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| | Patchworking lines for the MotherPage 7 of 32 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32) | | Ravin what have you done to Alyosha? He has shrunk and looks like a little girl? He really wants to be your sister methinks....she shakes her head. | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/14/2007 8:35:26 PM | | Alyosha is always cute in his own way and so is that little pumpkin he is hiding behind. Gee has he invited the sisterhood to Montreal for the weekend? | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/14/2007 8:38:40 PM | To Montreal the sisterhood’s bound
Aloysha true gentleman found
It in his heart
To invite us to start
The our first meeting in his hometown | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/14/2007 8:45:48 PM | That's really sweet of him
and how many can sleep at his place?
Is he wearing the black stockings and heals
when he leads the tours through old Montreal
or perhaps being our translator when we head out to shop
in those quaint little french stores.
Or is this just a meeting for two
to train him on how to be a sister tried and true? | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/14/2007 9:02:40 PM | Well I think you know him as well as I do
He'ld love us all to come I think that's true
I have accomodations as I also have to work
But Aloysha can entertain, he's not a jerk
Bet he knows some good bistros and cafes
and maybe he can take us all to some plays
stumbling about in his black high heels
trailing with all of his sisters he feels
that really, he fits right in with us best
Now if only he'ld keep his eyes off our breast! | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/15/2007 10:05:27 AM | What! You have only one breast between the lot of you?
Must be a monster one! I'll wear my climbing boots.
Had this internet sweetheart once, and without being asked
she sent me a photo of herself in a halter top
and then one in which the halter-top had gone shopping
and I tell you (just between us girls) she had breasts
as big as Chicago! I went out and rented me a fork-lift
in case she'd come here, but she didn't. Course she wouldn't
have had to board a plane or train, just turn around
and face north.... | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/15/2007 5:19:20 PM | one breast shared amoung them, you say
girls I have some advise , and I pray
put your cavlar unibra in your bag
then a bright red white and blue tag
that reads to the fork-lifter driver take care
this package you dont want to bare
gravity may not have been kind
it could take out an eye, leave you blind | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/15/2007 6:38:56 PM | Those tits that once did sing out loud,
that held the fort and were so proud,
have now begun to sag
and left me, holding the bag. | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/15/2007 7:29:19 PM | T'is a story I know only to well
its a secret that you musnt tell
Bin locked up to long those mounds
iichen to escape all the hounds
the place that they went said my mouth
was somewhere deep in the south
there work is all done
they still need to have fun
but compatition is steep as hell | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/15/2007 10:28:49 PM | The great mounds of the Mother
Grace our womanhood
Each with their own blessings to bestow
One upon another
Blessings of tender pride
First buds awakening
Mourning childhood’s loss
Anticipating tomorrow
Blessings of Warm hands, tongue titillating,
Lovers first thrill
Electric
With longing
Blessings of Swollen heaving fountains
Childs first suckle
Sweetness and dreams
Contented forever
Blessings of Touching you
Held by your heart
They know their own way home.
Proud, strong, sensual, nurturing, friendly, warm, caring, fun, intuitive, erotic, life giving. | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/16/2007 12:55:25 AM | John Denver didn't invent
Mountain Mama ~~
The people who lived here
have always called her that.
Could not escape
noticing:
The mountains here
are all like soft
sweet swells
of the earth sea
in motion.
Raised in Utah,
hung between the Rockies
and Sierras:
the Joan Crawford
chests of Mother,
it's a relief to come
home, at last, to
the uncorsetted,
the unbound,
the much mothering
breasts of my Mama.
. | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother
Posted: 2/16/2007 8:42:43 AM | Let us confess
that we not only lust after breasts
but we love them
for their sheer aesthetic beauty
no two pairs of them
exactly alike
they are the fingerprints
the whole body
leaves on our hearts
thy are the promise
of more than enough
in a world that somehow
delivers less
than is promised.
Even you, my dear L.,
who spoke candidly
of not having quite enough
to fill an a-cup,
might have given my hands
a purchase on your heart | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother and Brother....
Posted: 2/16/2007 12:57:49 PM | ....Laugh.....
....Because you can.....
