Category: Thirsty Thursday

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Poetry Thirsty Thursday

Thirsty Thursday | How love was the end of the Pillsbury Doughboy

(His last words)

I feel gooey inside
I mean more than usual
I think my insides are melting

something warm is happening in my heart
it’s making a bubble 
something’s about to pop

this really doesn’t feel quite right
I think I’m rising from the inside out
the heat supposed to be external

but this is gutting me
tearing me apart

hot bit by bit expanding

and do you see this bulge here?
no! not my stomach!

hoo-hoo!! 

don’t poke me at a time like this —
can’t you see I’m in pain?

oh! dire pain!

being wrenched apart
baked wrong side out

surely this isn’t in the directions —
can we trouble shoot?

something’s happening to my throat
the words aren’t 
                coming out good
no more
ooey gooey heart 
hoo-hooo

Okay… so this isn’t the thirstiest. x.x but can you picture that it probably isn’t Mrs. Poppie Fresh Pillsbury Doughboy doing it for him. 😉

You might not need a tall glass of water, but perhaps a cold glass of milk and a hot, soft chocolate chip cookie would satisfy you.

Categories
Poetry Thirsty Thursday

Thirsty Thursday | Why be sad?

Why feel misunderstood,
when there is someone to understand you?

Why feel empty,
when there is someone to fill you up?

Why feel left out,
when you could feel included?

Why feel unappreciated,
when you could feel respected and admired?

Why be hard on yourself,
when you could be soft on someone else?

Why be grounded,
when you could be a lucid dreamer?

Why live a dull existence,
when life can be fantastically magical?

Why manipulate,
when you can flirt and persuade?

Why remain ignorant,
when there is someone from whom to receive wisdom?

Why feel lonely,
when there is no separation?

Why feel grief,
when love never ends?

Categories
Poetry Thirsty Thursday

Thirsty Thursday | How shall I fall in love with you?

written in 2013

Entice me with your words
pierce my walls with meanness
show me you have the power to break another person
yet you refuse.

Show me you have the willpower to stand up 
and alone
have the ability to open your door
welcome a stranger
and trust they will not throttle you in your sleep.

Tease me with kisses and polite dialogue,
an intercouse of exchanged language
with kind innuendo but no
biting sting of
regretted words.

Demonstrate your strength
not in feats of power
but in exploits of courage,
the deed which you complete though 
you know you’re licked before you start,
see it through.

Toss your speech with abandon
but not your ideas – 
your ideals are by your heart
and you live not beside them
but by virtue of them
unto others
though they do not the same.

A vital man with an Achilles heel
I in turn choose not to sever,
a choice my own — as all my acts
are of my own volition.

For I have power too.
As you penetrate, I consume.
As you guffaw, I may also laugh.
As you devastate, I ruin.
As you toy, I play.
As you adore, I love.
I am passionate, above all else.

Prove you have a compulsion for life,
you choose endurance over death,
you have potential to be a
raft for those without
water-wings,
for my exigency for life
is almost extinguished.

Demonstrate a lust for adventure
that is comparable to my own
so we can rid ourselves 
of this boredom, tedium,
this dullness, together.

You are a collaborator,
a fellow conspirator and colleague,
a fellow traveller on this quest,
upfront and honest,
sparing only of the sensitivity of others,
unless for a private laugh —

For laughter is god above all —
the ability to laugh at good and bad,
strong and weak,
not others, but ourselves,
in the dark and in the light,
a reason to go forth,
and conquer 
not all,
but love.

Categories
Poetry Thirsty Thursday

Thirsty Thursday | The Heat

Is only intolerable in the city

In the country it is relished
Under the shade of friends
Oak, sycamore and cedar

(If only I could be near her)

The heat
Is only intolerable
In the skyscraped city

Though sometimes pretty
Reflecting sunlight and cloud
Against brilliant glass backdrops

The perfect selfie studio
Good cell reception
Radiating from magnetic towers

(I still smell her flowers)

In the forest it is relished,
And we see life grow,
Hiking through heavy fragrance
                      just hanging
                                          in the air
Without a care, afternoons
                                          permeated with water breaks
        we didn’t all die from
   the heat
                                          but there were other dangers

(The loss is difficult to bear)

The heat is
                 only intolerable
                                           in the city

Where it clings to and delivers
Dumpster smells, sidewalk-fried vomit
Makes that much more objectionable
The masturbation in the subway
And the skin-pressed embrace of the public transit stranger
                                                                        or do we see that anymore?

It has us hidden away in homes,
And air conditioned cafes
Appearing separate and unhappy
though we suffer sweaty swamp-ass
just the same – begging for marketers
to quench our summer-thirst,
                          cool?

