On the verge of poetry

It's about thirty minutes till the clock ticks over and April 1 arrives. April Fools? I don't think so. It will be National Poetry Month! And like last year, I'm going to write a poem every day and post it here. 

This year I'm taking part in Not Without Poetry, which Shanna Germain decided to put together to take the place of one of the poem-a-day sites from last year. Each day there will be a prompt. On Monday, April 4 the prompt will be one that I came up with. I'm rather excited to see what folks come up with for that.

So, I'm ready. Now just waiting for April!

Plus, I'll be blogging about Momentum: Making Waves in Sexuality, Feminism, and Relationships, the conference I'll be attending this weekend down in DC.  

Lust for life - Happy Valentine's Day

Full Bloom

unfurling

curve of petals

gift of sun

rain and earth

elements transformed

soil to stamens

biology and magic

interwoven branches

tangled roots

mycelium the web

underground

connecting

feeding

creating

so one day

flowering

fruiting

life

* note: I recently saw Avatar twice in the span of 3 days (maybe first time ever for a movie) - and I've always had "a thing" for the way nature works. I think it's incredibly sexy. So, rather than ribbons on red heart-shaped boxes - this is where my mind went this Valentine's Day. 

Fighting fire with fire

Shanna Germain was kind enough to send me a poem for my other blog (what other blog? you might be asking) - which is called Poetry Liner Notes. Yes,  I have another life. My erotic writing life and my other writing life have been mixing for awhile now, but now I think they're going in the blender.

So, please take a minute to wander over and read Shanna's hot poem, Kindle, and read what she says about how the poem came about.

So where's the fucking erotica?

I've been posting lots of ... don't know what the hell I've been posting lately. But nothing sexy, that's for sure. Like I said, I'm in the summer doldrums. I just got a rejection notice - for poetry that I'd submitted months ago. Typical form letter - just plug my name in. And so I'm feeling kinda down - doesn't help that it's gray and rainy again. And yeah, I just published my own chapbook and did a reading, but rejection still sucks.

So I thought I'd post a few things - flashers that I'd done for Alison's contests. And yeah, I've fallen behind in posting these to the point where I don't know which ones came first and I know there's some missing, but what the hell. These are the ones I was happy with. I'm also trying some of the other fonts because I'm sick and tired of the one I was using. If anyone has a suggestion, I'm open. And then after I post these I think I'm going to make myself a pot of tea and do the post I've been avoiding.

The four flashers are in order: Impenetrable Night, Rewind, Unlaced, Unwashed Denim. Hmm. I wonder what's up with all the "un" things I do.

*****

Impenetrable Night

Headlights switch off, and we plunge into darkness. New moon. Overcast conceals any starlight. Far from the tiny town, and late, so most lights are off. Pitch-black and I can't see a damn thing. But I feel your hand on my thigh.

Our eyes try to adjust. The shrubs just dark shapes as we slowly make our way. We follow our noses towards the vaguely sulfurous pool. Our clothes come off and are piled together so we can find them later. The air is warm on our skin.

We don't speak. We enter the water as if by instinct. It's deep. We swim towards what we think is the middle. I stop and tread water silently, listening to the liquid lap against your skin as you circle me. Then silence as you dive.

Your hands clasp my ankles and pull. Underwater there is no up, no down. The darkness, the silence even more complete. You move against me, find my mouth and kiss. Your hands swim my body, find my spring.

The sound of our breath is thunder as we break the surface. I grab your cock and pull you towards shore. I kneel in the muck, take you into my mouth and taste the mineral tang clinging to your skin. Your hands on my shoulders turn me, press me forward, hands in the dry sand. You mount me in one swift move. Straining against each other we see stars against our eyelids. In the distance a coyote howls.

*****

Rewind

She types the name of an old lover, hits search on a networking site. None of the results are him. She does a general search, adds the last profession she was aware of. There, near the bottom of the results. She's sure it's him. Calls up the page. Finds his email address.

Rewind. She talks to a old friend, one who also knew him, but wasn't aware of the illicit relationship. Her friend laughs as she recounts stolen moments, reveals details never before admitted out loud. She wonders, what if they were to meet again? Now?

Rewind. She writes in a journal. Describes in lascivious detail all their encounters. Rubs against the chair as she remembers. Their bare skin together. Their mutual fantasy. His whispered suggestions in her ear.

Rewind. She buys a card and remembers one she got him. A large shiny red (heart) and lame you're the best lover ever inside. She'd slipped it under his door in a moment of wantoness. He'd smiled. Rewarded her later.

Rewind. She finds an old college notebook while cleaning the basement. From the class she took with him. She turns the pages, looking for evidence of his then overwhelming presence in her thoughts. Feels his lustful stare again. Hears his voice again.

