What do you do when the body has given up?
Does the mind go first?
Can you still find the freedom
in letting yourself go?
Some people, pity,
they go there whole lives without anyone
How?
Is the heart broken forever?
Are the Friends gone because
of all your lies
i never felt so alone
till last night
this morning
still alone
i know you
are there
but you
are
not
I forgot how
to dance
Dance in
the streets
Love,
Live,
Laugh
Where are my priorities?
Have i sunk my feet
so deep in the sand
that i am forever
sunk?
What happens when
right in front
of you
is
Life?
Future?
Innocence?
Is innocence forgotten?
Lost?
Where have i gone?
I'm Lost
I have so much
yet so little
Never self-pity
I'm just a torn
Soul
Blessed
yet, untamed
Stop leading with the Mind
Learn to lead with the Heart
Be happy
Smile
Enjoy the fact you are
still alive.
Breathing.
Never regret.
Just move forward.
Stay true
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
These are the Secrets on my Pillow: Part 2
...Luca sighs and buries his nose into my neck. Such a soft mouth, such sweet breath tickeling the fuzz on my skin. I let my fingers move down his shirt, slip between two metal snaps, and pop them open to reach the fiery skin of his chest. My hands have a will of their own, circling around and around until he can stand it no longer and pushes my hand down. I rub hard, then squeeze. He moans some more and nibbles some more at my ear and whispers all hot and wonderful in Italian.
In the dim light I see the head of his cock peep out from the top of his pants. A drip of semen glistens and I touch it with the tip of my finger. Tap tap, and then I begin to swirl the sticky liquid around the nub of his rod. Two of his fingers dive into my depths, pull out, and dive in again, pushing me up against the back of my seat. I'm about to cry out. He claps a hand to my mouth just in time, muffling my groan.
A timid tap on my shoulder. I start, stunned out of my reverie. I am sweating. I look at my watch and see that two hours have gone by. I am being asked to return my seat to its original upright position. We are preparing for landing...................................
Part 3...
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Charm
We can never go home
We no longer have one
I'll help you carry the load
I'll carry you in my arms
The kiss of the snow
The crescent moon above us
Our blood is cold
And we're alone
But I'm alone with you
Help me to carry the fire
We will keep it alight together
Help me to carry the fire
It will light our way forever
If I say shut your eyes
If I say look away
Bury your face in my shoulder
Think of a birthday
The things you put in your head
They will stay here forever
We no longer have one
I'll help you carry the load
I'll carry you in my arms
The kiss of the snow
The crescent moon above us
Our blood is cold
And we're alone
But I'm alone with you
Help me to carry the fire
We will keep it alight together
Help me to carry the fire
It will light our way forever
If I say shut your eyes
If I say look away
Bury your face in my shoulder
Think of a birthday
The things you put in your head
They will stay here forever
Why Men Cheat
Contemplation, lack of dedication, quick penetration,
Too much information about other women's sensations,
Flirtation, not man enough to commit to masturbation
To avoid the temptation,
Lack of conversation, causing frustration,
Navigation to another female who's a poor imitation.
The lies, the suspense when you cheat,
Deceit,
The finesse, her caress,
Taking your woman's kindness for weakness.
Lack of trust, the lust,
The attraction,
Fantasies about taking action,
The plight, causing arguments leading to fights,
So you can try to sneak out another night.
The misconception of your woman's perception,
She's been aware of his ways since the inception
But didn't want to face the rejection
And as she stares at her reflection,
She realizes why men cheat,
There is no exception.
"Love him or leave him but, never feel like you need him".
Too much information about other women's sensations,
Flirtation, not man enough to commit to masturbation
To avoid the temptation,
Lack of conversation, causing frustration,
Navigation to another female who's a poor imitation.
The lies, the suspense when you cheat,
Deceit,
The finesse, her caress,
Taking your woman's kindness for weakness.
Lack of trust, the lust,
The attraction,
Fantasies about taking action,
The plight, causing arguments leading to fights,
So you can try to sneak out another night.
The misconception of your woman's perception,
She's been aware of his ways since the inception
But didn't want to face the rejection
And as she stares at her reflection,
She realizes why men cheat,
There is no exception.
"Love him or leave him but, never feel like you need him".
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Panic
I am Going into Serious Meltdown mode................
I sit on my bathroom floor at quarter to Eleven
Panic Attack sets in after my Warm shower
As i listen on Western Ave to the Ambulance go by
I welcome Joy
because i am not the one in it.
