reflections....
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Posted:May 22, 2007 5:04 am
Last Updated:Jul 4, 2007 4:57 am
1801 Views
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Yesterday, I turned 59. Just a number...but it seems the deck is getting slim and still the joker waits. I live in a loveless marriage, with three near grown and bills and tuition and a constant battle to continue to like the guy in the mirror. I am not nice. I used to think I was, then I got over it. I am not gentle. I used to believe I was but too many battles and too much indifference has closed that illusion.
I am me. I like being me. When I was a young boy I liked looking at women and used to sneak peeks wherever I could, but found I did not enjoy the way I felt afterword. I liked the nudity and still do.. I like sex, and find the joy of discovery to be the raison d' etre... but there is no joy in being a perv, and solitary pleasure.
Learning and growing... so many years... but still not there yet....
Truly, the journey is half the fun....
Rory
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a poem.....
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Posted:Mar 14, 2007 8:50 am
Last Updated:Dec 17, 2007 4:26 am
1647 Views
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The Moment
I try to remember the moment....
My fingers tingle with memory sense
of your skin warm-softness a writhing
connection to all that you are....
my lips reach to savor the rise of your breast
your hard tight nipples surfing the crest
demanding adulation as to the soft female moan
your fingers dig into my back, by neck,
commanding, demanding, becoming one with
all that is within me
until I no longer know where I begin and
you become you
and I cannot forget that moment......
R.
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springing....
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Posted:Mar 12, 2007 6:41 am
Last Updated:Jul 12, 2007 6:37 am
1625 Views
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Spring the Trap
I almost didn't make it to work today
Raptors reeling in a china blue sky
Lay siege to soul and spirit
as they held me by the eye....
With promise of echo-dreams
of brave deeds and a comely lass
with earthy free laughter
lying languid in in Spring grass;
Lost in timeless new beginnings
All past and present beyond recall
We laugh and lie together
re-inventing it all and.......
I shake my head
wind tears wiped on a trembling hand
fitting my feet to their
pre-ordained path,
I leave the sky and the dreams behind......
R.
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for you
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Posted:Mar 9, 2007 4:51 am
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 8:45 am
1704 Views
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my fingers still move and play
in the old and well familiar way,
pages are turned and the stroke of keys
buttons on the remote, or drumming on my knees
but still they long for a near forgotten day
my lips still purse in the random song
though somehow now it always seems wrong
and my tongue taste the bitter as well as the sweet
but somehow it seems to be never complete
like sad thoughts in a moment that doesn't belong
since you have gone the day seems somehow flat
and my balance and my pleasure aren't where I'm at
I feel somehow that I will never be me again
without you to complete me as you did then
feel like a litter box when there ain't no more cat
If I had known how deeply life sours
and the scent of plastic on artificial flowers
would I have bet my heart and life on you
knowing what all of this would come to....
and you won't be home for two more hours......
R
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Champion
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Posted:Mar 2, 2007 8:36 pm
Last Updated:Dec 17, 2007 4:28 am
1684 Views
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T H E C H A M P I O N
That no errant torch, nor brazier's glow
might the limned shadow to an archer show,
The camp enshrouds in the hollow of the night;
and canvas flutters confuse the aimer's sight
careful those who move, ever mindful of the bow.
The press of battle has wrung wrong from all right
and moral blame, nor honor has stayed the arrow's flight
haunted eyes in harried visage, a lonley vigil keep
and death, beyond all glory is the whisper-word of sleep,
long and dismal dreary is the passage of this night.
Fetid smells beyond all conscious moment stretching
entrails, bowel-waste, and countless wretches wretching
The seasoned soldiers seek relief in mask enshrouded faces
that soften the awful offal to mere unwelcome traces
and a precious coin, the almost-clean-enough cloth goes fetching.
The Champion strides quickly, his face in calm repose,
Unblanched, unshaken, by any thought of want or woes.
Each sits a little straighter, and breathes a calmer breath
Such shoulders surely challenge the very spectre of death
And Hope and Honor's longing seem to follow where he goes.
To the Seer's tent , upon a gentle rise from the others set apart
He advances , the very air-essence of the warrior's art,
with a call, He enters that dim-lit secret place
and seeks in shifting shadows for the long familiar face.
and feels even in that moment the opening of his heart.
