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Mind Fuck

Oh, how I have miss thee sweet Goddess!

The taste of your kiss is the nectar of life,

The essence of your presence is fine opium,

And the touch of your skin the cruelest bliss!

Why have you been so long gone?

We are so good together, you make me complete.

With you, I am also a goddess, so perfect and cruel.

Invincible I am, when your caress, my body feels.

Your kiss fills me with life.

Iridescent amber sparkles from my soul.

Oh, sweet surrender! Touch me again! Never stop!

The pleasure never ceasing becomes-

All consuming, unbearable and unattainable.

The desire- overpowering, unquenchable and ravenous.

The screams caught in my throat.

The lust possesses by body.

My heart and soul wrenched from within,

Are now only yours.

This is all you were after,

I know it know.

Please! Don’t leave me!

Come, lay with me again.

Let me feel your touch,

And taste your kiss, just one more time.

Take me to heaven once more.

Don’t leave me, alone in this darkness!

It is so cold without your body to warm me,

So dark without your eyes to light me.

So lonely without your presence to own me.

What will I do here, without you?



Far beyond the mountains, and even past the sea,

there is a place that shouldn’t be.

The air smells funny, and the water tastes foul,

on a sea where sirens still prowl.

Unearthly creatures, that would seem tarradiddle

except you’re living the riddle.


It is oddly unsettling how like us they are.

They have lore and art, though bizarre.

Even merpeople have families and schooling,

some for learning, some for swimming.

Giants, you’ll learn, have a nasty problem with crime,

and so, most die before their time.


For giants, crime is a familial affair,

ordered hits aren’t exactly rare.

Unfortunate chums sometimes end up in the sea

where many sharks join them for tea.

Drowned, with their pockets still full, coins and such debris

lost, in water, dark and ghastly.


If you find these felons in their watery graves

and if you are willing to brave

danger, the deathly cold, creatures of the deep,

then gold, you may secrete.

Only the fortunate and the foolhardy

manage to find this tea party.


I am quite lucky, and I am just such a fool,

each time I go into that pool.

The sharks have become my friends, the anglerfish too.

The sharks enjoy their outlaw stew,

leaving me ‘lone to enjoy my own golden feast.

So, crime does pay, for us at least.


The best part of salvage, is to be had in port

where the pretty ladies hold court.

‘Tis a worthy occupation I much enjoy,

their time and talents I employ.

There’s aught finer than a woman betwixt your legs,

except, maybe, one that ne’er nags.


On shore, there are other extraordinary sights,

like mermen, kept in tanks, for fights.

Caught when they were merboys, they have been kept captive.

I find it rather repulsive,

but the giants run the fights and they’re passing  cruel,

full of avarice as a rule.


In a land of myth, you would hope to find dragons,

huge, fire breathing, gleaming bronze,

jewel encrusted armor, guarding heaps of gold.

Devouring maids, slaying the old.

Magnificent winged lizards, alluring and deadly,

sporting a weak underbelly.


Well, the legend has been embellished, just a bit.

It is true that fire, they emit,

and they look much the same as the legend describes,

‘cept they’re tiny and live in hives.

Hordes of glittering, flying, pompous pickpockets,

mythical plague of the tropics.


There’s so much to see, so much to experience

here. Life’s constant insouciance.

I most highly doubt that I shall ever return,

or indeed ever even yearn

for the far away, somewhat grey, land of my birth.

A citizen of this new earth.

In a Moving Car

With your back up against the wall,

do you fight him, or do you run?

When you’re trapped with no one to call,

the trouble’s only just begun.

It’s not your fault you’re in his thrall,

with your battle lost, but his won.

        -You shouted, fought, gave it your all.

           Betrayed to this fate, by someone

           who’s meant to catch you when you fall.

           Treated like ‘twas some tale you spun,

            your fears were meritless and small.-

So, you’re the punchline of his fun.

