Blind Passion


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Quick Note:

This poem was birthed on my site from my latest post in the fictional series, “You Don’t Get to Say Goodbye.” Transferred to this site by my own permission…lol

Blind Passion

You see her eyes
Not their color
Passions. Likes. Dislikes. Inner thoughts. Emotions.

You see her face
Not the eyebrows
Telegraphed desires.
Warmth of her smile
Truth of the glimmer from those aforementioned windows to the soul

You see her body
Not the proportions
The manner in which she moves
When she dances, she’s a smorgasbord of poetry in motion
When she walks she’s a samba
When she talks her body whispers and screams as needed
When she’s gentle, her movements mesmerize
When she touches, the penetration of electricity transits your nervous system’s railways

You hear her voice
Not the soprano or alto
Chords strung in tune to your heart
Strumming away at your soul as a siren invitation
A craving to hear the soft sweet nothing whispered into an anxious ear

Knotted emotions unstrung
She waltzes your passion wherever and whenever she likes
Whether she realizes or not
Captivation a welcome dream to play with in those nether regions between sleep and awake
Dreams but not dreams
Fantasies but, oh hell yes, fantasies
Dark, playful eyes tease and please and beckon and walk away
Cradling your control every step of her way

You buy into passion
Every minute twitch of a lip
Every slight rise of her brow
Every sensual wiggle of her ass on the dance floor
Every demure stroll in her otherworldly gait
Every smile she conjures in you
Every smile she displays on that lovely countenance
Every breathless look she steals from you despite your willingness to give them freely
Every hope which blossoms
Every flirt she throws your way

Blind passion drives you
Whisks you against the current of reason
Driving dreams and lusts to unrealistic levels
Then questions their lack of reality
Causing confusion, delirium, more fantasy, more craving
Knowing your best move calls for withdrawal
You plunge ahead
Telling yourself, “I can handle this”
Knowing full well,
You cannot.

Sweet bliss would entail lips to meet
Underneath eyes meeting
Underneath minds greeting
Overtop hearts beating
Underneath moon gleaming
All to sate one, all-encompassing reality

Blind passion…

And more?…

For You



Becoming Who You Are

Each day reaches out
Not with one hand
Uncountable tentacles

Each day we struggle for grip
Unknowing which grip saves
Simply lifting our hands a chore

Each day we grasp something we probably shouldn’t
Many become the repeat visitors
Familiarity holds us down when we touch
We stretch for our talent
Our heart
Our soul
Our identity
Our survival

Each day evil appears to hold sway
Not only grasping our hand but stifling our lives
Smothering every glimmer of good within
Know that someone sees a better you
Know your heart is loved
That place
That sense
That child
That beautiful inner smile and laughter
Someone knows, sees, understands

Each day we become who we are
Each minute we become who we are
Each moment we become who we are
Each thought we become who we are

It’s not enough that I see
Were that true, I’d be a savior
You must learn to see
Throw off the glad hand of those who use and abuse
Throw of the guilt, the shame, the horrible thrown at you
Embrace your talent
Inner child

Each day each remain beautiful
Despite the crap thrown at you
Despite the dark tentacles you grasp
Despite what you see and hear coming at you
Blinded by that which is meant to blind

Each day know the best in you is seen
More important
See yourself
Not the person loaded with blame and shame and darkness
That’s just baggage you’ve held too long
Drop them and embrace the beautiful person you are
Should you ever need to see her
Because you cannot see
Should you ever need to feel her
Because she’s so far gone
Should you need to hear her
Because your ears have tuned out of positivity
Simply ask

We all need someone to help us remember at times
Because we lose ourselves
Finding the way back requires daily work
A helping hand
Becoming who we are always happens
Each choice
Each thought
Each smile
Each acceptance of love – or hate
Sculpts us whether we like it or not

Becoming who we are never falls easy
We struggle to hold that which stands noble
Our dark, dark world does not allow for much light
Unless we  practice reaching for our strengths and beauty
We will follow the emotional muscle memory we’ve embraced

You’re beautiful
Worthy of goodness and love

Become who you are by holding these close
Become who you are by dropping the baggage of others
Become who you are by embracing your magnificence

Becoming who you are is a moment by moment choice
Thought by thought
Release or hold
Your choice, no one else’s

Who you are is always better than who you hold yourself to be

Musings on a Sunday Evening

Musings on a Sunday Evening

Where to begin. At the beginning. A very good place to start.

Words feel useless. Nothingness. An odd, yet not unfamiliar feeling for a writer. I’ve been here before. Never with this understated sense of urgency, however. This urgency, fueled by age, brings to bear a hollow piece of my life on the tip of my writing utensil and the blank page of my muse.

