For Your Reading Pleasure…

A Collection of Perceptions… Poems, essays and short fiction from this blog and elsewhere — is now available in book form! Read and re-read your old favorites, and some new ones you’ve never seen before. To learn more, or to order your very own copy,  please go to Lulu (http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/a-collection-of-perceptions/7242482) or Author’s Den (www.authorsden.com/scarlettblue). If shipping costs are an issue (or if for some insane reason, you’d like a signed copy!) just let me know and I’ll send one to you directly and eliminate that pesky salesman who jacks the cost up for so-called “handling”…

Also available by the author: 50 Ways to Please Your Lover, Tips for Men… is a compilation of advice for men about women, on subjects ranging from laundry to sex and everything in between. This funny and sexy little book will make a great gift for any man from any woman who loves him.  Who knows, it just might transform your love life… For more info, go here: http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/50-ways-to-please-your-lover-tips-for-men/7235023. Also available at Author’s Den (www.authorsden.com/scarlettblue).

 

Time

Where does
Redemption lie
If not
Within the heart

In the realm of
Second chances
Dawn to dusk then

Last chances

Faith in faith renewed

We’re given only
So much time
So many possibilities

Before what came before
Becomes that which
Overrides all hope
Of touching anything

More

Transcendence has
Its limits
Equal to the
Human heart

Finite in dimension
Despite immense intent

Restricted
By the darkness
Captured
Within the scope
Shot down
By the power

Of ticking
Treacherous

Time

 

In a Sense

It seems to me
He said
That you can be
Extreme

I mean, after all
You picked up
And moved here
On a whim
To be
Close to me

She thinks about it
Thinks how
She feels
Then meets his gaze
And says

If a heart is merely
Indifferent
If it makes no
Stand
If it takes no
Risks
If it’s lukewarm
Flat and
Measured

Is it something
You can count on?
Is it something
Worth hanging around?

I could skywrite
Your name
In the clouds
She said

For all the world
To see

I could
Write you a
Song
And perform it live

On Youtube

I could
Name you in
My will

I could buy
You flowers
Or save
My money
To whisk you away
To Peru

I could tattoo
Your name
On my breast

But nothing could
Speak any louder

Than rubbing
Your aching
Shoulders

Or reading
Your manuscripts

There are dozens
Of ways
Of every dimension
To show someone
Affection

And they all
Dance the
Ego’s waltz

I moved here
So I could
See you

I moved here
So you could

See me

A stand
A risk
A statement

If nothing lasts
Forever
If it’s all a
Dream
Just an illusion

Then playing it safe
Means missing it all

What I wanted
To sense
When I opened
My eyes
For as long
As I could

Is
You

 

Shedding

Walking
For hours
Shedding
Along the way

Old memories
Old pains
Old lies

Like diamonds
Once valued
Now
Meaningless

In the context
Of today

Left behind
On the ground

Faded sentiment
Useless trappings

Withered leaves
To scatter
In the wind

Leaving room
For
Truth

Leaving room
For
Redemption

The opening
The changing

Of a soul

 

Appetites

That night

When she walked
Thru his door

There was no conversation
No tv or ganga
No food or drink

To begin

Not a word
Spoken out loud

Just a coming together
Her breath on his cheek
His lips grazing
The nape of her neck

Slipping her dress up
Over her head
His hands sliding

South

Over belly
And back
Under lace

Kisses hard
And deep
Tender slow hot wet

Without
Mercy
Without pause
Or restraint

Then he lay her down
Sliding on in
Taking his time

Turning
Guiding
Rocking

Hearing her moan
Hearing her cry

Then holding nothing back

Exploding

Into her so deep
She felt him shudder
From the inside out

Then falling back
Quiet now
Catching their breath

Tracing clouds
On the painted
Ceiling
With the patience
Of bliss gratified

He turned to her
And said

“Let’s eat.”