My heart is Dying
My lungs collapsing
My Heart Racing
Not one word can save me now
My mind goes blank
for every thought that fires my Attack
is You
I need to Erase this
Erase the You
Im so sorry Sir,
I can not do this anymore
Please
Save me from all this Pain
Deep Breath sets in
Releases the Anger
Release the Pain
Release the Fear
Release
comes tears.............
All or nothing
I sit on my bathroom floor at quarter to Eleven
Panic Attack sets in after my Warm shower
As i listen on Western Ave to the Ambulance go by
I welcome Joy
because i am not the one in it.
My heart is Dying
My lungs collapsing
My Heart Racing
Not one word can save me now
My mind goes blank
for every thought that fires my Attack
is You
I need to Erase this
Erase the You
Im so sorry Sir,
I can not do this anymore
Please
Save me from all this Pain
Deep Breath sets in
Releases the Anger
Release the Pain
Release the Fear
Release
comes tears.............
All or nothing
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Strike me Dead if I make this same Mistake Twice
How should I know? The enormous wheels of will
Drove me cold-eyed on tired and sleepless feet.
Night was void arms and you a phantom still,
And day your far light swaying down the street.
As never fool for love, I starved for you;
My throat was dry and my eyes hot to see.
Your mouth so lying was most heaven in view,
And your remembered smell most agony.
Love wakens love! I felt your hot wrist shiver
And suddenly the mad victory I planned
Flashed real, in your burning bending head...
My conqueror’s blood was cool as a deep river
In shadow; and my heart beneath your hand
Quieter than a dead man on a bed.
Drove me cold-eyed on tired and sleepless feet.
Night was void arms and you a phantom still,
And day your far light swaying down the street.
As never fool for love, I starved for you;
My throat was dry and my eyes hot to see.
Your mouth so lying was most heaven in view,
And your remembered smell most agony.
Love wakens love! I felt your hot wrist shiver
And suddenly the mad victory I planned
Flashed real, in your burning bending head...
My conqueror’s blood was cool as a deep river
In shadow; and my heart beneath your hand
Quieter than a dead man on a bed.
Sex...
Sex
by Michael Ryan
After the earth finally touches the sun,
and the long explosion stops suddenly
like a heart run down,
the world might seem white and quiet
to something that watches it in the sky at night,
so something might feel small,
and feel nearly human pain.
But it won't happen again:
the long nights wasted alone, what's done
in doorways in the dark by the young,
and what could have been for some.
Think of all the lovers and the friends!
Who does not gather his portion of them
to himself. at least in his mind?
Sex eased through everyone,
even when slipping into death
as into a beloved's skin,
and prying out again to find
the body slumped, muscles slack.
and bones begun their turn to dust.
Then no one minds when one lover
holds another, like an unloaded sack.
But the truth enters at the end of life.
It enters like oxygen into every cell
and the madness it feeds there in some
is only a lucid metaphor
for something long burned to nothing,
like a star.
How do you get under your desire?
How do you peel away each desire
like ponderous clothes, one at a time,
until what's underneath is known?
We knew genitals as small things
and we were ashamed they led us around,
even if the hill where we'd lie down
was the same hill the universe unfolded upon
all night, as we watched the stars,
when for once our breathing seemed to blend.
Each time, from that sweet pressure
of hands, or the great relief of the mouth,
a person can be led out of himself
Isn't it lonely in the body?
The myth says we ooze about as spirits
until there's a body made to take us,
and only flesh is created by sex.
That's why we enter sex so relentlessly,
toward the pleasure that comes
when we push down far enough
to nudge the spirit rising to release,
and the pleasure is pleasure of pure spirit,
for a moment all together again.
So sex returns us to beginning, and we moan.
Pure sex becomes specific and concrete
in a caress of breast or slope of waist:
it flies through itself like light, it sails
on nothing like a wing, when someone's there
to be touched, when there's nothing wrong.
So the actual is touched in sex,
like a breast through cloth: the actual
rising plump and real, the mind
darting about it like a tongue.
This is where I wanted to be all along:
up in the world, in touch with myself. . .
Sex, invisible priestess of a good God,
I think without you I might just spin off.
I know there's no keeping you close,
as you flick by underneath a sentence
on a train, or transform the last thought
of an old nun, or withdraw for one moment alone.
Who tells you what to do or ties you down!
I'd give up the rest to suck your dark lips.
I'd give up the rest to fix you exact
in the universe, at the wildest edge
where there's no such thing as shape.
