Tuesday, January 15, 2019

Flashback to BHW 2006

Typing with my eyes closed - 

Which means I'll have more typos than usual and that I may fall asleep at some point...
I just feel so many things right now.
I want to cry, but I can't say why.
I feel nauseous, and my shoulder hurts.

The date was alright...
mr. husband was too tired.
he apologized a thousand times for being no fun,
but it happens.
He began to offer a make-up present of some kind,
but I cut him off--
How about you take me snowmobiling next weekend?
Silly man.
As if I need to be spoiled all the time...
Ok, it IS my preferred method of handling, but still.

I need to start preparing for my mid-term exam.
I have an assignment to prepare a bunch of poems and present them to my group on Tuesday...
Blah.

I lost 7 pounds.
Woot.
Even better, my muscles are getting muscley again.
How much do I love my body when it's strong?
Thaaaaaaaaaaat much.
Maybe a little more.
My hair is getting long.

I had something to say...
what was it?

As I drove home from dropping off the sitter,
"Black Velvet" came on the radio...
fucking sexy song.
I wanted to call in an audio post of what I did next,
but that would have required stopping the car and at least two extra hands.
So I didn't.
But it's possible that if you sit very still, you can still hear the sounds of my breathing echoing through the night air, sliding and slipping toward you across the globe.

I really should be in bed,
but I felt like meditating.
And this is the place for that.

I dont know.
I just don't.

I remember my earliest day dream was of a lush clearing in a forest/jungle,
with a pool of water, filld by a quiet waterfall. There was usually a unicorn grazing nearby, and I was always accosted by a prince or a knight at some point.
I can't believe I was 20 before I started having FANTASIES. 

The world feels inside out right now.
It feels dull where it should be sharp,
and loud where it should be still.
My body aches, but my spirit soars.
I will .
Why can't I just be...........this or that?

Sleep well.
Or at least fuck well

http://boredhousewife.blogspot.com/2006/02/typing-with-my-eyes-closed.html?m=0

Monday, January 7, 2019

Greatest Show(wo)man


When I sing along to this song
in my car,
or while doing the dishes,
or (silently) while I'm walking along a muffled forest trail,
I imagine you are singing the chorus to me.
Except that I know you would never think of those words,
and that you could, in fact, hold out forever, especially regarding me.
I don't know who could get you to crumble,
or if I'd even want you to crumble for me.
I'm letting go of this, and you.
Time to move on
(yet another Tom Petty song, ha!)
time to get going,
what lies ahead I have no way of knowing....

Freedom is a Winged Thing

She stood at the edge of a broad field,
the land dropping away to rocks and waves below.
She felt the wind's currents rushing past her,
pressing the salt air up and over the dry grasses.
She looked out at the islands,
the sun just sliding up behind them.
She smiled a little, no teeth,
and burst into a run
for the few yards between her and the air -

          her arms spread wide,
she caught the updraft and soared.
Her hair fluttered behind her like a cape,
her bare feet poked out from her long skirt,
like a little bird's.
She always loved the feel of the wind on her face,
the warm pockets and cool pockets,
reminding her of that time
she wrapped herself around
the man named Freedom
as they wound through the desert on his Harley.
She closed her eyes and climbed higher,
forgetting Freedom and his too-big cowboy boots
(but not before smirking at their lie).
When she felt the cool mist of morning clouds all around her
she flipped and dove straight down again -
hurtling toward the shore of the nearest island,
in an almost-fall, but still just barely in control.
She slowed her descent and fluttered to earth,
cheeks rosy from exertion, hair a little bit wild.
Hey, mama...
She turned at the sound of The Voice -
the one that gave her wings.
Her whole being glowed,
Hey, yourself.
He pulled her to the blanket he'd spread out on the sand
and asked her to tell him a story.
They lay back and looked up at the soft blue of the new day's sky.
She traced a path along his arm
as she told him the tale of the pirates and the mermaids;
he didn't know where the fairy tales ended and her truth began,
so he believed every word.
Somewhere around the part where the pirates walked into the sea
he rolled onto his side and watched her face.
Her voice had grown softer,
and tears slipped silently down into her hair.
The pirates were bad-guys in her story,
unequivocally -
murdering innocents,
stealing from those who'd worked hard to earn honestly -
but
but still
her heart ached for them
because they loved the mermaids so much
that they lost their ability to reason -
they lived on the sea,
so they knew they couldn't just walk into its crushing depths,
but their eyes were filled with golden love for the green-eyed beauties.
She remembered that night,
and how the moonlight glinted off the hilts of their swords
as they left this life.
She wept
knowing this sweet man at her side
would follow her into the sky if she asked.