Staring, vision-less, into the brazier's red glows
The Seer watchful-waits , fearing what he knows he knows
No tremor nor aimless movement to that well-honed physique
No confusion, nor hesitance foreshadows what he seeks.
But an ember flares briefly as an errant breeze blows.
Tomorrow, Father-friend, the outcome holds on a blade,
keener than any sword, and I stand within that glade
and feel the flame within that fires brave and mighty deeds
and follows with fervor where my blazoned banner leads
and by my hand and heart and soul the end is made.
Being what and who I am, I could not but heed the call
when we rode out to arms from those half-forgotten walls,
to sorties and sallies fully worthy of glory's song
unfettered with thoughts of rightfullness or wrong,
to an end upon which the final victory is all.
Without false humility, I see my fate unfold
with honor and glory of deeds and dares untold,
to lead men, young and old, into the flames of hell,
in hopes of being part of the stories men would tell
unmindful of the part they might play when they are told.
Without me, or one like unto me, if such there even be,
would they even stir from the world they are wont to see?
What lord could bestir them to take up sword and shield,
forsaking the simple comfort of family, hearth and field,
I fear that the clarion call of this bloody enterprise is me.
By what right do I author this most unholy quest,
are the souls shattered in this battle lost and unblest?
Does this shield arm owe no duty to those at my back?
Is it meet and just that I know only of attack?
Do my deeds defend themselves, without measure or test?
With creak of leather and ring of steel the sides draw near
and rank smell, and too-bright eyes, are the outward shows of fear
and few now live who recall by which side the war was won
though all could see the Champion by his humanity undone
and hope and dreams were shattered in the shedding of a tear.
R
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hugs.... and touching
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Posted:Feb 8, 2007 5:54 am
Last Updated:May 21, 2007 8:08 am
1921 Views
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In the Basement, this morning, a friend offered a hug. Being a physical person, I enjoy hugs, but was surprised to realize that at that moment, I felt an inner withdrawal. It was definitely not the woman, who has always been a pleasant chat. My personal situation made me feel uncomfortable with opening up to anyone at that moment and I did not wish to discuss it. How strange. I then realized that it is not that rare, nor is it limited to cyber.
Often, I have no desire to be 'open'. I find ways to be 'busy' so that a cursory wave or nod will have to suffice. I keep people at a remove or distance so that I do not have to think about how much or how little I wish to open up.
There is no problem with such withdrawal. We all need some 'me' time. We all have moments when we need to communicate with our inner selves, without the resonance of an outside force. But how much is too much? Is it healthy to withdraw to the degree that we begin to forget that we are a 'herd' animal? Is not the desire to be open a part of the awareness that shapes us?
I thanked my 'friend' for her hug, but I thank her again for the moment of introspection... which seems to be going on.... and on....
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a spenserian sonnet
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Posted:Jan 23, 2007 10:09 am
Last Updated:May 21, 2007 8:08 am
1512 Views
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T H E P O W E R O F T W O
The water may cover and drown the flame
the fire may steam all the water away
loss will follow when either has its day
ponder the power when given common aim.
Peaked, bubbling water for deeply steeped tea
for warm milk for baby, or wounds to heal
Flaming iron sears to water harden’d steel
steam o’er hot rocks to set sore muscles free.
Power to warm, or to soothe, yet fleeting
transcendant in course, and in play of will
then gone on forever, yet lingering still
released united in that brief meeting
And as the steam passes we see on through
to share in that joy … the power of two.
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for aloner...g
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Posted:Nov 22, 2006 8:33 am
Last Updated:Mar 31, 2008 6:09 am
1757 Views
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It started with some mild scening on line. I had always appreciated Trish's sense of fun and joy of discovery. Watching her get off the plane from Michigan, I had to smile. She was a lovely and as cocky as I had hoped. I waited by the security counter and her eyes met mine. She didn't even hesitate, but stopped and with an irrepressible impish grin, clasped her hands in front of her chest, and bowed her head. Some of her fellow passengers gave her a strange look, but, typical of travelers focused only on their own destinations, they hurried on. The loss was theirs.
I took her bag without a word. This was not the place for greetings. She walked at my side through the airport to my car. Once settled in the seat, I smiled at her and said ,
"Welcome. I am even more pleased than I would have thought."
"Thank You, Sir. This one is still a bit anxious, but somehow it all feels right."
"You have made your safe call arrangements?"
