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He, the moon, and I
Posted:Mar 3, 2021 2:39 pm
Last Updated:Mar 4, 2021 11:14 am

Midnight. Heaven is
bathing, the window open.
Just a kiss away.

—Jane Miller, "American Odalisque", The of Tongues

He, the moon, and I
written March 2nd, 2021

My love and I
look up at our night skies
during this midnight time we share

our eyes looking at
the same stars
in our heavens so far apart

the moon baths us
in its gentle light
embracing both of us

I am envious of the moon
touching my love
when I can not

so I ask the moon
to kiss him for me
lovers are we
he, the moon, and I.
Until there is no more
Posted:Mar 1, 2021 5:07 am
Last Updated:Mar 1, 2021 3:13 pm

In the song of the man in his room in his house in his head remembering
And then no more?

—Thomas McGrath, "Ordonnance", The Gift of Tongues

This poem has a soundtrack. 2 songs that play along with it are "The Knife Feels Like Justice" by Brian Setzer, and "Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through" by Meat Loaf.

Until there is no more
started January 31st, 2021

I remember the songs
crying from the radio
the words I couldn't say
giving expression to the searing pain
helping my soul fly away
until there was no more

I remember my room that was light pink
the color my fear still is today
the secrets in there breaking open
like the stains on the carpet
that everyone must have seen
the tears in your broken eyes
that could not be cried
until there was no more

I remember the house that room was in
a house that was no home
me a hermit crab without a shell
war without and war within
until there was no more

I remember what was in his head
the self-loathing, isolation
paranoia and bitterness
that were his gift to me
from father to beloved
until there was no more

What remains
is the remembering
and the not remembering
reality shimmering
into and out of existence
until there is no more.
Precarious Balance (in 3 parts)
Posted:Feb 27, 2021 6:12 am
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2021 9:41 pm

Precarious Balance (in 3 parts)
started December 3rd, 2020

My balance
has never been great
others walk paths
and at the world around them

at my feet
watching for things
that might trip me

I walk along a tightrope
strung a few inches over the earth
my balance precarious

not realizing
I could step off at any time
onto the stable earth.

Life is a precarious balancing
of the joy and the pain
holding onto each other
the impossible duality
found in juxtaposition
we try balance
somewhere within
Writing Poems
Posted:Feb 24, 2021 5:32 am
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2021 8:26 pm

Writing poems
written February 17th, 2021

These poems
don't seem like much
as I sit at my desk
with the blinds open
writing on the green graph paper
I have always written
engineering homework
and poems on.

The exhaustion doesn't hit
until I post them online
moving the handwritten original
from unfinished to finished notebook.

finished (for now)
finished (but not quite right)
finished (but not good enough)
finished (but not worth speaking out loud)
finished (and to hell with it post it)

Something about that act
makes me want to
go back to bed
even though the sun
is bright in the window
sure that
I will never emerge
to write another word.

Thank goodness
that feeling isn't permanent
or this unfinished notebook
now filled with bits and fragments
words forgotten as soon as they were written,
would be filled with blank pages.

And the finished (but not quite right) notebook
getting heavier each day
with MY words
that have been released into the world,
would only have that one poem in it.
Now I become myself by May Sarton
Posted:Feb 24, 2021 4:15 am
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2021 4:05 am

This is not a poem I wrote. It is one I found early in my life and had read for me at my wedding in 1992? Something like that. Terrible with numbers. I forget about this poem, and then find it again about every 10 years or so. I guess that's an advantage of a memory like mine lol. There's good things to discover again and again.

This poem is everything to me, every time I rediscover it and read it. I found it before I had started writing poems. It means even more to me today as I'm writing. I hope the ending of the poem can feel like mine someday.

Now I become myself
by May Sarton

Now I become myself. It’s taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people’s faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
“Hurry, you will be dead before—”
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!
Posted:Feb 22, 2021 7:12 am
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2021 8:38 am

Written February th, 2021

He likes to take pictures of me
breast back ass pussy.
He says they make his dick hard
and I do love that.
Love seeing the pictures of me
and knowing his reaction
to them.

I hardly know myself
sometimes it seems
the breast that is mine
the body that is mine
this face that is mine.

As I am turning on my phone
for him to take pictures
I see my face smiling back at me
and I take a picture
of me smiling.

He asks why I am laughing
me bent over the bed
him behind me
fucking my ass.

I tell him I am laughing
because I see a woman
I don't recognize
and she looks happy.

Who is that?
Can I learn
to smile like she is
in this picture
I can't stop looking at?
Posted:Feb 17, 2021 7:18 am
Last Updated:Feb 18, 2021 11:31 am

written January th, 2021

The writing prompt says
to describe someone
you wish to tell something.

It sounds so easy
except I have cultivated distance
and silence
even within myself.

