RHYTHM

You’ve always had a slightly different rhythm when we dance,
But I’d never take the chance to mention,
Not my intention to make it known,
Make you concious of this rhythm all your own,
It’s grown to be enough for me,
With occasional synchronicity a pleasant happenstance,
But when our rhythm’s out of synch,
I think that’s fine as well,
For now I’ve learned that when we dance,
I shouldn’t hold you oh so tight,
For I just might affect your sway,
And the gentle way you move,
With a rhythm all your own,
A rhythm known by me,
And loved.

Grain Of Salt

well-meaners, inbetweeners,
fence sitters, born-bitters,
cheerleaders, pack heeders,
naysayers, game players,
well wishers, sin fishers,
revenge seekers, future peekers,
thoughts there they’ll share,
some pious, all biased,
hear’em all, let’em fall,
no fault, but grain of salt,
it’s your choice, your voice,
so be smart, hear YOUR heart.

What a difference a vowel makes…

Spelling counts in large amounts,
Though it can be hard, I know.
If you think it doesn’t count,
Try spelling count without the o.

Woof

Love is not a decision.
Love is not the answer to some intricate equation.
Love is not the result at the bottom of some emotional balance sheet.
Love is more.
And I am not a puppy hanging around your door.

Nailbiting

They tell me not to bite my nails,
It’s dirty and should not be done,
When I do – it never fails,
There always appears someone,
Who never hesitates to sneer,
“Don’ do that, and don’t do it here!”
I fear, just to avoid assails,
I may just stop biting my nails,
Soon as I even out this one………..

MISSING MOJO

Looking for my mojo,
Now where on earth did it go?
It was here a bit ago,
I hate it when it breaks its flow,
Really tough for my ego,
Usually here near my pillow,
Hope it turns up tomorrow.

The Lady of the Library

Is it a book,
After which you look?
Then seek thou out,
The Lady of the Library.
Though not contrary,
She’s a sassy lass.
With a temper, most fiery.
No talking will be tolerated.
Anything above a whisper,
Will be greeted with a shush!
And a hush by the Lady,
Of the Library.

Margareta de Lange – Surrounded By No One

I am standing in a photography exhibition, staring at a black and white photograph of a woman.
I am immediately captured by the photo, by something I spot down in the left corner
Though standing in a crowd of people, I know instinctively that only I see the particular item that has caught my focus.
The woman is nude, and appears to be standing in a hotel room.
She is holding her panties in her left hand, by one corner, so that they hang down. Her right hand is on her left temple, brushing her hair back.
At first it appears she has a shadow cast across her lower calves, but looking closer I see she is wearing short sheer stockings
So not completely nude
But none of this is what has captured my immediate attention, or is what I am sure only I can see.
She is standing at the foot of the bed, near the corner closest in the picture,
and there, on the far corner,
cast amongst the crumpled and strewn bed linens,
I am convinced that I see,
clear as can be,
her soul, or a part thereof
lying in wretched anguish.

HOME

My thigh,
between your thighs,
and I realise,
I’m home.

Twenty-Twelve

I think I’ll take it upon myself
To call this new year Twenty-Twelve.
And not two thousand and whatever.
Twenty-Twelve is so much better.
It sounds nice and alliterate.
You should too or at least consider it.