Life IS such a glorious golden paved road...
Upon us bestowed....
Such unending folds.....
A place of pure sunshine...
Of bliss and of hope..
As stand upon Mountains....
Awed by the scope...
Rivers and valleys...
Meadows and falls........
The call of an Eagle....
Or trees standing tall.....
Of friends and of family...
of breathren...
Those dear...
Never fear...
Fall of tear....
As I welcome them near......
So ALIVE I could cry...
Gazing beautiful sky.....
What's the point to ask why?...
Free as cloud floating by....
Living and breathing....
Touching as feeling....
Shit just believing....
Inner self with no ceiling....
It all leaves me reiling...
Grasping true meaning.....
Under Willow tree leaning........
Knowing strength of True Healing......
I LOVE IT!!....
I smile both inside and out....
"Here I Come World"!!
Both whisper and shout....
I taste it...
Won't waste it.....
I'm ALIVE as the Sun...
Another day sets....
...but anothers begun.....
I'll fill my own cup....
Manifesting my Truth......
Purposly driven...
Wiggling loose...
...of those chains that are binding....
....of those walls simply hold..
.....of those people that seek....
......A part of my Soul....
I am free to just *be*....
That one place of Me.....
Don't care what they see.....
.....Swing naked from tree.....
Roll on the grass wearing fine suit of silk....
Guzzle in gallons Nature's pure milk.....
I am cause I am.....
I laugh cause I can....
and I'll join with the Sisterhood........
................But still be a Man......
aaaaaahhhhhhh....That felt GOOD!!
..T.. | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother and Brother....
Posted: 2/19/2007 1:42:44 PM | Damn you're good!!! Woa. Truth in his mountains. I can see you blazing like the sun out there, Momma responding her blessings on you, right where you want them.
Hey Aloysha, wonderful ode written on a topic you obviously love.
Wooby! Great to see you here! I so often see the paintings in the landscapes, and the mountains are nurtuting and sheltering aren't they? Thanks for dropping by!. | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother and Brother....
Posted: 2/20/2007 8:11:32 PM | I’ve been thinking a lot lately
About this fascination of mine
For poets.
I don’t know what it is that attracts me there
How mere words can melt me
Into whatever shape they want me
To succumb to.
I’ve come too
The conclusion
That it may be pure illusion
On my part, a persistent belief
In magic that won’t go away
No matter how many times
I break it in two
And throw it over my shoulder
Determined to “get real”.
And then,
I read something someone wrote
And every note
Of my being resonates
And I know I am one of many…
A tribe of sorts
All dressed in fancy feathers
Peacock proud
And all talking really loud
At once.
Until
There is a silence
A flurry
And everyone knows a gem has emerged somewhere
Golden egg
That shakes all of our souls
And we stand there for a moment
Feeling it,
Glad it hatched so we could greet it
With our opened hearts.
We slowly applaud
And nod in respect for that days’ particular star
We take it and inspire ourselves
Higher
On
To express
Our best.
And sometimes I dream,
That poets are always like that
Not just those few moments of gold
When their muse is upon them.
I imagine they are always as brightly aware
As on fire and alive
As that perfect line they wrote
I imagine they know what they are writing about
And why they need to write it
And that they all live in worlds that support them to just be
I imagine they are all free
And I want to be
Just like them.
It’s the hope,
The promise,
Of heart.
I think that is the fascination.
Even if it never turns out to be true..
I think,
I live in a fairy tale
That has come true
Almost all the way
It was meant to. | |
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| And yet each of us has had a mother
Posted: 2/20/2007 9:25:06 PM | Years past a mother was a teacher and a mentor
Now a mother is a friend, teacher and mentor
Confiding in your mother
is knowing she can sway your father
The husband may be the head,
but the wife is the neck
and the neck twists the head this way and that
It also holds it up in all it glory and stupidity
just a couple of funny things i've heard here and there and everywhere hahaha | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother and Brother....
