Phone Calls and Visions - Poetry Series
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Posted:Sep 25, 2006 12:25 am
Last Updated:Jan 28, 2010 6:48 am
1936 Views
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I heard her voice again. A sonorous “hello”, sweet sounding, surfing on the swells of telephone bells.
She’s navy blue, meandering in a sea of names, other boys whose offers tug at her heart. When she asks, “I’m okay,” I say.
Closing my eyes, shutting out the white walls and bright posters, focusing on her words.
Limitless, sightless, I am with her, her face in my mind, bright lips and eyes of azure energy talon my soul, eagle’s prey.
Stories, ice cream and war, family and love, miles apart but together somehow, all linked. I hang on her words ‘till, “Well, I’m going to go eat.”
“Okay,” I say, then “goodbye”. Half asleep on my bed, no work to distract, so I dream
of her… and the sea…
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Our Embrace - Poetry Series
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Posted:Sep 23, 2006 12:32 am
Last Updated:May 23, 2024 9:48 am
1463 Views
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Our Embrace
I rise to leave, she holds out a hand. “Help me up,” she says. Standing, my palm (sweat slicked) in hers, her eyes, sagging to tired, locked on mine, searing me.
I plod to the front door turning to see her close behind. Button by brown button I cinch my coat, finger by finger apply the gloves, defense against the night.
Reaching up, arm in slow motion, she musses my hair. Chuckling, rearranging, speaking with a smile, “Much better. It’s in style you know.” “No thanks,” I say. (pregnant pause then her) “I don’t want him anymore,” face squinting, eyebrows scrunching, a frightened honesty.
Moving closer, she rises on tiptoe, leans in, wraps lithe arms about my neck. Her body, pressed to mine, warms me; opening a hand, full spread, I caress up and down her stretched spine.
Friends hugging a hug of more than friends And her bare neck near my lips. I want to kiss her, start beneath the ear, move to her mouth and linger, but I don’t.
Love on my mind, phantom kiss on my lips and I slip into crisp November nighttime, my breath’s fog leading the way home.
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Public Swim - Poetry Series
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Posted:Sep 22, 2006 12:37 am
Last Updated:May 23, 2024 9:48 am
1536 Views
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Public Swim
Behind chain link fence I see their bodies move, dissected by angular zig zags. Mom’s hand pulls on mine, dragging me over steamy barefoot asphalt to a hot Chevy Caprice.
My palm, a wrinkled white glove, slips from mother to clench rusty wire. A last desperate look before succumbing to sticky thighs baked red by searing plastic seats.
Slapping sounds of foot soles on springboard as playmates rise in the air, hovering for the briefest of seconds, faces taught with anticipation. They break the surface, tension ebbing away on a wave.
“Let’s go,” mom calls.
Ice and water clatter as plunder a Styrofoam cooler hoping for PBJ and maybe a soda, Discovering wilted bologna and juice.
“Now,” she growls.
One final look through eyes bloodshot-red and numb from underwater adventures as we dug deep through the azure blue for quarters and the prestige of touching the deep end bottom.
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"I imagine..." - Poetry Series
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Posted:Sep 21, 2006 3:52 am
Last Updated:Jan 22, 2010 11:41 am
1936 Views
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Here's another piece, more like a piece of standard poetry. It's "vanilla"... but with a little sesuality in the mix. **************************************
I imagine…
She’s on top, short black skirt, bare-legged, straddling; Her red jacket smothers his tie, as luscious pink lips push and pull at his mouth.
Tongue tips tango, soft hands on her back pressing hard. Moans uttered through taut throats signal the start as licentious fingertips fondle flaccid flesh, cajoling.
Her, chest heaving, prepared to pounce, cat-like, ready for the kill, waiting for him.
He, leaned back now, eyes closed, mouth parted in near silence, anticipating, waiting (I imagine) for his moment with her to arrive.
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Writing....and me!
