, jumped up onto the couch and went to sleep. She has not yet ventured again outside.

This got me to thinking about my life and how I do the same things at times. I look and look for things outside of home and hearth for adventure and excitement, half frightened and half raptureous with expectation. Only to find as I venture forth that the world outside is not that amazing. In fact, it can be quite dull. All of the things that I require or desire or dream of can be found easily in my little bubble of a life. A life so full of quality that everything else seems to have lost its color. The grass isn't in fact greener on the other side, because my lawn, truthfully, is pretty damn good. There's a truthfullness and a reality to my life and the relationships I've had in the last several years, that I'm just not finding in the real word. In fact I'm finding a lot of people who lie, and cheat, and steal. People who use and abuse those around them for their own gain. There is selfishness that eats away at people like a cancer. It marrs the outward beauty they so desperately seek after.

I'm glad that I can look at the world through rose colored glasses. I'm glad that I have surrounded myself with people of integrity and character. The bubble of my life can float here and there on the wind, but I will protect it and keep it from bursting. I will carry on those feelings of innocence that I have in my heart. The feelings I get when I wear pink. Wholesome and girly and sweet. I will choose to know the world as a good place, a wholesome place, a pink place. And I will cut away the diseased relationships of my life that darken my vision of peace. Because after all, outside, is really no big deal.

Sonnet 116

2006-12-03T14:38:00.000-07:00

CXVI.

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be
taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and
cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

Shakespeare

2006-11-29T15:47:00.000-07:00

"I won’t pretend to be coy- because I know what I want.”

Questions for Heaven

2006-11-28T06:43:00.000-07:00

"Feel the sun in my eyes
Swat that clumsy fly
Woke me up from a dream about Heaven
Smellin' coffee downstairs
Yawn a quick little prayer
And get up at a quarter to seven

Mirror catches my stare
Got some nice pillow hair
And I smile all the way to the bathroom
Scratch my whiskery chin
Now my cranium swims
With questions I can't wait to ask You

...Like why did You bother with so many stars?
Do You ever play tricks on the angels?
And what happened to all of those dinosaurs?
Where's the Garden of Eden?
And what causes de ja vu?

I guess in Heaven I'll learn
I'll be waiting my turn
To ask about quasars and feathers
I hope the line isn't long
I hope Your patience is strong
It's a good thing forever's forever

Do our jokes make You laugh?
What's Your favorite cartoon?
Can you tell me what's out past the edges?
And what about UFOs, taste buds, and tornados?
Why do we dream?
Oh, and what causes de ja vu?

Time to call it a day
Time to turn off my brain
It's already half past eleven
Reach to turn out the light
And close my sleepy eyes
And save up the questions for Heaven
I'll save all the questions for Heaven
I'm saving up questions for Heaven"

Chris Rice

Cherry's Property Laws

2006-11-23T09:30:00.000-07:00

1. If I like it, it's mine
2. If it's in my mouth, it's mine.
3. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
4. If I can take it from you, it's mine.
5. If it's mine, it must never be yours.
6. If it just looks like mine, it's mine.
7. If I saw it first, it's mine.
8. If you are playing with something else and put it
down, it's mine.
9. If I am chewing something up, all of the pieces are
mine.
10. If it used to be yours, get over it.
11. If it's broken, it's yours.

Listen

2006-11-08T07:21:00.000-07:00

I have returned
from traveling
to the land
that has no music
serene as the
temple of Monk's
prayer.

It's a great
place to visit
but
I wouldn't want
to live there.

And so dancing
into cadence
I come,
with the sounds
of laughing children
calling me home.

Sing! Sing!
I pray
that you too
will somehow
find the way.

Sonnet

2006-11-06T10:26:00.000-07:00

It
may not
always
be
so...

And I say
And if your lips
which I have loved
should touch
another's
And your dear sweet fingers clutch
her heart
as mine
in time
not far away

If on another's face
your sweet hair lay

In such a silence as I know

Or such great writhing words as, uttering overmuch

Stand helplessly before the spirit at bay

If this should be,
I say if this should be

You of my heart,
send me a little word

That I may go unto her, and take her hands saying

Accept
all happiness from me

Then shall I turn my face

And hear one bird
sing terribly afar
in the lost
lands...

Just not Sure

2006-10-25T07:02:00.000-07:00

I have been doing a lot of self-examination lately concerning my writing.
Self doubt really.
I'm reading this terrific book about Edna Millay, I just
have fallen in love with her. I don't really care for her style poetically
but man I feel a kindred ness about her that's hard to explain.
It has caused me to reflect on my talent and drive. I think I am realizing that I
am too inconsistent to be truly good.
I sit around in my comfortable, static suburbian environment longing desperately for a Bohemia, a revolution to shake me from my cocoon and there is just... life.
I mean I'm so fantastically happy and satiated and maybe that's the issue.
I have no momentum to carry me beyond this point of growth artistically.
I'm not sure what's wrong.
I feel mopey and apathetic and disappointed in myself.

Untill the End

2006-10-21T12:12:00.000-07:00

You came out of nowhere.

Just when I thought I was free, I was violently accosted by your memory. It was after all, just a movie. But then, there you were all over the screen. With nowhere to escape, I sucumb to the emotional mugging that took just about two full hours. I was reminded over and over of all the pain wrought in my life in those terrible years. I was reminded of the battle wounds that I carry and the scar tissue that is left ached a little to be reminded...

It is a different ache than that of my childhood scars. In childhood, I was truly a victim. No help, no where to run. My only strategy was to simply out last and be the last one standing, and I am.

This battle between us is not so black and white as I would like to have it. I participated in my destruction. I participated through misplaced trust. I ignored warning signs. I believed you... every word you said. Friendship, kindness even love. Like a hunter, you trained me to trust you just enough to eat out of your hand and then out of the silence, BAM! The gunshot broke and there were great and bloody wounds left in the space that once contained my heart.

Mahatma Gandhi once said "You must be the change you wish to see in the world."

I will not live in a world of hatred or bitterness. I refuse to allow you to burden me and I want you to know I will not hate you. I refuse to harbor resentment in the places of my soul where love can abide. I have built a mighty fortress to protect the sacred promises of my life, and though your memory is a loaded cannon pointed at my battlements, I refuse to allow you the victory. I am not the girl I once was. I have learned to be a warrior. I have learned how to heal. I have grown in wisdom and grace. I will win. I will be the last one standing.

I am a Shaman...

and I will,
as long as I have breath,
I will never speak your name.

Bubbles in the Bath

2006-10-20T17:22:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in the tub. Surrounded by bubbles and warm soapy water. My favorite scent of jazmine and vannila lightly clinging to the air. I love being in the water, I've always loved it, since I was a little girl. The relaxing sensual feel of floating. The complete emersion in warmth. I close my eyes and just...

breathe.

I am delighting in the quiet space of my bathroom letting the water drain as I sit. The sensation is unusual and I give myself up to the feeling. My body temperature is cooling down as the air begins to circulate around my skin and I'm begining to get a chill. I can feel the water moving down slowly below my arms, my knees. I can feel the pull of the water suctioning down the drain. A little colder now, and droplets are falling from my hair onto the middle of my back and my face. The water drains past my hips and I am starting to feel the buoyancy of it dissapear. There are only little bubbles that remain, on my skin and the sides of the tub. I am left now alone, standing in the little puddles around my feet, dripping and shivering in the cold. As I step out onto the mat and reach for the comfort of the dry towel I stop. "This is it." I say to myself, "This is how it feels when someone you love leaves you."

We are standing in my driveway, laughing about a million unconnected things. Nervous laughter, so that we can avoid the next moments for as long as possible. You pull me close and just hold me, for a long time. I relax in the warmth of your arms and the smell of your cologne. I close my eyes and for a while I just...

breathe.

There is only me and you standing facing eachother and as you brush the hair from my face and gently touch my cheek, I know. This is it, the plug has been pulled. The warmth that your presence brings to my life, my heart, my soul is leaving me now. I can see in your eyes the strength that I have come to depend on telling me tenderly that it is time to let go. And I start to feel a chill as the wind blows around my body. I can feel you leaving me before you are gone, the pull of the clock that keeps you always on schedule. Pulling you toward your destination and ripping you from me. You take a step back and I feel a little colder now, without your arms wrapping me snuggly like a coat. My lower lip starts to quiver and I am overcome with the thought of loss. I try to smile unsuccessfuly and the tears come without warning. I can feel them now, on my face and my hands. They fall to the ground and one hits the tip of your shoe. I am starting to feel the energy and buoyancy of your spirit leave. You are trying not to cry yourself so you say something ridiculous and I just look at you.Gazing at your face, I want to imprint every detail on my brain. I never want to forget the color of your eyes and the turn of your nose. The tiny scar on your forhead, the mulitcolor strands of hair on your face. I reach up my hand to wipe the tears from your moustache and you grab my hand and kiss my palm. I smile and as if that was your cue, you get in the car and wave and in an instant you are gone. Only memories remain, clinging to the inside of myself like the bubbles in the tub. I am left now alone, standing in the little puddles of tears around my feet, shivering in the cold.

I walk back inside my home, searching for the warmth and comfort of my bed. "This is it." I say to myself, "God I hate good-byes."

The Day of the Dragon

2006-10-11T10:01:00.000-07:00

If you could have been there
you would have seen
the smooth, impenatrable scales
reflected in my eyes
and the firey breath
waxing and waning between
the incisors dripping
with blood.

If you could have been there
you would have seen
the set of my shoulders
and not the fear
that I hid
in the pit of my stomach
like Atlas
loosing his grip
in the sweat of his hands.

If you could have been there
you would have seen
me
facing the beast
with vigor and desire
and courage.
Me.
Sprinting toward death
or life reclaimed
to stand upon that
translucent wing
and straddle the back
Me.

If you could have been there
you would have been moved
with terror and
passion as was I
riding the Dragon
bolting
bucking
burning
and I held.

If you could have been there
you would have heard
the warrior
cry
the ancient in battle
the mother in prayer
the sister in lament
and my will determined
victory
as I held.

If you could have been there
you would have seen
magnificent valor
in that space and time
the look of amazement
reflected in my eyes
walking toward peace
and only then realizing
my boots have been singed.

If you could have been there
you would have seen.

Exactly

2006-10-10T10:40:00.001-07:00

You scored as Green. <'Imunimaginative's Deviantart Page'>

Green

100%

Socialist

100%

Communism

100%

Democrat

100%

Anarchism

67%

Republican

Nazi

Fascism

What Political Party Do Your Beliefs Put You In?
created with QuizFarm.com

Happy Anniversary

2006-09-29T09:13:00.000-07:00

Habitation

Marriage is not
a house or even a tent

it is before that, and colder:

The edge of the forest, the edge
of the desert
the unpainted stairs
at the back where we squat
outside, eating popcorn

where painfully and with wonder
at having survived even
this far

we are learning to make fire

Margaret Atwood

Life, Love and the Pursuit of... well, you know.