Powerless. Subject to his maul.

He knows you won’t tell anyone

you went along, you’ll take the fall.

It’s you, must live with what he’s done.

Library in the Bog

Library in the Bog

Musty, dank, and clammy cold

furtive shadows lurk, dancing

in the twilight. Mists enfold

ancient cases, sinking, barely standing.

A catalogue of self, hidden within this fold

of brainy bog. History decomposing.


Danger and pain await within.

The Traveler must be stealthy, must be wary,

lest they be led astray again

by the will-o’-the-wisp and the dancing fairy.

Come upon a pilgrim past, and mark their deathly grin,

a grim reminder lest you ever seek to tarry.


Be wise and listen to my words

as I tell you of the lady grim.

Her beauty and her grace have ruined many lords,

bewitched by her form, svelte and trim.

Any man will gladly join her ghostly hordes,

though they be ripped limb from limb.


Our lady prowls these fuming halls,

seeking no prey, but sparing no man

who dares answer her mourning calls.

The one whom she adored left this lan’

long ago and past even her recall,

Death of love, this bog-mire began.


The overwhelming stench of decay

has eaten the flesh from her face,

and despair has well done its part to flay

her soul from her breast, and erase

the compassion she used to display.

Leaving only lust, and love debase.


Spoiled memories of love

crowd every drifting shelf.

Rot spilling down from memoirs above

adding ever, more filth to this bubbling piece of self.

What used to be a thriving treasure trove

of memories, is now, deplorably beyond any help.


People of wisdom and spirit

will avoid this library of bog and hell,

opting for life and all that comes with it.

Disregard the mire’s putrescent smell

you must pass by the Lady’s horrid pit

unless, you’re already under her spell.

For Sage

For Sage

No one knew her history.

No one knew her name.

She was old and whiskery,

yet no one for her, came.


The kitty was on discount.

We saw her through the bars,

so frail, and of small account,

but eyes like forming stars.


We brought her home that same night,

already so in love.

We learned she had little sight,

or much health to speak of.


She was sassy for her age.

She was bossy as hell.

She was full of fire,  our Sage

with her old lady smell.


At night, whiskers in my ear

or a weight on my chest,

letting me know she was near

‘fore going to her rest.


With each and every morning

came her yowl at the door.

“You’ll be late,” she was warning,

“And my food, I need more!”


From the beginning we knew

our time would be too brief.

Each moment with Sage flew,

turns out, time is a thief.


Just because I know it’s right

doesn’t make it simple.

You’ve given all to this fight,

it’s time, I’ve your signal.


Now, Sage, I’m putting off sleep,

it’s my last night with you.

There is naught to do but weep,

my heart is broke in two.


So Sage,  here is my goodbye.

This is my love letter,

my vow, my last lullaby-

I’ll love you forever.

If You Hear A Whisper

If You Hear A Whisper

If you listen closely to the cool night air,

I think that you’ll find some whispers there.

The silence isn’t quiet and the darkness isn’t black.

Don’t turn ’round too quickly when there’s someone at your back.

Visions from the shadows aren’t what they seem.

You’re seeing what you’re seeing and it isn’t a dream.

You may think you were chosen, but that isn’t the case

And if you try to touch them, they’ll vanish without a trace.

Life in the darkness has its own set of rules;

Step into the light and we’ll all seem fools.

Hear what you want, see what you will, try until

you can control it with your own free-will.

The night belongs to you and you to the night;

It’s a part of you, neither wrong nor right.

Voices in the darkness are nothing to fear,

even when the visions are blindingly clear

’cause the things that you see belong only to you,

and the words that you hear will never come true.

Love, Now and Then



     It’s a beautiful spring morning, mid morning really. The air has that fresh- pleasantly muggy, comfortably warm and slightly giddy feel of late spring. In a few days summer in all its oppressive heat will be upon the world, but today the bright sun filters down through the perfectly leaved trees that line the street. A pleasant breeze blows in light gusts, making the sunlight and shadows seem to dance on the perfectly smooth sidewalk.