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Posted:Sep 21, 2006 12:21 am
Last Updated:May 23, 2024 9:48 am
1323 Views
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Let's try this again.... for those of you out there who don't bother to read profiles (and you know who you are, hahahahaha), I am a writer. From time to time, I plan on posting erotic fiction up on my blog, but it occured to me that you might also be interested in some of my "vanilla" work.
So, without further ado, I bring you the first installment of my poetry series. It's in a style called "Prose Poetry" (sidenote: I also wrote them to be read aloud...try it... you might just like it, hahahahahaahhah)
Others will follow as soon as I can transfer them to PC (stinking PCs!!!!)
peace ****************************************
Janitor
Lining up, August-day recess, tetherball, jump rope, freeze tag, we squeal with delight. Arithmetic behind, late summer heat ahead, and I see him.
Amidst dark blue floors, white tile lines, forever in my memory, he walks through spotlights from caged seventy-watt bulbs. Warm-faced, tan work shirt, he wipes glistening forehead with rich red handkerchief. Wheels squeaking, the metal bucket; wooden handled mop sloshing, dirty white locks hidden.
“Line up…line up ,” chimes Mr. Meenach clapping her vein laced hands. Asking for water, I break away to the big ’s fountain. On tippy toes, water arcing almost out of reach, I sip. Classmates file out of the building, screams and laughter fade away.
Mop-head raised high, rushing waterfall echoes in the hall. Into squeeze basket to crush free dirt and debris, then with slow swoosh-swoosh, back and forth, shoulders rolling, waist bent, he twists like blown willow branches. Smooth and even tempo, a hypnotic repetition, swoosh-swoosh, this is the janitor’s spell.
“Hurry up,” Thomas screams loudly, “They’re picking the teams right now!” My feet shuffle, first sideways then back, leaving white dust streaks on dark tile. Still watching the rhythm, still hearing the sounds. One last look down the hallway, for sights, for sounds.
Shaking my head clear of cobweb dreaminess, I turn from the janitor, toward the front door. Recess awaits.
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Ahhhh the wonderful world of Scam...
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Posted:Sep 20, 2006 9:26 pm
Last Updated:Feb 23, 2009 5:37 pm
1708 Views
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I really haven't been using this site for very long, but already I find myself innundated with offers to peruse webcams, to view webpages of beautiful women, to contact people "who can't wait to meet" me... after I give them my credit card info and life's history that is...
I'm sorry, what part of my page is it that screams out "sucker" to these chumps. I mean, I'm not going to pay to access another site hoping to meet someone... uhhhhh, isn't that what this site is partly for?
I'm not going to pay for a webcam show... part of the reason I'm on here is to INTERACT with people (and no, typing, 'hey baby, why don't you show me those tits' does not constitute interaction for me).
So I find myself in the Epicenter of Scam... a primordial ooze of predators looking for prey... a place where voyueristic minded rubber-necks swing in to steal a bit of soul, and then jet.
It would be nice, for once, to actually have a conversation don't you think?
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Fire and Ice
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Posted:Aug 22, 2006 1:57 am
Last Updated:Sep 6, 2012 9:47 pm
1339 Views
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"We need ice," Gonz shouts over the din of the party.
It is his twenty fifth birthday party and somehow, the guest list of ten or so friends suddenly swelled to twice the number. People stand, packed wall to wall in the barely adequate hotel room, laughting, talking. We all expect a knock on the door at any moment, but we refuse to slow down.
I need a break from the crowd so I pipe up, "I've got it."
"I'm going with you," you say.
Without another word, you open the door and thrust into the hallway. The hem of your skirt flaps about your knees. Your outfit looks smart on you, as always, and I admire its look on you. A summer top, spaghetti straps that hold up cotton knit, a design of greens and blues blending one into another, a beautiful match. Your skirt, brown ochre, is tight in the waist and hips, but playfully flares out by the time it reaches your knees. I follow the line of your legs, joyfully tracing the zig-zag of thin straps that bind your calves, leading to the dark brown leather of your sandals. Your toenails are painted a red I've seen before, the same color as your punkinsh hair.
"I'm hot," I hear you say.
