In search of sun.


A mis-spelled word usurped what might have been drink for me. Write melodically and I'm drawn like a lamb to milking ewe. Rhythm in prose catches me, unawares, until it's too late and there I am swallowed by it's nectar much like the spider lures the fly.

Throw away your blankets when their warmth makes you boil. Grab the coldest pillow at your breast and pull from her ice until sleep overtakes that violation which took from your dreams and contented brow.

Sleep on. Dream of lands where sun spends her time. Let bare your shoulders, your hip and spine. Lie contentedly on sand and drink sweet wine. A scent, a word, a thought, pure desire lay my sleep where sun doth expire.

Split the blind with light bring warmth. Welcome, welcome sun in morn. Stay until you must rest, yet grant my wishes to come back. Split the blind on every morn defend my soul from gray, cold norm.

Memories. 

Stories perched in the top of our heads. In our ROBBERS ROOST.

ROBBERS ROOST is the name of the treehouse behind the cabin. We go there sometimes, but not as often as we'd like --- to the cabin that is.

 We don't often go into the treehouse, hardly ever.

We go there sometimes, but not as often as we'd like --- into our minds that is.

 We don't often go into our ROBBERS ROOST of memories, hardly ever.

Memories. 

Stories perched in the top of our heads. In our ROBBERS ROOST.

A lovely place to keep them until we have the time or inclination to visit them again.

S~

   

Alexandra

When will I sit and write the words to our story? Words, like fireflies, that light me from within in their flutter of happiness. Good words. For now I"ll let those words pluck my cells. For now I want to feel them gayly within.
" You must come for me; you must find me, " I'd said to her.
 I knew she would when I looked into her eyes.
My Alexandra.

no title

What is the one thing you once believed that you now know is a lie?

For me, religion.

I remain in the anger stage of loss.

 My life would have been vastly different had I know differently. Never bad, not morally, as I have innate integrity but there would have been an unbridled energy to play uninhibited. I am, and always will be, a playful soul. I would have laughed and played in great stretches were I my own.

Angry, because the world lost the love and laughter of one gay soul ---- though I know there are countless others.

 Now. Now I am letting go of my anger. I must play from now on.

Barn birds

Wee little things but they caught both our eyes whilst driving by in such a hurry. 

Rock

When in Austria I saw a rock hanging from a yellow gate. Why does a rock hang from a gate, I asked myself. A rock hangs from a gate so that that gate will close because of the weight of the rock. Hmmm, who thinks of these things? I took note.

One day I'll understand why the rock hanging from the yellow gate made it's way into my mind.  One day.

S~