What a shame I am, if reaching the right person
in a dim room, sex holds itself apart
from us like an angel in an afterlife,
and, with the ideas no one has even dreamed,
it wails its odd music for pure mind.
After there's nothing,
after the big blow-up of the whole shebang,
what voice from what throat
will tell me who I am? Each throat
on which I would have quietly set my lips
will be ripped like a cheap sleeve
or blown apart like the stopped-up
barrel of a gun. What was inside them
all the time I wanted always
to rest my mouth upon?
I thought most everything
stuck dartlike in the half-dome of my brain,
and hung there like fake stars in a planetarium.
It's true that things there changed into names,
that even the people I loved were a bunch of signs,
so I felt most often alone.
This is a way to stay alive and nothing to bemoan.
We know the first time we extend an arm:
the body reaches so far for so long.
We grow and love to grow, then stop, then lie down.
I wanted to bear inside me this tender outcome.
I wanted to know if it made sex happen:
does it show up surely in touch and talk?
does it leak from the mind, as heat from the skin?
I wanted my touching intelligent, like a beautiful song.
by Michael Ryan
After the earth finally touches the sun,
and the long explosion stops suddenly
like a heart run down,
the world might seem white and quiet
to something that watches it in the sky at night,
so something might feel small,
and feel nearly human pain.
But it won't happen again:
the long nights wasted alone, what's done
in doorways in the dark by the young,
and what could have been for some.
Think of all the lovers and the friends!
Who does not gather his portion of them
to himself. at least in his mind?
Sex eased through everyone,
even when slipping into death
as into a beloved's skin,
and prying out again to find
the body slumped, muscles slack.
and bones begun their turn to dust.
Then no one minds when one lover
holds another, like an unloaded sack.
But the truth enters at the end of life.
It enters like oxygen into every cell
and the madness it feeds there in some
is only a lucid metaphor
for something long burned to nothing,
like a star.
How do you get under your desire?
How do you peel away each desire
like ponderous clothes, one at a time,
until what's underneath is known?
We knew genitals as small things
and we were ashamed they led us around,
even if the hill where we'd lie down
was the same hill the universe unfolded upon
all night, as we watched the stars,
when for once our breathing seemed to blend.
Each time, from that sweet pressure
of hands, or the great relief of the mouth,
a person can be led out of himself
Isn't it lonely in the body?
The myth says we ooze about as spirits
until there's a body made to take us,
and only flesh is created by sex.
That's why we enter sex so relentlessly,
toward the pleasure that comes
when we push down far enough
to nudge the spirit rising to release,
and the pleasure is pleasure of pure spirit,
for a moment all together again.
So sex returns us to beginning, and we moan.
Pure sex becomes specific and concrete
in a caress of breast or slope of waist:
it flies through itself like light, it sails
on nothing like a wing, when someone's there
to be touched, when there's nothing wrong.
So the actual is touched in sex,
like a breast through cloth: the actual
rising plump and real, the mind
darting about it like a tongue.
This is where I wanted to be all along:
up in the world, in touch with myself. . .
Sex, invisible priestess of a good God,
I think without you I might just spin off.
I know there's no keeping you close,
as you flick by underneath a sentence
on a train, or transform the last thought
of an old nun, or withdraw for one moment alone.
Who tells you what to do or ties you down!
I'd give up the rest to suck your dark lips.
I'd give up the rest to fix you exact
in the universe, at the wildest edge
where there's no such thing as shape.
What a shame I am, if reaching the right person
in a dim room, sex holds itself apart
from us like an angel in an afterlife,
and, with the ideas no one has even dreamed,
it wails its odd music for pure mind.
After there's nothing,
after the big blow-up of the whole shebang,
what voice from what throat
will tell me who I am? Each throat
on which I would have quietly set my lips
will be ripped like a cheap sleeve
or blown apart like the stopped-up
barrel of a gun. What was inside them
all the time I wanted always
to rest my mouth upon?
I thought most everything
stuck dartlike in the half-dome of my brain,
and hung there like fake stars in a planetarium.
It's true that things there changed into names,
that even the people I loved were a bunch of signs,
so I felt most often alone.
This is a way to stay alive and nothing to bemoan.
We know the first time we extend an arm:
the body reaches so far for so long.
We grow and love to grow, then stop, then lie down.
I wanted to bear inside me this tender outcome.
I wanted to know if it made sex happen:
does it show up surely in touch and talk?
does it leak from the mind, as heat from the skin?
I wanted my touching intelligent, like a beautiful song.
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