My Dream

Are you sleeping naked this night? 
Do you feel me thinking of you? Caressing you? Holding you? Can you hear my whispers?
Sweet beautiful lady you are my dream tonight and every night… 
soft, smooth, warm, caring, loving, sweet aroma, salty flavor, writhing, moaning, growling, pushing, rhythmic dancing, groaning, squealing, tight, wet, hot, sweating, slick, slipping, sliding, slamming, slapping, smacking, exploding, erupting, licking, grabbing, sucking, laughing, wrapping, holding, entwining … 
my dream is always you - blue, creamy, pink, ivory, shadowed, golden, blurred, dark … 
my dream is you sweet lady, is you…

Daylight is Waning

The daylight is waning; the perception of warmth is dying with it

Stalactites seem to hang precariously from the edge of the roof

Their incessant dripping halted for the next few hours of darkness

While the craters in the snow beneath them form crystallized cups

Eager to hold the next day’s catch, liquefied by the sun’s radiance

Snow still covers the ground, now in a dusky yellow-grey color

Mimicking the diluted palate that veils the western edge of the sky

The dark scraggy branches of the trees dissolve into the murkiness above

Soon points of light begin to appear scattered loosely across the heavens

Then filling the void between them countless smaller specks come alive

The night sky glimmers and glitters like snowflakes in the moonlight 

Turning from the front window the flickering candle flames replace the stars

Filling the room with fragrances of pine and cinnamon while whips of smoke dance into the air

Warming the darkening room for a short time…

Darkness

I know too well the darkness that I see and feel

I know the comfort that it brings to me

The isolation, the loneliness that seals me away

Yet I long for the sunshine, its brilliance and warmth

Its energy that I lack.

Dare I step from the shadows into the light?

So many things to be done along that path

Can I, do I have the strength to see them done

Would someone reach out, no, it is mine

My track to take, my footprints to make

Put the darkness behind me one last time

Deep inside I sense it will be a fruitless attempt

I know the light dies and darkness returns

I will begin again to struggle to wrench myself from its cloak

Again and again and again

But I will rise against it time after time

If only to see the light in the distance and dream of its embrace

To imagine the passion it holds for my being and soul

Tomorrow, tomorrow is my day, my chance

For now I will lay in the darkness hoping for that tomorrow…

November Morning

Brilliant bright blue skies on this November morning filtering in the front window,

Illuminating the flecks of life tossed into the air from the billowing furnace grate,

Passing through the streams of energy you feel its radiance, the warmth that you've missed lately,

Pausing to draw the chair from the shadow into the spotlight, sit for a moment or two,

Enjoy the warm rays that seem to penetrate deep inside so quickly,

Out the window the blinding expanse of white crystals washes the world away,

Closing your eyes and clearing your mind for just a moment you steal from the day’s chores,

Only to be drawn back into reality by the empty cup in your hands,

Slipping from the chair you move on with a wry smile,

Glad you stopped - if even for just a few moments…

Leftover Thoughts

Just a couple of leftover thoughts taking up space. Spring is near, thought I'd clear out the wintry words in hopes of replacing them with new, vibrant, colorful and warmer musings... 

One Saturday Morning
Golden colors hanging precariously in the cool morning Rays of light have lost their strength, barely warming the air
The stillness broken by flashes of movement and chatter in the dark limbs above,
A smoky flavor drifts on the nearly still autumn dawn.
Hints of white rest in the early morning shadows
Sheets of translucent crystals wrap the fallen leaves masking their colors
Waiting precariously for the warming shafts of light, they will eventually melt away to reform in the cold night air into new designs and patterns.


