reading in bed (or, delirium)
on discipline and nuance, I’m lost. the truth is, I was only thinking of you. tangible
you in my teeth.
as I was reading, over and over, page eighty-seven of some Murakami novel my thoughts kept turning to show and tell and you.
sweat and skin and repetition. head shoulders
knees and toes, the birds and the bees, my ankles in the air, eager you between my
thighs. page eighty-seven and something about Greece, the landscape, the waves
breaking on cliffs. the ways
you break me when I say please.
and it seemed like you appeared from my thoughts, with your cheek resting on my
forehead you said, “sweetheart, you have a fever.” and you took the book from
my hands and you kissed
the tip of my nose.
and that’s when I must have fallen asleep, but the truth is, I only dreamed of you.
Merry Christmas to All My Friends at Prose
Let this Christmas Day
and this holiday season
embrace our time together
singing the songs of angels.
May the joy you bestow
to others come back
to you on winged feet.
Let the peace in your hearts
waft into still air as you
cocoon yourself in
warm magic blanket
of Christmas morn.
Absorb childhood fantasies
and pleasures of youth.
May you wave a wand
and transform your existence
into one that is softer and brighter.
May your skies be so high
that you lose sight
of your troubles.
Embrace the genial flickers
of heartfelt charity.
Know that every sunrise
brings a new day.
at gliding clouds
and diamond stars.
May the feelings
live forever within
your heart, filled
with good tidings.
Beware of office
so you won’t have to
look for a new job!
(I threw that in to see
if you were listening!)
and may you be heir
to peace and goodwill
and a mighty New Year.
The Children Have Made Their Beds
Upstairs from the party,
sock feet quiet on hardwood,
wine spilled down the front of my shirt,
peering in doors in a strange house
looking for the bathroom, for cold water.
Precariously drunk and high, I choose
randomly a door, white and brass handled
like all the others and push.
Of course it is not the bathroom.
The nanny looks up, startled,
two children asleep on a large
bean-bag chair under the window.
I fumble an apology, looking around the room,
at the two beds on each wall,
perfectly, nautically ship-shape,
anchored to the wall, floating
on blue carpet.
Side by side, heads so close their yellow hair
looks tangled together,
the brothers sleep on an island.
Backing out, closing the door,
I slide down the wall and sit on the floor
and remember the bedroom I shared
with my brother,
sailing through the night on
in the morning tucking sheets
hauling in ropes cast out in the dark,
sunlight new in the sky
shining into my eyes, so I never
see him rise up and leave,
never see into the future where
I sit alone,
wine like blood on my chest.
on a wanton
autumn walk down
by random Thought.
Our Super Delicious Christmas Crambo
<font color="red">The Uncles are red-faced and merry, as Grandma is sipping the sherry</font>
<font color="green">The hour's but quarter to seven, and biscuits are starting to leaven</font>
<font color="red">In the tree hangs a cat, quite canny, with tinsel streams from his fanny!
<font color="green">Held in my room I resist, for around my family I musn't exist</font>
<font color="red">Little John tugs the tree to get kitty, sending tinsel en l'air ('tis quite pretty)</font>
<font color="green">And the Christmas tree falls to the ground, sending little sparks all around</font>
<font color="red">Old Aunt Mary with her bad knee, one step, two, she trips over the tree</font>
<font color="green">And sweet Cousin Mini kissed big burly Moe, there they stand under the mistletoe...</font>
<font color="red">Hark, jolly big 'Ma sings merrily, for fallen Aunt & tree isn't sad tragedy!</font>
<font color="green">But there was a box squashed by the tree: a delicate present unfortunately...</font>
<font color="red">The clay owl statue lost its beak; alas, it was an antique.</font>
<font color="green">Pa walks past the tree and grabs a box from the coffee table which holds the rare, precious, unbreakable, identical, triplet-owl-statue from the nearby antique store.</font>
<font color="red">But alas, as good ol'Dad turns around, he falls over Aunt Mary tinsel tangled on the ground.</font>
<font color="green">A gasp escaped from everyone there; on the floor with the owl, Pa's toupee very near!</font>
<font color="red">Till Cousin Brun-Hilda shrieked, "a Rat!" while chucking her heirloom red cloche-hat</font>
<font color="green">And though it was toupee not rat, she struck it quite hard with a bat, and while we looked on, encouraged by song, the owl was purloined by the cat.
<font color="red">Woof! Peewee the dog jumped off the sofa, sniffed and snatched the toupee belongs to ol' Pa</font>
<font color="green">Oh No cried Dad and covered his head, the rest of his face had turned quite red.</font>
<font color="red">Peewee the dog ran out in a flash, burying the toupee with the rest of his stash.</font>
<font color="green">Falling snow on frosty lands, Reflected from the earth below</font>
<font color="red">Arose the fullness of helping hands, bringing joy from where ever they go.</font>
<font color="green">Through freezing ice and burning sand, hearts are bright and all algow.</font>
<font color="red">Young singer's ring Jingle Bells gladly, while chanting out loudly...