The conversations I have
are of trauma and pain
and the crying for comfort
which even
the conversations with myself
rarely provide.

I plant and tend
these silent days
and silent years
that make this
silent solitary life.

If silence were currency
I would be rich
beyond imagining.

Perhaps one day
something or someone
will grow in these
well tended
fallow fields.
Posted:Feb 16, 2021 5:04 am
Last Updated:Feb 20, 2021 12:46 pm

written February 15th, 2021

the chameleon
in finding vibrant
to reflect on his
taking on one's
until the next calls like a
the beauty of each uniquely

until there is the inevitable
no one to love
for the reflection on his skin of


First time in subspace
Posted:Feb 15, 2021 7:52 pm
Last Updated:Feb 16, 2021 3:08 pm

Subject: First time in subspace
Edited: March, 2020
Written: March, 2007
Happened: August 2006

I met Rob online and liked him a lot. We met for coffee. He said he wasn't dominant, but liked explore rope bondage. He had never tied someone in r/l. We agreed that no sex would be involved. This first time we met, we didn't even take our clothes off.

I went his place. We probably spoke a bit first, but we already had the foundation of our friendship from talking online. I've always enjoyed bondage, but considered it somewhere get as quickly as possible. I thought rope seemed slow put on, and leather cuffs seemed easier and faster . I'd never been tied with rope before. Was I in for a surprise.

He asked sit in a hard backed wooden chair. He began by tying my hands the sides beside . He wrapped rope around each wrist and then the chair. It was a very comfortable position for a first tie.

He was also very into gags. I like being gagged, and had a rubber bit gag that I didn't like much but had used before. I hadn't played in about , and I was find out that I was ready go some pretty different places than I had before.When I'd played before it was mostly a bit of flogging at a local club, but had never explored the psychological sub dynamic extensively, and had never gone into subspace, or whatever you would call this place I was about to find.

He stuffed my mouth with a small beanbag, and wrapped non-sticky bondage tape over it. After he tied off the tape, he put his head near the side of my head, I could hear his breathing in my ear. He touched the tape, clearly fascinated. His touch felt so smooth against the tape. He was fascinated and excited by the gag, and this fed my excitement. He took my hair in his hands, and that's when i went into subspace for the first time.

I tend to worry. I'm always trying to figure out what I should be doing, or could be doing different, or want to do differently next time. I say it's like there's a hamster on a wheel in my head. I had no idea, that being bound and gagged would get the hamster off that wheel, but it did. That hamster went to sleep, and it was like a euphoria for me. Being bound and gagged, there wasn't any way for me to control what was happening, unless I wanted to indicate there was a problem. Other than that, it was out of my hands. What a relief. I had no idea this would be my reaction, and I'm not sure I'd ever felt the hamster go to sleep before this. My head just rolled, and I didn't care how silly I looked. I was in a blissful place.

It must have gone on for a couple of hours. He tied ropes around my torso. He tied ropes around my breasts and behind my nec He got down on the ground, and tied my ankles apart and either chair leg. He put more ropes around my torso. Each piece of rope going on, made feel more safe and secure, and took deeper. He'd stop and touch my face, touch the gag, kiss the tape, touch the ropes and check if they were too tight. I just watched his eyes. I'm very shy, and rarely look right into people's eyes. In this situation, it gave a high look into his eyes, to be really present with him, to know he was in control, to know he was turned on by being immobile and unable tal

He moved stand behind , and touched my breasts. His touch was hard. He hit them, and reached down my dress to pinch the nipples. It was incredible feeling him all around , and not knowing what might happen next. Our limits were firmly in place, and I knew this person well enough know that it wouldn't go into a genital sexual direction, which was what I needed. Our clothes never came off, although the top of my dress was loosened. (I actually ended up with large bruises, so maybe we should have taken our clothes off.)

He began to take the ropes off eventually, and I began to cry. I didn't want to leave that place, I wanted to stay. He seemed to know why I was crying, and said to me it was time for the ropes to come off. Just as he'd slowly put them on, he slowly took them off, always remaining the one in control. One rope after the other, as I quietly cried. Afterwards he held me, and I helped wrap up his ropes. He showed me how to wrap different lengths of rope so they would stay neat in his bag, and this became a favorite thing for me to do as a thank you to him after each scene.

We explored rope bondage once a week for a while. Each time it was like that, the head-rolling subspace. Sometimes things would be silly, sometimes I'd struggle, sometimes it was uncomfortable, sometimes it was erotic. We got to where all he had to do was pull my hair and I'd go into that peaceful place. He claimed to the end that he wasn't really dominant, and maybe that lack of pressure was one of the things that helped me let go. I have played since then and gone into subspace, but nothing has been as powerful or as much of a shock as that first time.

