Thursday, July 2, 2009
COFFEE TALK
Sun smiles wide through the pane
If it's an indication of the day
Excitement lurks around the corner.
Mocha aroma dances across the kitchen.
Folger grains sift themselves alive
Creating a harmonic smell, a pleasant atmosphere
Two ceramic mugs, lap tops, and reading material
Each day should begin this fluent
Sincere sun shines and clement coffee soothes
Colliding characteristics flirt with emotions
Tender words are exchanged
Agendas are established
Sipping between thoughts
Perhaps to organize new discussion
Or listen to the other share ideas
Unyielding partnerships become tenacious
Coffee consumption each daybreak liquidates barriers
A time for reflection, a time for smiles
Most all, a moment to share
Something so simplistic
Wish the formula was revealed prior
Coffee Talks
Might have liberated past bonds
Picnic experiences won't be disregarded again
Yet, commemorated in time of relationship crisis
Thirty years from now, Folgers will still exist!
Will this?
Can't abandon the idea as though an orphan
Sunshine, sharing, and smiles will continue
As well as our
Coffee Talks!
If it's an indication of the day
Excitement lurks around the corner.
Mocha aroma dances across the kitchen.
Folger grains sift themselves alive
Creating a harmonic smell, a pleasant atmosphere
Two ceramic mugs, lap tops, and reading material
Each day should begin this fluent
Sincere sun shines and clement coffee soothes
Colliding characteristics flirt with emotions
Tender words are exchanged
Agendas are established
Sipping between thoughts
Perhaps to organize new discussion
Or listen to the other share ideas
Unyielding partnerships become tenacious
Coffee consumption each daybreak liquidates barriers
A time for reflection, a time for smiles
Most all, a moment to share
Something so simplistic
Wish the formula was revealed prior
Coffee Talks
Might have liberated past bonds
Picnic experiences won't be disregarded again
Yet, commemorated in time of relationship crisis
Thirty years from now, Folgers will still exist!
Will this?
Can't abandon the idea as though an orphan
Sunshine, sharing, and smiles will continue
As well as our
Coffee Talks!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Nose Dive
Eh, Eh, Eh. Sounds of the emergency alarm. Over 100 thousand feet amist the air. "Fasten your seat belts. Prepare for emergency landing," the little stewardess shouted through the overhead.
Panic everywhere. One child already tumbling forward like a bowling ball down the aisle. Cans, magazines, purses, cell phones moving through the air cabinet. Shouting. Crying. Cussing. What was happening? Was the plane going down. "My baby," one lady shouted. "We're all going to die," the man next to me blurted out.
The plane jolted every which way. Numbed from waist down. Ears popping from constant pressure. Emergency ligths flashing. Cell phones pleading for service, but towers showed no mercy. My head pounded against the plane ceiling. Passenger's coins escaping pockets, colliding with the ceiling surface. Total chaos. Now shifting sideways, like a rollercoster. The pilot must have readjusted his position. The plane straightened up and I was upright in my seat at normal position. Speaking too soon, I now hung in the air foward. Had it not been for my safety belt, I'd be in the cock pit.
Warm urine raced down my dress pants. I was scared. In the window seat, my eyes danced toward the outside. Nothing there, just clouds. Air. Shocked. I could not say anything. Choked by mere air. My words were stuck. Hands sweaty and tears crawled down my face like a stream flows toward a nearby river. I was going to die? Clasping my wet hands together for one last prayer to my Father. "Hallow be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done . . ." Perplexity and fear obstruct my memory. I want to say so much more, but I'd only remembered that routine prayer.Fear of death gripped my words. I was terrified.
Loudly, I began to weep. Others did the same, echoed in unison. Now clutching my rosary, like never before. I'd almost broke the chain, sure that there was a chain imprint around my neck.
I saw the sea below. We were fast approaching. Plumeting toward an irrational death. Taking a nose dive straight into the Atlantic Sea. "Plane down, plane down".
God couldn't have heard my prayer, even when I thought I was close in proximity. We were still diving into the deep big blue. What was far away was now so close. One mile away. Half mile away. Meters away. The water. The Air. The Salt.
