The Contender

Surly scent of testosterone

muscles it way to the fore,

Daring all challengers to

break his hold and throw

him to the floor.

 

Sweet perfume and downcast

eyes, a strand of gentle curl,

the slightest tilting of the head

and iron fists unfurl.

 

Parting lips which breathe

a sigh; his head begins

to swim. An upward glance,

a gentle touch; knees

buckle under him.

 

Strength of gentle femininity,

uncalculated power,

caves the strength of any man,

causes massive bulk to cower.

 

Fragility it may appear to be,

but in the slight of frame

does belie the truth of life –

was from Woman that you came.

 

{Inspired by     somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond  by E. E. Cummings}

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Inner Habitation

Quiet (but not silent) 

Ongoing discussion (questioning)

Inquisitive (but not demanding)

Listening
Receiving
Responding 

Flesh of human heart,
beating with humanity’s rhythm,
exposed in open air.

Stories in the Attic

Aging treasures covered in dust.
Keepsakes of lives now past.
Long lost memories of secrets untold.
Pages of lives, my hand does hold.

Faded letters, tied with a string,
A feather lost from a bluebird’s wing.
A velvet glove and a broken clock,
an assortment of pieces thrown in a box.

What meaning was there in days of old?
To whom did these of stories hold?
Dearest and sweetheart, the letters say,
But of family or kin I cannot assay.

Mysteries hidden from my eyes.
Questions without answers now arise.
Romantic visions of ancient love,
As I hold in my hand– that velvet glove.

Published in: on June 10, 2009 at 4:42 pm  Leave a Comment  

Stories in the Attic

Aging treasures covered in dust.
Keepsakes of lives now past.
Long lost memories of secrets untold.
Pages of lives, my hand does hold.

Faded letters, tied with a string,
A feather lost from a bluebird’s wing.
A velvet glove and a broken clock,
an assortment of pieces thrown in a box.

What meaning was there in days of old?
To whom did these of stories hold?
Dearest and sweetheart, the letters say,
But of family or kin I cannot assay.

Mysteries hidden from my eyes.
Questions without answers now arise.
Romantic visions of ancient love,
As I hold in my hand– that velvet glove.

Published in: on June 2, 2009 at 6:50 pm  Comments (1)  
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