2006-09-28T09:11:00.000-07:00

Just as the roller coaster has a slow ascent and a race car driver modifies tactics to take a turn on the track, so I feel that in our pursuit of happiness in this life it is helpful and even beneficial to slow down in various circumstances. Life cannot nor should not be eaten all in one bite or swallowed in one single gulp. Who can determine complexity of flavor, revel and linger in the sensual experience if we hastily grab and devour what is in one's way?

Let us pursue methodicaly, deliberately that which we seek to experience in order that every nuance might be revealed and admired. So when we are old it is not forgotten. So we do not become the tramping bull in the china shop, shattering the delicate things in our environment.

"As he watches her walk away he feels a loss.

'How is it possible' he thinks, 'to miss a woman that he kept at a distance, so that when she was gone, he would not miss her.'

Only then, does he realize that wanting part of her and not all of her had hurt them both and how he cannot justify his actions, except to say that it was... well, it was Life."

Falling Water

2006-09-20T06:55:00.000-07:00

I wonder
what's behind the hello
when you wink
and tilt your head
in that way you have.

When you laugh
that laugh
and hug and kiss
and touch
the elbow or the hand
of the one
who listens.

I wonder
what's behind the water
when it falls?
Cascading violently
down the path
it has created.

Looking sweet
and refreshing and effervescent
as it pummels away
at the rock
that receives the beating
so gracefully.

My heart could be a rock
stoic and elegant
taking in the flow
that pours
turbulent from your spirit.

If only I could be sure
and stop always
wondering
What's behind the hello.

Capistrano Calls

2006-09-06T13:33:00.000-07:00

My heart is a swallow
that at times
flies free

It flits from here to there
and glides on tiny wings
pearching now
singing now
to no one in particular

Most often it sits
contentedly in a gilded cage
with wings trimmed neat
looking at me with
darting eyes
that say more than they see

But every now and then
I lift the door
and let it fly
to unknown trees
with leaves
I don't quite recognize

It tries
to perch in places
that feel like home
and finds comfort
of a sort
that's really no comfort
at all

and the older I get
the more I wonder
at the wisdom
of letting my heart fly free.

On Being Asked Why I Write Poetry

2006-08-17T08:33:00.000-07:00

If I don't write things down I won't remember them
and I can't keep a diary.
A diary is an argument you loose with yourself.
I loose arguments witheveryone else
but you've got to draw the line somewhere.
Memories are dry, brittle snakeskins,
I have to put the snakes back inside.
When I wrote letters I didn't want to let them go.
Poetry is the only time I listen when I talk,
The rest of the time I'm just hearding air.
History is a collection of alibis,
old maps where the winds are shown
by puff-cheeked cherubs
and photo albums at garage sales with other people's
families and lost loves.
I don't know if I believe my poems either
but I know they are mine.
And I can only tell you what you already know
but weren't paying attention to at the time.
The print of your body in wet grass
'til next year's grass remembers.
The patterns on the plate you smashed
when you were quarreling.
A phone rining in a booth you passed
at night in a bad part of town.
I'm rining it again.
Is anyone home?

Julia Vinograd

One Chance in a Lifetime

2006-08-07T14:47:00.000-07:00

I have often wondered how to go about telling you everything I feel, everything that I want you to know and believe about love and the world and beauty and happiness. I have not as yet found the perfect words or gestures to convey all that my heart holds for you. How can you ever know the pleasure your life brings to me. The satisfied feeling that I get from your smile. The rage that boils over in my soul when you are hurt or mistreated. I know I have been hard on you, but the hardness was born of intense love. I want such a greatness for your life, not of money or power but of all the things that really matter. I will give you anything that I can to help you fullfill your dreams.

I give you my inner strength
I give you my endurance
I give you my wisdom, born of adversity
I give you my courage
I give you my confidence
I give you my heart, my love, my soul, my spirit...

Everything that is precious to me, I give to you. I will be an empty shell if it means you will be the person I know you are deep inside yourself.

I love you
I love you
I love you

Always and forever, no matter what.

"In her own sweet world,
populated by dolls and clowns and a prince
and a big purple bear.
Lives my favorite girl,
unaware of the worried frowns that weary grown-ups all wear.
In the sun she dances to silent music,
songs that were spun of gold somwhere in her own little head.
One day all too soon,
she'll grow up and she'll leave her dolls
and her prince and her silly old bear.
When she goes they will cry as they wisper goodbye.
They will miss her, I fear
but then, so will I."

Gene Lees

For my Husband...

2006-08-03T13:06:00.000-07:00

If I could have just one wish,
I would wish to wake up everyday
to the sound of your breath on my neck,
the warmth of your lips on my cheek,
the touch of your fingers on my skin,
and the feel of your heart beating with mine...
Knowing that I could never find that feeling
with anyone other than you.

- Courtney Kuchta

Spackle knives, Dandelions and Spoons

2006-07-22T08:24:00.000-07:00

I was at the park the other day, it was one of those exceptionally beautiful days where the temperature and the breeze and the clarity of the air culminate into an atmosphere of contentment. It was the kind of day that makes you stop, take a deep breath, close your eyes and just... be.

So, I'm at the park enjoyong this a-typical time durring the week and I just start watching things around me. Well, more specificaly the people around me. Moms with their children, adults with puppies, teenagers laying in the grass laughing. People reading books while listening to music or just napping in the afternoon. Then my attention is grabbed by a few small children playing together, they were all probably close in age, I'm guessing sixish. You know the kids I'm talking about. Kindergarten age. The kids that are always running, jumping, swinging their arms usually all at the same time.Everything at this age is BIG, every movement. Kids at play fascinate me. Maybe it's because I had the kind of childhood that so many of us did, the kind that doesn't foster imaginative play-time. Maybe it's because I can see the socio-interaction of adults in the way that children interact with eachother when they don't think anyone is looking. Boys typically at this age are just starting to notice girls are "different" and are just starting to figure out what this new information exactly means in their life. This is usually the time when boys start playing rough and pretending to blow stuff up, making lots of unusual noises instead of using their vocabulary. Girls on the other hand tend to start noticing the things around them that are "pretty", like flowers and clouds and ribbons in their hair. Girls also find it annoying, at this age, that boys don't just sit on the grass and talk instead of trying to dig or climb stuff while making uninteligable, gutteral noises. In watching these particular children there are three boys and a girl playing under a massive old gnarled tree, probably about six feet around with parts of the root system poking like veins through the soil. The shade from the tree prevents any grass from growing there so it's just dirt. This, however is perfectly fine with the boys who imediately sit down and start pushing the dirt into piles, while the girl stands on the ridge of a root looking down suspiciously at the boys.
After a few minutes of interaction with eachother I notice one of the boys. The "leader" of the group pulls from his pocket a small spackle knife. The boys, of couse, are elated each in turn wanting to hold the desired object and talking about how cool it is and what an awesome thing to happen to have in a pocket. At this point, the girl most decidedly leaves the group and plops down to hunt some clover and pick dandelions for her mother. The boys though, in a hustle of excitedand animated activity, decide that they are going to attempt to chop down the tree with the spackle knife. Cheers and affirmative grunts issue from all the boys present and this, this is what caught my attention.

How pleasing would it be to have that kind of thought process?! I mean really. Think about it! All that confidence with just enough ignorance and naivete mixed in. To be a child again. To live in a world where things like chopping down trees with spackle knives and digging to China with spoons are really possible. To have such a view of your place in the world and the faith of your mastery over every situation. To believe that you live in a world where everything is big and it's not scary.

Wow.

Nutshells

2006-07-20T08:15:00.000-07:00

A fracture has occurred.
Or rather you wish me to believe it's so.
That we are never really the people we think we are
is not such an amazing comentary on life.
Unless you read the TIMES.

I wouldn't say that I'm the pendulum
in the middle is boring, but what else will you hear
all those moments that burst forth and fizzle
in the grayness of simply living.

So many conversations we could be having
Ideas floating, coaxing, swallowing hard
that jagged little pill of envy when you finaly learn
the truth is passing you on the street everyday
in the middle of Autumn while the ducks fly overhead.

Whatever you do...

2006-07-18T07:47:00.000-07:00

For God's sake, don't hurt me.

There are so many things in this life I have learned to forgive. Complacency, Laziness, Selfishness, Rudeness, Lateness... the list goes on. I have not however mastered the art of forgiving the lie. Any lie. Little white lies. Out-right lies. Lies that are unspoken waiting behind your eyes. You know what I'm trying to say. We have all been on the recieving end of a betrayal or a deception. It cuts, it can mortaly wound. Aimed at the jugular, it thrusts it's way into the self and the lifeblood of any friendship can drain away in a matter of seconds. It can happen quite by accident or it can be as premeditated as making a grocery list. Either way you're looking at manslaughter or murder one.

Understand, I'm admitting my fault. I am saying, for the whole world to hear, that I have a defecit of character. I try. There are times when I try harder than others to bandage the wounds, and there are times when I don't try at all. This is my failing.

I guess what I'm saying is, right now, if you wounded me in this way, I don't know which I would choose. I feel so often as I get older that I just don't have the capacitiy to bleed anymore without dying.

I'm frightened.

So, for God's sake, whatever you do...

Please don't lie to me.

The Life of O'Riely

2006-07-13T22:26:00.000-07:00

I can hear the wispers of a thousand memories
in the waves of the sea
sitting on a blanket under the moon
I recall most vividly
our conversation about Life,
about Loss,
about Love.

"Have you ever been in Love", timidly and woefuly
your words spilled and dripped with an irritating cadence
onto my lap, down my leg and into my left shoe
I spoke with lips silent and eyes laughing
ruefully

I answered finaly in my own sweet time
years and and age ago when I wore that blue dress
"How Freudian." I said "For humanity to look to some
egalitarian epiphany. Some long ago
tribal right of passage into adulthood
like a man wearing a fedora."

It's twenty years hence that age and I have sewn
the seeds of birth and death and day to day
and hour to hour watching you wanting me
to wear again that blue dress and so I smile
wide and strong and clear in the moonlight

"It's not being in love that changes us" I sigh
and roll over with my nose on your chin
feeling the prickle of your beard and lifting a hand
to carress your face, "It's the act of loving."

And I can hear the wispers of a thousand memories
in the Life of you and me.

I get you Baby, you know I do.

2006-06-30T15:11:00.000-07:00

I was born the day you kissed me.

I died inside the night you left me.

But I lived,

Oh, how I lived

while you loved me.

Anon.

The heart of a Phoenix

2006-06-27T08:55:00.000-07:00

When we lie together
on that sacrificial bed
wet with the evidence
of your love I sometimes wonder
if the sheets are charred
underneath my body.

