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| Blue Shirt Diaries (for Roy)
Posted: 10/7/2007 8:31:33 PM | There's a song called "Christian Woman", by a group called Type O Negative....
The first song begins rather shreiking steel-like. ...
But no words.
You gave it words. Very ironic that it fits, if you heard the "music" of it.
Cool!
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| Blossom
Posted: 10/7/2007 8:33:34 PM | Blossom
My hands are caught mid-air
inches from the edges of you.
I pause, in this pure moment
I grasp it as much
as any time I touch you.
For in times like this, I sense
my own needs.
This making me, letting you know
I want you.
Sensing this, you lean slightly
into my hands, pressing your body
through the great separation
of self, from else,
Though I could lie, and
call it something nearly love,
I let it go, just lovers
mending the seams
of freshly torn edges.
-It's making love, everytime, with you.
I love this moment. I love
your smell; rose water bath
leaving you ready to blossom.
I love your hair; red-black feathers
of a raven, frayed by the thrashing storms.
But safe now, only the remainders,
showing me how far we've flown.
I am larger, I love so much more;
those eyes, dark but wild.
They're the edge of the forest, where I stand
contemplating entrance
to a depth I feel ready to explore.
Take me there and I'll step
over the threshold,
that includes me forever more.
Your heightened breathing, rising breasts
-how they barely fall, then up
in edgeless corners. They form holes
in the spacing
-where my hands circle the air,
barely moving. Yet making them rise to me.
If I touch you, I'm done.
I hesitate because this is admiration,
while you're still without the blemishes
of my indulgence.
I love the edges of your cunt;
that soft satin furring, slightly turning wavelets
through the tiny brushings of my fingers.
I make wishes over these; I begin my whispers.
The words, maybe senseless, but you feel the murmurs.
Hear me say it; I love the way you listen.
-How you repeat it, against me.
You answer in pressure forming.
Pushing me down, and pressing my face
into your last shadow. I go.
I am gone, into your enlightened coming.
My hands grab your hips, scratching
ten lines of persistance. I am not
here to be anything less, than the rapids
you're taking; spiraling
over current's lapping.
Chaotic in its consuming
you.
Blossoms have reason to open;
The sun would not bother to shine,
if no other colors shown below.
* | |
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| even if ..... no one is listening
Posted: 10/7/2007 10:58:57 PM | even if ..... no one is listening
___________________________________
shadow boxing
demons calling
whispers
in the ear
not sweet nothings
for embracing
but for
embracing fear
loving promised
for forever
'forever'
was so clear
then disappointments
life is made of
shadows
once held dear
words and tears .....
and hearts poured out
proving
who is right
trampled after
spilling down
precious
loss from sight
how could ever
winds blow cold
bind winters
upon night ?
reasonings halt
to remember
huddled
as in flight
once a songbird
singing softly
forgotten
melody
abandoned dreams
abandoned hearts
abandoned
eternity
shadow boxing
demons calling
urging-on
to fallacy ..... else
still the songbird
to remember
her songs
were always free!
(authors note: the ambiguities are intentional ... intended as parallel complementary chords of thought.)
_________________
Sophia Rising -- thank's for all the expressiveness that you write! | |
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| Blossom
Posted: 10/8/2007 11:00:19 AM | Hi SB
... I listened to the song and heard the music grind. Thanks!
... Blossom. Really nice slow dance with "the thing". You've done it again!
ATW... thanks for posting here and your comment. Sometimes, you just have to jump into the ring and fight. | |
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| Blossom
Posted: 10/8/2007 6:37:09 PM | | Sophia, just stopping in and wishing you a HAPPY THANKSGIVING! | |
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| Blossom
Posted: 10/8/2007 6:43:00 PM | | Hey Brizo! Thanks!!! I'm having a delicious day even though everyone I love is in the USA or far away (Toronto)! | |
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| Blossom
Posted: 10/9/2007 6:46:08 PM | one I penned in my youth ... some 25 years ago ... as Dylan sings:
"I was so much older then ... I'm younger than that now"
Since I was a small boy
I have always felt alone,
Trying hard to find someone
To call my very own.
People all around me
always twos and threes,
Always on the outside
Nobody wanted me.
Sometimes love made me warm,
but soon left me out in the cold.
Always searching for shelter in a storm,
and another willing body to hold.
I’m older now, maybe wiser too,
looking for a love that’s real.