Where else would I flee? Where else may a creative run to shadow his grief and shade it just so, just right, lending his sadness a normalcy which truly does not exist, at least not with most humans. That’s the feeling, isn’t it? That sadness and loss is never felt as deeply, as painfully, as heart-wrenchingly debilitating.

I wonder at how my dearest Ayesha has avoided this pall. Hope. That slim teaser of the emotionally avalanched. The energizer of a lackluster heart which has known far too much disappointment. There remains hope that she still lives. Hope that she still carries in her heart a love for me which warms my soul with a mere thought of her.
Every UK notification on my blog’s stat line revives the glimmer of tomorrow becoming a better day. Despite all, the ghostlike peeks from that land across the sea convinces me the eyes belong to her, she of high intellect and deep emotion. She, from dreams and follies of the heart, who strolls my dim corridors even now.

I sat at this favored table on the intercoastal with the intent of ameliorating my heart’s heaviness. I’m all over the place. Strains of “We’ve Only Just Begun” from last night’s musical reverie twist and wind their way throughout my inner sanctum, scraping its walls, depositing scratches and smears in chaotic wake.

How fragile we are. Even when we reach a point of inner strength, certain life-wounds may crop up from ninja darkness to slash at you despite the fact of you knowing better. Too much love to give. None to return it.

I’ve discovered there exist far too many rules about loving someone. You can’t love her, she’s far too flighty, too this, too that. In my final analysis, I love who I love, without the good sense of analytically ruling out their instability, neurotics, and life damage.

All the love songs. All the love letters. All the love poems. All love. Each deliver pain. Just as there is no good without bad, no wrong without right, no courage without fear, there is no love without pain. What price pain?

I suppose I am the high-risk lover. I open my heart to damaged women who will strike me down as a matter of self-defense because they each cannot comprehend that a man may love long and deep and sincere. The gamble, the risk, comes in one woman finding it within herself to step back and make a better choice. A choice which allows her to believe in something long beaten down within her. That someone could love her for who she is with all the scars and damage and tears. That she might be able to circumvent the arduous task of wading through decades of pain and be gifted a restart button.

I do suppose this is too much to expect of anyone. But what if? What if she would take that chance? Alas, I see it now. The damage is too great. This scenario plays out in my life at this very moment. I’ve rekindled myself to a good place, yet the pain and damage of past wrongs and abuses haunt me.

Oddly, despite my reticence and repugnance to bold and overbearing personality traits, I find myself in a position of strength of sorts, in emotionality. (I didn’t even know that was a word! LOL!).

I had my heart ripped from me two and a half years ago, yet I cobble together the shattered pieces of my heart and deign to set forth on a final journey to love. My “shattered illusions of love” as Stevie Nicks so eloquently put it, are now pieced back together in a wary, but not unbelieving me. Stripped of much if not all of love’s illusion, I still maintain I can carry a love affair deeply, romantically, lovingly, for the rest of my days – but, and yes there is now a “but,” I must not be alone in this quest. She must join me.

Isn’t that the same as its always been? Isn’t that the grail I’ve searched out all these years? Absolutely. Now, though, the discernment of her commitment is more under siege by my heart’s eye. We love who we love. We have prerequisites as to temperament, looks, emotional heights and depths, intelligence levels, and a host of other criteria both known and unknown to us. The unknow, that “X Factor” becomes the crux of the process.

Of this I’m certain. I am drawn to whom I’m drawn. This does not make others less desirable; it simply makes them less desirable to me. I desire whom I desire, and I do not question that fact. I may step back and move with caution, but I will not step against the trust I’ve built within myself that I have grown and matured and can be the “me” I’ve always imagined. I am there, learning each day to move one more step forward, believing in love, companionship, relationship, and harmony.

I’m not foolish enough to believe there will be no strife, no struggle, no pain, but I’ll be damned if I will give up the ghost of the hope of love within my heart and become an emotional automaton for the rest of my days. This may preclude me from discovering the love I’ve longed for in this life, but it will not see me giving up.

I’ve been abused in my life emotionally. Torturously. I do learn. That will never happen again. But the fact I will not be denigrated as in the past does not mean I will become bitter and reclusive. No. I am too valuable for that. I am too worthy of love to allow damage to my life like that again. I own too large a capacity to love to allow someone to trample me again.

I not only possess the ability to stand my ground, I know I possess the strength to keep myself safe. And still I love deeply. At least, that is the aspiration.

Hmmm. These meanderings have gone on a bit. I sense I’m at a stopping point. The sun has long since dipped completely behind the foliage to my left, the shadows on the water to my right reveal the coming of night. The temperature has dropped into the 50’s and my fingers on this keyboard now stiffen with the chill.