Flat dull grey skies have suddenly stolen the morning light, The bright sharpness of a new day blurred into a near monochrome,
The air is cold and uninviting…
Block the muted morning with a nest of warm folds and a soft pillow, try to reclaim your last dream if only for a few more moments…

A band of brilliance cuts its way across the room from a break in the curtains, struggling to light the room and bring in the new day,
The blurred shroud of sleep begins to slip away, replaced too quickly by the day’s agenda
The cat rolls over, protected by the folds of the bedding, hiding from the increasing intensity as you're forced to gradually emerge to meet the morning…


Out the front window...
Just stepped outside for a few minutes to watch the display of snow flakes.. something is so intriguing to me about the way mother nature works. The physics of it all I understand, it is the beauty, the aura, the presence that exists surrounding the event. Sure we can pump water through jets and "make" snow... but not nature's crystals...
Beyond that is the quiet, the solitude that seems to accompany them as if to eliminate any distractions and concentrate your perception, your feelings on the fall of the flakes through the crisp cold air.
Taken in small amounts there are no fears, increase the velocity of the wind, the volume of the crystals, the colder temperatures and the power emerges causing some to panic...
Yet I could stand in the onslaught and be simply over whelmed by the power - not fear it but begin to realize how dynamic, how important the event and how miniscule, how small a part I have in the scheme of things... 

Just a thought seeping out

Old stuff, Com 101

        I was rummaging through some stuff from my college days at CSC, Colorado State College and came upon my spiral from freshman communications class – COM 101. You remember the one, they made you write different types of essays to develop your communication skills? After glancing over a few less than stellar assignments I realized I really could’ve used spell and grammar check and probably turned a few of the B’s into A’s… to quote the instructor “watch for misplaced modifiers, coordinate adjectives (?), sentence fragments and common errors – they distract from the overall coherence.” What the hell is a coordinate adjective? I still don't know!

        Anyway, for those of you that have read my more recent attempts at written communication you might recognize the style that was revealed back in 1968. I believe this was an assignment to write a “Description”. Hmmm kinda open ended… This was titled “Description (?)”, and if you spent any time on the campus in Greeley you probably know exactly where it takes place.

                The trees stretch toward the grey, menacing sky; their bare branches seem to grab at the hazy afternoon ceiling. The pillars of living wood form like sentinels along the broken cement walk. From the corner you pass through a corridor of elm and oak while the shaggy rug of wintered grass lines the tipsy squares of cement. Now and then the clatter of scattered gravel opens the cold silence and seems to echo from behind each tree. A few paces down the walk and you might catch a glimpse of a squirrel searching the joints of each branch for an afternoon snack. But he sees you move and shoots up to the highest branch of the tree, disappearing much like the afternoon breeze.

                It’s time you stopped and took in all that the wooded lawn has to offer. A few brisk steps through the leaf scattered mat of grasses and you’ll find a spot to sit and lean back against one of those magnificent wooden columns. As you put your weight down a small, cold chill creeps up your back as if you’ve been caught up in the webbing of a spiders home. At first the knotty bark needles its way through your coat and into your back. But with a few small adjustments the knots are comfortably placed and a new warmth overwhelms the coolness of the ground beneath you. Taking time to look about, that grayish tail with feet suddenly bounds from a tree just opposite yours. Try as you will to stay quiet and motionless he soon spots your position and is off again, up among the spindly, blackened branches of an immense elm. Losing him among the joints and jogs of the wooden net your eyes catch the sun as it sneaks through the billowy sky. The grayish afternoon crawls away while the tide of powdery blue and warming sky redecorates the day. A chatter from the squirrel announces his joy as a warm breeze pushes the leaves up from their resting places to crash and tumble across the lawn.

                But still there is a cold loneliness surrounding you. It’s not the lack of beauty or the cold that’s finally disappearing; it puzzles you to think what could be wrong now, with the sun high amongst the vacant robins’ nests. Finally it happens; you’re joined by a couple strolling down a worn pathway. They seem to fill the whole colonnade of trees and ruddy grass rugs with something clean, fresh and bright. Though they passed by in a moment, lost in their own world, their brightness was shared by all. Even the wiry squirrel came down from his mountainous perch, fearlessly beckoning to you. But with his chattering the cold haze resumes, covering the sun as the evening grows near. So you pick yourself up and briskly stroll back along the crumbling cement walkway, you will remember this place, this day, it was good to you.