Month: March 2014

Love lost and Friendship

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Window to your Soul

 

I’ve opened the window to your soul,

divine as the mind’s eye you seek,

the spirit of your sensually of thee,

your gaze, opened wide, of me takes its toll.

 

Weak, not of me, your eyes seem to speak, a nexus

of my heart, the nature of inseparable

erotic bonds, held closely by a fine thread

stretched only by the distance of time.

 

I get closer to your beauty, reaching,

touching you softly with every word,

foreshadowed, lives beginning, teaching,

quixotic, effervescent, free as a bird.

 

I read from your eyes, your very most inner being,

and continue to read from the pages of your life.

You start with exotic fruits of passion, flowers

that fills me with a sense of nature’s divinity.

 

Soaring through your mind’s eye, Paradise exists,

fluffy clouds above give warmth to ocean’s blue,

the clamor of the ocean’s roar, so hard to resist,

The temptation within me, exulted and so true.

 

whilst lost in time and thought, I seek a place,

away from outside intervention, existing deep

within the recesses of the dreams I have of you,

You’re guiding aura, brilliant, and radiant at peace.

 

I fantasize now more than ever, a desire, evermore,

to open your heart, diminish our distance apart,

to travel the land and oceans to seek your love, before

the sun sets, closing your eyes for a nights rest,

silencing this thundering beat, until we finally meet.

 


 

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Friendship is like…

 

If friendship is like a shadow,

then what am I?

I take all my friendships

seriously.

I liken my friendship to a

large luscious tree;

encompassing all

who happen to rest beneath

its cool and peaceful

veil of green leaves.

The feeling of tranquilly

and trust you get

when you lean back

and let its bark massage

and relax you very inner being.

Its golden aura

surrounds then penetrates

your soul.

This is what I feel in my

friendships. To wrap my friendship

around your essence like the

shadow of a tree.

 

Love and Lonely

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Thinking of You…

 

 In the deepest corners

Of my mind

My thoughts

fill of you.

The pleasures of

your touch tickle

my inner soul.

I drink from the

spring of your

sweet, sweet youth.

This once unreachable

yet gentle milieu

grows closer as

my pondering lifts

my Spirit. My memories

of you dance in my heart,

as I celebrate the day we

reunite; I continue,

lost in time,

thinking of you.

 


 

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The Blues

 

The blues are playing on the jukebox.

Melancholy sounds swirl through the air.

Its monotone beat enters through my

fingers as I tap the red and white

checkerboard tablecloth.

My sadness a mystery.

But as I look around the answer is quite

clear. The faces I see are happy

and full. Wine and women, a folly to

watch, disregarding the blues as it plays.

Is that my answer I ask, to join in the

desperate search for this happiness?

Alone I sit pondering these events as they

happen. Alone, I feel as the blues continue

to play in the seemly distant background.

Ignored by others, but me.

A prediction?

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I’m re-writing another story I wrote in the early 90s and I found this passage: Fort Hillary Clinton, named after an early twentieth-first century president, was rather large even by most earth outpost standards. It consisted of two divisions, being that there were six continents on Gibson’s planet, the other continents had two regiments each. — Will this, could this become a reality??

Finally I’m Finished!

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Today was a good day, as far as being a writer.

It took me 29 years to finish my first novel. That happened yesterday night. I almost broke down and cried, (don’t worry I played my man card). I felt that relieved, I felt that happy. Nevertheless, another feeling hit me just as hard. I felt hurt, not the painful whacked upside the head hurt, but emotionally hurt.

I find this troubling, because I am starting to doubt myself, fear is raising from the depths — what if I messed my story up, didn’t edit it well enough, what if it isn’t good enough. I really wish I had a professional editor go over it for me, but I don’t think I even have 100 pennies right now to get an editor.

Twenty-nine years. I totally lost that much time. About the time I started writing the novel my world was revolving around my children, home life, my job and I was going to school, studying journalism. I was writing for a few newsletters and a magazine, so I was busy.

I always had it in my mind as what I wanted to do and I had outlined, on a couple dozen 3×5 cards all the stories I wanted to write. In 1985, I started on my novel, SunRun. I ended up writing about 2/3 of it then life interfered. I then wrote an ending but couldn’t figure out how to bridge the gap between the front end and the ending of my story.

In the middle 90s, I took a couple of creative writing classes and figured out how to bridge that gap.  But, I put the book away because life got in the way. Moreover, my Credo, at the time was, “I’ve got a job and I am too busy.” And I had a lot of fun in the 90s, some of my best years were in the 90s!

But my writing begin to suffer, because I wasn’t writing enough. A long time ago, I use to write in a journal or on those 3×5 cards. I barely got anything done during those “fun” years. By 2006, I was given a buyout and the opportunity to retire and I took it.

About this was the time I had to find something to do or I would have to go and look for a job at Burger King or become a greeter at Walmart. None of those things were going to happen (they still might, I gotta eat, you know). So, I picked up pen and paper (really, I used a computer), and got to working on that novel.

I took some of the notes from that creative writing class and decided that I should revise my book and the title. As far as titles go, I am not that good in picking a title. So, I changed the name to Operation: SunRun. And of course I did more revising and editing.

In the meantime, I got more ideas and wrote three short stories and because my Mother had passed away, a little earlier, I wrote a book of poems in her memory. My writing then took a different course.

I was hooked on poetry, considering I took a couple semesters of poetry at the local college in the 90s. I finished My Mother’s Garden and had it published in 2010. Even that book of poetry took more time than I wanted to. Now that I think about it, I had about 70 poems already written, but when my mother passed away, I wrote a lot more for her.

Now is the time for me to jump on my writing, get it, and keep it going. I am still hurt and a little sad that it took so long. I know I shouldn’t say it but I am nearing the end of my life, okay, maybe not, if I am lucky I could get another 20 or more years to go. Longevity lives well in my family and I am looking forward to what they have achieved.

In the meantime, the printed version of my novel languishes over there on my desk. In fact, it’s still sitting there, on my desk, collecting dust, thank goodness for computers.