A Thousand Words

Waiting for my world to quiet down again so that I can write. I have a thousand words that need to be released, and I need the calm and solitude of days of rest – first to put the words into order for myself, and then to begin releasing them to paper or computer screen. I had a couple hours to myself the afternoon, in which I did nothing I was supposed to do. I did not write, I didn’t clean – I didn’t even sing.  I did nothing. It felt wonderful. I feel guilty for indulging.

Next week. I tell myself that next week I will begin in earnest. I will have time, my schedule will settle, I can do what I am supposed to do. Write. Sing. Keep house. Teach.  All the hundred things that pull at me and demand my attention. And after a day of calm and quiet solitude, I will give over my attention to those things. But not until then.



It is so cold this winter.  So cold, and I am so lonely.  Surrounded by my family, I am lonelier still, for they all have Someone, and I do not. I come home to a quiet house. It is mine, and for that I am thankful, yet it would be lovely to share it with my own Someone.  I imagine him all the time.  I know just what he looks like and the sound of his voice.  I know the touch of his hand and the smell of his skin.  And in moments like this, I retreat inside my mind, and drive away the dark loneliness with imaginings of a summer evening spent with my love.

It is July.  The night is warm and fragrant, the sky clear and bright with stars.  I lie in the grass staring up at them, finding the few constellations I know and imagining I see others.  There is movement beside me, and I look over to see my love come to join me in repose.  He stretches out his long form close enough to speak low, but not close enough to touch.  Until he reaches for my hand and curls his fingers around mine.  We lie together, counting stars and savoring the sounds of the night.  The chirrups and whirrs of crickets and night animals fill the air with music and we have no need for speech.  It is enough simply to be together. Until… Until it is not enough.

We have gradually closed the gap between us with movement, and I can feel the warmth of his body.  The teasing brush of his arm against my side as we adjust our hand-clasp.  And the air is filled now with more than just night-song.  There is desire now, and it surrounds us, blanketing us in a warmth of its own.  We turn toward each other, secret smiles on each pair of lips, as we consider what to do about our desire.  Knowing what will be done, and relishing the anticipation.

He leans toward me ever so slowly, lips hovering over mine. I feel his breath tease my skin.  My love looks into my eyes, daring me. Whether daring me to maintain the scant distance or daring me to close it, I don’t know. I hold myself still.  Daring him in return to woo me. I’ll not give an inch.  He must win me – though we both know he will, in the end.

He begins the seduction, turning his breath to other places, to the sensitive hollow behind my ear, trailing down my offered neck.  His upper hand trails across my arm – I can feel the heat of him, he is so close, and yet he doesn’t touch me.  My love caresses the space between the world and me – my energy, some would call it.  His almost-touch is nevertheless erotic, and I know he does it deliberately.  He wants me to beg, whether with words or a whimper for his hands and lips on my body.  I hold myself silent, exulting in this sensation.  The prolonged anticipation only builds the desire between us. The heat is palpable – both of us wanting yet waiting.  Time has stopped for us – there is no sense that we must hurry, we have an eternity to explore each other.  I am content to let him almost-touch me, to stoke the fire so that when we finally come together we might set our world ablaze.

And then it happens – his lips touch me, grazing over my shoulder, so unexpectedly that I shiver in response.  I feel my breasts tighten beneath my clothing, butterflies burst into flight in my belly, and I gasp at the sensations.  My love has taken me by surprise.  He knows it – had planned it – and I feel him smile against my flesh. I smile in return and turn my head to kiss him on the cheek.  He is a most devious man, and I am eager for every kiss and touch and surprise he has planned for me.

Write…just write…

That’s what they say – what I keep hearing.

Write, even when you don’t know what to write about – just set to it, and it’ll come.  I know that to be at least a little bit true…and yet I find that sometimes my mind or heart is too full to set onto paper (or, more accurately, computer screen) the myriad emotions or thoughts I’m processing.

Today is one of those days.  And it’s rainy and bleak outside.  What I really want to do is crawl into bed and stay there until the sun comes back out.  But duty calls.  I have obligations to meet, and crawling into bed isn’t an option.  Not today.

And yet I cannot bring myself to write the chapters I know are waiting.  Nor to edit the manuscript that is likewise waiting.  This is the closest I can come to blogging.  technically blogging, but not saying much…

Head is full of worry, heart is heavy with care.  I need prayer.  I know others who need it more than I – and so I do not ask for myself.