 

With a Whisper

And I said, Sister, don’t you understand?
He’s all I ever wanted in a man
I’m tired of sitting round the tv every night
Hoping of finding a Mr. Right
– Margo Timmons, Misguided Angel

There is no Mr. Right
No Ms. Perfect

But someone
Who engages
Our soul

With a whisper
Only we
Can hear

 

Baring Down

I seem to want
Less and less
Each day

Fewer possessions
To tie me down
Fewer thoughts
Of what if

Fewer hopes
Fewer dreams
Tired truisms
Unquestioned
Ideas

Less guidance
From
Without

I want to meet
My fears
Expose them
To the light
Relieve them
Of their power

I want
Good coffee
Something
Sweet to eat
I want
A warm bed
A good book

A worthy conversation
With someone
I respect

I want
To pay the bills

I want to write raw
Down to the bone
From the soul
The truth
No matter what
Without caring to
Please anyone

I want to shadow dance
In his kitchen
With a snake
On my arm
In an amber light

Wearing only a hat

 

He Forgets Her

One more drink
He thinks

Then he’ll forget her

One more smoke
One more hit
Off the bong

One more tune
On his guitar
One more dinner
At Lucia’s

One more date
From the party
Next door

One more
Honest day’s work
One more check
In the bank
One more
Whispered prayer

One more night
Without her touch

Then one day
He’s so tired

Too tired

To do anything
But admit

That nothing he can
Do
Nothing in this world

Will allow him
To forget her

That night he has
One more drink
One more smoke
One more hit
Off the bong

Then he puts
A Ruger
To his temple
And at last

He forgets her

 

Blue-collar Rorschach?

If they were making
A movie
He asked me

In a recent
Job interview

Who would you want
To play you?

If you could be any
Car
Any make and model

What kind of car
Would you be?

I paused for a moment
And stared at him
Wondering
What the fuck?

Then smiling
My most diplomatic
Smile
I said
Please tell me
This

If I say I want
Demi to play me
Or Charlize Theron
Or Drew Barrymore

Are you more likely
To hire me than
If I say
Maggie Smith
Or Kathy Bates?

If I say I’d like to
Be a Jag
Is that better
Than a
Volkswagen Bus?

Is a Lamborghini
Somehow more apt
Than a fifties
Pick-up truck?

I’ll admit
Your psychological
Profile questions
Throw me into
A tizzy

Cause I want this job
I’ve always dreamed

Of cashiering at
A mini-mart

 

Just a Job

Cleaning houses
Not what I saw
Myself doing

In college…
Ten years ago…
Six months ago

But the need for
Money
Is ever-present
And sometimes
You can’t be picky

It was a mobile home
2 bedroom 2 bath
Shag carpet
Greasy stove
Stained floor
Brown toilets

It had clearly
NEVER
Been cleaned

I toiled away for hours
Till everything
Sparkled and shone

No cobwebs
No dust
No grime
No spots
Splatter or
Splooge

Every muscle hurt
Every bone ached
My finger tips
Were blistered
My knees bruised
A knuckle bleeding
Mindlessly cut as I labored

Yet I still had
The front porch to do
Christ! Where the seven
Cats lived…

I’ll come back tomorrow
I whispered
And thought
If I’m still alive

I’ll finish the job
Bright and early
I didn’t realize
How long it would take

The next morning
I was there at eight
Finished up in
Two hours and ten

Alice paid me in full
Plus twenty-five tip
You did such a good job
She smiled

Pressing the money into
My hand
She said
And you came back!

As if I would leave it
Undone

I loaded my supplies
Into my car
Then headed to
Another
Smaller job

Helping Lola
Clean out her garage
And put together a bed

As I prepared to leave
She turned to me
Have you got a card?
She asked

I’ve got lots of friends
Like myself
Who could use
A hard worker
Like you

I thanked her and told her
I’d get some made
Then drove home
Thinking
If I did this often
My hands would toughen up
My muscles wouldn’t hurt
I’d be in fit shape
And my bank account…

A fast calculation said
6 houses a month
Would pay my rent
And then some

In the end, of course
Sprawled prostrate
On my bed
It felt the same
As any job
I might do
Or have already done

They all leave me
Moaning
Cursing
Pulling my hair
Telling myself

I’m too old for this
I’m not cut out for this
What’s the point of this
Oh god, why this?

It’s how I feel about all
Work for pay
And I’ve tried
My fair share
To be sure

It’s just a job
If it isn’t
Writing

Fuck, man
I’ve gotta
Sell that book…

 

To Need

Maybe we can
Both admit
That we need
Each other
Sometimes

To talk to
To touch
To hang with

To ease the pain
Relieve the boredom
To cum with
To care and care about

To step beyond

Without always knowing
Why
Without labels
Or fences
Or rules

And maybe that’s not
A bad thing

To need