When we are fatigued
our thoughts are the shade of nightfall,
take me into your realm where I recall the perfect
line of your edges.
Our eyes, the fog of Autumn,
reflect the light of rivers
that quench our thirst
in lover’s pale rooms,
subdue the overwhelming
art from Chicago Gallery
Spring’s misty curtain hung over the daffodils and crepe myrtle. An indolent brook flowed past an arbor of tentacles crawling a trellis sagging beneath vines laden with clusters of clinging translucent nipples. To discourage white tail deer from ravaging sapling vines Grandfather snaked a green garden hose through lattice netting, a guise of unpredictable success.
Secluded behind tall pines and fields of wildflowers a stand of cotton wood trees sheltered creeping soft grass and velvety foliage. This sacred canopy was referred to as “the branch”. A rendezvous for lovers, a private place one did not visit unannounced though I did not know why. When I was certain my appearance would not be cause for flustered departures I could walk down, pluck ripe fruit unabashedly and sit by the stream in the hot sun, sweet sap dripping from my lips down my chin.
At the end of August summer exhaled it’s fiery breath and the grapes began to lose their grip on brown appendages, drops of liquid spilled from splits in distended peels. With overstated enthusiasm they were declared ready for harvest. Ruptured with a pestle and filtered, using a method known only to Grandfather, the fruit was processed in secret and stored in ceramic jugs. The result was a sweet, crisp, slightly underdeveloped concoction that was hailed as “phenomenal” but was actually merely palatable.
Rarely did Father materialize from his travels once I had been exiled. Somehow the harvesting of the grapes invoked his presence like a lark at dawn.
sitting in the grass,
she loves red kites
and sunlight and
a rush of wind
in her hair.
Can you feel her there?
She is the soul of the
She doesn’t want
to hurt or intrude on our world.
She once lived among us but
chose humbleness instead.
She means no harm,
has no need for gains.
If you see her
lift your eyes to hope
before she slips away.
INTERNATIONAL PEACE DAY SEPTEMBER 21,2016
Thank you Bernd!
You are my constant.
What do you see in me,
this cliché of self-doubt,
somehow darkly powerful
in your misconstruction.
You say I am not lost.
In your eyes I am primeval,
a child through a looking glass.
Your mind is my confessional
where no sin is grave enough.
I swim in the ocean of your mind.
disappear in diamond wells.
Translation to German by Bernd @ Neues vom Hutschi
Du bist mein einziger Halt.
Du siehst in mir
eine Schablone aus Selbstzweifel,
so dunkel und mächtig,
in deinem Fehlentwurf.
Du sagst, ich sei nicht verloren,
und in deinen Augen sehe ich mich,
ein Kind in einem Spiegel,
Dein Geist ist mein Beichtstuhl,
dem keine Sünden reichen.
Ich schwimme im Schweigen deines Ozeans,
entschwinde im Kristallquell.
superb writing, don’t miss the finale. Comments closed here.
The drip-drip of the bathroom sink keeps drip-dripping all through the night, and as we touch and kiss beneath sheets that stick to our skin, I ask how it would make you feel if you knew tomorrow would be the last day of your life. As I push myself inside of you, and you look into my eyes while gasping, I create a situation and ask you to be truthful, because although I like lying, I do it to be creative, not to deny the truth, so be truthful with me, I say, or else I’ll stop giving it to you. You blink your eyes to say yes, that you understand. So I build into a steady rhythm, one that’s not too fast and not too slow. Every so often you let out another gasp, but you never avert your gaze or say a word. Wiping the sweat from my…
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I enjoy most dandelion chutes
carried by a soft breeze
dispersing tiny seeds across a
The same breeze winding
erratic patterns through my hair,
whipping sea oats into a
frenzy of whirling dervishes
in the dunes of a deserted beach.
I love the softness of a cashmere
scarf the first time I slide my
fingers through it,
knowing it will never feel so
I like to discuss life’s meaning
over wine all laid back and philosophic
until it becomes too restricting, then
a long kiss to break
art by Raymond Leach
Writer/Just Plain Me 💞💌💋💞💋💌💋
ocean of fearlessness.
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