The trouble with having creative friends is that sometimes, you want them to create something just for you.  But the creative process doesn’t work that way.  Sometimes, they just create.  And it isn’t for you, no matter how much you may wish it to be so.  So you just have to give up hope.  Assume that nothing is for you, but appreciate its beauty anyway.  Love it anyway.  And maybe someday, when you least expect it, they will surprise you with a gift. Your very own creation, made with you in mind.  Maybe.  Someday.  But don’t hope too much, for it may never happen.

I saw this guy today at the mall.  He was young and fit and gorgeous. and pierced and tattooed.  just so beautiful.  at first, I only noticed that he was pretty.  maybe I noticed a tat, but I don’t remember noticing.  I am sure I didn’t see his piercings.  but then I glanced his way as he walked back to the stock room.  He had a tat on his calf.  his athletic, tanned calf.  in a split second I imagined running my hand up it, caressing and tracing over the image.

I am not sure why I have such a fascination with tattoos but somehow it has blossomed into a bit of a fetish.  just a little one.  when I see one that catches my eye, on a man or woman, I just want to touch it.  run my fingers over it as if I would be able to feel the texture of it.  of course, because I love men, I have a tendency to notice their tattoos more, but it really is just…I love them.

and then I got close to him.  asked him to check on a shoe for me.  and I saw his beautiful eyes.  arresting, although isn’t it funny that i can’t remember exactly if they were green or hazel?  I think hazel.  greenish, but not emphatic green.  and his piercing.  he had his cheek pierced. like a beauty mark, except that there was nothing feminine about it.  I think it must’ve hurt when he had it done.  I wonder if it hurts now?  well, it is definitely striking.  brings focus to his amazing bone structure.  wow.

Three Fifties

He smiled and beguiled; she was happily enchanted.  She gave her whole heart, unconcerned at his reserve.  Confident he would give his in time.  Love conquers all, after all.   But one day, another smiled – and he was beguiled.  He left, indifferent to her tears, her shattered heart beneath retreating steps.

She guards her heart, what pieces she recovered.  She holds the shards in tender hands, cutting others and herself on the sharp edges. Warning the others away, reminding herself of the pain of a shattered heart.  Keeping herself to herself, and the remains of her heart safe from smiling beguilers.

Despite her sharp edges, He comes.  He comes to her with tender eyes, gentle hands, open heart.  She tearfully offers the shards, once guarded so jealously.  “This is all I have.”  And day by week by month He helps her to piece it together again. Love conquers all, after all.

The Singer

She closes her eyes, breathes in deep.
Her hopes, her fears, her dreams and sorrows
– everything she feels –
pours forth from her soul and through her voice –
out into the world.
She can’t call the words back –
wouldn’t if she could.
As her words take flight, so does her soul.

Sing Your Song

I just thought this was pretty, and simply profound. Or is it profoundly simple? Either way, it speaks to me:
Be courageous and sing. Sing your song – Not anyone else’s, but yours.


a fierce wind

Today the wind is blowing – a truly spectacular March Wind.  Trash bins are rolling willy-nilly all over the neighborhood today (it’s trash collection day for most of us) and our recycle bin made it clear into the farm field before I ventured out to retrieve it.  Crunchy brown leaves leftover from the autumn fly about.  It’s the type of wind that, were I a child, I would stand facing with my arms outstretched, recklessly leaning into it, daring the wind to ease up and let me fall, or pick up and carry me away.

I don’t much like wind – it tends to chill me, even in the summer, but I like the idea of the wind.  I like the idea that if it blows hard enough, it can sweep away all the junk of life.  Sweeping clean the debris and rubbish I collect without meaning to.  So as I listen to the whoosh of the wind sweeping around the back of my house, over the chimney and through the trees nearby, I pray:  Lord – sweep me up in your mighty wind – sweep away the dust and dirt of my wayward self, clear the cobwebs from the corners of my heart – clear my inner sky of moody clouds, and shine your light fully and brightly into my soul.  Amen.


He settles me onto his lap. He listens to me sing, comforts me while I cry. Holds me while I sleep. Whispers to me through the pain, ” It’s alright sweet my baby. Papa is here. I’m here.”

Lord, hold me – I hurt.

O let me feel thee near me! The world is ever near; I see the sights that dazzle, the tempting sounds I hear; my foes are ever near me, around me and within; but Jesus, draw thou nearer, and shield my soul from sin.