You saw where I’d been, knew why
and took me into a brand new deal.
Am I heading in the right direction?
For your loving and affection?
Is this going to be a brand new start?
Is this the way to your heart?
JWR 24:02:82 | |
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| Fingerpainting
Posted: 10/9/2007 10:47:12 PM | | Hi Genegem...I think there is still a lot of boy in the man. Very nice. | |
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| Fingerpainting
Posted: 10/10/2007 9:27:49 PM | Peace, Before I Die
Early morning, dawnlight
unfolds the wrinkles, from our
tightly pressed night.
Now showered, lavender laced;
you stand by the kitchen sink
washing plums, rivaling their sheen.
You lean; opening the window
to let the bird-songs chime
the day's awakening.
-I can see the places, where I went.
The road back is but a moment's
drag, on this first cigarette.
You lean, you're tall like me.
I see the places, I've walked the map.
Spaghetti straps, and nervously
chewed fingernails caught
on a satin hem.
Last night, a beautiful woman
with a tortured heart, laid beside
a shadowed man, with half a heart.
And now, I pretend it was not much
more, than any other day.
But I can't deny, the moment
I realized, as we lay
-after the comet tore across
our bedroom ceiling the third time;
Yeah, I sensed it, it was whole.
You and I. I felt at peace, and
then I died.
Without a stir, I removed my life,
laid it in your hand, as we held
and watched the stars unite.
-Streaking mid-sky, painting hope
in the bleakest night.
Surely this is death, when
a heart ceases its strain.
When the beating doesn't leave pain.
(How for years, calling them heart-beats
earned the name)
Surely I've been reborn.
For this is a better place.
I held you then. I breathed jasmine and rose.
My fingers drew petals, rubbed across your brow.
Kissing you, kissing you, and making you know,
We just may be made in God's image
during one of his better days.
Morning is now bursting through
the window, splashing you
with something new.
-My new eyes, seeing you.
And if I must chew on love
with my coffee, hand me a plum.
Then watch my smile
as it starves my belly.
* | |
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| Fingerpainting
Posted: 10/13/2007 1:18:42 AM | | Nice One SB! Here's another breakfast poem (for Roy of course)...LOL | |
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| Blue Shirt Diaries (for Roy)
Posted: 10/13/2007 1:19:20 AM | The Kitchen Window
How odd she thought.
White laced handkerchiefs fluttering
from the berry laden holly tree
outside the window. October.
It must have been a blustery night.
He knows that look. She wears it whenever
she thinks about the summer he broke his back
wading through the sensory depravation tank;
or when his temperature shoots straight
to a hundred and six because “they”
started a fucking war they couldn’t win;
even if they knew how.
Distracted, she cracks the egg’s skull on the skillet
dispensing the creamsicle middle sunny side up
and depresses the four slice toaster.
He likes his buttered corner to corner,
she likes plum jam.
He hands her a coffee and somewhere between
a grinning “Hey Babe…I wrote a new litany of tortures”
and “Do we have any chocolate éclairs?”
he hands her her mind. | |
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| Blue Shirt Diaries (for Roy)
Posted: 10/13/2007 3:43:12 PM | Oeuvre
I whispered
“let me wash your hair”
and you did.
Collecting two strands:
one black one silver
a trinity now laced with gold
I whispered
“let me wrap you in aromatic linens”
and you did.
Strip by strip I wove into you
I whispered
“let me kiss your mouth”
and you did.
Like an emaciated child
I suckled all I could
And when you whispered
“your body is my church”
only I knew
this church was built by you | |
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| Blue Shirt Diaries (for Roy)
Posted: 10/13/2007 3:47:36 PM | When the .........bloom again
Beside the river
And the mockingbird has sung his sweet refrain
In the days of auld lang syne
I'll be with you sweetheart mine
I'll be with you when the ........bloom again*
*Traditional...possibly a Civil War Song...lyrics once thought to be by Woody Guthrie but apparantly not... | |
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| Blue Shirt Diaries (for Roy)
Posted: 10/14/2007 2:10:25 PM |
When the roses bloom again
Beside the river
And the mockingbird has sung his sweet refrain
In the days of auld lang syne
I'll be with you sweetheart mine
I'll be with you when the roses bloom again*
quite suddenly, I love roses. | |
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| Origin
Posted: 10/14/2007 9:23:19 PM | Origin
Listen…do you hear
You are never away from me
It is only the crickets terminating their trilling songs
Because you approach like a flight of winged apples
Because the snow swallows the depths of your sorrows
And the high trees fan a nest of chameleons
In the desert I drank the blue wine
Of your name…I was given a vision
There was the wind weaving your name…
In my blue shirt…
I walked beside you into the sea and loved you | |
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| Blue Shirt Diaries (for Roy)
Posted: 10/14/2007 9:32:42 PM | A Red Rose
A long time ago my sweatheart told me
That he only gives roses to sad people
I felt hurt inside that the rose should only symbolize sadness
Instead of joy or passion or love.