Sunday, December 23, 2018

Sick of Being Sick

My brain is fogged
like the glass of a car's windows
on a morning where the balance
between the inside and outside temperature is off-kilter.
My thoughts bend slowly around corners
intersecting each other with slow nods of recognition,
then shuffle onward in diverging paths.
They drip like cooling chunks of melted caramel,
and progressing through an entire idea
is like walking through that same caramel, hip-deep.
I just want to give up -
and, not exactly fall, but cease to stand,
and be buoyed along the river of sticky golden milk and sugar.

I have filled hundreds of tissues in the past 36 hours.
I have coughed and sneezed and sipped on tea.
Maybe the pressure in my sinuses is squishing my brain
and making me foggy...
or maybe it's just the snot,
overflowing my nasal cavaity
and filling the folds that wrinkle the surface of my brain.

Wednesday, December 12, 2018

Scraps of Poetry from the Road

You awoke the dragon
but it has only just occurred to me
that you have no intention
of taming it.

            ~ ~ ~

There was Jon Long,
who wasn't,
and John English
who only spoke french.

            ~ ~ ~

I push so many boundaries 
that I'm surprised maps don't spontaneously combust 
in my presence.

            ~ ~ ~

The more distracted you are
the less attracted I am;
and yet I remain a tattered little moth,
drawn to the flaming mass of you.

            ~ ~ ~

Those other boys?
They are placebos;
you are my addiction.

Friday, November 30, 2018

Sylvan Wondering

I had wings
when I believed I was Favored.
But now
the ground shifts beneath me.
I don't know where I stand
or you either.
I want
             too much
and maybe
some of the wrong things,
but it's hard to tell
which trees in this forest
are rotten wood.

Wednesday, November 28, 2018

Me Time

I drove home with poetry floating in my vision.
I walked into a storm of boys needing my love
which makes me feel useful,
but I just wanted to grasp the wispy words
before they floated away -
and even the phone is buzzing;
all 4 of them needing me at once.
Uncharacteristically,
I wish they would all just leave me alone
with my thoughts.
The soft edges are sharpening and I just
want to hide in the foggy pages of my mind
a little bit longer.

****

As I washed my face tonight
(I've been doing it
with fervor and precision
ever since the girl
doing my facial
told me I should)
I  imagined my sister's perfect complexion
and I thought of the countless hours
she has spent on her appearance;
what have I done with that extra time?
I have laughed
and indulged
and fucked
and slept.
No regrets.

****

...and you should know I couldn't be obsessed
with you because it would be
too easy
to get caught up






Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Super, Man

Sometimes I see in you the Clarkest of Kents.
I feel your fragility,
your flaws,
your utter
breakable
                ness.
But other times...
you are bulletproof,
able to fly.
I feel your power and
stand in reverence;
I see the expanse of your mind
spreading out around us all
as you enfold the subtlety of human grace
in your Spock-like logic.
You conduct a symphony of humanity,
the herd pressing around you,
hoping for a bit of wisdom to filter through
or more likely,
just drawn to your light
without any sense of why,
or of how close they are to Greatness.
I usually see in you a smooth perfection, 
a wall of strength.
But in the sunlight
you are dappled with just a
hint of cruelty,
a dash of conceit,
a whisper of carnality.
Together,
this makes the palette of you
even richer.
But I'm not fooled by glasses;
Clark Kent can fly
just as high
   without his cape.

