Poetry: Vixen

You look at me
with smoldering eyes.
You part your lips
ever so slightly.

Enthralled as I am,
I know your subtle game.

An enticing dress
covers your long legs.
Moving with fluid grace,
almost without thought.

All eyes watch you,
as you soak up our adulation.

My mind clouded,
foggy with your essence.
Subtle changes free me,
clearing my head.

My eyes become shrewd,
I see your wake.

I watch them
watch you.
In the air
I feel their lust.
Watching with idle amusement,

I silently laugh.
They don't know you.

I smile at you,
wondering if you notice.
Your hold on me severed,
my heartstrings untugged.
A vixen in flesh;
an angel in soul.

You have them fooled,
but me no longer.

Writing: Moment in Time - Alone

He sits in his car, lost in thought. No, he ruefully amends, thoughts not lost. Every thought becomes text, scrawled in poor light on low quality paper. Watching the people walk to and from the bar he sits outside of, he can only imagine the world inside. There is no one generation that enters that den of booze and music. Old, you, middle aged, they all gather on common ground. The sounds from their combined voices mix with shouts into a microphone and the strumming sounds of music, all assailing him even from this considerable distance.

The night is warm on his skin as he sits in idle thought. Almost glad he did not go in, almost. A screech of feedback followed by an equally annoying screech of a singer confirms. The sounds of the night overwhelmed by the sounds of what some consider music. Admitting to himself that he enjoys it to a point, another sound returns fire. Almost in response to the singers challenge, nature herself picks up an interesting countermeasure. Birds, crickets, and assorted insects cast their defiant shout and create an almost violent concoction that makes neither man nor nature sound attractive.

He sinks into his seat, the heat affecting him more than he lets on. Like disobedient children, the contending forces steal away his inner thoughts. An artist trying to make a masterpiece from the inside of a loudspeaker, he smiles. Only fleetingly does his mind focus on one thing or another, but never long enough to remember. Romance, finance, life, and love all briefly skim his consciousness, but are just as quickly removed.

Snapped back from sour musings, he smacks a gnat from his neck. In that brief moment, he envies that small life. Born for one purpose, it gave its life in complete singleness of purpose. He slides even further into his seat, his mind focusing hard. What is my purpose, he muses, only to have his thoughts stolen once again. Not many people would do, could do, what he was doing now. Sitting in the warm Florida twilight, thoughtless besides listening to the fighting tunes of man versus nature.

Poetry: Storms and Stones

I gave everything
for one smile.
I tried so hard,
you never moved.

Like a stone,
you sat in granite stasis.
Cold and unyielding,
like a harsh winter storm.

I chip away
as fast as I can.
My fingers numb
from the cold.

CRACK!
Your shell shatters,
leaving you helpless.
Isolated safety
lost because of me.

Storm swirls
as you curse what I have done.
I weather you,
my eyes never wavering from yours.

Your storm passes,
and warmth envelops me.
You know why I did
what I had to do.

You might not
stay with me,
but right now
you thank me.

And for now,
your smile
is enough.

Poetry: Supernova

Bang open the door,
feel the quiver of my heart.
Tear my eyes from yours
and let lust enter me.

My clothes ripped,
shredded and torn.
Thrown backwards,
heat on heat;
we are going supernova.

Lips to skin,
skin to skin.
We are burning, baby,
lets burn hotter.

Flesh and sweat,
mixing in the air.
Sickeningly sweet,
the odor is everywhere;
intoxicating.

A scream
and tightening grip,
we collapse into one.
Breasts heaving,
eyes glazed;
ecstasy.

Writing: Moment in Time - Storms and Stones

The wind, a mixture of razors and sleet, rip my footing from below me. I slip, sliding quickly down the icy rock, all gained ground lost. I grasp jagged stone with numb hands, my fingers fumbling before gaining an unsteady grip on the harsh granite. Pulling myself to my feet in defiance of the wind snarling around me trying to crush me against the stone, I begin moving forward. Step by tortured step, I climb towards what is now a looming black obelisk seemingly within distance to touch, yet always tantalizingly out of my reach. Ice strikes me, burning me in an odd contrast to the cold that constructs it. I reach forward, my fingers sliding along a glassy surface.

Brushing the stinging ice from my eyes, I look up and see the angry clouds burst open with the desire to topple me from this peak. Reaching into my frost burned bag, I set a spike to the unblemished stone and raise my hammer. Like a screaming child, the wind shrieks, throwing the chill of the grave through my bones. The hammer slides from my hand, crashing with an clang barely heard over the storm surrounding me. Blinding rain and hail assault me as I scramble for the dropped tool. My frozen fingers slide around the hilt, closing tightly to make sure it does not happen again. I rise to my feet and smile at the storm. A crazy man laughing into the teeth of death.

Striking the stone with every ounce of energy I have, I feel the storm around me surge and sag. Again and again I strike, the storm waxing and waning with each strike. Pitiful gasps of sleet slap me across my frostbitten cheeks as I strike without pause. Ragged gusts of wind try to knock me down, but I strike without hesitation. A small crack grows larger, until the stone shatters in a glittering shower of earth. The clouds burst, broken in the sudden sunlight. I see her standing before me, outraged that I broke her isolated protection. I look up at gathering clouds, fearful of what I had done. As quick as they gather, I watch as they break faster. My gaze lowers to her face, emotions streaking across it faster than the swift moving storm above us. A smile lights her face, bathing me in brilliant sunlight. The easy part is done, I wryly smile to myself, now comes the hard part. I step forward, my hand outstretched. Her eyes betray nothing as she looks at me, smiling.

Poetry: Probability

The funny thing
about imagination is
there are many ways
reality can play out.
One of a million.

One door of
a million opens,
while the others
slam shut.
Only one way to go.

You have no choice,
you walk through
only to see
a million more choices.
The game is afoot again.

You lead yourself on,
hoping for one, but getting another.
Diluting yourself, but
never shocked at the outcome.
You know the rules.

Shrugging because you
know the game continues
every time
you make a choice.
You keep playing.

Eyes forward,
you continue on.
A million doors close,
but there is always one open.
You take your chances.

Poetry: Mental Jungle

Thoughts race,
bunching and bounding.
Tall reeds of memories sway
as the pack streaks by.

Mental jungle,
lush and green.
Parts are slashed and burned
by the thoughts of you.

You set fire
to my mind.
I can't see through the flames
of my own making.

Racing faster and faster,
the pack flies towards you.
Dancing a seductive tease,
you smile as you see them approach.

Taming thought,
you continue to set me ablaze.
I burn for you,
but the flame can't last forever.