Almost everytime
a fire kindles
in that deep place
I hide from the others
when your hands go there
and your lips
are here and you push
your heart toward me.

The air I breath
in that
almost every time moment
fans the kindled
flame into blazing
fire and I lift my hips
and try to escape
it's burn.

Keeping my eyes closed,
(I can see you better that way)
as my temperature rises
and my breasts fall into
your hands the layers
of who I pretend to be
incinerate,
become ash and I scream
to feel the loss
of what I present,
the smoldering corpse,
the shame of being me,
if only
because your eyes are open.

Holding my breath
I fear those charred remains,
so I laugh
to hide the fire inside.
Giggles grow a new veil
thighs tremble and ache
for more of you
than I can afford.

Inquiring minds...

2006-06-26T09:45:00.000-07:00

Okay, if you don't mind me asking,

Who's from Schaumburg, Il. ?

Somedays this is just how I feel

2006-06-23T11:05:00.000-07:00

Longing for Home

2006-06-21T08:52:00.000-07:00

Does the butterfly
long in his heart
for the cocoon
that held him
tightly bound?

As he flies free
and sits in the sun
on the flower
in my grandmother's garden,

is he overwhelmed
by the greatness of the world
and the vast opportunities
that await him?

Does he wrestle
with his fear
of failure
or the anxiety
of deppression?

Does he resent
growing old
day by day
as he glides
on the dewy youth
of the spring morning?

Does he long
in his heart
for that cocoon
that held him
tightly bound?

The Blah, blah, blah.

2006-06-14T07:35:00.000-07:00

Okay so here's the deal.

If you come to me and say, "You know, I love you and everything but I really don't appreciate the way you blah, blah, blah."

And then after thinking about it I respond with, "Yeah. I see your point, of course that would bother you. I'm happy we are on the same page."

And I smile and do the kissy kissy face and all the time you're thinking, "Great. That's settled." Only as time goes by you realize I'm still doing the blah, blah, blah in the same way as before.

"Hmm." You think to yourself. Maybe I didn't explain myself well enough or maybe I wasn't serious enough in my tone to be understood fully. There by determining you should probably bring the subject up for further, more in depth review in the hopes that both parties will come to some sort of agreement amicably.

Coming to me a second time, you say, "You know, I don't think you realize how serious this is for me. I know you think of things differently than I do and that's okay, but I've got to know you get where I'm coming from. This is quite serious. I really, REALLY don't appreciate the way you blah, blah, blah."

After some quiet reflection, a serious narrowing to my brow and a gentle but firm gaze in your direction I say quite emphaticaly, "I agree whith you wholeheartedly Baby. " I even grab your hand in mine and squeeze gently for emphasis. "I understand you perfectly and yes you are very right, very right. I love you even more for bringing this up to me again and being so honest and open about your feelings. I love that about you. I want you to feel that you can tell me anything."

Now going about your bussiness, it would seem of course to you that the matter has been settled. You have stated clearly and purposefully your issue and recieved in return a thoughtful, loving reaction to your complaint. Being an adult with a level of maturity behind you it seems that there has been an agreement reached.

However, in the course of your life the blah, blah, blah continues and you start to understand that even though the issue has been clearly stated and an affirmative aknowledgement has been given on the part of the offender, there was no plan put into action and no resolution to cure the blah, blah, blah infraction. The mere fact that there was agreement about the dissatisfaction left you, on your part, feeling that that in itself was resolution.

It evidently was not.

So, where to go from here? You are left scratching your head in wonderment, regretting your assumptions of the implications of the affirmative and trying to imagine what course of action should be taken next, only to understand within yourself that the blah, blah, blah will most likely continue because a line has been drawn in the sand. It's a subtle, camoflaged line that's as solid as any underground foundation stone.

So, is the relationship worth losing to the blah, blah, blah?

Is the pain inflicted and the knowledge of the party causing infliction and subsequent ignoring of said pain worth the love and affection given and recieved?

"It just says a whole lot about priorities." You conclude silently. All the while, watching and waiting and hurting.

A Temple of Sorts

2006-06-09T08:20:00.000-07:00

How blessed I am to be roaming
these halls lined with the works
of the masters.
Priests and Priesteses from
long ago and now.

I sit on a bench in awe
of that Monet, the one I
long for everytime I come.
The feelings that stir remind me of the old woman
at the Catholic Church downtown
who kneels and lights a candle
and prays.

This is a Sanctuary of the Spirit
you know, the inspiration
the passion of the lovers
as they kiss, the sadness
of the face of Salome holding
the head of John the Babtist.

So I wonder to myself
about the children running through
the halls and the teenager
gossiping on her cell phone.
They look and do not see.
They hear but do not listen
to the voices of the past.

I move from the Monet full
and satisfied to languidly wander
around the bronze lovers
entwined in my thoughts and reverent
my heart finds rest and sweet
repose, never tiring
of a rosey-hued apple sitting
in the morning light never
forgetting the power of a strategicaly
placed orchid.

One of Many

2006-06-05T15:33:00.000-07:00

I use the empty foil condom packet
for a bookmark, a memento of
the way he tears it open with his teeth
when he’s poised over me, and the heat
wavers between us
like the air above desert blacktop.
When rasping crows wake me early,
I watch him—long hair in disarray
and arms around the folded pillow—
as if his sleeping were entertainment enough.
I won’t erase his phone message from a year ago,
the one that says he needs me,
so, at any hour, I can listen to his voice.
At my bedside, I’ve hung his blown-up photo;
when he comes to see me, I take it down
and hide it in my dresser drawer.
He entered me like a thief who knew
exactly where the good silver was kept.
I fell—no, leapt—into pleasure. The first time,
in the middle of our loving, I asked him
“what’s your name?” and he had to say it twice.
Now, I know precisely the angle of his jaw,
how it meets the side of his neck at that place
I lathered and pulled the razor through.
As an animal rolls over to surrender its throat,
he let me sink my teeth.
For months I’ve gone on, kissing with open eyes,
knowing I am one of many. If I measure the risk,
by the price of the reward, some days I break even:
wanting and not wanting.

Jennie Orvino

2006-06-04T07:26:00.000-07:00

"We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles.

Meantime, within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related, the eternal ONE.
And this deep power in which we exist and whose beatitude is all accessible to us, is not only self-sufficing and perfect in every hour, but the act of seeing and the thing seen, the seer and the spectacle, the subject and the object, are one.

We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon, the animal, the tree; but the whole, of which these are shining parts, is the soul."

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Making decisions and coming to conclusions

2006-06-03T09:41:00.000-07:00

I know it can sound silly for someone my age but I can lose track of what it is I'm after.

Like an ADD child with too many distractions in their surroundings.

Today I happened upon the quads and it resonated with my heart and spirit intensly. In a way I hadn't expected. It was synergy. It was a deep soulful reminder of what it is that I truly want.

I'm sorry if it's going to be painful, I'm more sorry than anyone will ever know.

I'm not stopping until I get what I want.

Untitled and unashamed... sort of

2006-06-03T08:41:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting with one foot crossed behind the other
at a pot luck where I have been rewarded with potato salad
and a paper cup with those little paper handles that look like circles
but never have the strength to hold anything.

It's the perfect pose you know,
as long as I sit still
you see, when I move I find that my plate has leaked through the bottom
and stained my dress,
the one my grandmother has given me.

So, still as a photograph I sit
watching the other people wander about
with their potato salad and paper cups
and I think to myself, the wisdom I have learned
seems to be leaking out the bottom of the cup
I've put it in
and now is dripping conspicuously down my arm.

So, I'm constantly having to relearn
what I think I've already learned
long ago. Or maybe it's that I refuse to learn
what I should have learned
long ago.

In any case I delicately stand
with the stain on my lap and liquid dripping
down the course of my arm
to my elbow
and no napkin to save me.

Blink

2006-05-26T08:20:00.000-07:00

When you're walking along deep in thought or transfixed by the current intrest to catch your attention, when you're wandering happy and absorbed; those are delightful moments,

are they not?

Completely occupied and completely unaware at the same time. There's a smile creeping across your face while your feet are moving briskly, how well in that instant you are multi-tasking.

Slowly then, like the sun sinking below the horizon is that thought rising in the back of your mind, hiding in the corner wanting to break out but unsure of itself and timid. It sits there quiet for a while rolling around in the grassy playground of subconcious thought. When it seems at just the right time with devilish intensity she is screaming at you,

and you blink.

The smile drips warmly down your chin and your mind reaches for something familiar, like a tether, as you hang precariously over the edge of a cliff. Nothing is certain. There is no comprehension of anything you remember.

Grasping, panicking.

Breaking to the surface of water after almost drowning and gulping that first breath of air is your mind grasping hold of the thought that has made herself now known.

You are lost.

Turning in circles, seeing and not seeing. How you long for those brief moments before that stark realization when all was glittering and sweet. Now in the darkness of doubt and fear moments of perfect contentment seem tarnished and worn to an unattractive usefullness. Regret fills the nostrils, waters your eyes and burns.

And burns.

There was a time when familiararity held you close and whispered gentle softness in your ears. Now, all is searching, striving, questioning. There is nothing now that will ever be the same, if only because you've heard awareness screaming at you.

That time when you were lost.

For Chris

This skin I'm in

2006-05-07T07:11:00.000-07:00

Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart
~ Kahlil Gibran~

This Birthday suit of mine
never seems to fit quite right

I'm always tugging here
and smoothing there

Once when I was very sure of myself
it was as if I had grown
and my arms and legs were much too short

Once when I was selfish
it was I that had shrunk
and all was loosed and hanging
so improperly

I am at once either too fat
too thin
too broad in the shoulders
too narrow in the hips

What I wouldn't give for a decent tailor
and quality fabric
as if I could make a return
and get a refund

for this skin I'm in.

You know I can't remember the last time you told me I was beautiful, in an honest way, spontaneusly pouring out some compliment about my hips or my legs or the outfit I happened to be wearing. I understand not all of us are made to be attractive, but love can increase the virtue of that which is desired. I have found this so myself many times.

Have I no merit?

Sometimes I feel like you are disapointed in me...

2006-05-04T15:20:00.000-07:00

I love you most of all.

I love you more than anything.

I want you to be happy and feel desired and important and successful.

I want you to know how much I respect you. Honestly, I do.

I love you most of all.

I love you more than anything.

Breakfast

2006-04-05T11:36:00.000-07:00

He put the coffee

In the cup

He put the milk

In the cup of coffee

He put the sugar

In the coffee with milk

With the small spoon

He stirred

He drank the coffee with milk

And he put down the cup

Without talking to me

He lit

A cigarette

He blew circles

With the smoke

He flicked the ashes

In the ashtray

Without talking to me

Without looking at me

He got up

He put

His hat on his head

He put on

His rain coat

Because it was raining

He went out

Into the rain

Without a word

Without looking at me

And me, I took

My head in my hands

And I cried.