"Of course. As You approved."
"It is the only way."
Driving through San Antone, the traffic still light on this Sunday afternoon, I enjoyed watching her absorb all around her. At my home, I let her wander freely, knowing that she would check out the medicine cabinet and the bedroom. I made us a light lunch.
Over our salads, we talked of our day to day lives. I wanted to know more about her, and wanted her to know me. That night we went out to dinner. She dressed in a short skirt with a shell top. Her breasts were lovely and her legs drew many admiring glances. I, of course, pretended not to notice.
I took her on a tour. The Alamo, of course, but she was surprized to learn that there were other missions in the area as well. Walking the River Walk, hand in hand, commenting on the people who passed and making up terrible stories of their lives. I could not remember when I had laughed as freely, nor felt less need to monitor my words or thoughts.
Late at night, sipping wine, longing for her, but wanting to keep to the agreement. Sensing that she would not resist, but enjoying the delay. She slept in the guest room. I slept fitfully.
Pouring coffee in a cup, and setting out croissants with blackberry jam and cream cheese, she stopped me, looked into my eyes and without breaking her gaze, pressed a pre-set on her cell.
"Hi, Carol. See you Thursday."
She laughed at something Carol said, and hung up. I kissed her softly, and put the pot back.
We packed the camping gear together. Trish had more experience than I so I deferred to her decisions... for now.
I had researched carefully the site I had chosen, but I gave her the papers with the map and directions. She smiled, understanding.
The weather was perfect. The nearer we drew to the park area, the fewer cars we passed. Weekday campers were few and the site I had chosen required more dexterity than the casual camper might wish to persue. We parked in the designated area and unloaded the car. Our packs were heavy but bearable and we started on the path. I loved the way the fresh air brought Trish's face alive. The light shirt she wore barely concealed the rise of her nipples. Was it the air, or was it anticipation?
Setting up camp, suspending the food locker, mundane tasks that were somehow exquisitely evocative in the present company. The way her jeans hugged her rounded derriere, the strength of her arms, the play of the muscles in her thighs as we secured the tent. My hands tingled with desire to possess her. Patience.
I had already decided how the day was to go. I had not been to this site before, so we would explore together, but I had read of some interesting areas to check out. I planned to tease her and enjoy her as we learned of each other. But I was open to her input. This was a unique situation for me. I had not been with someone I wanted this badly in a long time.
The path was narrow and we touched hands often. I let my hand caress Trish's back as we traversed a cliff face that loomed out over a sixty foot drop to a rocky gorge. She trembled in my arms, but seemed willing to follow. My hand caressed her face as she smiled and we walked
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Revelation.....
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Posted:Nov 12, 2006 4:57 am
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 8:45 am
1553 Views
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Following on the heels of last entry... working last night. A nurse.. vigil in the night while my respirator dependent patient slept in a room down the hall.. sitting at the kitchen table reading... thought about my life. As an Irish dancer, I learned that I am too literal. The steps do not come to me easily. I used to marvel at my then five year old who could pick up a new, complicated dance step like it was ABC, for me.. it was all trigonomotry. But, somehow, through practise and persistence I would learn the step, and then through my love of the music and the dance, I would compete and often enough, win. People who saw this old man in class would shake their heads and wonder why I bother, then people who saw me in competition would come up and say, "Damn, you're good!"...
the point?.....
All of my life, nothing has come readily to me. I have had to work and practise and work more to just be at the level most people were to start out. I never cared enough about most things to put that effort in, so I was content to be average.
Poetry. Writing. these came more easily... or so it seemed but then again, these things were special to me so I probably was not even aware of the effort I put into becomeing facile at them.
HERE IT COMES> How much effort have I put into any relationship?
If the same equations hold true...and surely they do ...
I have always been content to have few close friends. (Bet that doesn't surprize you.)
I don't know where to go with this epiphany but I do realize that it is slow in coming.
I have no hope , nor any desire to try to resuscitate my moribund marriage. She has made it more than obvious that there is no love nor respect here and perhaps that is my fault..
I think that I have to give more thought to this realization.. as it pertains to my life and to my career and to my love...
ok so I am 58 years old... lol..
R.
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changing, unchanging....
