Mastiff

She walks with quick, little steps,

Arms stiff,

Wooden, as if

Fearful of calamity.

 

Her breasts, however,

Parting the world before her,

They have a life of their own,

And she,

She is walking them,

As she would an unleashed

Mastiff,

Nervously aware

Of the danger they present.

 

 

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The Old Ram Rod

I am told,

As I push 70,

That I should show some subtlety,

Some finesse,

Be less obvious,

That it is somehow wrong,

Even unbecoming,

At my age, or any other,

To write of sweet curves

Welcoming thighs,

Glistening lips…

To write of the misdeeds

Of that old, bald-headed rogue,

Who always grins his

You can’t fuck flowers motif.

But,

While that billy still butts,

I’ll give the birds,

And the bees,

And the cigarette trees,

Lovely blossoms waving in the breeze,

And tired old Decency, itself

A bye.

 

I Would Know You

I would know you.

Tho we have never met,

I have dreamed our conjunction.

Only your face I cannot make out,

But, no matter, I would know you.

 

I would know you by your walk,

By the swing of hip and shoulder,

The familiarity of your stride.

 

Would you know me?

Let us say you would not;

You are so much younger.

 

I would watch you write a note,

The same underlining, the same slurs.

I would hold my breath as you read,

As when I see you walk in,

That searching gaze,

 

That sudden smile.

Would you know me?

 

If we should meet and embrace,

Your breath on my ear,

I would kiss your hair, your throat.

 

We would talk of obscure things;

You would laugh, “how alike we are!”

 

Would you know me, then?

 

When we would next embrace,

When we would be face to face,

And if, surprised, we would be mouth to mouth,

 

Would I have the courage, then,

To tell you who I am?

 

 

 

 

 

Blustery

You toss your head, your hair back with a flourish;

One of the charms of a blustery day, that.

 

You said you had lost all power for a while;

I doubted it, but you did mean electrical.

 

I walked my beagle up Mount Tolmie;

It was wicked cold, wind whipping the crest.

 

I could not toss my head, or flourish;

The wind mussed me like a lover,

 

A rough lover, with powerful hands;

Fortunately, I was fully dressed.

 

When I came down, I was almost sad,

Altho, I did feel well ministrated.

 

Someday I will essay a sonnet;

How the wind stroked me breathless.

 

I will show it to you when you next flourish

Your hair.  I doubt you will blush, but,

 

You will smile in that way you have,

And I will think of you losing all power.

 

 

 

 

 

Gratitude

I passed you in the mall;

You were pushing a stroller;

You held a small boy by the hand.

 

I caught your eye,

Though I didn’t mean to,

Or, perhaps,

It was the other way round.

 

     So, in an instant,

     All our history passed before me:

     Our casual meeting…

     I needed a place to sit;

     You had an empty chair…

     Our first quiet talk,

     Sorting each other out…

     You are not merely being polite;

     I am not a serial killer…

     The first time we really looked,

     And felt the space between dissolve,

     First kiss, first embrace,

     First clumsy tangling,

     Laughing curses at clothing,

     Our first night, knowing

     It was the first,

     First child,

     And here I am,

     Not caring what comes next,

     As long as it is with you.

 

All this in a moment,

A moment in a busy mall,

A moment like a wildflower

Stumbled across in a thatch of weeds,

And passed,

With only gratitude to mark the moment.

 

 

    

At Five, You Can Still Play Naked

Sometimes, when I visit blogs, I find my self focusing only on the new….A shame, that,  looking back gives you a notion of where the blogger has been…not to mention there is some great stuff there.  So, I am taking a leaf from my own bock…and from time to time i will reblog some of my earlier stuff…especially stuff i reread, and do not find wanting.  This is one I wrote back about 2012, about my neighbor’s little girl; even at that time it was old news,  the events were long gone.

At Five

Priests

Balthusian’s first love was nine years old;

All others have been measured against her;

She was taller than he.

 

In the way of children, he did not so much as kiss her.

She went off with a boy taller than she was.

Then she went off with one still taller.

 

She married that one;

She discovered he could not have children.

 

In her disappointment, she at length

Returned to Balthusian.  She said:

 

“What do you think, Balthusian,

Should I have waited?”

 

He realized that she was simply curious;

He hung on her every word,

 

Until he became quite short of breath,

Even tho he was now taller.

 

He loosened his collar,

And did not think of priests.

Look Across

My  alter-ego Balthusian finds himself in a moment of tender realization.  (he recovers, and will be back) 

           Look Across

These two wipe mudless feet, pawing like mares.

Their sweatpants shift in that almost dance.

They stand in that oh so easy, so

Artless, strange contortion.  It’s

A mystery that, known only

To  young girls waiting at a counter,

There celebrated, and only there.

They see the large man and the small girl.

The small girl holding his hand, gazing up.

They smile at the small girl.

They were there, once a dream ago,

But now they tete a tete,

Sipping cold water through straws,

Smoothing cream cheese on toasted bagels.

That large man with the small girl,

Balthusian knows his days are numbered.

Too soon, the small girl will not look up;

She, too, will look across.

Balthusian’s Love Song

I have a number of alter-egos.  Balthusian is one of them.

 

            Balthusian’s Love Song

 

You never surfed, or went by freighter;

I never left dripping when I overturned;

We recovered, and thought no more of tulips.

 

All things are erotic by moonlight;

Our encounter was no surprise, then.

Our bodies were polarized.

 

When we had finished I let go the blind;

It rattled like a passing train;

We ignored the scenery over breakfast.

 

I never pressed the shutter, you know.

Of course you do;  I know these things.

If this was a dream, it can recur.

 

I remember the back seat for gum wrappers.

You come to notice such oddments.

We lay together, ordinary as a carpet.

 

We died our little deaths so often,

Our lives were measured out in pomegranates.

 

 

From Anais Nin

I found this great addition to my Quotations I Like  page in A Spy in the House of Love…by Anais Nin.

 

Guilt is the one burden human beings cannot bear alone.