Death on Impact.
Panic everywhere. One child already tumbling forward like a bowling ball down the aisle. Cans, magazines, purses, cell phones moving through the air cabinet. Shouting. Crying. Cussing. What was happening? Was the plane going down. "My baby," one lady shouted. "We're all going to die," the man next to me blurted out.
The plane jolted every which way. Numbed from waist down. Ears popping from constant pressure. Emergency ligths flashing. Cell phones pleading for service, but towers showed no mercy. My head pounded against the plane ceiling. Passenger's coins escaping pockets, colliding with the ceiling surface. Total chaos. Now shifting sideways, like a rollercoster. The pilot must have readjusted his position. The plane straightened up and I was upright in my seat at normal position. Speaking too soon, I now hung in the air foward. Had it not been for my safety belt, I'd be in the cock pit.
Warm urine raced down my dress pants. I was scared. In the window seat, my eyes danced toward the outside. Nothing there, just clouds. Air. Shocked. I could not say anything. Choked by mere air. My words were stuck. Hands sweaty and tears crawled down my face like a stream flows toward a nearby river. I was going to die? Clasping my wet hands together for one last prayer to my Father. "Hallow be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done . . ." Perplexity and fear obstruct my memory. I want to say so much more, but I'd only remembered that routine prayer.Fear of death gripped my words. I was terrified.
Loudly, I began to weep. Others did the same, echoed in unison. Now clutching my rosary, like never before. I'd almost broke the chain, sure that there was a chain imprint around my neck.
I saw the sea below. We were fast approaching. Plumeting toward an irrational death. Taking a nose dive straight into the Atlantic Sea. "Plane down, plane down".
God couldn't have heard my prayer, even when I thought I was close in proximity. We were still diving into the deep big blue. What was far away was now so close. One mile away. Half mile away. Meters away. The water. The Air. The Salt.
Death on Impact.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Call of the Wild
Charlotte rest in her quarters amist her window bay, already predicting the nightly visitor she had become familiar with. That night the rain drips loud - heavy against the windowpane. So heavy, Charlotte is reminded of her father's hallow guitarre he used to play sounding her and her little brother off to bed. Trying to fall asleep, she secures herself beneath the dingy quilt that her mother had given her. However, she is unable to relax for too long because Uncle Pete would show up soon for his usual "night cap" - at least that's what he'd call it.
With each raindrop, a memory surfaces. She sees the Sheriff arrive to her Ant Francis' front door where she stood in the corner holding her little brother's hand. Another raindrop made her think of the smell of her mother's pancakes early Saturday mornings. Charlotte's mouth watered as she envisioned the sweet syrup. An even harder raindrop against the midnight air, caused her to giggle to herself when her Pa sang his guitarre song. "Up and away the wind blows . . . ", Charlotte sang to herself . . . is the way the mosquito must go".
Charlotte loved when it rained. Made her think pleasant thoughts. Mama and her would sometimes sit and just listen to the rain. Mama said when it rained God's heart was beating louder and the faster it beat, the more lives he was saving. Since Mama and Pa died, Charlotte pleaded for rain. Rain was like home for her. It was rainy nights like tonight that made Charlotte surrender to the meek and unfamilar house that she and her brother now resided. Not too often did sleep defeat her except when the rain came.
Then the undesired sound came, the sound of the doorknob jiggling. That sound, came to be called the The Call of the Wild. Every time Charlotte heard the doorknob jiggle, she knew it was Uncle Pete. Upon his sneaky entrance, she grit her teeth and clutched hold of her quilt as he towered over her. His coarse hands wrestled through the covers trying to find her budding body. One paw blanketed Charlotte's mouth and the other paw gripped her frail body, positioning her in a fair angle before Uncle Pete abruptly entered her. Charolotte used to scream, but her child-like body had become numb to his "night caps". Instead, she pleaded that God would save more lives and end the The Call of the Wild tonight.