Sunday, November 11, 2018

Filled/Hunger

Sometimes I say he is my Prozac,
because I was a ball of boy-crazy
pheremones before I met him.
For 33 years
my entire focus was boys -
crushing on them,
chasing them,
dating them.
That ended when I met him,
like flipping a switch.
Finding him has been
the realization of unconditional love.
He satisfied every craving I'd ever had.
It is a relief -
like coming home after a long absence.
That, plus mutual adoration,
year after year,
is my salvation.
And it might seem kind of weird
how utterly devoted I am to him -
or maybe it just seems a little weird to me
because of the wildness that lives inside me.
Having a crush
is a very natural state for me -
my brain wants that to be the flavor
of every ounce of affection I feel
for any man I'm not related to.
It is
   inconvenient
at times.

I would live a thousand lives all at once,
if I could,
but instead
I'll just love
a thousand times.

Saturday, November 10, 2018

Invisible Sins

I see right through you
Or is that just my own shadow?
I condemn you
For doing things I've imagined doing myself.
Which is not to say you aren't guilty.

Letdown

And I was so mad at you.
But I guess I should have been mad at myself
because I dove in pretty deep -
allowing you to captain my ship
allowing you to inspire me
(like a muse)
but I am not amused
anymore.
I misjudged you,
and that sends a slim wave of grief across my heart.
I wish you were real.
I miss the adrenaline rush of electric connection.
I miss the sparks flickering across my synaptic gaps,
neuron to neuron,
Zip, zip, zip!
You were the catalyst
I am the epiphany.
And now I can't get past
my own revelation.

R. E. M. Sleep/Religion Lost

Deep in the folds of my sleeping mind
I stood in the foyer of my childhood church. 
It was the present,
and I was crisply aware that I didn't belong. 
I looked about, waiting for Tim, the head of our congregation when I was a teenager;
I wanted to unburden myself, and considered (skeptically) whether I might find relief through this ancient empty ritual.
When I entered his office
It was you
Standing there to greet me.
I smiled, knowing you would open your arms wide enough to hold all my troubles. 
I sat and you leaned across your desk,
Staring intently into my eyes as I spoke, softly, steadily. 
I felt as light as air
And a little smug - 
You are no preacher, no man ordained by god. 
And yet
You'd been able to bless me. 
I knelt before you
And held your eyes at I unbuckled your belt. 
I felt the warmth of your body against my skin
And I took you into my mouth. 
The dream slowed down here,
And I traveled through time
Relishing the taste of you, the feel of my tongue as it swirled around the smooth flesh filling my mouth... 
I don't know how dreams work, 
But I lived in that moment for what felt like hours....days....
And then I stood 
and you smiled and took my hand
And then I woke up. 

Thursday, November 8, 2018

Come Inside

I wonder what you would think
if you knew
how truly
filthily
dirty
my mind is?
Can you even conceive of the delicious things
I would do
to you?
You have probably learned
not to open the gates
to that particular flood of images,
and you certainly have more self-control than I,
or you would have a string of decomposing affairs in your wake.
Or am I the only one
who strains against the confines of society?
And no, it's not my lack of gods
that allows this portal to gape open
(like my legs under this skirt)
but maybe it proves to me
that they couldn't exist,
none of them,
(The ornery little imps).
But if they did exist, even just one of them,
I would find Him and look him dead in the godly eye
and ask him what it's all for.
And then I would slide my hand up his thigh
and grab him by the long beard
and swallow his entire being
into my own.
Because
I'm not exactly prideful,
but
I am the only god I need.
It's easy to say that when you don't believe in gods, I suppose.
But I am the one that can make my world heaven or hell.
Yours too, if you duck behind the curtain and join me here in my daydreams...

