Serendipity (a luc bat poem)

luckylady

You say things that make me
hold my breath — do you see? I’m struck!
I can’t believe my luck.
My thoughts they run amok, they fly!
That you’d love such as I —
the thought my tongue does tie in knots.
Your words steal all my thoughts.
The wonder love has wrought
cannot be sold or bought.
It comes when we’ve forgot — it’s free.
———-
POETIC FORM: LUC BAT
luc bat – (vietnamese “six-eight”) Alternating lines of 6 and 8 syllables. The rhyme scheme renews at the end of every 8-syllable line and rhymes on the 6th syllable of both lines: xxxxxA, xxxxxAxB, xxxxxB, xxxxxBxC, xxxxxC, xxxxxCxD, xxxxxD, xxxxxDxE. No set length or subject matter.
For more info: Poetic Asides

 

Her Eyes (a Triolet)

galaxyeyes

There are galaxies in her eyes,
and gazing into, them I fall —
like spinning across the night skies.
There are galaxies in her eyes.
I find myself there, with surprise,
in eyes potent enough to enthrall.
There are galaxies in her eyes,
and gazing into them, I fall.
—–

POETIC FORM: Triolet

An 8 line poem. The first line of the poem is used 3 times and the second line is used twice. There are only 3 other lines to write: 2 rhyme with the first line, the other rhymes with the second line.

FORM DIAGRAM:

A (first line)
B (second line)
a (rhymes with first line)
A (repeat first line)
a (rhymes with first line)
b (rhymes with second line)
A (repeat first line)
B (repeat second line)

Magenta

image

My fingers are stained
with magenta ink
the deep, rich color
of pickled beets.
Reminds me of my
childhood, fishing
sweet and tangy slices
from a mason jar.
Today, summer is
heat and frustration,
a broken printer
cartridge and a deadline.
Thirty years ago,
it was smiles and kisses
from my grandmother’s
beet red lips,
and a jar of magenta
staining my fingers.

Grounded

image

Some days, the best
I can do is to breathe,
to plant two bare feet
in wet dirt and
sticky green grass,
while I turn my
face to the sky.

Some days, my
two feet are just
the beginning.
I must sit solidly
upon the earth,
feel her pulse
beneath my hands.

This day, my body
aches to lie
against her breast,
surrender to the wind.

Will you meet
me here,
come and lie
beside me
on this cool and
sacred ground?

Fall Recall – Third of Three Flashbacks

This weekend I celebrated my birthday, and it was filled with amazing experiences with incredible loves… and no writing whatsoever. So, this week, I’m revisiting some early posts, and sharing them again. I hope you enjoy this one!

———-

I’m no Goddess

Disclaimer: This post is intimate, and somewhat graphic, discussing a new lover,
and the manner of our love-making. If that might offend you or make you 
uncomfortable, skip this one. I'll never know, and I'll still love you if you do!

I am nearly fifty, and I finally love the skin I’m in, middle-aged, scarred, buxom, zaftig, curvy, delicious, sexy… this is my body. Like many humans, there are parts that amaze me, and parts that I’m not the most happy with. This body has served me well, and I’ve not always treated it nicely.

body 2
This isn’t me, but isn’t she lovely?

And still, these incredible parts…

I have a pretty face, thick, long hair, big green eyes, full lips, freckles, a smile that catches attention. I have full, middle-aged breasts, that are giving in to gravity. They fed children more than twenty years ago, along with the wide hips that bore them, carried them, nudged them along, the legs that gave them, a comfy lap for cuddling, and the rounded shoulders that supported their sleepy heads, and absorbed their tears. Today those hips, legs, shoulders, breasts, eyes, lips and smile can seduce a man, and drive him wild.

th6LUC7EQS
Not me either, but yowza!

I also have those parts I find less sexy, feet that carry the weight of me through each day, from the moment I get out of bed in the morning, until I slip back between the sheets at night, and well, they’re feet. I have a belly, too — round and jiggly, scarred with stretch marks, it is a reminder not only of motherhood, but of many decisions to indulge, and not nearly as many to do crunches. I don’t regret those choices, all the time, but I do see the results, and I’m not sure that belly is my sexiest part.

body
Not me. But I feel this way sometimes!

Today though, my mind is slowly changing… I have a new lover, and he is… hungry. He is primal, yet gentle. His kisses make me weak in the knees. He calls me “baby-girl” and growls at me. He caresses and leaves bruises, and our lovemaking is breathless, intense, filled with exclamations of surprise and repeated requests to “do that again.” He makes me feel beautiful, powerful, weak and hungry too.

foot kiss
My feet aren’t nearly this young, but I try to keep them soft and pretty.

And he kisses me… everywhere… even those not-so-sexy-to-me parts. He moans in pleasure, whispers desire, he pulls me to him in the middle of the night just to feel my skin against his. He touches me, to satisfy his hunger and mine. He worships my toes, the balls of my feet, and he kisses my round, worn belly, over and again, like I’m some ancient fertility goddess.

Fuck, maybe I am.

Fall Recall – Second of Three Flashbacks

This weekend I celebrated my birthday, and it was filled with amazing experiences with incredible loves… and no writing whatsoever. So, this week, I’m revisiting some early posts, and sharing them again. I hope you enjoy this one!
———-

Glimpses and Reflections at 2:00 a.m.

image

I like dark chocolate, hot tea, new books, fountain pens, rainy days, the three full weeks that are autumn, form-poetry, flickering candles, wordplay, a dry sense of humor, warm freckles on pale skin,  being behind a camera, bits of ephemera, red wine, white wine, deep elaborate fiction, sad songs and working typewriters.

I like having my own space, falling in love,  creative freedom, hours of solitude, the way two bodies fit together in an embrace, the feel of the earth beneath my bare feet, the wind tugging at my hair, a gnarled tree at my back, and first-date conversations that last for seven hours.

I like the way words taste in my mouth, the way river stones feel in my hand, the heat and aroma of coffee in a ceramic cup, the way the moon always finds my window, a thousand kisses – long and slow, hard and deep, warm and soft – sixth date conversations that end at sunrise, and crying over movies or sappy holiday commercials.

I like songs, poems, photographs that are so pure and beautiful they take your breath and make your heart ache. I like creative vulnerability, the smell of ink, the curve of a guitar, the texture of canvas, and the intimacy of sharing absolute silence.

I like the journey an intense bdsm scene can take… the climb, building slowly, surrendering to the sensations, the dance along the edge, the pain, the rip in the fabric of time I can slip through, the strength of a safe word, deepening trust, the taking flight, the shattering and the pieces coming back together, the endorphins and adrenaline, the  finding myself back on earth feeling balanced and whole again, and the spiritual connection between a top and a bottom.

I like the silence and freedom that come from surrender, being in that head space… giving up control. I like a good strong intelligence, a sense of honor and integrity, a powerful mind fuck, I like sex that leaves me sore and trembling and a lover who doesn’t just tolerate my sexuality and sluthood but encourages and celebrates them.

Most of this for me — the kink, the passion, the art, the poetry, love and human connecting — is about having enough confidence to risk showing your soul, and to see into someone else’s at the same time, without flinching at the intensity or the  vulnerability. I like that electricity, that courage and that reward.