Love In A Wall – Laying the line –

“Sex is just another form of talk, where you act the words instead of saying them.”
– D. H. LAWRENCE, Lady Chatterley’s Lover

Sinewy wrists twist the trowel, 
causing it dance on the board 
gathering its share of love
along the way. 

Deftly, quickly, with a flick and a pull, 
a long even line is coaxed 
from the willing load. 

Movements define other movements 
setting up reciprocating pulses
in a syncopation of motion. 

Thick calloused fingers, 
pluck another willing blossom, 
forcing it to mate the bed of passion. 

Dance, flick, pull, mate, dance, flick, pull, mate. 
Tedium, repetition, yet, another brick. 
building an impassioned wall

Following hard after the mated pair, 
a tool pushes in binding them together, 
sealing their union.

Tools are useful said the young man to his master…

 

First published in Opinionsofeye.com

12292010

Cold water, Dry run – Heal the wounds of yesterday –

“Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.”  – C. JoyBell C.

Trying hard to find water in a dry land. A parched, dry, burning throat tortures me. My lips, peel like mud flakes baked by the noon heat. Life was here, now, only the memory of life conveyed in the carved, hard mud of me, a dry lake. Then a soft wind blows, the temperature drops slowly, a coolness invades, and the clouds gather promising a new thing is on its way. Soft drops escape at first, slowly building a faceless mob. Each drop makes a mark, dimpling the ground. The little craters overflow and begin to form a growing conglomeration of streaming water alliances, gathering momentum and finding their way to the thirsty lake, filling the deepest cracks first.

 
Notice the deepest cracks are the ones first filled with the life-giving water. Likewise, notice how the deepest hurts are the first healed when the fulfillment of your hearts desire comes to pass. It’s a beautiful to see life restored. There is a fulfillment in hope and contentment after suffering. It feels so good, like cold water after a hot run.
Also published in Broowaha
First published in Opinions Of Eye
08172011

The First Rung

“The first step, my son, which one makes in the world, is the one on which depends the rest of our days.” – Voltaire
 

 

Reaching up from this muddy pit

My hands find the first rung
I’m not letting go of it, my feet still stuck
Screaming at the top of my lungs
From this first rung on the ladder
I will not be thrown
Everything in me yelling, you can’t do it
Everyone around me laughing at my attempts
No comfort, no friends when your down this low
The first rung is all you have
Yet I climb, slapping for the next rung, I will ascend
Out of this frothing mire
I will not let go, beaten down time by time
I find myself alone, beginning again
I shake myself from my own doubt
Now I find myself afraid to succeed
What will be required of me?
No more easy carefree existence
The struggle becomes necessary to stay on the ladder.
At the bottom, swimming aimlessly in the lost masses
Who cares what you do?
As you climb out, everyone looks at you, they are encouraged by your rebellion
To climb out of their own mess, to take the challenge of living again.
This first rung, the hardest, taking the most courage to live beyond
The lies spoken to you from those in your youth, and by your lovers
Who are no longer there.
Discomfort at having to leave your habits, your friends.
Not everyone will follow you up,
Most times, no one will.
You will have to meet those who are climbing on your way up.
You see they left the mire long ago,
Every now and then glancing back to see the despair
Which they escaped so narrowly.
So I cling, to this first rung, by tenacity, hard to define

This first rung is life, this first rung is mine.

Also published in:  Broowaha
Also published in:  Life As A Human