Know Thyself

2006-03-26T12:39:00.000-07:00

I wish that my speech was always
puppies and rainbows and butterfly kisses
in the morning with the scent of rain
in the air and on your skin.

The passion that burns and blinds
really isn't heat and radiant energy
as you suppose
Light and warmth and comfort.

Rather it is a coldness that burns you
hard and desolate and vast
it fogs every vision of hopefulness
and causes those close to tremble
and shake and gradually become numb

and my speech, when you ask me what I'm thinking
is like that awkward time between the gunshot
and the dinner table when your steak appears
brilliantly succulent.
It is carnage and blood and entrails
falling to the ground as skin is violently,
methodically separated from flesh.

So, I know you almost always regret asking
that question who's answer is never about
puppies
or rainbows
or butterfly kisses.

Comfort Food

2006-03-15T08:23:00.000-07:00

I'm searching for the Ketchup bottle
on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.
The bulb has burned out and last night's chicken
is lolling about in a most immodest way.

the inefficiency of the search is most
likely going to make me angry
as I stoop and stretch my aching back
and crane neck just like the giraffe
behind it's fence at the zoo reaching
for that bit of ice cream from a four year old.

I push the eggs from side to side
and shove the Shiraz that gurggles half empty,
under the tortillas I spy the cheese
that's not really cheese (only in America)

Then I heave a sigh and think
What am I looking for?
Lifting my bent back to be verticle
once again feeling the burst of cool air
on my brow furrowed from frustration

I spy a spot of red
silky and thick sitting
pretty as you please on the top shelf
behind the milk
smiling and winking at me

How they all must laugh
and ridicule my frustrations
when I shut the door
and they sit in the dark
waiting again for light to come on.

The Elements of Style

2006-02-09T07:19:00.000-07:00

Words formless and without
substance that gift of perception
given by the author when placed
just so the reader, those from who
we beg and plead, on our knees
on our knees waiting
for the light to come on.

Molding stanzas now and again
pinching, caressing, pulling
forcing that etherial idea
down into the atmosphere
like a giant hot air balloon
that has lost it's sand bags.

Gathering stanzas to place in
perfect time and rhyme
reminds me of that pimply faced boy
at the pet store
The one who carries the miniature net
and chases rainbow fish for six thirty-five
an hour or a day or a month
can bring a poem if I simply
sit and sift and patiently knit one
pearl two, just like Grandma
in her house coat waiting
for the light to come on.

For Lindsey

Restoration

2006-02-03T08:07:00.000-07:00

I can recall, dimly, in the echoing
empty halls of memory
the restoration of that heart, so broken
and worn beyond usefullness.

I remember you sitting there, touching me
in that comfortable way while tears
and grief passed through your body
like a train bound for war.
Tears flowed onto my lap in anguish
your face contorted expressing the
pain I could not
yet lay hold of.

I can hear your words to me that day
as I stood stoic, like the oak
straight and unyeilding
you asked, "Why is it that you stand alone?"
The lightning bolt of your words
striking that pulpy, fleshy center
and I split in two
Death raining all the while.

I can still feel the pressure of the water
in my ears as I sank beneath the ocean waves
of fear that left me breathless
grasping for a hand or a heart
calling out for help, screaming out for help,
desparate then for help.

I do not know the moment I was born
or the place where I came to find rest
and peace of a sort
Walking now running now
I know only the distant echoes
of the Carpenter's hammer in the empty halls of memory
and the restoration of a heart that was so broken
and worn, beyond usefullness.

Distract me

2006-01-25T12:46:00.000-07:00

okay, this whole thing is making me want to eat. I can feel the pull, that over-whelming desire for something, anything to feast upon, untill slowly I settle in to a very nice sugar high and then the crash of induced coma to follow.

I've been debating about cookies and ice cream and cheesecake all day. Everytime the phone rings all I can think about is escaping into heath bites. Oreos would be great right now. Cold Stone cake batter ice cream. The loss of controll I feel in my disheveled life at the moment simply wracks my nerves. I hate stress. I hate disorder even more. I refuse to have drama in my life.

Maybe a nice strong cup of Irish coffee. That would be nice, or a fine reisling.
Can someone please just get me a dozen brownies.

Time and Again

2006-01-20T13:23:00.000-07:00

Just for a moment
or an afternoon
or a weekend
to share with you that time
of bodies touching
when skin becomes dewy flame
and eyes percieve the sparkle of love

Hands grasping, gently moving
like the sway of the lillies in the breeze
lifted and carried away on the scent
of pleasure and promise

Lips wet with passionate sweetness
tender and soft
seeking that secret place of satisfaction

Touch me, kiss me, move me
just for a moment
or an afternoon
or a weekend
time and again

Special K

2006-01-03T09:04:00.000-07:00

"Curiosity killed the cat"
Kirkland said to Kelly
as they calmly sat
killing time by the pool

Could he have known
when he passionately kissed her
that Kevin was there
creeping behind the chrysanthamums
and crying.

Kevin had kept his secret close to his heart
caring only to live vicariously
never considering the terrible consequenses
of continuing to carry a torch
for a cute little girl he had met
in Kindergarten.

How careless.

There's no place like Home...

2005-12-27T08:37:00.000-07:00

I'm filled with happiness at the thought
that my home faces the east, turning
like a flower toward the life and energy of the sun.

Home, you know, is where the heart is
and mine is full of new beginnings even now
durring these days of mid-life, hanging
precariously over a precipiece by my little toe.

Everyday I notice some new place to explore
illuminated and filled with that warmth that tempts
you to rid yourself of all your clothes
standing truthfully, awkwardly
tingling as each ray touches lightly your skin
before bouncing back to the place from which it came.

I open my door and stand in the presence of morning
walking forward boldly, wantonly.
"I'm a great starter of things" I tell my friends.
How appropriate it is in the scheme of things
that my home faces the east.

and You think I'm high maintenance

2005-12-14T12:21:00.000-07:00

A Kiss To Build A Dream On

Give me a kiss to build a dream on,
And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss.
Sweetheart, I ask no more than this:
A kiss to build a dream on.

Give me a kiss before you leave me,
And my imagination will feed my hungry heart.
Leave me one thing before we part,
A kiss to build a dream on.

When I'm alone with my fancies, I'll be with you,
Weaving romances, making believe they're true.

Give me your lips for just a moment,
And my imagination will make that moment live.
Give me what you alone can give,
A kiss to build a dream on.

Louis Armstrong
Words & music: Bert Kalmar, Harry Ruby & Oscar Hammerstein II

Telling the Truth with my Eyes Closed

2005-12-11T10:12:00.000-07:00

How strange to feel emotions stir
from one moment to the next without a rhyme
to hold them together in beautiful conformity
they burst and seep and lie quietly
in the part of me I sometimes don't recognize.

I'm in love evolves into apathy
or maybe just lustful anticipation
turns again to affection
with annoyance just behind
the glassy eyed gawk of a girl.

Fear is always present it seems
it never becomes invisible
so when they ask me how I feel
almost always I think
I'm just telling the truth with my eyes closed.

Honey, I been thinkin' about you

2005-12-08T13:33:00.000-07:00

Well I aint interested in the clothes that you wear
in the car that you drive or the cut of your hair
honey, you got something that i can't compare
and i've been thinking about you

And I don't really care about the weather outside
and i don't want to talk about national pride
all that I need for to be satisfied is a
woman who's nothing like me

love is for fools, yes a fool such as i
and i can't tell you how and i can't tell you why
ah but honey I just can't deny you at all

Oh and I don't want to be your two-weekend lover
your boy-in-the-bag, your one-or-the-other
and I ain't looking for a wife or a mother
but honey i've been thinking about you

well maybe you're wrong and maybe you're right
and maybe we could sit here and argue all night
but maybe you just better turn out the lights
cause honey i've been thinking about you

honey i've been thinking about you for a while
and it's driving me mad, yes it's cramping my style
and i aint asking you to walk down the aisle, but I...

Suitcase to staircase, to candelit room
where i sift throught the silk in the air and perfume
and i'll be loving you baby, i'll be loving you soon
cause honey i've been thinking about you

now i don't really care about your hot-blooded sister
i'm sure theres a man for to love her and miss her
i didn't mean nothing, i just happened to kiss her
but honey i was thinking about you

I don't really care about your daddy's corvette
your house in the hills or your pink private jet
or that ring on your finger you say you regret
cause honey, i've been thinking about you

rat race to car chase to trains in the station
everyone wants to change their location
everyone wants some new inspiration
but i can't stop thinking about you"

copyright 2003 Jackie Greene/DIG Music LLC
reprinted with permisison

A Bit of Sunlight on the Verandah

2005-12-08T07:46:00.000-07:00

I am hungry as I watch the honey drizzle
onto the surface of your skin so warm
like golden drops of rain that fall in August.

Like a bit of sunlight on the verandah
slowly making it's way from one spot to the next
and I am transfixed by your beauty
and paralyzed by my need to possess

the river that runs gently
into your belly button swirling, cascading,
carressing your skin in sweet innocence

of Love, I can only say yes
If ever you would ask me to say it out loud
I could promise to keep quiet
and push down my hunger and loudly deny my need
to possess that bit of sunlight
on the verandah.

Paperclips Continued...

2005-12-07T07:35:00.000-07:00

My good friend Steve over at The Tome of Ashwood Hall has a great post and a link to an amazing article dealing with tolerance.

I found it to be a very moving and inspirational piece.

Check it out.

Growing up Geisha

2005-12-02T07:55:00.000-07:00

Well, well and well.

Having been layed up in bed for the last two and a half weeks I have had plenty of time to think. You know, when you're sick or on bed rest what is there to do? I mean honestly, even an avid reader like myself can get bored of reading when that's all that is available to occupy oneself. I have in the last two weeks read four substantial novels, granted one I had read before so it was an easy go of it, still four novels in fourteen days. So, when I haven't been reading, sleeping and doing the "getting out of bed to walk to the bathroom and back" triathalon the only other thing I found to amuse myself was to spend some earnest time WITH myself. By that, I mean, thinking. You all know what I'm talking about, the thinking that you do that is remeniscent, forward, analytical, judgemental and wishful playtime all in one. I have to say, just for the record, I'm done. I would much rather be thinking about world hunger, the democratic theory and what I want for lunch. Anyway, before I digress too badly, I would love to share with you some of the thoughts that came to my mind.

There have been many times, and some very recently, when I feel as if I, as a woman, have an army of dicks chasing me. Truely. Now let's just get the visual here for a moment because this is good.

Think Tienamen Square.

