Sentient –

“Touch comes before sight, before speech. It is the first language and the last, and it always tells the truth.”

― Margaret Atwood, Der blinde Mörder 

Her name swirled in my mouth like hot chocolate on a winter’s day. If I took it too quick, it would burn in the fury of being rushed, so I breathed her in, slow and gentle, with little sips of desire and awe. She easily warmed my deepest parts, and very slowly, my chill changed to a spreading glow of warmth. The pins and needles of my deep freeze made her work an exhilarating passionate dance. Her touch needed no words as my mind filled with her tactile conversation and my replies, only soft tremors of appreciation. Closing my eyes, I lifted my head to the clear midnight sky, the stars seemed to stall their charge toward dawn to catch a glimpse of Sentient’s captive. My ears caught a hint of her hidden nakedness as I followed the breeze swirling its way through the tall pines then a tickle ran up my neck when she spun around to see me. Playing with me, the cool of the air countered the warmth of my body in a gentle tug of war, like puppies playing with a toy, first a gentle nudge, a pull, then a rougher jerk that foretold of things to come. She had all of me, a pleasure now, but soon, a curse for there are times when a man is better off to never feel again. 

…there are times when a man is better off to never feel again…

First published in Opinionsofeye.com

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Serenity’s Storm

“I think that the ideal space must contain elements of magic, serenity, sorcery and mystery.”

 – Luis Barragan

Wash away, all the same

Breezes blow, I will trade

Tranquil bows, some not all

Pass me through, I’ll not call

Feelings so smooth

 

Like rocks worn, by the waters rush.

Feelings quelled, by the hush

Cascades of warmth, not ambient

Inside it burns, not transient

Easy comes the calm

 

Many searching, souls exist,

In this world, of gentle mist

A serenity that, cannot be trained.

Never before, traveling this lane

I’m now savoring

Tempest you will, draw my attention

Pleased I fall back, there’s no tension

I turn again, to the lonely sound

Never having, to leave the ground

Lost in the moment

01162011

Tempest you draw my attention

Pleased I fall back again

I turn to the sound

Never having left the ground

Lost in the moment

– See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf

Tempest you draw my attention

Pleased I fall back again

I turn to the sound

Never having left the ground

Lost in the moment

– See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf

Tempest you draw my attention

Pleased I fall back again

I turn to the sound

Never having left the ground

Lost in the moment

– See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf

Tempest you draw my attention

Pleased I fall back again

I turn to the sound

Never having left the ground

Lost in the moment

– See more at: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/01/serenitys-storm.html#sthash.zcpyzVfB.dpuf

Gentleness of Strength

“Silk is a fine, delicate, soft, illuminating, beautiful substance. But you can never rip it! If a man takes this tender silk and attempts to tear it, and cannot tear it, is he in his right mind to say “This silk is fake! I thought it was soft, I thought it was delicate, but look, I cannot even tear it” ? Surely, this man is not in his right mind! The silk is not fake! This silk is 100% real. It’s the man who is stupid!” ― C. JoyBell C.

“Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way round or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves.” – Bruce Lee

dewdropzgarden

 Gentle, striving to be easy with the hardness life brings. Being gentle when the attack is not against me is easy, but let my lover betray me, let a random act of violence occur, let my child be molested in spite of my best efforts, then it proves supremely difficult to resist hardness. When gentleness is discerned by the predators of man and beast, it signifies vulnerability, a sign that brings pursuit and attack. There is however, a side of gentleness that is contrary to weakness. Warriors learned long ago that deftness, a soft touch, is as deadly as brute force. The less effort, the faster and more powerful you will be. Gentleness learned is self control gained. To deny the victim demeanor and become a survivor, a warrior, requires a necessary application of gentle traits. Hold the knife easy. Squeeze the trigger softly. Bend not break, as a willow in the breeze. Bruce Lee taught the principle: be like water. Water is soft, yielding, and enjoyable to be around, but still maintains a fearful power. Gentleness is not weakness, it is power under perfect control. I’m this gentle soul, the water that gives way, and still I possess a force to overcome the most difficult opponent, whether it be in the form of man or circumstance.

Arachnia – Many ways, many hands, many deaths

“There are spiders whose bite can cause the place bitten to rot and to die, sometimes more than a year after it was bitten. As to why spiders do this, the answer is simple. It’s because spiders think this is funny, and they don’t want you ever to forget them.”
  – Neil Gaiman, Anansi Boys 

 

Brushing lightly against you, a breeze carrying your seeds

Alighting on me, travail of my soul just to begin

Fire burns the course of nature through my primal veins

Caught now by the spider silk of your trouble

I feel the pull of your bite sinking my soul into rapture

Your many hands finding their way, using my body

Your many eyes seeing everywhere I hide

My escape now wound in your lair, wander lust begins

In circles you lead me, my mind numb with senses raging

One escape grabs my fainting sight, away from you I fly

Also published in Broowaha 

01192012

The Trail – Memories

“He was still too young to know that the heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the 

burden of the past.” 

– Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

 

Blown by the breeze of your passing

Branches sweep the evidence of you away

Spinning dirty tornadic wisps bare false witness

Evidence of our union, gone down a dusty way

I wander past the forks of choices gone wrong

Seeing pieces of your love hanging on the thorns

Finding you though you hide among shapeless brush

Setting my heart to the trail, I am endlessly torn