(Missing mindfulness, I am the fool)

By the lakeside, the heat is relished
Finally the sun forgives bathers,
Bestowing hot sand and tanlines, 
Quick dry towels and the joy of popsicles
Everything cold is that much more enjoyed,
Pleasure derived from sticky drippings
Freezies, creamsicles, ice cream cones – 
Eleven dollar lemonade is for the city-sufferers

(Again, I would suffer her)

The heat is only intolerable in the city
without natural escape
Less those that die, burdened by
The thick, hot weight of smoggy air
Suffocating dwellers here
Folks willing to pay anything for different external conditions
Desperate to escape
                 to another’s arms, bearing summer’s dawn
    to a heat that’s loved, cherished in evening’s temperate shadow
                                               cast long over the fire pit,       as memories
                                    toasting marshmallows late into the night
Sleeping under the stars, 
                                waking in the dew

(A fire still burns for you)

A little playlist for when life gets too hot and hard to bear
Categories
Love Letters Poetry Thirsty Thursday

How Now, My Lord | Letter 7

Dearest Othello,

How do I write this now? How now, my Lord, after all that’s become of us?

How do I tell you what’s become of me?

I’ve been sun-kissed and wave-licked
I’ve been rolling in the dirt
I’ve slapped a horse’s ass, cherry picked
and I’ve spit creek water to the earth

I’ve seen snakes in grass
and long thin worms, and sometimes chubby slugs
the forest yields such photographs
beetles, spiders, bugs

Moths and butterflies have pressed me
with silken, pollened wings
while no bee nor wasp has ever stung me
as the dog-day cicada sings

A cricket symphony has often put me ‘lone to sleep
under starry skies, dry eyes wake damp with dew
out here I do not care to weep – 
a tear outside was never shed, except those I shed with you

If I never loved another, Desdemona be my name
I have never touched another, yet an Othello I have made
I have never laid another, but you laid me with the blame.

Oh, poor Othello! Confused with talk
fed into ear by Iago’s mouth, untamed and tainted
with mirthful, selfish motivation, to destroy love! Revenge!

Was my mistake the one she missed?
The one where I fought back?
For though I’m fair, when I get pissed
boundaries up and eyes go black

Not so passive, lacking grace
I begged and pleaded and tempted fate
with tearful eyes and ruddy face
now there’s nothing to investigate

I’ve not strayed, and still I wait
as Desdemona would have done
had Othello spared her life and run
her story, I do speculate, and mine

Would be as one.

So though leaves have stroked my arms
And brooks have soaked my pants,
No other man has ever stirred me
Woodsy tickles come from spiders, ants

Still, the forest gets me going,
More stagged than sumac sprigs
How then I touch myself knowing
I’ve never caved to pleasure twigs

Right now, I cannot know your mind
How now, my Lord, I’m feeling blind!
So, in ignorance I must declare:

I will never sacrifice my virtue
To die upon a kiss
Know, still, I’m saved for you.

Love, Desdemona

If that the earth could teem with woman’s tears, each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
Categories
Poetry Thirsty Thursday

Thirsty Thursday | Who Will Love Me?

Who will love me?

When I am apart from this world

When I stand alone, refusing to be
wrecked by a cellphone superglued to my senses,
application addiction gone awry

When I refuse to partake in modern convention
preferring soft and spiky summer grass between my toes,
humidity sucking sweat to the surface of my skin,
lying upon rocks under thick air,
thick branches bearing bright green canopies,
thousands of thirsty leaves, some yellow and release
reminders that this moment is temporary,
and the Fall will come

Who will love me then?

When I bake appled pies and over-romanticize
the long shadows of autumned evening walks
my season of spiders, ripping through webs
strung out over trails,
boasting my bravery – no more fear of fine-legged friends
just as precious a life, so I give love
I give compassion, knowing these virtues are
given not taken, the cause of the effect,
happiness

Why, then, do I ask for love?

Believing the grasping, the craving
its fulfilment will make me whole, and I
will never want again –
a lie
like salt water quenching thirst
impossible
and possibility
still believed

Who will love me when I am
under a spell of such insanity?

And who will guide me out of this suffering?
Permanently?

Categories
Love Letters Poetry Thirsty Thursday

Homesick | Letter 6

[The Letter Your Ex is Never Going to Send]

Though recently I cursed your name
Your scent, your breath, a stink, a stain
Your touch, your feel, a pin, a prick
Yet in my mind, you stay, you stick

You’re fastened here, you linger near
As if you’re tacked, taped, adhered
Permanently welded there inside my head
Yet rarely now I wish you harm or dead

You simply appear as though invited for tea
It just happens quite naturally
And then I think…I want to come home
No matter that I’d longed to roam

I’d yearned to uproot myself to find
A freedom I could never buy
I’d have to fight and from that I’d shied
For my courage has not your span, nor stride

When I was lost, I saw your face
It ‘peared before my resting place
Before I netflixed, before I chilled
I’d see you there, and my heart stilled

But you’d dissolve with phantom grace
Leaving me grasping at empty space
Thinking, lingering nostalgic syndrome
Please, my love, can I come home?

