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    Sight; Sound; Scent; Touch

January 31, 2018 Leave a comment

(SESTINA) A form in which the last word of each verse must be the last word of the first line in the next verse.  Also, all the other lines must end in the same words as the ends of lines in all the verses, in a predetermined sequence.

 

Beauty can be found in a million forms

Throughout nature, in all things seen and heard.

A lazy lagoon, still water, sun’s warmth

On tan sand is inviting to the eye.

Forest surrounds the lagoon, deep and lush,

Filling the day with fragrance and bird songs.

 

Anchor the boat and be still.  Hear the songs

Of the forest dwellers, sung in all forms:

Call of cricket, twitter of finch add warmth

To the day.  Strip down – I’ll avert my eye –

Dive in, swim to shore.  Cool water feels lush

As you pass through it.  Another splash is heard.

 

I, too, dive from the deck.  My splash is heard

In the quiet cove, arresting the songs

For but a moment, ‘till they well up lush

Again in the fragrant air.  Supple forms

Glide through the clear water beneath us.  Warmth

Awaits us on the sandy beach we eye.

 

You slip into shallows and stand.  My eye

Feasts on your glistening flesh, wet and lush

As you dance, dripping, up the beach.  While songs

Of birds and bugs celebrate, they are heard

From every side as you lay down on sand’s warmth

To dry.  The beach displays our footprint forms.

 

While you lay on the soft sand, your shape forms

A fitted nest in the beach.  The sand’s warmth

Comforts you until you open an eye

To watch me approach, dripping, while the lush

Foliage emits bird and insect songs

To envelop us, the only sounds heard.

 

Alone here, now, our breathing can be heard

Rising and falling, while affection forms

Between us.  Oblivious to the songs

Now, we are lost together in the warmth

Of the place and time.  I don’t see the lush

Surroundings now.  Only you fill my eye.

 

Beauty is born in the beholder’s eye,

While in the ear, great beauty can be heard.

Share these moments and life becomes more lush.

                                       ~o~

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This is a Rant!

December 21, 2017 2 comments

I live less than an hour’s drive from the USA border. I follow the political crap in the USA ever since Bernie’s surge in 2016. He should be president now, making life better for citizens. Interference by several evil people; Bill and Hillary Clinton, the Schultz bitch, Vladimir Putin and others are the reason why the country is in the shit now.

Whoever you people are, who believe the Trump gang is good, and is making life better for you, what the fuck is wrong with your mind. Can you not see the truth unfolding in front of you?

When Mueller makes his move, the whole Trump gang is going fall, and if you’re one of the knuckleheads that supports Trump, you should go down the toilet too. You caused danger and misery throughout the world. You made the USA an international joke.

Trump supporters, fuck you.

An Unnecessary War

December 4, 2017 Leave a comment

It is so often referred to as ‘the war between the sexes’ and there is really such a war going on all the time. Women and men are so vastly different from each other, a great deal of understanding and cooperation is required, for us to get through life. I don’t mean within a relationship like marriage. I mean just living, going to the bank, grocery shopping, taking a walk or a bicycle ride. And all of the strife is purely natural. That’s what’s so distressing about it. Society has put many things in their proper order so we can survive as a species of mammal. It seems to be more difficult to put sexual matters into an acceptable orderly form.

There is a vast number of differences between women and men, and they are not stationary. As society rolls on through time, men are changing and women are changing. Changes of any kind, positive or negative, are traumatic for the average human. One wonders if violence by men against women is because women are not the traditional female that many men think they should be.

It’s an insoluble problem. I wondered why female television journalists most often wear garments that show chest and cleavage. It seemed out of place on someone delivering hard news, so I asked my knowledgeable daughter about it. She said it’s for style, and in that moment I understood why women show various parts of themselves. They are not expecting to attract lovers… they are expecting to look nice – and they do.

Men should see the women as pretty, well turned out, self-assured. On the other hand, if a man wants to look good, he should dress to look good to the kind of company he hopes to keep. There are myriad styles for both genders to appeal to the great variety of groups that are available to all and any.

I must admit, however, I cannot see the reasons why some people find low, baggy shorts with underwear sticking out the top attractive. I am beginning to understand the look of not shaved yet not a full beard. It’s interesting how values change over time.

When I was a kid, if I’d showed up in the schoolyard with loose baggy shorts and underwear sticking out the top, I’d have got the shit kicked out of me. For sure the shorts would be taken off me and thrown into a tree. Now, it’s cool? And shaving was promoted by vilifying “the four o’clock shadow” on a man’s face.