Okay, now in my context. A lone woman looking small and absurdly out of balance with the rest of the picture, standing by herself in the middle of some grand highway or military parade ground, that would be more fitting in this case I think. There I am, can you see me? Long hair, maybe in a pony tail, jeans, rebok sneakers, t-shirt. Nothing glamorous, nothing too sensual or picturesque, just "girl next door" type. I'm out for a walk, wandering, deep in thought, maybe even weaving a bit because I'm not always looking where I'm going. There's nobody around, just me in this wide expanse of military ground. You could even imagine it's a clear sunny spring day. Warm, but not hot, slight breeze, but not bothersome wind. I am walking and thinking and looking at my suroundings minding my own bussiness when I spot something shiney on the ground. Well, I can't resist a shiney, I mean come on, I am a woman you know. So, I bend over to discover what it is that's caught my attention. It's a quarter. Cool. Free money. You know you all think that too, don't pretend like you wouldn't pick it up yourself. Anyway, as I'm bending, out of the corner of my eye I see something moving. I stand erect, turn and I can't believe what I'm seeing. I blink. I realize, a bit awkwardly, that my mouth is hanging open so I correct that. Before me, moving slowly but steadily, is a giant army of dicks. Now, remember, get the mental picture here. Giant, tank-sized dicks all lined in military fashion, thousands of them. Semi-erect, at a forty-five degree angle pointing ominusly at me this gaping hole from which they shoot their horrible artillary, with a retractible helmet, rolling along the tarmack on giant round testicles. It's not the speed or manueverablity that frightens me it's simply the tank like indestructability, the slow and steady pace of the turtle that give them an inevitability, an assuredness that is completely overwhelming. The more I run, the more I realize they are there. It doesn't matter what zig-zag pattern I follow, I simply can not out run or out smart them, and so, we are at a stand-off, the dicks and I. This lone, average woman, unarmed taking a stand to confront the constant threat of the army of Dicks.

Okay, realizing that some of you have lost interest and skipped to the end of my post, or simply have left because I didn't hold your attention. I am now going to make myself clear and give a pertinent explination to those of you who have so graciously made it thus far, probably thinking, "she's lost her mind".

Most of you who read my blog on a regular basis know that I am realy in love with symbolism. I really feel an attration to it in all forms; world religions, art, literature etc.. I put a lot of symbolism in my writing and I'm always searching for the perfect analogy for every situation. But, as usual, I digress. Back to the point.

Most of my life, because of being raised in an inappropriate sexual atmosphere and the extensive abuse I suffered as a child, I grew up sexualizing everything. In other words, I learned at a young age that men could most easily be controlled by sex, or the perception of ataining it. Now, in all fairness, I have to say that I do have in my life some remarkable men who have helped teach me that there is still integrity, chivalry and gallantry in the world. Also, as an older teen I was removed from my abusive situation and became abstinent untill meeting my husband and have lived, for the most part, twenty years in blissful monogomy.
However, there have been times when I have felt this menacing army encroaching upon me like a slow moving plauge. Men who think, for whatever reason, at some time, someplace if they exhibit patience and forebearance the time will most certainly come. They carry the belief that eventually I will be drunk enough, angry enough, or simply emotional enough that I will have a lapse in judgement and they will be there to reap the reward, "home base" so to speak. Those men believe in flattery and tactical freindships and play the game much as they would Axis and Allies. So, wearily, the day before yesterday I came to the conclusion that what I feel is that persistant, military pressure. I feel like Vietnam, only without weapons of mass distruction. I am a person, with a somewhat reasonable mind, an untamed and deeply loving heart and a willfull, rebellious, sweet spirit.

Can you see me? Can you see past my breasts, my legs, my ass. Can you laugh at my jokes because they are funny and no other reason? Can you help me when I'm vulnerable because I'm in need? Can you walk with me and talk with me without an agenda?

Can you see me? Long hair, maybe in a ponty tail, jeans, rebok sneakers, t-shirt. Nothing glamorous, nothing too sensual or picturesque...

The Quiet Reflections of a Very Industrious Mind

2005-11-11T13:37:00.000-07:00

I sat for a while today and read our letters. I haven't been able to do that for a while. The emotion and energy was too much for my heart and you know, because I feel sometimes foolish when I cry, I didn't want to feel shame on top of everything else.

I started at the begining and read them all. All the love, all the desire, all the dreams and then I got to the last. How strange to know there was never a good bye between us when there was always so much else. Or maybe there wasn't more and that's the point. I see you and hear your voice when I read your words to me. I can hear you laugh and sigh. I can picture you in my mind getting sleepy and even bored. Did I bore you? You never said so.
I have so many questions. Are you well and happy? Do you think of me? Do you ever wonder if you made the right choice? I wonder those things too.
Mostly I was thinking about how much I want you to have a good life. I want you to be satisfied and filled and know what loving really means. I wish that the paper moon I put my hope in was real. I wish that life really was that easy.
Do you remember the letter you signed, "I am yours with much love and affection"?
I do.
Do you remember when I asked you to be careful?
Do you remember when I asked you to be sure?
I do.
Do you remember?
I do, everyday.

I know someday I'm going to say good bye. Your memories will be tied up with a pretty pink ribbon, just like your letters are. But today is not that day, maybe tommorrow...

Concerning the above Post from August of this Year

2005-11-11T09:49:00.000-07:00

Today is the Day. I feel fine.

Today is the Day and rather than being wrapped in sadness or loss I am peaceful.
I have indeed let you go, not because of the fullness of another, simply because I am enough without you.
What a blessing to feel that ah-ha moment.

I am happy.
I am beautiful.
I am all that is enough.
I am.

Today is the Day. I feel fine.

To Speak a Foreign Language

2005-11-09T10:26:00.000-07:00

She said, "Tu nombre es miel a mis labios." with a sigh
reminiscent of the dew in the early morning dawn.
Sweetness and light enveloping his senses

"Usted es la pequena flor mas dulce del valle." he said
wrapped gently
in the glow of a fading moonlit sky.

All without the comfort of solid words spoken.
In the expansiveness of space and time
with a look in the eye
and a touch of the hand
their thoughts were known

simply

beautiful.

Word for the Day...

2005-11-04T07:40:00.000-07:00

Bloob

Verb; to mush, squeeze, grab hold of repeatedly.

I love to Bloob your fat.

Simple Pleasures

2005-11-02T11:29:00.000-07:00

All I want is some bacon simple and brown
in the morning bustle of my life

All I want is some bacon quietly crispy
waiting for me as I make the bed

All I want is some bacon hot and salty
cutting through the atmosphere

All I want is some bacon perfect and unburned
Like the life I want to live
Basic and satisfying
I'm only always undoing
even though I'm trying.

The Life of Riely

2005-10-27T08:45:00.000-07:00

I can hear the wispers of a thousand memories
in the waves of the sea
sitting on a blanket under the moon
I recall most vividly
our conversation about Life,
about Loss,
about Love.

"Have you ever been in Love", timidly and woefuly
words spilled and dripped with an irritating cadence
onto my lap, down my leg and into my left shoe
I spoke with lips silent and eyes laughing
ruefully

I answered finaly in my own sweet time
years and and age ago when I wore that blue dress
"How Freudian." I said "For humanity to look to some
egalitarian epiphany. Some long ago
tribal right of passage into adulthood
like a man wearing a fedora."

It's twenty years hence that age and I have sewn
the seeds of birth and death and day to day
and hour to hour watching you wanting me
to wear again that blue dress and so I smile
wide and strong and clear in the moonlight

"It's not being in love that changes us" I sigh
and roll over with my nose on your chin
feeling the prickle of your beard and lifting a hand
to carress your face, "It's the act of loving."

And I can hear the wispers of a thousand memories
in the Life of you and me.

Meme

2005-10-26T10:31:00.000-07:00

I have never been too tempted to engage in Meme, but this was very interesting. As a writer and a self-proclaimed word whore, I couldn't resist.
I got this one from Jill over atWrites Like She Talks

So, here was the meme:

1. Take first five novels from your bookshelf.
2. Book 1 -- first sentence
3. Book 2 -- last sentence on page 50
4. Book 3 -- second sentence on page 100
5. Book 4 -- next to the last sentence on page 150
6. Book 5 -- final sentence of the book
7. Make the five sentences into a paragraph.
8. Feel free to "cheat" to make it a better paragraph.
9. Name your sources
10.Post to your blog.

And here are my results:

The Salinas Valley is in Northern California. He stood up tall, square, bulky in his fur, looking anxiously down over the fields, and presently he saw them coming. I begin to picture them all, living and dead, gathered together for one night in an ampitheater, or armory, or some vast silvery ballroom where they have come to remove their bow-ties, to hang up their red jackets and aprons, and now they are having a cigarette or dancing with eachother, turning slowly in one another's arms to a five piece, rental band. This happened in the days of the Democracy. And I finally began like this: When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home...

Book 1. East of Eden; John Steinbeck
Book 2. Five great dialogues; Plato
Book 3. The Forsyte Saga; John Galsworthy
Book 4. Sailing around the Room; Billy Collins
Book 5. The Outsiders; S.E. Hinton

I carry your heart with me

2005-10-25T14:33:00.000-07:00

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

Meaness

2005-10-25T09:16:00.000-07:00

We celebrate the Dawn with the abandon of vigor
and birth explodes on the scene in a mirad of color
blinding humanity with enigmatic suspense
in the future
in the springtime
in the ignorance of youth.

We reverently, grudgingly pay homage to the Night
sleepless we come in the blackness of Dracula's cloak
wrapping it's terrible comfort about us
looking for the past
yearning for the past
eulogizing the past.

But the Noon-time, the Noon-time, no one embraces the Noon-time
heat and brightness and transition like bubbles floating
popping in an instant our dreams gone forever before we know
the middle
the average
the mean.

It's Mid-life now that I love, that golden wrapped present
God graciously gives at just the right hour
the Glorious gift of Meantime akin to the second half of our favorite sandwich
anticipating the satisfaction that follows
Past
Future
Now.

Nutshells

2005-10-24T09:43:00.000-07:00

A fracture has occurred.
Or rather you wish me to believe it's so.
That we are never really the people we think we are
is not such an amazing comentary on life.
Unless you read the TIMES.

I won't say that I'm left or right
in the middle is boring, but what else will you hear
all those moments that burst forth and fizzle
in the grayness of simply living.

So many conversations we could be having
Ideas floating, coaxing, swallowing hard
that jagged little pill of envy when you finaly learn
the truth is passing you on the street everyday
in the middle of Autumn while the ducks fly overhead.

The Highwayman

2005-10-19T15:32:00.000-07:00

PART ONE

I

THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon clondy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

II

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

III

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shuters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

IV

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

V

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

VI

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.

PART TWO

I

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

II

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

III

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

IV

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

V

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .

VI

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

VII

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

VIII

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

IX

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

* * * * * *

X

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

XI

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Alfred Noyes

The Pulse of a New Begining

2005-10-16T10:43:00.000-07:00

The elusiveness in your eyes is what makes me chase you
in my pajamas and down Columbus Avenue
stopping only briefly for a latte and an anonymous kiss.

