Archive for comfort

One Winter’s Night

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 28, 2009 by 1writegirl

One of these nights
When words are
Too heavy
When the darkness is
Too cold

Lay me down
Beside you
Flesh against flesh
Warm and tender
Under llamas wool

Let our dreams
Come and go
Like fingertips

Grazing temples
And souls

In the midst of breath
Between us

Loose
Unbound
And
Gentle

For the duration of
One winter’s night

One blue moon
One light in the shadows

From spellbound dusk
Till breaking dawn

Find reprieve
With me
In the silence

Of night

In the act
Of silent

Communion

The Prism

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 26, 2009 by 1writegirl

Why do you stay with me?
He asked
In a voice wracked with pain

You know why
She replied
Though she could have asked
That question herself
In the seductive shadow of sleep

She sometimes wonders
Why she stays
When he rarely seeks her out
And needs her even less

When he won’t let her cross
The threshold
To that place free of
Have-to’s and fears

But between the lines
Behind three little words
Is the answer to his question

The truth lies there, a prism
In colors of intricate depth

She stays

Because to be close to him
In any way he’ll let her
Brings her moments of

Simple, perfect peace
In a life of chaos and strife

Because he’s teaching her
What it means
To accept someone

Completely

For everything they are
And everything they are not

Because he won’t lie to her

Because she can make him laugh

Because it’s okay in his presence
To say not a single

Word

Because she’s learning how
To trust
After having been betrayed

Because he tells her
She is one
Of only three people on earth
He can speak to
From brain to mouth

Which gives her courage
To reciprocate
To confide any thoughts she has

Even ones he might wish
She didn’t

Because in his arms
She understands freedom
And can’t imagine
Another man’s kiss

Because he’s hard
Rough
Gentle
Sweet
Bitter
Angry
Loveable
Tormented
Brilliant
Weak
Hopeless
Loving
Strong
Insecure
Hopeful
Imbalanced
Honest
Broken
Real

He makes her crazy
Yet he touches her
In places she needs to be touched
Where no one else can reach

Because with him
She’s a better person
Than she could ever be
Without

Because he’s
Her best friend
And one of these days
He might look at her

And see that she is his

And then
She won’t need to ask him

Why do you stay with me?

Warm Crevices

Posted in Prose with tags , , , , , , , , on August 22, 2009 by 1writegirl

She showers after work, puts on fresh clothes and a dash of perfume, and makes a pot of coffee. She casually crosses the street, two steaming cups in hand, something tucked under her arm, and walks up three sturdy two by fours with cinder blocks between them, makeshift stairs.

He comes home to find her on the top step, her back reclined against the RV door, with a novel in her hands and a notebook beside her which she picks up every few minutes and scribbles several lines in.

“Man, I’m beat,” he says and wipes his brow with the back of a grimy hand holding a baseball cap by the brim.

She looks up and smiles at him, and his face softens into a grin. She raises an eyebrow. “I’m lookin’ for a guy named Ernie Marinara,” she says, with the twang of a New Yawk accent. Her tone and demeanor are detached, as if they are strangers, belying a deepening intimacy they are both still getting used to. “Are you him, by any chance?”

He puts one foot onto the second step and bends down, leaning into it. “Who wansta know?” he replies.

“I got somethin’ for him, is all,” she says, in a breathy and suggestive Marilyn Monroe kind of voice. He laughs, and sinks heavily down beside her. The board makes a loud creaking sound as if in protest of their combined weight. She hands him a mug. “Coytesy of some dame across the street.”

He takes a swallow, then looks at her. “Nice dame,” he says. “And kinda cute. I seen her out walkin’ a time or two.”

She blushes faintly and grins, then he leans his shoulder into hers and says, “You think she might like me, or somethin?”

“Or somethin,’” she says, leaning gently into him.

He scratches his head and yawns, then stretches his tired, muscular legs out in front of him.

In the faint beginnings of dusk the slinky grey form of a neighbor’s cat springs out from behind a bush, then just as quickly darts off. In the distance, maybe three blocks away or so, a car screeches. A Pacific breeze dances around them, a seductive temptress bidding them release the tensions of the day, slide into the peace of the evening. In the warm crevice of space between their bodies, two hands reach out and find the other.

No Shame

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on August 2, 2009 by 1writegirl

In the fierce
And unforgiving
Heat of the inferno

Standing on the
Edge
Of blackness

Cornered by reality
Gaping holes of

Sordid

Savior or saint
Matters not
All are sucked inside

One moment maybe two
Of breath
Of brief escape

Beckoning reprieve on a
Thin ledge of comfort

Dream in the eye of the nightmare
Life in the heart of death

Refuge from the madness
In this there is

No shame

Dreamboat

Posted in Prose with tags , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2009 by 1writegirl

Wet blue parking lot
Packed tight with boats
From dinghy to yacht
Moored to weathered grey docking

Lined by flashy gift shops
With touristy fare
Coffee houses
And seafood restaurants

Attracting small and moseying crowds

In the hot sun I ambled
Along the walkway
Gazing out at the maritime scene

While I toyed with the thought
Not the first time
Of living on a boat

Moored to a slip
Or out at sea
Or a combination of both

I scanned the harbor
Gazing down the line
Looking for the one

Just one

That would fit

Not a speed boat
Or a fishing boat
But a sail boat

The right size
shape and character

I found her at last
A gal named Sarita
40 feet of not quite gleaming
Not brand new
Wooden decks

With sea foam green sail
And whitewashed hull

Pretty

Without being showy
Sturdy and capable
Without all the muscle

I stood there for I don’t know
How long
Just watching her

Imagined myself on board

Pictured myself living
Within her simple, clean lines

Big enough for one
To live expansively
And two to live
In comfort

I left the harbor
Went back home
But still I think of Sarita

With her simple, clean lines

When I close my eyes
And dream

In comfort
Sailing Sarita