As I look up, you stop to bunch your hair atop your head. A thin bead of sweat creeps from beheath your hairline. I walk up behind you and put my hands on your warm shoulders. You shiver as the bead makes its way to mid-neck. Gently, with soft tongue, I lick it away, up the spine to your hair. I back away to your sigh, hands clenching a mess of red, muscles in your back taught.
"Yes," I say. "You are hot."
You turn your head toward me, your green eyes swimming. You wear an expression of mixed feelings: lust and "I can't believe I'm turned on right now". They finally melt into calm composure as you exhale, turn and make for the iceroom.
"You're bad," you say.
"That's good though. Right?"
You laugh. I follow, falling behind a few steps to watch you walk. I love the way you move, confident in your own skin, aware. The curves of your body are etched into my memory already... I could draw you from memory if only I could draw. As you move forward, one light footstep at a time, I watch your hips slide from side to side. I experience the wonder of the shape of your form... again... for the very first time. I know you know I am watching. You play to my fancy.
"Do you like my new outfit?"
"Uhhhh... let's see... yes."
"Jerk," you say playfully. You briefly look my way, a devious smile on your bright lips, a girlish joy in your eyes now. Leting go of your hair, you pirouette to give me the full view. As you spin, colors and form blending into one, I am reminded of a flower in bloom. You spin down the hall, laughing, until you finally reach the door of the iceroom. I jog behind, laughing freely with you, my heart lightened by the sound.
"Whoa," you exclaim and reach out for me with both hands, staggering toward me on wobbly legs. Catching you in my arms, we clamber through the frosted glass door, "VENDING" in large black stencil on its front.
Inside stood two soda machines, a snack machine and the ice dispenser. Breaking free, you make your way to the ice machine. You lean against it, back first, and tilt your head back. Your exposed neck stretches full, the veins and muscles pulsing beneath blushing flesh. I rest my hands beside your shoulders, and slowly kiss you beheath the ear.
"Mmmmmmmmm," you hum.
I gently kiss down the side, then across to the hollow of your throat. You lock your fingers in my hair now. I understand. Softly, I kiss your throat, jawline and then a lip, the top one. You pull me down, not even an inch, then plant your lips onto mine. An electric shock runs through me, rebounds off of my footsoles then rushes back to my mouth. You break from me. Staring at each other, passion rockets from eye to eye like spouting flamethrowers.
"Did you feel that," you ask.
"Yes," I say.
I kiss you again, this time I put my hands on you. Our lips and tongues passionately entangle in a wet embrace. I let my fingers glide across your body, across the fabric that covers your hips, your waist, your breasts. Finally, reaching the bare skin of your chest, they move over your collarbones and down your back. As they come to rest on your behind, you briefly stop kissing to smile. I pull you close, my hands tight on you now. I see what you want now. I see it in your eyes.
I cradle your face in my hands and kiss you with renewed passion. Your body heats, sweat beginning to form on your shoulders. I break from your mouth, kiss down your neck and again to the bare flesh of your chest. I feel you smiling down at me. Running a soft hand over my head, your free hand tugs at your top, freeing a breast. You push me toward it. I love your breasts, the draping curves, erect nipples. I love how you groan when I press your nipple between my lips, flicking at it with my tongue.
You squirm, but not to get away. You squirm with delight, a long hiss escaping your lips as I continue to tease your nipple. My hands make their way beneath the hem of your skirt. They carress the soft flesh of your thighs, the shape of your ass. You pull me closer still, your hips slightly rocking. As I release your breast, you slide your top back into place. I move back to your accepting mouth. Now my body is moving on its own; now my body is under your control. I slip the moist cloth of your underwear to the side. My finger grazes your soft, wet folds. Your groan is guttural and your kisses become more harsh. Refusing to give in, I stroke slowly, barely touching your hot and sensitive flesh.
"Mmmmmmmmm, baby," you say.
Your body quivers. Looking into your eyes again, I see desire and helpless passion. I see what I am feeling. Carefully, I replace your clothes, and kiss you one more time.
"We should get that ice," I say.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm," you hum. "You're so bad."
"Yeah, but that's good."
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