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Posted:Nov 8, 2006 5:55 am
Last Updated:Mar 6, 2008 6:14 am
1511 Views
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I look at myself at 58 and I think.... have I changed at all?.. I remember walking alone as a , in woods and fields and being fascinated by all that surrounded me. I never really knew boredom. I had friends and played sports and games, but was as content alone. I was not overly competitive, but hated to lose.
I was readily and quickly aroused by the women in my world.... the soft line of a strong female jaw, the arch of a smooth back, the curve of a warm smile... still these things stir me, but the response has changed. When I was young, I wished to gather these moments to myself like blossoms in a field. Now, for the most part, I celebrate their being, but know that unless they are a part of more than a passing moment I have done them no honor, and in taking them have dishonored myself.
In my youth, I too often sought to be taken by the moment, rather than to seize the day. I liked getting caught up in whatever the activity was, whether touch football, or a cappela singing, or playing pinochle... now, I prefer to experience all of the moment, welcoming that which is known and that which is unknown.
So... have I changed?.. I don't know. I think the man I am is but the polished stone of the I was, and there are further refinements and setting changes that await.... I hope to more directly involve myself in these changes.
I am reminded of some advice from a director in my theater days... You must play the part, don't let the part play you....
R.
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Looking Past the Anger
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Posted:Nov 3, 2006 7:00 am
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 8:45 am
1484 Views
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Last night, my seventeen y/o .. a willful and very self-contained young woman.. got a phone call about nine thirty... she is a senior in hs. her best friend asked her to come and pick her and her little sister up.. the parents were apparently fighting and the girl 'needed' to get out and wanted to spare her seven year old sibling the pain. Erin said she was going. Her mother reminded her it was a school night and told her to be back before ten oclock. Erin said, "Whatever. I'll be back when I get back." and stormed out.
At first, I was angry at Erin for talking back and for not talking to her mother. Then I thought it through.
I have always tried to be the kind of friend who was there for the people I cared about. I have always tried to be there for my family. Erin knows this. Was she doing any less?
She might have been a little more diplomatic, but in truth, she was worried about her friend and she was pissed that instead of feeling concern for her friend , her mother just fell back on the traditional response.
She was home by ten thirty... I gave her a hug.
Sometimes, in my late fifth decade, it takes me a little more effort to learn..
Rory
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Forecast
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Posted:Oct 18, 2006 2:10 pm
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 8:45 am
1459 Views
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FORECAST
Watching the bowed branches of the half-old tree, bending before the freshing breeze
The sky a greying darkness beyond as rainscout droplets mist my window
Primitive... visceral... the feelings stir within
the sternest of souls before the storm begins
the well-parsed phrases of a reasoned mind are but hollow sounds in that pending gloom
when all is foreknowledge of a well-recalled pastand breath-caught panic held at bay.
Nature, our Mother, sweet merciless guide-path
We all are but in the shadow of her wrath.
R.
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ruminations..s
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Posted:Oct 6, 2006 8:56 am
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 8:45 am
1433 Views
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I opened a game of free cell... casually playing without conscious plan or attention to layout.. going with the flow.. I knew I was going to win. I don't know how I knew. I knew as I know my name, or the day of the week. The win when it came was the smile of a friend. No surprise, but pleasant and warming for all that.
So many times in life, we hear the phone ring and feel the trepidation that awaits... or the joy.... the reluctance.... subconscious caller-id...
All of us have experienced it. We don't talk about it. We know.
Yet.... ask of God, and we hedge, or dissemble... long philosophical monologues that speak of education, discernment and the scientific detachment that completely ignores the feelings that anchor our very lives. Why are we so afraid to just admit that we may not have all the answers but that we sure are glad He's there... where-ever..who-ever...
We complicate the world with the thought that there is an Answer. Life is not a quiz or test. The answer of the moment is the choice we are given to make... which bag of spinach... which lottery ticket.... which man/woman.... Sometimes it truly is that simple....
When we are on the right path, their is a stillness in the heart that does not struggle or twist and turn seeking another direction... the path to our door is clear... how often do we wonder should I take the back door, or the front?... the window?... it is home.. it has no wrong doors...
So I think it is with God. He/She loves us and welcomes us... and smiles at our meandering ways, knowing there are no wrong doors. Our obstinant and childish games of derring-do no doubt amuse Her and make Her chuckle, but I doubt She ever truly is angry with us. Frustrated... worried... sad... perhaps.... but never truly angry.
and the next card is just the next card... s...
R
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