The ropes going on had been such a slow process. Each wrap had taken me deeper. I say it was a bit like canoeing for me. Strange connection I know. When I was younger, I used to go on canoe trips in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota for a week at a time. We'd put in where there were people, and then for 3 days we'd head deeper into wilderness away from people and civilization. Each day, took you further away from any easy way to get out. The only way out if there was an emergency was to request a helicopter, or to canoe back out the way you had come. It was the reason we were there, to get so far away from civilization, but at the same time it was sort of scary. The silence in there was so deep it was palpable. There was just a bit of relief for me when we were in as far as we were going to go, and started to head back out. Rope bondage was like that for me.
Death's wings
Posted:Feb 15, 2021 4:55 am
Last Updated:Feb 17, 2021 7:16 am

I look at the buds still wrapped
on the ripening kernels. I want
to be in there, unhatched and unpolished.

—Shirley Kaufman, "Poem in November", Gift of Tongues

Death's wings
written January 10th, 2021

The Angel Death
wraps his wings around me
I feel him there
when I stop suddenly
Death's wings
jostling around me
settling into place.

He holds his breath
so I won't have that proof
of his presence
or any other
reassurance in this life.

Are his wings protection?
or curse?
Their silence wrapped around
is my well known company
these many years
Death's wings my comfort in life.
Posted:Feb 14, 2021 4:25 am
Last Updated:Feb 15, 2021 6:34 am

written January 20th, 2021

"I've always been lucky," he says,
standing at his gate
talking this dirt road
"I survived an inoperable brain tumor, cancer
and they took one of my lungs,
but I had 2, so I'm fine.
Always been lucky."

He turns back to his home and dogs
rolling the gate shut behind him.

I am left to wonder
how does fate dispense luck?
Who gets it? What type? How much?

Is it years served?
arrests made?
women loved?
dogs cared for and buried?

I sit in my car and watch him walk
through the trees to the house he built
with plenty of room to turn around in

I see the inexorable path
the luck dispensed and choices made
that has brought him to this moment
he and his dogs
at the end of this dirt road.

If he could choose different luck
would he?
this man who has always been lucky.
Poems and people
Posted:Feb 11, 2021 7:17 am
Last Updated:Feb 11, 2021 4:25 pm

You hear
yourselves in them,
self after self
when I leave, I leave
alone, as I came.

—Denise Levertov, "Poet and Person", Gift of Tongues

Poems and people
started January th, 2021

Each morning I arrive
into this world anew
with a sigh and a memory
of day before day
self before self
that has tried to take up
permanent residence in this body
each one feeling right
until one morning it isn't.

This is my record of
poems and people
page after page after page.

At the end of the day
each one perches
on the edge of the night
to fly away alone into the dark.

I sleep and wait
to see who will arrive
with the morning.
Snowing up north
Posted:Feb 6, 2021 5:09 am
Last Updated:Feb 7, 2021 4:22 pm

Enter now,
O bird on the green branch of the dying tree, singing
Sing me toward home;
Toward the deep past and inalienable loss:
Toward the gone stranger carrying my
In the possible future

—Thomas McGrath, "Part One", Letter an Imaginary Friend

Snowing up north
Started February 2nd, 2021

They say is snowing up north
And I am back walking
over the roads I grew up on
the crunch of the snow
sings me home

past the fields
waiting spring planting
fence lines stretching off into the horizon

across the front yard
always needing mowing
now winter gives reprieve

up the front steps
mother's pansies growing riotously
ghosts from summers past

my fingers brush the doorbell
cats never learned to ring
now forever silent

I open the front door
and go into my memories
stepping on the black slate entryway

I wonder if his coat
is already in the closet or if
everyone is waiting for him to get home

in the kitchen
the table is set
the tea ready

this is the time
everything will be properly arranged
each talisman in the proper place

so the ghosts live here
will finally have
the longed for peaceful night

all of us keeping company
in these memories
that sing us home.

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Most Recent Comments by Others

Post Poster Post Date
He, the moon, and I (5)69ereatwetpussy
Mar 4, 2021 7:11 am
Until there is no more (2)kamaruhl3
Mar 1, 2021 8:21 am
Precarious Balance (in 3 parts) (4)Apollo602021
Feb 27, 2021 8:59 pm
Pictures (12)OldTeacher5
Feb 27, 2021 6:07 am
Writing Poems (13)hippiechick1967
Feb 25, 2021 4:04 pm
Chameleon (7)OldTeacher5
Feb 20, 2021 8:54 am
Solitude (2)69ereatwetpussy
Feb 18, 2021 11:16 am
First time in subspace (4)kamaruhl3
Feb 16, 2021 9:30 am
Death's wings (4)kamaruhl3
Feb 15, 2021 10:53 am
Weft and warp (11)MelbLife
Feb 15, 2021 5:41 am
Lucky (4)MelbLife
Feb 15, 2021 5:29 am