I wish I did well on my own
When lonesome time and tears have shown
I simply do not enjoy hollow life
Knowing I gave up love, compassion, kindness, a wife

Someone, I thought, is all I need
To walk the forest trails with me
Perhaps keep me warm on winter’s night
Whom I can pleasure and give delight

Now the nights are long and cold
And though I’m young, I’m feeling old
I’m feeling lost, can I come home?
I don’t like life in monochrome

I miss your colour, I miss your zest
You weren’t unstable, you’re simply best
To think I’d thought you like the rest
To think I’d sabotaged your jest

Now when life is cold and grey
Like on this rainy winter’s day
My mind takes me for that trip
That makes me miss your leadership

I know I should seek happiness and peace
Plan my life, find new love, sign the lease
Still though I dream of travel, Paris, Rome
Mostly, I wish I could come home

Love,
A Dumb Fuck

Categories
Love Letters Thirsty Thursday

Solipsist | Letter 5

To My Muse,

A figment of my diabolical imagination. Silly lustful yearning, for you, a character from a fantasy novel I have written. You’re just the right amount of work, and we are ever unwittingly competitive. Keeps things exciting for an airy mind. Don’t you agree?

Of course, every dialogue we’ve held, every discourse exchanged has been in my mind. I try to throw you into my material world, but you don’t hold fast. I watch you release yourself time and again. So I have become addicted to the yearning for you, my muse, more than friend, almost lover, pedestalled perfection. Unconquerable, you stole my heart.

You are no strawman, and I cannot set you alight. You burn with your own passion and you spark something within me. I press on, inspired by my muse, yearning to show you what you’ve never before seen in this lifetime.

In quiet moments, when we can visit, I set us in the most unromantic places, so that a stolen glance is worth more than gold and the brush of an arm is too much. That touch, a subtle message for skin, instructs to flush. Grasping at flesh beneath clothes is knotty and taking too long. I worry the forbidden entanglement be discovered.

Out of this reverie, I am bound to chair and desk only by my own resolve to commit a fictitious tale to tablet, entertaining who it may. Spurred on like my muse’s mare, pressed with gentle kicks, cropped with supple whip, and treated with ultimate kindness though used at his whim.

My heart stolen, when you pressed yourself upon my chest. Your bosom lay where no man’s did, and so you have taken it, locked it away, like chastity, rare and precious.

I feel as though I watch you from behind a thick tapestry. Perhaps one revealing the fairytale of us, the almost ever afters, spiraling toward oblivion, time immaterial.

I whisper, I’m going to make one of those shifty eye paintings, and you shall be my star.

You lean over me once more, whispering your muse-like song:
I shall take your mind to moorelands far away. I shall dance you through the night and day. Joy and fun and boundless love and romance between us, this is where I long to stay.

And then, once more, you fade away.

My muse has gone away.

Just for now,
Adieu

Categories
Holiday Cheer Thirsty Thursday

12 Days of Christmas | Song 10

Happy Twelve Days of Christmas! A Christmas Countdown featuring my Christmas favourites (plus pictures of my foster kittens).

On the tenth day of Christmas,
Was I so thirsty
My true love sent
Ten Lords a Leaping
just to dance with me?
😮

I’ll admit, this season has its bittersweet moments. There are moments of joy and hope followed by those of wistful yearning. Sarah McLachlan says it better than I do with her beautiful Song for a Winter’s Night.

Find my full Christmas Playlist on Spotify here.

Find my full Winter Playlist on Spotify here.

Categories
Holiday Cheer Thirsty Thursday

12 Days of Christmas | Song 3

Happy Twelve Days of Christmas! A Christmas Countdown featuring my Christmas favourites (plus pictures of my foster kittens).

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me…

a drink because I was thiiirstyyyy …
(no?)

Welcome to the Thirsty-third Day of Christmas. Today I showcase Baby It’s Cold Outside – my favourite version – by Leon Redbone and Zoey Deschanel.

I can’t say if it’s because I was raised on Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, but I find no offense with this song. I think it’s sweet and sexy and a lovely dated portrait of a young couple doing the dance of flirtation on a cold winter’s night.

The best part of my all time favourite Christmas soundtrack from Elf, in my humble opinion.

I also love the song Sleigh Ride (from the same soundtrack) which always reminds me of the masterpiece, “Bless Your Beautiful Hide”, from Seven Brides (for some absolutely unknown reason):

How to find yourself a wife

Bonus: 12 Days of Charity

Looking for a charitable organization to support this season?

How about Women’s Place of South Niagara. This organization helps women escape domestic violence. They provide education in schools on how to identify healthy and unhealthy relationships. They made a huge positive impact on a friend of mine. Their support is critical to the thousands who have been helped by them.

How to go courtin’

A holiday hello from Grace & Frankie, the foster kittens 🙂

Find my full Christmas Playlist on Spotify here.

Find my full  Winter Playlist on Spotify here.