Dirty Thoughts About You

Today what I wanted most
was to find a giant beanbag chair or couch or hammock
and curl up with you and just doze, chat, doze...
and then there are days 
when what I would want,
if I were given the gift of that proximity
would be to slide hands to hidden places and 
press clothing up, down - away -
until I could envelope you in soft wetness
and sigh into your neck,
a tangle of limbs and slow, 
rhythmic connection,
sleepiness building to urgency
and then the melting spread of pleasure and release...

Polished Silverware

I could have fallen asleep at 8.
But I didn't drag my weary 
body and mind
from the embrace of that fat leather chair until nearly 10.
And then
As I burrowed into the fluffy perfection of my bed, 
I murmured, 
"Spoon me for a minute, Love..."
And I could see his smile through my eyelids,
so of course 
he obliged, 
and of course 
spooning turned to forking, 
as it always does. 
And then I was wide awake 
until 11,
and something woke me at 2.
I feel like an old, old woman today - 
Foggy, slow...so, so tired, 
yet shiny and new. 

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Frazzle

Breathing in just sort of happens
but the breathing out
feels like an unwinding of all the tension...
all the 
too-many-thoughts
all the 
unfinished plans.
I'm sure I'm forgetting important pieces of the
pie (night)
important aspects of the lovely surprises I'm planning 
for the lov-ed ones I'm 
loving...
I should relax more and breathe more and remember
that's why I'm doing all these things
and enjoy the process of creating the conditions for memories to be made.

Saturday, October 27, 2018

Reset Button

It was a perfect day,
started off with a bang.
Well rested
well bedded,
I headed
into the day like a train shooting down the tracks.
Stolen sips of forbidden caffeine
(warm, hazelnutty),
dragged me through my to-do list
slashing through completed items like jet-fueled Zoro.
The evening brought dinner with friends
and baseball with enemies
(same people, different colored shirts),
and a victory that didn't feel as good to me as it would have to them.

Through it all,
my mind swam with images.
Echoes of Friday night's lopsided conversation
and tilted world
bouncing around in my peripheral -
did I really say that?
Did you?
It's hard to remember that foggy world,
through all of today's clarity,
but I'm pretty sure there was some fucked up shit that went down
     verbally.
But I still wanted more.
I don't even know what itch that scratched,
but it did -
those conversations
make me stretch contentedly
like a cat getting up from a long, cozy nap.

Thursday, October 25, 2018

Full Moon Fever

I'm feverish
talking more than usual
(hardly seems possible, I know)
and entirely without a filter.
I type all the words
and then I delete half of them -
the world shrinking back to its usual size when I do so;
contained,
breathable,
navigable.
I feel almost unhinged,
but remain connected more securely than it seems.
I flutter in the wind,
free and wild,
but not quite out of control.
No, I like to say
I have no self-control,
but I exercise an
utterly extraordinary
amount of self-control
every
(damn)
day
when I manage to refrain from touching you at all,
let alone in all the places I want to.

The moon is fat, round, glowing -
filling the horizon with its cool, reflected sunlight.
And I am tossed about by its gravitational pull on the earth -
the tides of me ebb and flow,
a calm lapping of waves on sand
and a great arcing surf,
each in its turn.

Thursday, October 18, 2018

Reminiscence

Sweater season is BACK!
And that reminded me of this post.
Yum.

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

You

You are a field of calm strength.
I could hurl myself against you,
with giggles or growls
for an eternity,
and you would never be breached.

But 
don't you 
sometimes
just want to lie in the sunshine
in the cool green grass
and let the whole world flow through you?
Because it could,
it does - 
just clear your mind
and allow it all, 
the peaceandjoy
the birthanddeath
the ebbandflow the laughter...
it could all be contained in you
or me.
And don't you sometimes wish you could take some of that
and let it flow out of you and into me?
Bodies are the metaphor and the reality;
they are too real to be beautiful
but so beautiful in their realness.

I don't know
any
thing.