For what it’s worth, the musings of a poet outside the poem this evening. I will attach a picture of my perch and head off to dinner and a good night’s sleep…

Your Kiss Hurts


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Your Kiss Hurts

Your kiss hurts
The beach, hand in hand.
We danced on the sand
Stars applauded
Breezes lauded
Laughter filled our hearts
Two souls refreshed in the night air
Free from all which haunts us
Varied, intense, whimsical, shared
A welcome picnic table
Your back against my chest
We owned the world in those hours

Those precious seconds
Releasing from our hug
Your kiss on my cheek
Those more precious seconds
Your lips finding mine like a master magician
One instant the end of a magnificent evening
Next moment
Romantic connection
Unbidden yet not undesired
Precious seconds of no loneliness
No pain
No disconnected  feelings
Simply your lips
The universe
All that is kind and good and free and special
All pressed lightly, softly, on mine
I knew life would get better
I knew we could move forward
I knew the fledgling spark of something special

You’re leaving.
No chance
No rebuttal
No alteration
You’re leaving
You’re leaving
You’re leaving

Your kiss hurts
There’s been more painful kisses in life
There’s been more dramatic crashes and burns
Your kiss still hurts
Something genuine,
Spur of the moment
Felt as though hope would rise once again
Life would blossom
Loneliness would melt
Dancing would billow to life
Laughter would wend its way to vocal cords unbeckoned

One kiss
So sweet
Sears with echoes of the past and fears of the future
Held in place by incredulity
By a heart needing better treatment

Your kiss hurts
I will cherish its beauty and simplicity
Past the pain
Weave the experience into my dreams
Embrace all manner of positive emotion the act kindled
While another piece of me  dies



Isn’t this life interesting. I decided to pick up this “draft” titled “Revelations.” I began writing this the day after my birthday, which is December 13th. At The Inspired Mic Thursday evening (January 16, 2020), I used a “revelation” in my presentation.

Earlier in the day on January 16th, this thought popped into my head – “The life I thought I knew, in retrospect, was never really true to my vision…at every point.” This is true on the big things (like I once believed our government was dedicated to helping us…) to the small things (like my mother telling me in the late 1960’s that my 4000 bottle caps I’d collected were worthless trash and should be thrown away).

I really miss my naivety when it comes to our government and courts. If any shred of confidence in our court system remained after the O.J. Simpson fiasco, they all disappeared with the four-years I stressed through battling for my children in court.

Other things popped up at that Inspired Mic, like how living in the moment is not always great. In fact, the experience can be downright shitty.

Soooo, I ran across the beginnings of “Revelations” today. I enjoyed this beginning. There are only 5 lines written, the first 5. I will now pick up where I left off over a month ago, simply because the writing intrigues me and I desire to complete this. I’m sure my thoughts and conceptualizations are different now than then, but I’ve learned this does not matter.


Concepts and thoughts and weaving dreams
No futures guessed, no calculated streams
Simply life and flow with all myriad highs and lows
Time to reach out, live, smile till it shows

Our cycle waxes and wanes like our heavenly moon
Answers to our questions never arriving soon
Yet life excites itself to gladness, sadness, and all between
With only truth left unseen

Truth, that nebulous, ever-changing beast
Never appearing apparent nor alive in the least
Elusive, not effusive, certainly not inclusive
Of the true needs welling from deep inside

No amount of thinking or emotions felt
Extends our allotted time dealt
We work so hard not to die
While life sits back, draws a sigh

Our foolishness decorated by our creations
Our distractions fully laced gyrations
Refocusing all we should be learning
We wonder why we’re always yearning

One day, all this ends
Our loves, our families, our friends
What will we think when we know our folly
My bet says we won’t be jolly

But know this, the time is ever ripe
No need to argue, battle or snipe
Our lives, your life, rests easy before you
So simple yet difficult to embrace what’s true

Live your moments when you can
Live the soft times, woman or man
Live the hard times though filled with torment
Live your life best when in the moment….

Ah, who knows. I’m at work and I need to be getting back to it. I thought I might do something to clean up some of my “beginnings” which never attained the “moment” where I spent the time to finish. One down, who knows how many hundred to go… 🙂



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Time is such an aggravating concept. I just spent a couple hours writing a steamy-hot love scene. Now, it’s time I head home from my Starbucks-writing-perch, but I need to write something a bit more poetic and less intense.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the scene I just wrote, but for me, writing a poem right now would be like a metaphoric cigarette. LOL! It’s true!

