Archive for Poetry

She Wants to be The Other Woman

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Confessions of a Mad Philosopher, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Erotic Poetry, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason Between Parties, Love, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, Share The Love with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 3, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

There is an old Italian proverb that asks: If your wife and your mistress are both drowning at the same time and you can only save one, which one do you save?
The answer is your wife…because your mistress will understand.
*****

She said
she wants to be
the other woman…
the one I yearn to see
when I can slip away
for a clandestine rendezvous.
Furtive hours
of stolen kisses
that must remain our secret
between we two.
The one who gets excited
to know I’m seeing her.
Mia Cumare.
Mia Innamorata.
Mia Fidanzata.
*****

I said
I guess that means
that you won’t be telling me
how we should spend our money
or argue how to raise
our children
or forbid me to buy a motorcycle
if I should choose.
It also means
you can’t wake up
in bed with me
each morning,
or sleep in late on
Sundays long past noon
or be seen together
in public places,
or watch our children
accepting awards at school.
But my dear
such is not the case.
You already know.
You understand.
In our perfect world
together
in our
House beside the Sea
you get to be
The Other Woman
as you may please
and still come home to me
or
better still
to share
another man
another woman
perhaps their spouses, too…
The circle grows
but remains unbroken…
unflinching fidelity
no lies
no excuses
no regrets
or apologies
required.
And yet it all begins
and ends
with
Me and You.

We are All here for a Reason

Posted in Confessions of a Mad Philosopher, Dirty, Explicit Sexual Language, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Much To Good For Children, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Random Observations with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 30, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

Of course.

In the universal sense

this is always true,

but herein I refer to my

Cabin in the Woods,

a trailer park of Lost Souls

far enough off the beaten path

to render solitude,

anonymity,

or perhaps even forgiveness

to all who enter here.

***

Commercial fishermen

who drink a little too much

for their former spouse’s liking,

with restraining orders

and children they can no longer visit.

Here,

everyone is somebody else’s

ex-something-or-other.

Recycled hopes and dreams

and

households financed

by disability checks

and structured settlements,

where rainbow children

of every shade and hue

play in the yard

with pit-bull dogs

beside a car on blocks

that Mama’s boyfriend

is gonna fix someday

after he gets up

from his nap.

***

Disabled Viet Nam veterans

with hidden wounds that

will never heal,

tattoos and scars

or maybe a limp,

nightmares

that never end,

and that

thousand-yard stare

that betrays the pain

they never willingly show.

***

Widows and spinsters

who live for their flower gardens

and cats

to replace the children

who never call or visit,

the husband who died

or ran away,

or the gentleman caller

that never showed up.

***

Divorcee’s

whose husbands

fucked

their best friend,

their sister,

or even

their daughter

or who couldn’t

stand to be left alone

when their husbands

went to work too long

while the cable was off.

***

Rock stars who fell to earth.

Fallen Angels

with burnt wings.

Porn actresses

from the

Nineties

who knew Ron Jeremy

on more than a first-name basis,

and have the videos to prove it.

…and so much love to give…

(if you can pierce their armor)

their hearts

melt like butter in the sun

if you simply befriend them

without agenda

or guile,

because they’ve heard it all before,

and they’ve done it all before

in the name of fame and fortune,

but just for once,

if they could do it all over again

for Love,

they’d

do it all over you.

***

Enough Ink on skin

between them all

to write

War and Peace

in longhand.

There’s a story

for every tattoo

and all the time in the world

to tell each one of them,

with nothing better to do.

***

Their combined tears

could drown the

Lake of Fire,

and yet they still prefer to laugh,

and gladly share

their Nothingness,

their time,

their weed

or booze

or dope

or bodies

like philanthropic millionaires.

***

Misery doesn’t just

love company,

it thrives on it

and makes them stronger

than

most of the privileged

crybabies

I knew

in better times

and more prosperous days.

***

This place

where I have landed

is more like

a campground

for refugees

driven from their

homelands

by

“the slings and arrows

of outrageous fortune…”

who refuse to die

and can’t really seem to win,

but continue to try.

(That’s what the Lotto is for.)

***

The walls are so thin

on these foil-covered

cardboard boxes we call

home;

there can be no secrets

between us,

but no shortage

of excuses,

denials

or lies

told mostly for our own benefit

as we wander

on the tar-clad paths

between

these aluminum tents

like spaced-out

space-age Indians

with permanent

reservations

in temporary domiciles.

***

Home is where

the Art is.

Life is what

you make

of what you get.

And Love

is everywhere,

running like a river

of blood

in the streets

flowing

from all the broken hearts

that have ever lived

or ever will.

Enthusiasm

Posted in Acknowledgement, Appreciation, Love, Much Too Good For Children, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Share The Love, Zen with tags , , , , , on October 19, 2013 by dreamlanddancing

Enthusiasm

Few things in this world

are quite as uplifting and inspiring

as the promise of rekindled love

from a lost flame.

At a campfire in my heart,

I find myself stirring and sifting through ashes

long thought to be cold, only to find an ember,

a tiny coal of what once was a roaring bonfire.

We breathe life back into that tiny spark of heat,

Fanning and blowing, as we

feed it little scraps to consume greedily,

first smoking, then bursting suddenly into flame,

Yet

We act surprised as we realize

Here We Are Again….

Completion Haiku

Posted in Liason Between Parties, Poetry, Random Observations, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Wisdom, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 13, 2013 by dreamlanddancing

Completion Haiku

A bridge can be crossed

if one has legs or a horse.

First you must make choice.

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