    It feels like San Francisco. Looking up, about a block further on, I see an heart-poundingly steep hill. Yes, this must be San Francisco. And a very nice neighborhood at that.

     As I find myself at the foot of that terribly steep hill, my attention is suddenly drawn to the scene unfolding above me. In the middle of the partially car lined street, I can see a old woman fighting fiercely with her care-taker.

    Moments earlier, from the imposing house to the left, an almost ancient woman had run into the street. Her white nightdress- and it was definitely a nightdress not a nightgown, she was firm on that point- had billowed out behind her.  The ruffled and sky blue beribboned hem of her nightdress was ever so slightly dirty in the back; but the front was clean, because the old lady held it up and out of the way of her pounding bare feet. She was most certainly a lady.

    I noticed, as our aged heroine grappled with her care-taker, that her wispy, pure white hair- kept short for easy maintenance,  and not by her choice- was today, yet unkempt and very flat in the back. “Leave me alone!”, she screamed at the woman trying to aid her. “Go away!” And so, the caretaker- with her white scrubs, white shoes, black stethoscope, and with her short brown feathered 70’s hair- was gone. Vanishing into thin air, just as the old woman fell, in a graceful swoon, onto the hard black pavement.


     In a scene eerily similar to the one above, there is a tall and poised young woman. The sleek lines of her long, off-white dress, and its high waist, suggest that the year is somewhere near 1918. The fabric buttons that run the length of her right side, the lace at her throat, and her magnificently wide, off-white hat, also suggest a date of around that time. Curiously, a sky blue ribbon winds its way through the hat’s heavy decorations, it seems she had always favored that shade of blue. Sky blue always brought out the color of her deep blue eyes and somehow accentuated the gleam of her bright, yellow hair.

     Here, again, she has fallen in an oddly graceful swoon, but this time she misses the brick paved street because she is caught, and helped to her feet by an appropriately tall young man. His short army green- for indeed he was an recently enlisted army man- jacket and tall army green trousers accentuate his lithe strength. You’d almost call him jaunty, except his garrison cap is situated very evenly on the exact center of his sleek, dark-brown hair, and his trousers are tucked succinctly into his tall, gleaming black, army boots. He is a no-nonsense sort of young man.


    Lying on the grass between a nondescript car and the sidewalk, age twisted hands lift the hem of a now heavily soiled nightdress. “Take me young man,” she whispers as she pulls down her elegant, high-waisted, silken panties, “take me right now.”


     Lying on the grass that sits between a black, Dodge touring car, and the sidewalk, is a woman, who, in a lady like fashion, uses her elegant, manicured fingers to raise an equally elegant, off-white dress. “Take me young man,” whispers the genteel young lady as she lifts her petticoat of bright yellow lace, “take me right now!”


    Startled- by an unimportant woman, in a white dress and a chunky, burgundy, button-up sweater- our leading lady takes off for the foot of the hill. A lady still, though, (and the viewer will please blur this part out, because she will always be a lady) with her private bits fully exposed in her mad dash.


    Startled once again, actually for the first time in the time-stream of our story, our young, high-bred, lady is tearing down the hill. Her well cut, off-white dress pulled up still, along with her frilly, bright yellow petticoat, exposing her womanhood to the wind. The viewer’s mind will once again blur her private area, for no matter what, she is still a lady.


     Crash, crunch!

     An elegant old lady has been hit by a blocky blue sedan (with black interior), driven by a very confused, old army man who seems to think that he was in a rush to meet an elegant young lady for a love affair. 


*Author’s Note*

     I’m sorry if this story leaves most questions unanswered. If I have to live with the disappointment, then so do you, for it was, after all, ought but a dream. Also, in case you’re wondering, that was my exact dream. No details were embellished or harmed in the writing of this story.