With each raindrop, a memory surfaces. She sees the Sheriff arrive to her Ant Francis' front door where she stood in the corner holding her little brother's hand. Another raindrop made her think of the smell of her mother's pancakes early Saturday mornings. Charlotte's mouth watered as she envisioned the sweet syrup. An even harder raindrop against the midnight air, caused her to giggle to herself when her Pa sang his guitarre song. "Up and away the wind blows . . . ", Charlotte sang to herself . . . is the way the mosquito must go".
Charlotte loved when it rained. Made her think pleasant thoughts. Mama and her would sometimes sit and just listen to the rain. Mama said when it rained God's heart was beating louder and the faster it beat, the more lives he was saving. Since Mama and Pa died, Charlotte pleaded for rain. Rain was like home for her. It was rainy nights like tonight that made Charlotte surrender to the meek and unfamilar house that she and her brother now resided. Not too often did sleep defeat her except when the rain came.
Then the undesired sound came, the sound of the doorknob jiggling. That sound, came to be called the The Call of the Wild. Every time Charlotte heard the doorknob jiggle, she knew it was Uncle Pete. Upon his sneaky entrance, she grit her teeth and clutched hold of her quilt as he towered over her. His coarse hands wrestled through the covers trying to find her budding body. One paw blanketed Charlotte's mouth and the other paw gripped her frail body, positioning her in a fair angle before Uncle Pete abruptly entered her. Charolotte used to scream, but her child-like body had become numb to his "night caps". Instead, she pleaded that God would save more lives and end the The Call of the Wild tonight.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
FINGERPRINTS
Today, I sit and reflect on all the bastards I have been with. I feel their rusty fingertips colliding against my coffee skin. Sometimes, I shiver at the aroma of cologne. The inability to recant any of those pigs weakens my spirit, devours my soul and quite frankly, creates a harsh resistance to a trusting relationship. IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE TRUTH - STOP NOW AND GET OFF MY PAGE.
It all started when I was a mere lassie, close to six years old or so. Playing hiding-go-seek with the neighborhood boys who always seemed to be looking for jollies. Teenage babysitters getting their rocks off too. Even mature relative cousins seeing what IT was like. I suppose its easier to get it from someone who is younger because they have no idea what's happening. Taking advantage of innocense is what I call it.
Why was I the target? Where was my mother? How come she didn't protect me? How come I didn't know it wasn't okay?
Today my confidence has been raped. Today I have visions of those bastard rubbing and tugging over my surface. Today, snippets of their ruff hands play in my head over and over. The attic, the station wagon, under the preschool table, neighbor's laundry room, and the list continues . . .
Inside I am screaming, but no one hears my pain. No one really understands the trauma, the outcome, the afterlife, the risks, the neverending reputation associated with me no matter how hard I try, and most all, the paralyzed judgment regarding love. Yes, I have had some great men come into my life, but I have also come across some creeps too. Problem is - the good ones I didn't seem to recognize. Still not sure if I would be able to target them.
Countless men who have taken MORE than their fair share of my goods. Not enough fingers and toes combined could tally a number. Sad and pitiful that no numbers can be assigned to something that is supposed to be a precious production of life. Those fingertips have forever printed my life. My past haunts me everyday, no matter where I go or do. I hear the voices of the men, the scent of wild sex, the laughter, snickers as others pass by and, the wonderment of men who never got the opportunity to hit.
Some days, I'm good. Other days depending on the way the wind blows - I'm gloomy and depressed. Those damn fingerprints keep leaving nasty trails for me to revert back to mentally. Paw prints which should have been prince prints . . . always remain. Sucks when those thoughts present themselves. Fingerprints of hell exist, hot hot hell.
No matter how many times I shower or scrub harder, those prints - omnipresent. Remain like Cancer. I'm always hopeful that showering will erase those fingerprints, but the warm water only removes the germs, not the permanent memories.
These are the fingerprints of my past . . .
It all started when I was a mere lassie, close to six years old or so. Playing hiding-go-seek with the neighborhood boys who always seemed to be looking for jollies. Teenage babysitters getting their rocks off too. Even mature relative cousins seeing what IT was like. I suppose its easier to get it from someone who is younger because they have no idea what's happening. Taking advantage of innocense is what I call it.
Why was I the target? Where was my mother? How come she didn't protect me? How come I didn't know it wasn't okay?