I pouted for some time wondering why I was not worthy
Of such a gift. One that is meaningful.
A year ago on my birthday he took me over to the nursery
And we chose a rosebush of the most brilliant red
And since that time a dozen or so roses have bloomed
Outside my kitchen window.
That rose has taken on a new meaning
It is grown with life and gives joy every day
Its joy and love and passion is never ending. | |
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| Blue Shirt Diaries (for Roy)
Posted: 10/14/2007 10:02:57 PM | My Mary
Listen…do you hear
You are never away from me
never more than a heart beat.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi Autumn! It's true that I really never liked roses until yesterday! I'm so very happy that a rose blooms for you too!
That rose has taken on a new meaning
It is grown with life and gives joy every day
Its joy and love and passion is never ending
 | |
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| Blue Shirt Diaries (for Roy)
Posted: 10/14/2007 10:47:41 PM | "Ouevre" - SR
That is great stuff! A most excellent poem. He is a lucky man!
Hope the two of you can have this for a long long time, such as forever....
-sb | |
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| Fingerpainting
Posted: 10/14/2007 10:52:08 PM | Ebon Night
It's a disguise, in an ebony night.
As you grip ever tighter, to your throwaway cloak.
You always knew I'd come;
You dress conveniently.
As I rip one-handed,
to expose how human
you really are.
I never doubted my ability.
But I thought you were beyond me.
Until you opened your eyes
in just such a way;
as deep earth, as dusky air.
-An Autumn night,
hinting of a hidden warmth
underneath the superficial coolness.
Listen as the wind changes,
a whisper from somewhere suddenly less distant.
Your voice, cautious, raspy.
But still, those eyes, never stuttering;
come, partake
of the warmness.
We are not strangers...
I build your shoulders up,
as I fashion your hair; up.
As my hands correct the memory of you,
that I carried before.
Until you.
I knew you'd be here.
I knew you'd let me resurrect you,
in all your glory.
And if I hold you down,
don't think that it's to control you.
It's only to steady me.
Recalling, how I'm supposed to be,
in this commotion of rediscovery.
The sounds muffled against the skin;
the coo and the growls...
My lips pushing against your shoulder.
I feel you, becoming exposed,
as you breathe in fractured gasps.
And I call your name, closely,
lightest of sighs, against your ear.
Intertwined, our boneless bodies
coil like serpents sinning.
As dawn unfolds
into a rapturous morning.
Yet my eyes, caught blinded
to everything else existing,
that isn't you.
Tonight they will tell us;
indeed, there was a today.
We slept through sun
as it sought power,
from the fire-lit rages
we've become.
It called your name,
pleading for me, to let you alone.
No, she'll remain under the ebony blanket.
A memory with mine;
Eyes reminded,
of how she shone.
* | |
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| Fingerpainting
Posted: 10/15/2007 7:42:39 PM | Great Poem SB. Thanks for posting your poetry and kind comments here. Good luck! I'm sure it will all work out! Please stop in if/when you come back.  | |
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| Fingerpainting
Posted: 10/20/2007 4:59:14 PM | Radiant Beam
It must have been the solar wind
that ricocheted the prayer
like concentric shock waves
that circled the world
triggering the Northern Lights
to string a radiant beam
round the neck of the loon
navigating the dark
It must have been the radiant beam
around the neck of the loon
That ignited the inspiration
that lifted the painter’s hand
and brushed away
the canvas of sorrow
It must have been the canvas of sorrow
framing the points of light reflecting
the radiant beam from your eyes
strung across the boundless sky
that connects me to you | |
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| Fingerpainting
Posted: 10/20/2007 6:15:37 PM | | Back at you DQ. Only heartfelt poems grace your spaces! | |
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