Posted: 2/20/2007 9:58:33 PM | What a beautiful poem Ravin
if we could fly with our thoughts
being truly alive
belonging
an intricate part of nature
that rests inside us
being born every day
to the freshness of life
we give birth to our poems
and as they emerge from our light
they dance upon the rays of sunshine
tiny whispers of being aware
those special moments
of feelings
escaping from their binds
we set them free
as they soar above our consciousness
a whisp of smoke
signalling to the universe
that we try to live beyond
our scopes of understanding
always searching
for that perfect picture
the right words
an honest observation
to touch the untouchable
until contendedness
leaves us in that state
of bliss. | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother and Brother....
Posted: 2/21/2007 12:38:41 PM | I think I understand about your fascination with poets
but I’m not sure I should tell you - whether I’m right
or wrong - any more than one should interpret someone else’s
dream for them. Because, for instance, a hand in someone
else’s dream can only be one of the various things
that a hand is symbolic of to the listener, but to the dreamer
it may have come from that underground place where no one else
has ever been, the dreamer herself may only have got as far
as the door that opens on to those frightening, rickety stairs.
But we will talk about it, if you like, when we meet.
I am tempted to prepare an agenda for our meeting
as I often do, deathly afraid that we’ll have nothing
to say to each other. But this time, that is what
I will put on my agenda: Nothing! | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother and Brother....
Posted: 2/21/2007 1:04:53 PM | Welcome to patchworking Sunrisen. I haven’t seen you around the pond yet! Glad to have you. I have heard that wife as neck one before,( precluded with “pain in the” muttered under the husbands breath, sometimes too!). It always makes me chuckle how true that seems to be no matter where you are from.
Autumn, we are from the same tribe aren’t we? That was beautiful. One of those eggs I was talking about.
Aloysha, honorary, cross dressing sister/brother…Of course we’ll understand each other. We do share a common language, just different ways of giving it form.
Speaking of giving form, I had this pop in my head on the way home from work this afternoon. So I thought I’d drop it here.
I want to orbit as the planets do
Trusting in the universe to chart my course
And hold my place in time.
I want to open and receive the light the stars so graciously offer,
Fill myself,
Fulfilled with such bliss,
As our birthright IS.
I want to delight in creating living dreams,
In as many colours as my rainbow reflects,
Transforming starlight
Into life. | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother and Brother....
Posted: 2/21/2007 6:04:35 PM | Are we really here
Sitting on this hill above
The forests and the trees
Peasant skirt and bare feet
Twirling in the breeze
Wind curling our hair
Over valleys and seas
Are we really here
On the mountain of our dreams
Rest and feel
Life being born
In every flower
In lover’s mind
Looking for fulfillment
Under a tiny leaf
Upon the ground
We don’t want to sleep
In case we miss
the rising moon
Over the trees
sister of the night
look into the silver light
and scatter your wisdom
upon us
look deep inside us
and tell me please
are we really here | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother and Brother....
Posted: 2/22/2007 5:23:50 AM | already posted...want to post here..
Vital breath of a woman
We will be the first to forgive others,
there to confess to the one we wrong.
A gentle spirit,that can say 1000 words in just a smile,
while we watch your ego not allow you to ask directions to find your way home.(smilin')
Why not father earth...father nature...
Why are there ships that bestow a woman's name......
Because our truest beauty grows with the years passing,
And we love earnestly from the heart,without demanding the same.
Yes,there are some that hold you bondage...
that's not the way it was intended to be.....
A woman should be secure enough to make you weak at the knees,
but be your inner strength that helps you stay on your feet.
In this crazy world...
we are an instrument,restoring sanity and tranquility.
That is the delicate beauty of our nature...that's the way it was intended to be.... | |
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| Patchworking lines for the Mother and Brother....
Posted: 2/22/2007 10:16:21 AM | Wow, casheyes, Autumn, Dreaming, AM, Good to see you in here.
Loved that piece on women. Have you noticed that the women who love themselves and their sex the most, seem to also be able to love the men the best?
It totally makes sense, that in discovering about ourselves as women, and loving it, we can appreciate the different qualities men bring.
Yet some seem threatened by that. Use words like feminist as something bad, an insult.
I always figure if born a female, of course one would see the world from fem eyes.
If born male would I be a masculinist? We don’t even have a word for it, and maybe we need one. | |
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