I’m still sure that tattoos are a bad idea. Piercing is too, but at least the holes will close by themselves if one should wise up and remove the trinkets. Tattoos are infinitely more expensive and more discomfort to remove than to acquire.

I hope I live to see society in general swing back toward sensible.

The Misogyny Plague

December 1, 2017 Leave a comment

Although it’s repulsive, the perpetrators of the unwanted touching and seducing are following the natural instinct bred into them by nature. Almost all males in the world of mammals are programmed to impregnate as many females as possible to assure the continuation of the breed and one’s line.

The big shots who try to use their position of power to get laid have no procreation in mind, of course. It’s a need to be wanted or at least be accepted. It seems, in their muddled minds, that because they want, others must give. I suppose when a man can give orders to a bunch of employees or associates for a period of years, his sensitivity to the private preferences of others might diminish.

Perhaps it is the elevation of some women into the realm of higher office that is making weak men try desperately to subjugate any women they can oppress. Literally, oppression is to be a source of worry, stress, or trouble to a person. Of course it is suffered by the women. Of course they should not be subjected to these ‘attacks’.

To seduce a woman, one should not touch them. One should be thoughtful toward her. Send her flowers or candy. Take her out to dinner. Give her a non-aggressive gift on her birthday. Behave well, be courteous, and address her with appropriate respect.

If you possess characteristics that appeal to the woman, she might decide to enjoy some intimacy with you. If she does not find you to be to her liking, be a mensch, leave her alone and find a lover that will want you as you want her.

An Unknown Son

November 27, 2017 Leave a comment

Edith was in a bit of an awkward position in our teenaged group of boys and girls. All of us except Edith lived in luxurious center-hall homes with broad lawns and gardens that were mowed and tended by professional gardeners. We were all more or less on the same level in socio-economic terms.

Edith lived in the center of the neighbourhoods in which our group circulated, but lived a very different way of life. Rather than the large brick homes in which the rest of us lived, Edith lived with her family on the main street in a flat above a small appliance store. I don’t know where she went to high school and I never saw her at our school.

We knew her from around the neighbourhood, I suppose. I don’t remember how I met her, but I do remember chatting with her on the street sometimes when we met. She was not like the rest of us, who were living a very desirable style of life. Edith was as pretty as any of the other girls, and had a beautiful figure.

As I think back now, I believe she had a rough life, and I suspect she was violated by her father. It’s just a feeling I have. Edith lived very much within herself, and I would not know what might be going on in her life. I rarely saw her, and the last time I had seen her was 21 months before the phone call.

I answered in the den. Edith announced herself and told me she was calling to tell me that my son was one year old. She said she was not after anything, but she wanted me to go with her to an interview at the Catholic Children’s Aid Society. They wanted to know if there are any inheritable weaknesses in my family line.

The lady at the institution was smiling and courteous. I was a 19 year old kid, Edith was 18, and she had to give up the kid. Before we got to the office she told me that she was sure it was my baby, because I was the only white lover she’d had. I was shocked. She said that her black babies were yellow at birth, but white babies are pink, so she knows it’s mine.

The society would not let me see him, nor support him in any way. I am required to leave it behind for the rest of my life. I argued with myself about that, and realized that as a kid of 19, there was not much I could do against this large, respected organization.

I thought back to the night of conception. I had a beloved British sports car. On hot summer nights, when the rest of my family was at the country house, I was at home alone. On July nights, I liked to stay late in the garage, messing with the car. Tuning the carbs or polishing the finish to a high shine was as much pleasure as driving.

Edith appeared in the open garage doorway. She was out walking in the hot summer night. She chatted and made the best of her body in the way she moved and sat. I told her I was going for a drive, having finished the polishing of the car. She asked to go with me. It was about 1:00am when we climbed into the car and went for a drive.

We went to High Park and left the car to walk around. Before I really thought about it, Edith had me on the grass behind a hedge, and we had sex there, as other strollers passed by on the other side of the hedge.

About 40 years later, a cousin of mine called me. He had apparently seen Edith, and she gave him her number and asked him to give it to me. I think I should have called her, but my wife at the time objected, so I didn’t call. It might be just as well. The authorities denied me any opportunity to know him, so I don’t know him.

I wonder, if I’d have called her, would she tell me that he was a successful person with a fine family, or would she say he needs a kidney, or that he’s a convicted murderer. I’m 80 now, and have much to look back upon. The son I’ll ever know would be about 62 years old now, and I can only hope that life has been interesting and comfortable for him.