It's simply the way you stand there,
with your hands behind your back.
The only illumination resting in your disheveled hair
is the one coming from the BAR sign flickering
it's translucent light filling the scene
like a can of cheap tuna just opened first thing in the morning.

You know the rythm that haunts your dreams
is coming for you and drawing ever near.
The rythm that seemingly escapes those that seek your presence.
The beat.

The Beat.

Stick out your chin and be casual.
Make them feel the complacency you only pretend
to introduce to your friends, if you can call them that.
Not quite knowing drives you farther and farther west.
West young man, "On the Road".

It's the picture of you I carry in my heart's mind,
the one in which you are not smiling,
and the elusiveness of your eyes causes me to chase you
in my pajamas and down Columbus Avenue.

JustaboutJack

Love Note

2005-09-28T07:59:00.000-07:00

I am reposting this in honor of my Twentieth Wedding Aniversary today.

He is my partner, my lover, my best friend. I never imagined a life filled with so much love, passion and friendship. We've had our struggles. The fights. The resentments and the infidelities. We have three beautiful children that have grown into amazing people and a future of blessings awaiting our arrival.
I have been married over half my life now, we've grown-up together and if I had to do it over again...

I would in a New York Minute.

Morgan, Will you marry me?

Hello my darling dear,
I've been thinking a lot about you since you were in the hospital. I want you to know how much I love you and how important you are to me. I humbly ask your forgiveness for my failings as a wife. They become more aparent to me as the years go by, and it is a dissapointment to me that I am not more of what you deserve in a partner, a lover and a friend.
I have, in the past few years, come to know how good you are to me in every way. I think you are brave and thoughtful. I think you are smart and funny and strong. Words just aren't enough to tell you the things I love about who you are.
I know it sounds silly, but the more I love you the more I feel afraid. Every year I become more you, so that we are becomming one person, and that is such a stability and peace in my life, just like my relationship with God. So the more I love, the more I'm afraid you will see my weaknesses and leave or by the power of God be taken away.
I don't mean to ramble. It just seems that to say "I love you" doesn't do my heart justice. You are my life, you are my breath and truely, you are my bread. When I was younger I never thought I would be so taken care of and so loved. It is a miricle of the Holy Spirit and God's grace and mercy. I can never thank Him enough for giving me you, or really, giving me "us".
Thank you for loving me when I don't deserve it and for being patient whith me when it hurts you. Thank you for loving our children and providing for our every need with hard work and dedication. Thank you for sticking with your Christian principles even when you didn't want to in the worst way. Thank you for being an example. Thank you for just being you, you are always enough and all I need.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I want to be what you need too. I want to be whatever you desire, I want you to be happy and filled and satisfied beyond your expectations. I want you to grow and learn and love yourself deeply. I want the Spirit to bless you every day in all the little ways that make such a difference. I want to be with you in heaven and never know what it means to be separated. I want to grow old with you and hold your hand as we walk across the parking lot so we both don't fall over. I want to watch you loving our grandchildren and bouncing them on your knee. I want to have a honeymoon with you every year and celebrate that miricle day when God's wisdom prevailed and we said "I do", even when, at the time, we didn't. I want to lay in the grass and look at cloud shapes and talk about everything. I want to sit together and swing in the shade of the summer breeze and not talk at all. I want to hear you snore every night. I want to see you walk down the isle with Chance crying your eyes out, because I know you will. I want to see you finally bond with Zach and build, for his sake, a great relationship with him so he will be just as good of a husband as you are. I want to never forget what your voice sounds like when you sing in church. I want you to wake up in the morning and wistle, even though you know I'm not a morning person.
There are so many things, and so few words... I wish you could hold my heart in your chest for just a minute, so that you could feel the depth of love and passion my being holds for you. Then you would understand, and know everything about me and you and us.
What more can I say?

I love you.

"You're my bread, when I'm hungry. You're my shelter in troubled winds. You're my anchor in life's ocean, But most of all... You're my best friend."

_________________________________________________________________

In the Desert, I am Water

2005-09-23T09:53:00.000-07:00

I am a River.

From the begining I have been.
Full and raging and strong.
Till the end I will be as I am, constant and dynamic.
I am perpetual motion.
I am nurturing.
I am deep and cold as the chill in winter.
I am shallow and vain as Narcisuss.
I am silent as the grave of the hopeless, keeping the secrets that they carry.
I am stentorian in determination so you will know who I am.
I war against obstacles with a power that makes you tremble.
I have carried you tenderly in your peaceful dreams of rest.
I am wise in my direction and ignorant of my course.
Life rides the currents of my heart and I sigh.

I am a River.

and I have read Socrates...

2005-09-17T16:17:00.000-07:00

I am 53% Idiot.

I am an idoit. Not as much as most. There are even people out there that annoy the hell out of me. What was I talking about?

Take the
Idiot Test
@ FualiDotCom

In My Next Life...

2005-09-16T08:16:00.000-07:00

adopt your own virtual pet!

Intimacy is a Balancing Act

2005-09-14T18:02:00.000-07:00

In getting to know people we generally start out by playing on the surface of things, like a pond for example. We dance lightly on the very top of the water testing the dynamic energy of the one with whom we are trying to communicate. Ever so slightly we then venture a toe in the water, not too deep just a little dip then out again. Maybe they are the first to break the surface and there by they give us "permission" to do the same. So, it goes as each gets more comfortable and the desire grows to know and understand more overwhelms our senses, we get in deeper and deeper. Not every time or with every person that we meet do we feel this need. Whether it's impulsiveness, determination or methodical planning we decide on some level whithin ourselves to venture into intimacy. We can also relate this to physical intimacy, along the lines of first, second and third base, but you get the idea.

In the beginning we decide how much of ourselves to put into the pond. If we trust the other person enough to let them see us in the pond, if we want to be in the pond together, that sort of thing. Eventually though as we get more of ourselves into the water with people, determining how much of ourselves we show to the other becomes a real balancing act. Maybe they feel more comfortable and so, jump right in without hesitation.

Does that nessecitate a mutual action?

If we are the ones pushing the boundaries and they are choosing to not follow do we still push? Hoping eventually they will take our lead and just get wet.

It's a dance you know. Building intimacy with people. A dynamic, gentle, passionate, spiritual connection.
To do it well, sometimes takes practice.
To do it well takes confidence.
To do it well also, takes the right partner.
Intimacy is energy in tandem, and you know, we should all take it seriously, because after all...

Omission is Betrayal.

I'm in Love with Lestat

2005-09-13T16:51:00.000-07:00

You scored as Marius. You are the quiet cool. You are so mellow people are lulled into a false sense of security. When you are pissed god help anyone who crosses you?

Marius

100%

Armand

92%

Blade

83%

Dracula

83%

Lestat

75%

Spike

75%

Angel

67%

Louis

50%

Deacon Frost

50%

Akasha

33%

Whose your Vampire personality? (images)
created with QuizFarm.com

Moore please...

2005-09-09T10:54:00.000-07:00

Silver dreams that sigh in the mooonlight,

awake to golden wispers in the early morning dawn.

Amber heat that dances across my skin,

all the while thinking of you in the cloudless sky

pink in the dusk of twilight.

Waiting and wanting Moore

silver dreams that sigh in the moonlight.

Lord, Take Away Pain

2005-09-07T15:21:00.000-07:00

The cry of man's anguish went up to God,
"Lord, take away pain!
The shadow that darkens the world thou has made;
The close, coiling chain that strangles the heart;
The burden that weighs on wings that would soar --
Lord, take away pain from the world Thou has made
That it love Thee the more!"

Then answered the Lord to the cry of the world,
"Shall I take away pain,
And with it the power of the soul to endure,
Made strong by the strain?
Shall I take away pity that knits heart to heart,
And sacrifice high?
Will ye lose all your heroes that lift from the fire
White brows to the sky?
Shall I take away love that redeems with a price,
And smiles with your loss?
Can ye spare from your lives that would climb unto Mine
The Christ on His Cross?"

Author Unknown

Everybody Belongs Somewhere

2005-08-31T18:29:00.000-07:00

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free

Run away, find you a lover
Go away somewhere all bright and new
I have seen no other
Who compares with you

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free

Run away, go find a lover
Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover
You belong in that home by and by

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worries
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong somewhere you feel free

Tom Petty "Wildflowers"

Vivé!

2005-08-29T20:16:00.000-07:00

An electric touch piercing the darkness,

currents racing my blood to reach my heart,

reciting your name and pounding your rythm

in my ears and in my soul.

Tingling toes and sparks fly.

Heat of an embrace in the late August stillness.

Pure energy.

That about sums it up I guess...

2005-08-25T15:43:00.000-07:00

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free.

In love, you feel the most alive when your partner is patient and never willing to give up on you.

You'd like to your lover to think you are optimistic and happy.

You would be forced to break up with someone who was ruthless, cold-blooded, and sarcastic.

Your ideal relationship is open. Both of you can talk about everything... no secrets.

Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment.

You think of marriage pessimistically. You don't think happy marriages exist anymore.

In this moment, you think of love as something you don't need. You just feel like flirting around and playing right now.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?

I'm Sure I must have been Dreaming

2005-08-22T11:13:00.000-07:00

Passionate kisses, tender and soft.

Fall upon lips with the elegance of a ripened peach

in the summertime. Warm and still.

Nectar that seeps from the corner of your mouth,

sweetly capturing my senses, craving to be satisfied.

All the while we find respite in heaven,

Lying side by side and dreaming dreams

of peaches plucked from trees.

Riddle Me This

2005-08-19T15:20:00.000-07:00

"Tell me why you want to be a writer."

"Because I like telling a good story."

"What bullshit. I like telling jokes, that doesn't mean I want to be a comedian. Think about what you're saying and don't waste my time with the answer."

"Because words, like art or music can make you feel.

Because words are sustenance and I want to feed you.

Because in all the letters in the alphabet there is an infinite power to dream.

Because when I was a child, words were spoken, but never to me.

Because like a starling, trapped in a cage, I no longer wish to live in my self-imposed prison of silence.

Because sometimes, 'The fish is just the fish. The man is just the man, and the sea is just the sea.' and...

Because I love telling a good story."

You never listened to me.

2005-08-18T07:49:00.000-07:00

As I sift and drift through bullshit,
That plagues from day to day,
Would you ever really notice I've gone away?

I'm over the wall,
Over the hill,
Over at your place,
I'm over the safetys,
Over the phone calls,
Over the rage,
What a mistake.

When you've lost the stones to throw,
The ones I found to make a fire,
And all the lonely souls that say so get fired.

What a mistake,
What a mistake,
What a mistake,
What a mistake,

I've never been lost,
I've never been found,
And it make no difference, if I'm around,
There's never been words, there's never been actions
I've never been promises that i've never keep

I just can't seem to get out of this,
Pulling on the threads,
I'm always pulling on the threads,
I'm always pulling on the threads,
What a mistake, mistake.