<font color="green">Carolers arrive, such a joyous sound, hark what have we here, a man digging up the ground.</font>
<font color="red">In a large hat, Dad mutters and digs, where has that f***ing dog put my wig?</font>
<font color="green">This man needs help, the ground's frozen hard, come on carolers, let's dig up the yard!</font>
<font color="red">The carolers scramble all over the snow, and then one yells "found it!" as she pulls from below...</font>
<font color="green">The carolers clapped and cheered. Then, look! jolly big 'Ma brought them some Christmas treats</font>
<font color="red">Peewee the dog came out of his hiding place behind the wall sheepishly as the carolers began to sing Deck the Halls gracefully</font>
<font color="green">Without noticing the toupe looked worse for wear. Dad plopped it back on his head and presto he had hair.</font>
<font color="red">The yard full of holes, hands like ice, come inside, said Dad, it's warm and nice.</font>
<font color="green">The room filled up with much chat and good cheer, the tree stood askew, the floor had been cleared.</font>
<font color="red">Ahh... well-now, we're ready then perchance, for music and a good-old square-dance?</font>
<font color="green">Square dance sweaty, some romantic winks, food and gifts and loads of drinks.</font>
<font color="red">Everyone danced well into the night, Dad did some breakdancing and gave gran a fright.</font>
<font color="green">After a headspin he was bald once again, but moved into a freeze with a big fat grin.</font>
<font color="red">Then Ma called him into the kitchen, whilst music still made its merry din.</font>
<font color="green">The Uncles on cue began to tease, what should they tell Santa, if you please...?</font>
<font color="red">The kids didn't know what to believe— Bells rang out! and they had to go see.</font>
<font color="green">Outside a figure (much like Pa's), but outfitted in red! It MUST be Santa Claus!!</font>
Sunshine of My Mind
I rage and scream over
the darkness within me,
imprisoned within bars,
draining my angst.
I cry for water and air
of my sustenance,
and crawl to daybreak
parading once again
in the marching band
of polished noon,
slowing the bleeding
of my soul,
leaving the window
of my existence
into the sunshine
of my mind.
10 Badboy names from a name junkie...
I plucked the following names from the Quantum Consciousness:
01) Kade Coldwell - prickly antihero/badboy*
02) Dartem Magahag - crazy villian/badboy*
03) Wes Gussek - nonchalant antihero/badboy or villian/badboy*
04) Jevin Voaddel - sophisticated antihero/badboy*
05) Zyfen Jox - comedic antihero/badboy*
06) Xayne Lock - unsuspectingly cheeky antihero/badboy*
07) Gattem Skell - dark/brooding antihero/badboy*
08) Tomaj Iilioni (eel-E-on-E) - quietly lethal antihero/badboy*
09) Hexin Quill - no-nonsense antihero/badboy*
10) Payce Reddington - methodical antihero/badboy*
* these descriptions are simply the notions I got with the name.
If anyone reading this wants to use a name or part of a name, please do. I offer them freely. You may also tag me on the post you use a name in, I'll read it and comment.
| another_proser |
The wind sweeps
into its arms
So that today's
can last longer
...some random answerings...
(*What timing for this deadline, having just gotten my period… Though that’s not what prompts me to write. My "time-of-the-month" comes and goes…there’s a trail of blood… no one knows… I don’t obsess, I don’t pms… I’m lucky I suppose. The occurrence is of no consequence in the physical realm, though it provides plenty on which to reflect. I am skimming over, in this write, some obvious issues associated with this theme: Is menstruation a curse? Why do “civilized” women particularly suffer it? Why is childbirth easier for “primitive women” than for modern ones? I’m skipping over these questions to examine the strange coupling of male / female inquiries offered in the challenge question itself. I hope no one will interpret it as a personal affront… I take this as it is: an opportunity for further examining various lines of thinking… particularly those appearing to be seeped in misandry/ misogyny.)
The Challenge prompts us to consider extremes of pain, segregated by gender experience. I immediately pause at the psychological aspect of it, the whole context… The incidents proffered have very different bases. While a comparison is not being “asked for,” it is implicitly already drawn! The suggestion being that for each party, the worst possible gender-specific pain is to be imagined… For men, selected is not just an assault against their person, but against “manhood.” For women, the pain is of an internal biological nature. It is not an act of violence in-and-of-itself, but rather forbearance, tied in with considerable social esteem… although the contempt/ sense of punishment, which women tend to attribute to it may make it seem like an assault even though it obviously isn’t one.
Somehow this seemingly non-confrontational challenge manages to irk me terribly, raising the specters of serious underlying problems in our society pertaining to male/female inequity. I note an in-between-the-lines narrative that forms in the framing of the challenge: …Ladies, describe menstruation and/or the Pain of childbirth; Gents describe what it feels like when someone kicks you in the source of that pro-genitive Pain.
Historical Fiction Fascinates
Miriam-Victim of Babylon by Sam Antone is historical fiction based on a story told in the Book of Mormon. It is a tale of love kept strong under torture and threat of death. It highlights a family's faith and courage. The biblical tone with rich descriptions kept me interested in this period piece.
Mr. Antone's setting and characters reflect the ancient time before Christ. The dialogue brings you into another time period. This book offers a 'good read' on a plane, train, or bus. It stimulates discussion for any book group.
Don't let the religious basis of this book stop you from reading it. It is a tale woven to teach and entertain.