Today my confidence has been raped. Today I have visions of those bastard rubbing and tugging over my surface. Today, snippets of their ruff hands play in my head over and over. The attic, the station wagon, under the preschool table, neighbor's laundry room, and the list continues . . .
Inside I am screaming, but no one hears my pain. No one really understands the trauma, the outcome, the afterlife, the risks, the neverending reputation associated with me no matter how hard I try, and most all, the paralyzed judgment regarding love. Yes, I have had some great men come into my life, but I have also come across some creeps too. Problem is - the good ones I didn't seem to recognize. Still not sure if I would be able to target them.
Countless men who have taken MORE than their fair share of my goods. Not enough fingers and toes combined could tally a number. Sad and pitiful that no numbers can be assigned to something that is supposed to be a precious production of life. Those fingertips have forever printed my life. My past haunts me everyday, no matter where I go or do. I hear the voices of the men, the scent of wild sex, the laughter, snickers as others pass by and, the wonderment of men who never got the opportunity to hit.
Some days, I'm good. Other days depending on the way the wind blows - I'm gloomy and depressed. Those damn fingerprints keep leaving nasty trails for me to revert back to mentally. Paw prints which should have been prince prints . . . always remain. Sucks when those thoughts present themselves. Fingerprints of hell exist, hot hot hell.
No matter how many times I shower or scrub harder, those prints - omnipresent. Remain like Cancer. I'm always hopeful that showering will erase those fingerprints, but the warm water only removes the germs, not the permanent memories.
These are the fingerprints of my past . . .
Free at Last
Lashes quarantine tears for as long as they could
No more captivity
Liberating departure
Pinnacle fullfilled
Set position like a runner in blocks
Gun bellows
Fire forced emotion initiated cascade
Free at last
Crawling down the heap first
Slow Samba
Sudden acceleration as memories surface
Tears no longer afaid to dance
Dance a dangerous duo
Free at last
Fallen without lashes' permission
Like raindrops overpower clouds in a heavy storm
Fire dripping down the cliffs
Ashes mark residue
Free at Last
Eluding custody
Toward hopeful independence
Tears - a silent emotion
Not for bondage
But for Expression
LET IT OUT
ITS OKAY TO CRY
No more captivity
Liberating departure
Pinnacle fullfilled
Set position like a runner in blocks
Gun bellows
Fire forced emotion initiated cascade
Free at last
Crawling down the heap first
Slow Samba
Sudden acceleration as memories surface
Tears no longer afaid to dance
Dance a dangerous duo
Free at last
Fallen without lashes' permission
Like raindrops overpower clouds in a heavy storm
Fire dripping down the cliffs
Ashes mark residue
Free at Last
Eluding custody
Toward hopeful independence
Tears - a silent emotion
Not for bondage
But for Expression
LET IT OUT
ITS OKAY TO CRY
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Heartbeat
Today, I felt a heartbeat
Wondered if it was forever
Wasn't mine, belonged elsewhere
Felt pleasant like spring
The closeness
The rhythmn
Proximity made me fade away
Ran the other way
Held back my feelings
Tried to respect home
But drumbeat left an impression
I still feel it humming
Pressing against my back
Really wasn't mine to feel
Or enjoy, but I did
Fastasy - what if it was mine to feel?
Reality - the heartbeat belong to someone else
Simply happen to be near
Stole another's heartbeat maybe
Mate would be upset if closeness revealed
Heatbeat felt natural
One day
I hope to feel my own's mate's heartbeat.
Wondered if it was forever
Wasn't mine, belonged elsewhere
Felt pleasant like spring
The closeness
The rhythmn
Proximity made me fade away
Ran the other way
Held back my feelings
Tried to respect home
But drumbeat left an impression
I still feel it humming
Pressing against my back
Really wasn't mine to feel
Or enjoy, but I did
Fastasy - what if it was mine to feel?
Reality - the heartbeat belong to someone else
Simply happen to be near
Stole another's heartbeat maybe
Mate would be upset if closeness revealed
Heatbeat felt natural
One day
I hope to feel my own's mate's heartbeat.
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