So as i sift and drift through bullshit,
That plagues from day to day,
Would you ever really notice I've gone away?

Nickelback "Mistake"

The Learning curve from Hell

2005-08-17T07:11:00.000-07:00

"You will not be penalized for guessing. Only wrong and blank answers will be counted against you." --ACT instructions

I never once cheated on a test at school.

Know why?

I hear you, you say, "Because you're such a sweetheart, you wouldn't compromise yourself." or "You're too naive, it probably didn't occurr to you."

Wrong. Although I would like to think those things you say about me are true, no one seems to look beyond the sweet exterior to the structure underneath. The reason I never cheated at school, was because I was always the girl with the answers. I was the one whose paper you looked at when you were in school.

You see, I felt that as some misguided joke of the universe I was placed in a scocial standing to which I never belonged. I knew it, even if nobody else did. So, I worked very hard at proving my abilities in everything. Every subject, every sport, every elective. I was that kid who made the learning curve a living hell for you. You probably hated me secretly, but I'm very aware it was just envy.

As I have gotten older I am learning the ever present lesson of life, that it has no pat answers, that life is a test you cannot study for. Imagine.

When I was preparing to take my SAT my junior year in high school I absolutely couldn't believe that my teachers were telling me I couldn't study for it. Rubbish. There has to be a way to study, it's a test! I just have to find a way. Maybe there's a secret society of students who really know the study pattern and only pass the hidden secret along to a brotherhood of students with a secret handshake.

I guess my point in all this is simply, as told me by a friend earlier, life is an adventure. It's not pass or fail. It's a ride. I need to be reminded of those things occasionally. Only because my "id" gets out of controll and I begin to think everything is a test. There are somethings I don't have the answers to, no matter how hard I try to prepare. I find more and more as an adult that I am guessing at my answers to the great and mysterious questions in life. Sometimes I'm right, sometimes I am wrong, but neither is because I really know what I'm talking about.

Isn't it comforting to think that God is much like the ACT board. Where only a failure to try is really failure.

LIVE YOUR LIFE. DIE WITH YOUR BOOTS ON.

Food for Thought

2005-08-15T09:01:00.000-07:00

Food and I have a special relationship. It's a love/hate kind of thing. I love food, enjoy the sensuality of food. The texture, the smell the experience. Unfortuneately food is a trigger for me when I'm upset or stressed. I can easily binge when I'm sad or angry or deppressed and I can use food to medicate those feelings.
About a year ago I made the decision to not hurt myself with food any longer. The results have been pleasing. I look great, feel great, I'm dealing with much less shame. This, however, does not in any way mean that I never slip. I had a terrible run in with a batch of chocolate chip cookies about two weeks ago... In the whole picture though I am doing rather well, inspite of myself.

Abandonment issues are a big part of my emotional state the last several days. I've made some pretty big mistakes lately concerning relationships and trust and you know what I wanted to make it all better yesterday?

Mmmm....

Carne Asada. Loaded. Pico and Guacamole and a big fat quesadilla.

Yep, I loved it, it actually settled my nerves and made me feel better. How is that possible? I mean really, it's just food.

Have I mentioned how much I Love my Life?

2005-08-13T09:19:00.000-07:00

Okay, Okay. I know you guys are going to get bored soon, but really, it's true I LOVE my life right now.

Today in particular.

The last two days have been a real battle for me. I've been stuck in the middle of other people's dissagreements and have felt like a victim once again. I've had to question my judgement and decisions I've made recently. You all know, same life, different day.
So, I was thinking yesterday, mulling over all my fears and woes analysing and disecting every detail at nauseum and I came to some conclusions. Stick with me here, because this is gigantic healing for me.

Most of you who read this blog on a regular basis know that I'm a recovering addict. Sober now for four years and seven months. WOOT! Go Me! There were so many times durring my first years in recovery when I seriously questioned my ability to live a sober life. Since I started in addiction when I was only about twelve or so I ended up with little to no coping skills. When a stressful situation would come up or a problem that I wasn't sure how to fix, I would "check out" as I like to say. Go into addictive behavior to ignore and hide from the problem. In recovery I was forced to deal with my life without the aid of "help" so the smallest thing would literally disable me. I couldn't make a decision to save my life. I was moody, sometimes irrational, completely angry, confused, I was to some extent a child. Progress in my program has taught me, along with a GREAT therapist, how to manage my life and my emotions on a much healthier scale. I am now a fully functional adult!

Getting back to yesterday. I was taking my usual daily walk (sometimes run) around the park close to my home. I was of course analysing my current snafoo and wondering what I could have done differently. Tears came and went, sadness, anger. Then I looked around me and I realized how quiet the neighborhood was. The sky was so very blue and because we are in the monsoon season now big billious clouds hung in the air far to the east giving a brief respite to the heat. The trees were so green from the rain we've had all week, the air smelled sweet, like fresh cut grass. Birds were singing... well, you know.
I love my life.
After my relaxing walk I went straight to the backyard and jummped into my fabulous pool, clothes and shoes and all. There is something about water that comforts me when I'm emotional, especially sad. The way that it holds me, without restricting. The way it feels nurturing like how it must feel to be in the womb.
I love it, I love my life.
So, this is the big deal I'm getting to. Even though things have been in the crapper for the last two days, I'm functioning. I'm beyond functioning, I'm in love. Love with myself, my husband, my family, my environment, my God. Everything. Happiness really is a state of mind. I'm deciding to have a good attitude. Does this mean I won't ever be sad? No. Angry? No. It just means I have taken another giant step toward maturity and healing. Wow. Thanks God.

I love my life.

Things I've Learned about Life this week

2005-08-12T10:28:00.000-07:00

1. Truth in Life, with the exception of spiritual truth, is all based on perception. The best way to deal with it is to have a good attitude.

2. Sleep is highly over-rated. Sex however, is not.

3. When, in the course of a relationship, you inadvertently "cast your pearls before swine", it doesn't make the pearls any less genuine or beautiful or valuable.

4. Because one can chose not to value me, does not in any way mean I am not valued by many others.

5. I have many good men of integrity who love me, this is a lesson in and of itself.

6. In relationships with other people determination counts for shit. Either it works or it doesn't, and sometimes it has nothing to do with you.

7. Stress still causes me to break out.

8. Nurturing the wounded is more than just a nine to five job.

9. After a while the word VERBAGE can sound an awful lot like GARBAGE.

And the number ten thing I learned about Life this week is...

10. All things die. This however, is not an end, but a marvelous new begining.

For Such a Time as This

2005-07-30T16:57:00.000-07:00

Lately I have been asked by different people what the happiest time in my life has been. I've been thinking about this a lot and to be honest, I can't remember a time when I've been happier than I am right now.

Recovery from my addiction has ment the world to me. I think the stability that an honest life has brought to my soul has made all the difference. I have learned the subtle art of re-parenting and loving myself. So, there is a growing sense of value and worth and satisfaction comming from within I have never experienced before. I feel at once beautiful and complete. I feel intelligent and competent. I feel equal to anyone and any situation.

When I was a child I often felt unworthy of everything. I was never good enough and I never was able to view myself as anything other than taking up space. I rarely made eye contact with people, I was hopelessly co-dependant upon unhealthy relationships. I seemed always to be seeking validation from outside sources that were incapable of delivering what I thought I needed to be whole.

This moment and for some moments past I am living. I am strong and thriving in my environment. I had a terrible blow to my ego this week, and though I feel emotional, I am so happy. Happy for the experience and what it has taught me about myself and the world in which I live. How marvelous. How blissfull. How exquisit and tortureous this life can be, and yet, I find my whole life has been a road pointing me to such a time as this...

Joy.

She Stands. Waiting.

2005-07-27T08:20:00.000-07:00

A wandering weary traveler, walking through a lonely bustling airport. People all around her rushing, hugging tearful goodbyes, kissing magical, welcoming hellos and she stands. Waiting.

The warmth of the afternoon and the anticipation of the long flight is taking it's toll on her spirit. Nothing terribly noticeable, unless you're paying attention to detail. She is perfectly groomed and accessorized. Hair neatly aranged in ringletts about her shoulders. Flawless skin, radiating last moments of happiness a few days before, and she stands. Waiting.

He's comming. Even if it's just for a minute, to say goodbye. To say, I'll miss you. Her shoulders droop a little and tears flow wildly down cheeks tanned by the sun. He's comming she thinks to herself, and she stands. Waiting.

She begins to pace, back and forth, the clean tiled floor waxed to a high shine like glass. The shoe shine man hocking his talents, the stewardess rushing past with an insincere smile. She lookes out of the windows, she watches all the doors. Willing him to come to her. Her heart is sinking, the clock is ticking and she stands. Waiting.

Security is long and impersonal. She takes her place in line looking back all the while. The children are fidgeting, the elderly are wavering, the bussinessmen are tapping impatient, nervous feet. Slowly progressing toward the momentum of flight. She turns to look back once more as her boots come off, and she stands. Waiting.

Through the xray and the probing watchfull eyes of strangers passing the time she puts her boots back on. The willful spirit that was there moments ago has left and drained her of all her energy. More tears spilling out onto the floor, more compassionate stares from passers by. He didn't come, even just for a minute to say goodbye. To say, I'll miss you. She no longer is standing, but is forever waiting.

On second thought...

2005-07-15T08:16:00.000-07:00

When love beckons to you, follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

Kahlil Gibran

We are most likely going to crash and burn.

2005-07-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

You know that feeling you get when your in a fabulous sports car? Maybe a classic, maybe a convertible, and you're out in the wilderness on some magnificent long forgotten man made highway. The sun is in perfect position and the weather is just a little unpredictable, making the whole experience electric. So you start to drive faster and faster, racing the wind and time and your future, or maybe your past. All the while you can feel that adrenaline rush, your heart is beating wildly and you're breathing heavily and you're loving it...

Except somewhere in the back of your mind there is a little voice that wispers fear.

Do you have your seat belt on?
You know full well you could get a ticket.
What if we hit something?
We are most likely going to crash and burn.

And somehow all those second guesses give you just a little more of a thrill because deep down even if it's just the tiniest bit, you believe it...

Yeah, that's how I feel.
Kinda cool,
Kinda scary,
and really, really fast.

Don't think for a minute...

2005-07-11T22:44:00.000-07:00

Don't think for a minute that you can play me.

Don't think for a minute that just because you sound sincere,
I'm not perfectly aware that you might not be.

Don't think for a minute that because I choose to see you as genuine,
kind and considerate,
I'm not perfectly aware that you might not be.

Don't think for a minute that because I choose to believe you
when you say you don't lie,
I'm not perfectly aware that you might be.

Don't think for a minute that because I am happy,
I will sell my self respect for a kiss.

Don't think for a minute that your presentation
will affect my ability to see the real product for sale.

