He, the moon, and I
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Posted:Mar 3, 2021 2:39 pm
Last Updated:Mar 4, 2021 11:14 am 406 Views
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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.
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Until there is no more
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Posted:Mar 1, 2021 5:07 am
Last Updated:Mar 1, 2021 3:13 pm 274 Views
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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.
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Precarious Balance (in 3 parts)
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Posted:Feb 27, 2021 6:12 am
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2021 9:41 pm 1072 Views
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Precarious Balance (in 3 parts) started December 3rd, 2020
(1) My balance has never been great others walk paths and at the world around them
I at my feet watching for things that might trip me
(2) 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.
(3) Life is a precarious balancing of the joy and the pain singing-tears holding onto each other shatter-whole the impossible duality agony-bliss found in juxtaposition love-destruction we try balance not-enough-too-much somewhere within everything-nothing
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Writing Poems
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Posted:Feb 24, 2021 5:32 am
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2021 8:26 pm 1477 Views
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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.
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Now I become myself by May Sarton
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Posted:Feb 24, 2021 4:15 am
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2021 4:05 am 1275 Views
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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!
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Pictures
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Posted:Feb 22, 2021 7:12 am
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2021 8:38 am 1534 Views
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Pictures 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?
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Solitude
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Posted:Feb 17, 2021 7:18 am
Last Updated:Feb 18, 2021 11:31 am 4242 Views
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Solitude 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.
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2
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Chameleon
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Posted:Feb 16, 2021 5:04 am
Last Updated:Feb 20, 2021 12:46 pm 5198 Views
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Chameleon written February 15th, 2021
the chameleon delights in finding vibrant others to reflect on his skin taking on one's brilliance until the next calls like a siren the beauty of each uniquely intoxicating
until there is the inevitable absence no one to love him for the reflection on his skin of them
without them
who is he?
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3
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First time in subspace
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Posted:Feb 15, 2021 7:52 pm
Last Updated:Feb 16, 2021 3:08 pm 6354 Views
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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.
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4
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Death's wings
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Posted:Feb 15, 2021 4:55 am
Last Updated:Feb 17, 2021 7:16 am 6169 Views
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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.
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Lucky
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Posted:Feb 14, 2021 4:25 am
Last Updated:Feb 15, 2021 6:34 am 6312 Views
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Lucky 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? raised? 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.
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4
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Poems and people
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Posted:Feb 11, 2021 7:17 am
Last Updated:Feb 11, 2021 4:25 pm 7032 Views
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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.
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Snowing up north
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Posted:Feb 6, 2021 5:09 am
Last Updated:Feb 7, 2021 4:22 pm 7455 Views
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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
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 |
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Solitude (2) | 69ereatwetpussy Feb 18, 2021 11:16 am |
First time in subspace (4) | kamaruhl3 Feb 16, 2021 9:30 am |
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