Rewind. She finds a picture of her old car. The one they stood next to for half an hour talking, then kissing. The one they then steamed up the windows of.

Rewind. She meets him.

*****

Unlaced

Unfamiliar atmosphere. Flashing lights, pounding music. Bodies in motion, pressed against each other. Don't normally frequent places like this, but I'm here at your invitation, looking for you, hopefully not in vain.

When I see you, relief rushes through me like an orgasm. Even though your back is turned, I'd know that ass anywhere. Clad in skin-tight black leather, moving in time to the music, it's enough to take my breath away.

As I approach through the crowd, I notice your shirt. White lace, nothing underneath but tanned skin. Tight across the back to show shoulder blade, waist. Long sleeves cling to your shapely arms, ruffles drape your wrists. I want to kiss the pulse hidden there.

Your thick black hair sways with your body. I reach and push it aside, kiss your neck. You don't turn, but I hear your greeting deep in your throat. My finger traces your spine from collar to leather edge, feeling the glimpses of skin. You press your ass back at me. I reach my arms around you, find your nipples poking eagerly at the fine open fabric, pinch them.

This sends a jolt to my clit. My hands roam across your chest and find the lacing that carefully holds the shirt closed. Slowly I loosen the strings, letting fingers stray to hot skin. Lower and lower. I find your navel, slowly sink into that puckered hole. Lust gets the better of me. I grab at leather, find your cock hard.

*****

UnWashed Denim

Feet. Bare feet. Legs. In denim. Legs. More legs. Even more legs. Velvet. Sofa. Legs. Denim. Faded. Legs. Rumpled. Legs. Cut off. Bare legs. Rolled up. Legs. Arms. Skin. More skin. A shirt. Unbuttoned. Arms. Skin. Closed eyes. Bare feet. Ankle bracelet. Arms. Navel. Nipple. Hair. Short. Hair. Long. Arms. Hands. In hair. On back. Neck. Skin. Lips. Parted. Closed. Meeting. Skin. Denim. Undone. Soon. Skin. Fingers. On zippers. On skin. Lips. On denim. Wet. Hands. On skin. In denim. In. Around. Hard. Skin. Legs. Around. Under. Over. Lips. On navel. On navels. On nipple. On nipples. Around skin. Soft skin. Hard skin. Smooth. Denim coming off. Smooth. Legs. Around arms. Around lips. Pressed. Lips. Into. Legs. Together. Into. Skin. Wet. Around. In. Pressed in. Closed eyes. Tight. Pressed tight. Into. Fingers. Pressed into. Here. There. Here. Again. Hard. Hard skin. Pressed into. Here. There. Again. Wet. Skin. Again. Wet. Velvet. Again. Wet. Denim. Wet. Lips. Wet. In. Arms. Legs. Lips. Denim. In pile. On floor. Again.

Inspired

Yesterday was an inspiring day in blogland. If you want to read all about it, go to Sommer's blog - she's done a review. One thing that got us all going was P.S. Haven's incredible erotic art. And one of his pieces, Expectations, got to me enough that I ended up writing a short poem, an ekphrastic/found poem. I just used images and some words/phrases of his text and rearranged until it started touching on what it is about his piece that draws me in to the extent it does.

Anyhow, here's the piece by P.S. Haven - (his etsy page linked here) and then the poem. I used his watermarked image on purpose. 

Expectations

hands

grip

arms

sheets

words

what if?

not real

never tell

never see

swear

ready

I'm not afraid

Oh, and later today I'll have a new installment of Beginner's Ball - so check back later!

Unintended Consequences - Waiting - Part 2

Randy Lagana's I'm Waiting

Why do we wait? What are we waiting for? I know this is a theme I keep returning to. Yesterday in a comment on my previous post, JM Stone said "I've 'lurked' through my whole life." And I knew just what she meant.

There was always a side of myself that was never shown to anyone. Not family, not friends, not lovers - though they might have gotten a peek. Over time though, the wall's been crumbling. And last year, with the unwitting help of people close to me and not so close, I took up a sledgehammer and started pounding away. Ended up here.

So what was I waiting for? I turned 50 last year. For years and years I always thought if I made it to 50, I'd be okay. Not sure why I had that thought. But I remember having it even when I was in my teens, twenties and later. So now I'm here and 50 is a memory - of a very interesting year. Unbelievably happy in some ways and heartbreaking in others. Hmm. Isn't that called life?

Friends. They've always been important to me. Even during the many years when they were few and far between. I sort of shut myself away when I was a teenager. In retrospect I think that was a form of self-preservation. Knowing where my thoughts were at then, I probably could have gotten in a hell of a lot of trouble. But I came home every day after school and studied. I listened to lots of music and read and spent time just thinking. Daydreaming. And it's funny, none of the few friends I had in high school have ever turned up on Classmates. And though I keep having people tell me I should join Facebook - I'm not going to (I'm saving that rant for some other time) - I prefer to move forward with my life. 