Don't think for a minute that because I laugh and love,
I am not perfectly aware.

Don't think for a minute.

I am perfectly aware.

Kaleidoscope

2005-07-07T21:59:00.000-07:00

Sitting on the edge of the pool wtching the blue clear water wave slightly in the breeze. My feet dangled in and out being lifted by the bouyancy.
I was drawn to the diving board and lying on my back I let my head fall back so that up was down and vice versa.
Sometimes we all need a new perspective on life. It's the same old life, just a different way of looking at it.
The blood rushed to my head and almost imediately I could feel my sinuses clog up. Putting my hands lightly over my eyes with my fingers partialy obstructing my view I realised how much I over analyse everything. I could at that moment tell you that the sky was blue and the water was blue, but if I let go of myself for just a second I couldn't tell you which was which.
The breeze drifted across my abdomen tickling my belly button and I just felt so relaxed and in tune with the world.
I knew eventually I was going to have to sit up and get back to it, I was going to have to leave my new found scenery and suddenly the thought came to my mind, "This is exactly why I don't wear a watch."

I need You More...

2005-07-03T19:03:00.000-07:00

I need you more, more than yesterday.

I need you more, more than words can say.

I need you more, than ever before, I need you more.

I need you more.

More than the air I breathe.

More than the song I sing.

More than the next heartbeat.

More than anything, and Lord, as time goes by,

I'll be by your side.

Because I never want to go back to my old life.

I need you more, more than yesterday.

I need you more, more than words can say.

I need you more, than ever before.

I need you more, I need you more.

words and music by Lindell Cooley & Bruce Haynes

My Key

2005-06-28T03:42:00.000-07:00

It's three-thirty in the morning and I can't seem to sleep. My brain keeps turning over thoughts of you. I find I can no longer wait out the silence and the words come...

I can feel the strength of your hands softly touching my skin.
I can see your eyes twinkle in the darkness with laughter.
I can hear your voice singing that erotic tune in my soul.
I can taste your lips wispering my name.

In your silences there are demons that haunt you, I know they are there. So, I have come sleepless in the night to remind you...

I have chosen you.

I chose you with desire.
I chose you with admiration.
I chose you with respect.
I chose you with sincerity.

Of all these many people, I am greatful for the time we share. I am thankful for the organic, dynamic moments in which you bless my life.

I chose you.

I miss my Bubba...

2005-06-24T09:05:00.000-07:00

I am so excited!

I am traveling to Hartford to see my brother and his wife in July. I will get to stay a week in their new home. It's been four years since I saw him last and even though we IM and talk on the phone, it's just not the same as being in his presence.

I miss his goofy laugh.
I miss how his ears turn red when he thinks he's been funny.
I miss how he calls me "sister"
I miss bear hugs and wrestling and the way he picks me up and swings me around.
I miss his country dancing and how handsome he looks in his hat.
I miss looking at him and feeling that we are connected.
I miss our secret inside jokes when we were partners in crime.
I miss they way he lets me boss him around just because I'm the oldest.

I can't wait, I'm counting the days!
I've never been east of the Mississippi before, this should be an adventure. I hope it won't be to much of a culture shock. What if they don't have any mexican food?! :(

The Power of Play

2005-06-20T15:13:00.000-07:00

When I was about nine years old my life changed dramaticaly. I was in about third grade and the world changed. I no longer had an ability or a desire to play.

Imagine.

A part of me died that year, sort of like losing a leg. Trying to deal with the fact that you may never be able to run, or dance or spin or do cartwheels again. Somewhere in your life you grieve for that leg and that life, that two-legged life you'll never live.

I have grieved in many ways over the course of my life, now I find there are only moments of grief that touch me. Butterflies that land long enough to be seen but not truely felt for what they are. Now, I find, I am busy with living. I have bought myself a prostetic leg and I am teaching myself once again how to run and dance and spin and yes, even do cartwheels.

I had the opportunity this week to be an assistant activities director at our local church camp. For five days I was playmate to forty-two teenagers. I ate with them, played with them, colored with them, acted in skits with them and caught them when they fell into my arms.
Several times last week I found myself crying for the childhood that I lost, but only for a moment or two. Then I would bound off to play tether ball or hide and seek or find some girls to giggle with. This in itself is profound.
I wish that each of you who know me or read this tiny glimpse into my life could have a true grasp of how much I have healed. I wish I could lift my shirt and show you my scars and how well they look. How once they were jagged, swollen, red and oozing pieces of flesh. Eaten away by infection and disease. I wish I could show you now how faint they are in my skin. Small white lines where no hair will grow and no pigment will tan. Now, they really only hurt when I look at them for a long time. When I touch them with my probing fingers. Even then it's not so much that they hurt, as I am remembering the hurt that was once there.

I had fun this week. I am a thirty-seven year old survior. I am scarred. I am in someways disabled. I have also found, in very real terms, happiness and peace and joy in my life, in just living life.

I had fun this week.

I had fun.

Quote of the Day

2005-06-11T12:18:00.000-07:00

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't
matter and those who matter don't mind.

~Dr. Seuss

An Invitation

2005-06-10T09:42:00.000-07:00

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool, for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

"The Invitation" Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Music is the Love Language of My Soul

2005-06-10T08:35:00.000-07:00

"...Then he'd take out his fiddle and play untill dawn, and evry time he did, he learned something new.
He first spent his attention on matters of tuning and fingering and phrasing. Then he began listening to the words of the songs the blacks would sing, admiring how they chanted out every desire and fear in their lives as clear and proud as could be, and he soon had a growing feeling that he was learning things about himself that had never sifted into his thinking before. One thing he dicovered with a great deal of astonishment was that music held more for him than just pleasure. There was meat to it. The grouping of sounds, their forms in the air as they rang out and faded, said something comforting to him about the rule of creation. What the music said was that there is a right way for things to be ordered so that life might not always be just a tangle and drift but have a shape, an aim. It was a powerful argument against the notion that things just happen...
When he set the bow to the new fiddle, the tone was startling in it's clarity, sharp and pure, and the redundancy in the tuning led to curious and dissonant harmonic effects. The tune was slow and modal, but demanding in it's rhythm and of considerable range. More than that, its melody constantly pressed upon you the somber notion that it was a passing thing, here and gone, unfixable. Yearning was it's main theme. It was music the like of which she had never heard. His playing was easy as a man drawing breath, yet with utter conviction in it's centrality to a life worth claiming."

Charles Frazier "Cold Mountain"

Talk about your Cosmic Karma

2005-06-09T09:47:00.000-07:00

I came across this just AFTER posting "The Runt of the Litter".
You've gotta love God's sense of humor.

Scorpio

October 23 - November 21

Today marks the beginning of a new period in which things might get a little challenging for you in the department of love and romance, dear Scorpio. You might find that your need for a greater amount of attention from others is suddenly getting in the way of your relationships. It may seem as if all people really care about is themselves. Try to keep your head above the clouds.

Provided by Astrocenter.com

The Runt of the Litter

2005-06-09T08:06:00.000-07:00

Watching Nature at work can sometimes break my heart. I was thinking a lot the past few days about being the low man on the totem pole. It's an unusual place for me, almost always I have instinctively clamored my way to the top, or nearly so. There have been times when being at the top was not neccessary and so it was easy to hang back and submitt, to stay backstage and be an understudy...

When I was about fourteen I lived in a very rural area of southwest Missouri. My mother and her husband at the time had rented a little tin trailer for us to live in. There was no rent to be paid only ranch chores to exchange in the deal. Being compulsively poor, it was really our last hope.
The ranch was large for the area and owned by a widow with two children. Helping out around the barn area I got to know animals in an up close and personal way. I still remember the first time I saw the top bull, a huge Black Angus, mating with one of the cows. Interesting is the only thing I can say... Anyway the ranch had several working dogs, they were not treated as pets but rather hired hands.
I had a hard time with the attitude toward some of the animals. So matter of fact, just do your job, no pat on the head, no play time. To me, it was cruel. So, this particular year we had a late spring, it actually snowed eight inches on Easter that year. One of the dogs had given birth to ten pups right by our little trailer. I wanted to bring them in, but I was not allowed to do so. I knew they would probably all die in the cold but I was told firmly not to touch them. So, I simply watched. Everyday I would bundle up, sit outside hoping that somehow I could will them the strength to surrvive.
I did what I was told and never interfered. I regret that now.
The pups seemed at the time healthy enough, had it been spring to surrvive. Except for one. She was born last, she was the smallest of all. I'm sure you know the story, feeding time would come around and of course there was no plce for her. She would fight and fight with all her little strength and get nowhere. She was stepped on and pushed aside, the survival instincts of her siblings pushed her aside time after time. She never gained weight, she never thrived.
I came home from school one afternoon to find her lying dead, cold and stiff and alone. I cried for her, I cried for the unjustice, the unfairness of it all. I raged against the adult veiw point of nature and the cycle of life. So, in my rage I took a shovel and in that frozen ground, after what seemed hours of trying to dig a hole, I burried her. Sobbing all the while, I covered her with the frozen earth and cried out against the merciless nature of things.

...I've been thinking this week about placing myself last in line. There is something in me that fights it. A part of me that loathes it and fights and pushes to achieve. Can I accept being last in line if the desire for the end result is stronger than my desire to be standing on a higher rung of the ladder.

I don't know.

There is a fight taking place within my spirit, my sub-conscious. I can feel it.
I know I should be more open, I know that you think because you use intelectual words like "primary" and "secondary" that it shouldn't feel so emotional.

I have a strong spirit, I have a strong sense of self. I have always had a struggle with submission.

Is it possible to train myself to always be last?
Should I even be okay with always being last?

I'm glad I have next week to think about it in the quiet of the trees. To be by myself and unravel the knotted questions lurking in the back of my mind.

If I am the runt of the litter will something in my spirit die?

Your account just might be overdrawn

2005-06-06T20:49:00.000-07:00

Lately Morgan and I have been disscussing this pervading idea in our culture of treating love as if it were currency.
That you only get so much love in your lifetime and need to be careful how you use it.
That If you are good, you are given a lot of love.
That if you are bad, you are not not.
That if you chose to love one you cannot love another, because your love for another would somehow negate your love for the one.

Love is not to be used as or compared to money. There is not a vault in Fort Knox with all of the country's love tucked away nicely and neatly.
This concept can be especially frustrating among religious folks as I cannot reconcile this cultural belief with the God of my understanding.

Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love does not envy.
Love does not boast.
Love is not proud.
Love is not rude.
Love is not selfish.
Love is not easily angered.
Love keeps no record of wrongs.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love then, to my mind is a verb. An action. A lifestyle.
Love then, is a way of treating the people around you. Not simply the feelings produced by Eros or Phileo. A committed way of looking at and acting among all of creation.

Love then, is Agape.

I am loving you today. I am hoping that you will let me love you today.