CONFESSIONS OF A TRANSITION MAN

November 22, 2017 Leave a comment

I didn’t intend to be a transition man.  In fact, I didn’t even realize I am one until one woman called me that.

“You’re a terrific transition man,” she said.

“What do you mean,” I said. I was getting dressed.  “What’s a transition man?”

“He’s the guy who helps a woman make the transition from her unsatisfactory life to a better existence.  It might be to change jobs, or change homes, but most often it’s to change relationships.  It could be from a marriage, boyfriend, roommate, even lesbian lovers. In view of your skill with your tongue, I’m sure a lesbian would find you satisfying.”

“So your transition has been your split from the truck-loving Ralphy Boy to what? To me?” I said.

“No, definitely not to you,” she said.  “Your destiny is to be the wonderful, gentle, safe bridge from frustrated sedentariness to life and light, and I will be grateful throughout my life for what you’ve done for me.  Thank you forever. Stay safe, be happy, and carry on your good deeds.”

And she left me like that, sprawled on my bed, where we had been lovers for weeks.  I watched her go, her behind and legs disappeared through the door, and I was left to contemplate her words.  I felt slightly hurt, but not much because our agreement had always been that we were not to pursue any long-term relationship.  It would have to be that way, because I was 64 and she was 39.

I thought about our initial contact.  I was doing something on my computer when the ICQ called for my attention. Someone named Judith wanted to say hello, so I typed back ‘hello’.

We conversed from time to time over the next few weeks. We became lovers. Judy went on to a semi-permanent relationship, had kids and built a career.

I went on to be a Transition Man for several other unsatisfied ladies aged from forty to sixty-five.

On one occasion one of the ladies showed up at my office2 years later. She must have done some research to learn where I was working. She’d been a plain, shy spinster about 40 years old, and I had liberated her. She swept into my office looking unbelievably happy and pretty. She wore a long leather coat with fur trim. She took my hands in hers and looked into my eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, and turned on her heel and swept out of the office. I love to imagine what a happy life she moved into. She’s a good person, and deserves the best. She had been a low level office worker in her father’s department until she took me home with her that day.

Symbiotic Sex

November 21, 2017 Leave a comment

We have seen videos of sharks swimming along with a gaggle of smaller fish eagerly eating bits left in the shark’s teeth. The shark keeps its mouth is open so the tooth-pickers can do the job it needs done. It’s symbiotic: the shark gets its teeth cleaned, the smaller fish get fed and not eaten. They are parasites that are welcomed by the ones that need their help.

I believe symbiotic sex happens regularly in human society. Imagine Eileen, an attractive office manager enters a quiet pub at the end of a punishing Friday at work. The whole week was a misery, not only because of the office problems, but Charles had dumped her six weeks ago. She was badly hurt by the breakup. The apartment now felt dark and empty. Charles’ closet was empty, his chess set was gone, and Eileen is painfully lonely and longing to be held closely and gently.

Eileen expects to meet some of her co-workers for an end-of-week winding down. She looked around over the tables and along the bar stools. Her friends were not yet there. As she searched, her eyes met the eyes of a man who sat at the bar. He started to smile but she turned away too quickly to see it. It was one of those situations when there is a strong emotion in an instant, with no logical reason why.

Eileen strode through the busy tables to an unoccupied table near the back of the room. She sat with her back to the wall so she could see the entrance when her friends arrived. The man with the eyes was no longer at the bar, and Eileen shook off the uncomfortable feeling he’d given her. She checked her phone for messages and learned that her friends decided they were too tired to join her and headed home.

Suddenly, the man with the eyes stood at her side, looking down at her. He appeared to be seven feet tall in a crisp, conservative suit.

“May I join you?” he said. The words rolled out smoothly and deeply.

“I-I’m expecting friends,” she lied. He sat down opposite her.

“I’ll leave when they get here. My name is Roland O’Donnell.” He extended his hand. Eileen hesitated, and then put her hand in his. His was warm, dry, and steady; Eileen feared that hers might be limp and damp. Roland made Eileen feel vulnerable.

“Do you work around here?” said Roland.

“Yes. Just around the corner.”

“I work upstairs in this building. Are you hungry? Would you like to get something to eat?” said Roland.

They went together in Roland’s car to a small, obscure Chinese restaurant on a narrow lane off a wide thoroughfare. They shared their sad stories of lonesomeness and heartbreak.

Their meal complete, their stories shared, Roland drove Eileen home. She invited him in for a nightcap.

In the morning, she made breakfast for Roland and herself. They chatted amiably, and when Roland left, they thanked each other for satisfying their mutual needs.