Later on in college I finally started making some friends. Still have one of them. *Waves* After college I met my husband. And for some reason, getting married and having a "home" gave me the courage to start venturing out a bit more - though I did tend to hightail it back at the slightest bit of weather. Having kids though - that pushed me out into the world. I made friends so that my kids would have friends. I did things I never would have done before because I wanted to do them for my kids.

Now my kids are pretty much all grown. My oldest is on her own (this year was the first we couldn't claim her as a dependent on our taxes - ouch!). Her sister is an adult trying to figure out what direction she wants to take. Our son is going to be turning sixteen this summer, and I know from past experience that with or without that driver's license, that age is a real turning point. It comes down to this - they don't need me in the way they did when they were younger. So? What to do?

Well, I've been doing it for years already. I started writing again. First poetry. I've made a lot of wonderful friends through that. Unfortunately lost some too. Then last year I started getting back into the erotica that I'd tried out a few times before. But I never had the guts to really step out there. It was damn scary. But I did. So far I haven't had any "bad" reactions to what I'm doing - though I've been careful and slow about telling folks.

And it's funny, this feels like home. If you're here, you might understand. I'm being "truer" to myself than I've ever been before. That part of me, that I now recognize in the writing and blog posts of others, isn't something to be afraid to let out. I've made some new friends in the past few months that feel like kindred spirits and it is just so wonderful.

As for life, well, we'll just go on living it. If you had of told me a year ago that I'd be where I am today - I would have laughed in your face. So, what are the unintended consequences of waiting? Sometimes by waiting you can get right to where you need to be.

Here's a poem that's about five years old. I thought I had a poem with "waiting" in the title and searched. Sure enough (when you have close to five hundred poems it's easy to forget what you have). And since it just seemed perfect for where I am today...  though - hehe - I may revise it a little, we'll see.

Waiting To Be Complete

It rains, and she knows
there will be more weeds to pull.
They grow faster than the pile of dishes
in the sink, the laundry spilling over the basket.
Books linger on the floor
by her bed, unread and needing
to be returned to the library.
Fabric, folded and stacked,
remains uncut, summer
skirts will have to wait
until fall to wrap around her.
Paint cans sit patiently on the
kitchen floor unopened.
Poems with marks and scribbles are
scattered everywhere, waiting.

Peeking out

View from Alcatraz taken by Mr. Erobintica last summer.

Funny how little things make you think big thoughts. 

A couple of weeks ago I sent Donna George Storey a poem that I wrote, oh, about three years ago. I thought she might appreciate it in light of her series of The Mile High Club - themed blog posts. She did. Then she asked me if she could post it on her blog. Cool. But. This particular poem had been published last year in a print journal. Under my full name. And yeah, I have the rights to it and could have just said yeah, go ahead. But. I'm kind of a stickler for giving credit where credit is due. It's common knowledge/courtesy/practice to mention places where works have been previously published. 

So, I thought about it. And thought about it some more. I'm not ashamed of my poetry. I'm not ashamed of my erotica/smut/porn/whatever. This was something that came into play when I was coming up with a "pen name." So I'd set it up so that at some point in the future all the various writer personas could merge. But I didn't expect it to start happening so fast. 

Well, best laid plans and all that. I told Donna that yes, she could post my poem. It's kind of thrilling and scary at the same time. Like good sex. It's that loss of control. 

I know there's plenty of erotic authors out there who keep a tight lid on their private life. And I respect that. Don't think any the worse - I understand - and would never, ever think of "outing" someone. But for me, well, secrets are something I don't like living with. I did for most of my life and it was hell.

So, now I'm peeking out at the view. It looks ... real. I like that. But. Not quite ready to make a full break for it. So, I probably won't link the two places ... yet. And it's most likely I'll link from here to there first. I don't think any erotic folks will be shocked at my writing poetry. But, I know that some folks that know me through my poetry, or just know me, would be shocked by Erobintica. 

The secret of happiness is freedom. The secret of freedom is courage."

                                                           ~Thucydides (c.460-400 BC)

Metaphor of fabric

 Today was not spent writing, but rather working with a couple of friends on a quilt project. I've never quilted before - not really - there was that PTA project too many years ago to remember...

This project is different because it is related to writing. In one of my other lives I'm a poet and late last year one of our circle, a dear friend, took his own life. Grief has a funny way of handing you a magnifying glass and forcing you to look at how you are living. That's partly why I'm here now - I'll be damned if I waste any more time being "afraid."

One friend is a fantastic quilter and she suggested we do a lap quilt to present to our departed friend's lover. And it's interesting how metaphor works as well in fabric as in words. Maybe when it's done I'll post a picture of it here - it's going to be beautiful - just like my friend. I miss him tremendously.