In My Prime Time



This aging thing...


    I don't fear it.

    I don't stress it.

    I don't 'plasticize' it

    Or over-moisturize it.


    For it is what it is-aging.


In fact,

 I embrace it.

  Pull it close...closer,

   Like a bare sinewy chest

    Pressed tightly to mine.


     For me,

you see...

      A woman of my years,

       48 isn't fatal...

         It's downright fun.


Its my prime time.

It's a reawakening of senses

      Of sensuality

      Of insatiable desires

I thought long dead with the past.


But no......


Ohhhh no.......

They are very much, so very much

Alive and  needing.


For after too many years

In a deadened state of being





...I walked proudly away

With a high-held head

And the desire to find love

A desire to be





For there is no way

I will ever again

     Settle for


Or miss out on this-

The most




and exciting phase

Of my womanhood-


-My prime time


To be loved

           And to love.




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When I say the magic word, 

all of this can end. 


After the news I heard today, 

I know exactly where we stand. 


You won't even see it coming, 

It'll be a quick blow to the head. 


Was all this pain really worth it,

when you tried to lay in her bed? 


Even though I hate the bitch,

I'm glad she stood her ground. 


I wish I could have seen your face

when she "sadly" turned you down. 


Now everyone is talking 

you're the joke of the town


Where are you going to turn

now that no one is around?


None of this is my fault,

but I should have seen the signs.


Should have looked a little closer,

should have read between the lines. 


I thought we were in love

when I looked into your eyes.


But now I know it's true,

that even love is blind. 


Star Child

Are you a star child? 

 Can you make the flowers bloom 
with a wave of your hand?
Do diamonds wonder what it would be like
 to be you?
Do your words linger long
 like waves, 
made to lap the beaches velvet shore
 and rock in its poetic ebb?
Does your gravity pull the 
 into the infinite orbit of your eyes; 
and when welling a tear,
could they wash away the sea?
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Lizbeth insisted
on us going
to the small church again


we walked
as she had parked
her bike
by the shed door
at the back
of the cottage


it seems longer
when you walk it
she said


same length
different speed
I said


she'd put on
her short black dress
for some reason
not fitting
for this kind
of countryside
her shoes had mud
on them already
where a tractor
had deposited it
all along
the narrow road


don't you have
buses here?
she asked


once a week
I said
2 hours
to do your shopping
in town
then back


2 hours?
she said
I need longer
than that to shop


that's all there is
I said


I hate the countryside
she said
the smell
the quiet
the emptiness
the silly blue sky
and those puffy
white clouds
she seemed annoyed
how do you stick it?


it's ok
I like it
it has a sense
of peace here
and there are birds
to study and butterflies


O my god
Lizbeth said
I’d die
of boredom here
you'd find me stiff
in some corn field
or whatever shit
grows in these fields


we walked on
in a uneasy silence
for a while


what's she like?
Lizbeth said


I asked


that girl
who lives near you
the girl with
the long straight black hair
and a face like a virgin


I knew who she meant
but I said nothing
but pretended
not to know
she lives near me?
I said


well she gets on
your school van
in the mornings
and afternoons
always dresses
like she's going
to a funeral
I see her
in the girl's playground
little Miss No Mates


O you mean Jane
I said
she's good
we have long walks together
and she knows a lot
about nature and birds
and butterflies and beetles
and so on


you walk with her?
Lizbeth said


we often go for walks
when its fine and warm


what do you do?
is she up for it?


up for what?


you know
Lizbeth spat out
the last word
as if
it were too hot
for her tongue


we don't think
about that
kind of thing
I said


Lizbeth looked at me
with raised eyebrows
thought not
she said


we walked up
the narrow lane
to the church
sunlight warming
our heads and backs


if the church is empty
maybe we can
she said


can what?
I said


you know
have S E X


I looked
at the church
appearing above
the hedgerow
and hoped to God
someone was there
some visitor
or vicar
or anyone
to save my day
and stop her fun.

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The Planted Seed

Perverse & Bazaar
erotic vein
coursing through
 burning wet sex
driven deep 
through her spine.
The dice
the table
nightfall and lady luck
swing from the moon
winning fought 
her thoughtless 
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Death of a Libertine

She Beguiles my senses, but in the past tense;
Extravagant blunderings, drunken and bent.
Decadent pagentry on forsaken dollar;
Corrosion  of tongue and flagrance and squalor.
Depths of despair: The vagrant that wanders
Loathsome and caged  resides my purged  heart
Reviled by th'eyes and ears of the art;
Death by which pleasure? (the Libertine ponders)
Author's Notes/Comments: 

libertine is one devoid of most moral restraints, which are seen as unnecessary or undesirable, especially one who ignores or even spurns accepted morals and forms of behaviour sanctified by the larger society.[1][2] Libertines put value on physical pleasures, meaning those experienced through the senses. As a philosophy, libertinism gained new-found adherents in the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries. (Wikipedia definition)

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Peep Show

Perverse & Bazaar
If poems were tongue
and mind was vagina, 
i bet
you would come
mine, huh? 
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Atara loved Dubrovnik
loved the old city walls
the shops and cafés
the churches and narrow streets


she liked sitting
drinking coffee
outside the restaurant

reading her
Schopenhauer book
a cigarette held
between fingers
watching now and then
people passing


Naaman had gone
to see a few sites
he said
rid himself
of his hangover
more like
she mused
by the sea edge
of the previous night
and too much wine
or Silvovitz


she sipped her coffee
even sex
had to be aborted
room swaying
he pronounced
although it was doing
no such thing
least not
in her head
lying in bed
wanting to sleep
not sex


she heard him snoring
some time after
from the bathroom
sprawled on the floor


the Schopenhauer book
was good even if
somewhat pessimistic
with that Eastern perspective
regarding the Will
and negation


she sipped the coffee
once more
but held the mouthful
sampling the flavour
the sense on tongue
the sensation
on the inner skin
of cheeks
warm and wet
and strong
but not bitter


she swallowed
and smiled
better than
the attempted sex
or that achieved
in recent months
and days


she loved Dubrovnik
and Naaman too
but he must
she mused
inhaling smoke
change his ways.

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            The gate is locked,
            but he tried his luck,
            The key so big,
            The gate so small,
            But by simple law of force,
            The gate gave way,
            With its pillars ,
            And all that held it firm.


The pain was excruciating,
My strength depreciating,
While my “grandfather” thrusts,
Laughing as I cried,
Panting as I gasped.
And when he was done he left.
Leaving me with tears, sorrow and blood.
Tears in my eyes, tear in my vagina.
And deep in my soul, I die.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The reality of underage marriage as practiced by some cultures.