Lets see what I can do in ten minutes. I’ve written poems in less time than that. Still, I’d like to have more time…the lament of every writer ever…


Hey, I’m just warming up, ok? I mean, I almost broke a sweat writing that piece.

No, the sex scene, not the four words…

Ok, here goes…


Have you ever enjoyed a breath?
Like the one you draw when spring reveals itself to your soul?
Like a midsummer night’s dream breath?
Like Autumn in a pile of leaves and memories?
Like the clean breath of snow, crisp air, and anticipation of hot chocolate?

How about the breath you take when you realize you’re alive?
You know that one,
The breath when all hell has broken loose in your life
You’re gripping the steering wheel of your car
Instead of the steering wheel of your life.

Yeah, that one
When you know you only own the moment the air goes in
Is held
And let out in a slow release of all the shit you’re dealing with
Leaving you with the knowledge that you live.
You live.

Have you ever enjoyed a breath
Like the one you draw in while drinking in her tantalizing eyes
Like the pools of forever and wistfulness wrapped into one
Like a resurgence of youth colliding with the wisdom of age
Like a refreshing cleanse of not only your lungs but your soul.

How about the breath you claim when you self-actualize your presence on Earth
You know that one
When awareness speaks to you in honest tones as well as concepts
And you know all the answers because you cannot remember any of the questions
Leaving you with the knowledge that you love.
You love.

Have you ever enjoyed a breath which tells you you’re ok?
Like the one you’re taking right now
The breath entering your lungs, held, if you dare,
Exhaled with calm.

Enjoy your breath
Allow it to fall from your lips in comfort
Allow yourself to feel
Free yourself to breathe
Live life
And love…

Crap! 14 minutes. Oh well, I’ll take it! LOL! 🙂

Like a Lover’s Touch


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Like a Lover’s Touch

Mediterranean music scores the background to my muse
Thoughts pass over you like a lover’s touch
Wan smile creeps in, ever so subtle
Alongside the dream of your words to me once these stanzas run their course

Reminiscence works magic through phrases and concepts of love
Your agile mind and magnificent heart cause me to yearn
Knowing full well of The Grecian Urn
Yet, that hope which lies ever deep and ever powerful, radiates my soul with warmth

I know, which means I’m certain, of the storyline of this heart
Each beat carries you in loving arms
Whether you or I realize
Midnight moons and oceans apart, nothing could be of higher desire, than to gaze into your eyes

Time allows us limited opportunity, pitifully so,
Which pumps these expressions from deep within
Your eyes capturing this text and converting it to tears
Tears of love, stands as sole motivation for the keypad, the fingers and the heart which drives them

Thoughts pass over you like a lover’s touch
Wan smile steals in, silent, knowing, desiring, glad for you in this world
Alongside the shadows of the dream of love…and…

Christmas Day Musings…

My Children

Some of the smiles I’ve lost
You find and return with care
Some of the pride that’s fallen
You lift up by simply being you

Some of the heartache which grips me
You peel back talons of pain
Some of my joy stripped by thieves
You return without an effort.

Everything in life can be difficult
Everything in life can be trying
Everything in life is not perfect
But you make every moment worth it

Thanksgiving Day

Thanksgiving Day

Crimson emotion flows your heart’s stormy seas
Tears blush torment across your windshield of life
Forgotten dreams… worse, the one’s remembered
All splayed before inner eyes which hold back remorse

All the deeds done and gone
Aspirations litter your familiar walkways
Yet, the actions not taken and the steps withheld
Haunt and gnaw as though their lives fell meaningless to time

Cherish those heartbeats, weak and weary
Fallen but breathing time in your mind
Some, far too late for finding fruition
Others, not waiting, stand anxious as the moment of their birth

Sadness never need crawl in your darkness
As a wretched, loveless, forsaken thing
But deserves a champion’s seat next to who you’ve become
For that melancholy threads itself within your soul

Be thankful for that person within
Your hallowed silent trials and foibles
Know yourself. Know yourself better than anyone
Discover keys to forgive each step along your way

Make every day your Thanksgiving Day…

Broken Heart

From the ongoing serial fiction story, “You Don’t Get to Say Goodbye” on the site, “Fictions Footsteps

Broken Heart

Dreary become the days of solitude and loneliness
Beacon-searching no longer a thing
Sad songs resonate with a wounded heart
Tears released as the songstress sings
Too much sadness, too little joy
Heart too mangled as an abused little toy
No respite for a deep-feeling soul
All that remains is that abysmal hole
The one in his heart open, inflamed
The one left to fester, unexplained
Hope, a faint, far distant memory
Hope, a fading, far distant memory
Hope, a dying, far distant memory

Dreary then, the days of solitude and misery…