God

Are you there?

Are you listening?

Peering From Within

Like a nasty rumor too good to keep to ones self from mouth to ear it spread like a virus infecting each person it came into contact with.

Lock up your children,their coming to town. Their to camp on the outskirts of town, down by the river, they'll be. Keep your valuables close at hand,lock your doors, bar your windows, their coming to town. Down by the river, they'll be.

The virus spread.

My heart skipped a beat, maybe two when it came my time to be infected and I heard "they" were coming to town and "they" were to camp on the outskirts of town. Down by the river, I heard, they'll be. I wasn't afraid of losing a child, I wasn't afraid of being robbed in the dead of night, something far greater caused the hairs on my neck to stand up, and it was this something far greater that I was afraid of. The hands of the clock took their time ticking off the minutes, I waited. I wish I could say patiently I waited, but it was agonizingly painful, father waiting on his firstborn painful. But I waited, I had to know.

Black as a witches cauldron was the night, no moon, no stars, the darkest night I had ever seen as I made my way to the outskirts of town, down to the river, where they were supposed to be. Now too small an area, my heart pounded the walls of my chest in anticipation, scared to find out, scared not to find out. I had to know and this was my chance, perhaps, my only chance. I would have brought someone with me,if it had been possible but this was something I had to do alone. The only light of the camp flickered in the night keeping the arms of darkness at bay as shadows, blackened silhouettes, danced to the music. A stranger stepped from the darkness into the light of the camp, the music, the dance stopped, I stood there, I waited. Without a word, the oldest, not without pain, stood and walked toward me. The music, the dance began again as her gnarled twisted fingers took mine and led me away.

I have looked into the Gypsy woman's crystal ball and there was nothing. I thought there would have been more. I had prayed with all there was inside for more, but once the swirling smoke cleared there was nothing but a glass ball sitting on a table.

Acceptance can be such an evil word . . . she whispers.

Not fully open, not completely closed, always peering out into the world from within. A life, slightly ajar. A dream just out of reach.

Acceptance can be such an evil word. . .she whispers.

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,
With pen in hand, I stare at the blank page, the empty lines, but there is nothing but darkness. Hidden in the void the words are there, they hunger for release, for freedom, but they cannot find their way out. The promise of a new life, a chance to live, tempts them from the light shining from underneath the door. Hostages held, bound, tied, the words struggle to come together. They know in numbers there is strength, in numbers words become thoughts, in numbers words are stronger than the sticks glued together to form the door that holds them captive. In numbers words become sentences, the lines no longer blank. In numbers words becomes ideas . . . dear diary, can you keep a secret?

I Know From Where The Tears Flow

From the start, the very beginning, a mist surrounded the truth of who I was, of what I was. Hidden in the folds of shadows, I traveled down a road searching, thinking, and yes, perhaps fooling myself into believing happiness, my happiness, truth, my truth was only a bend in the road ahead. The clarity of my vision nothing but a lie, me, nothing but a fool. A conclusion, a realization that has taken me a lifetime in admitting is painful, I bleed, the blood I shed are the tears of clouded eyes. I have lived a lifetime surrounded by the fog, surrounded by the gray and I fear it will never lift . . . I fear too much water has flowed under the bridge . . . I fear I have waited too long . . . I fear I will never see the colors of my life as it should have been.

Don't Know Why

In the beginning, they said it would take time, things would get better, would get easier, life must go on, they said. Don't cry they would say, you're a man, a man must be strong, be tough, suck it up, they said. God knows, I tried, but this was a battle I knew I was not going to win. No matter how hard I tried, I could not prevent the water inside from welling up. Higher and higher it rose, the dams of my eyelids were not strong enough, not high enough to contain it within. My cheeks felt the wetness of my tears, as they flowed. I cried. I stood in a room full of people and it didn't matter. I cried and damn it, I was a man.

That was how I felt when a very good friend died, a few years back. After the tears dried up, the well, that was my soul was empty. For weeks, for months, a zombie without feeling, without emotion, I went about the daily grind of what was expected, what was needed, running on auto-pilot.

And now, for days, that feeling of overwhelming emptiness has haunted my ever waking moment and I don't know why. Don't cry, you're a man, a man must be tough, be strong, suck it up, I say. God knows, I am trying but it is a battle I'm afraid I have lost again. Angrily I wipe the wetness from my cheek, but this time I don't know why . . .

Wet or Dry

Being home alone, nothing to do, bored out of my mind, I clicked into a chat room, a few days ago. What, hard to believe? Well, Annelle, I admit it, yes I do pray . . . I mean go to chat rooms. After weeding through, slipping and dodging those only interested in wanting to know, location, age, and always my favorite, how BIG is it, I met a guy that had been to the Land of Oz and gotten a brain. This guy impressed me, he turned out to be quite a conversationalist, well maybe typist, but none the less and more importantly he had a brain. Apparently, like me, he just wanted to talk. OK . . . OK, the whole conversation didn't consist only about global warming, we did talk about other things, as well. One of the more interesting topics that might make you raise an eyebrow was about pre-cum. Yes, you read it right, pre-cum. If you're a man, I sure you know about it. Steven, yes we had the same name, only spelled differently, apparently leaked like a faucet and at times had gotten himself into some embarrassing situations. I guess, if you think about it, hiding a hard-on is, well hard enough, but trying to conceal a wet spot could be a problem. How do you do it? I mean not do it, do it! But how do you hide your wet spot when it happens, he asked? Well, I don't, I replied. It is something that isn't a problem. Some of us do (leak), some of us don't, and I happen to be one of the ones that don't. Perhaps mine is broken, I typed. He knew some men didn't produce what some call the Nectar of the Gods, but had never met or talked with a guy that didn't have pre-cum. Gee thanks, I said, I don't know whether to feel honored or inadequate? He laughed and the conversation continued . . . of course, back to global warning!

The Perfect Vacation

It has come to my attention, actually it is something that I have known for quite some time. I live a boring life. For weeks, I worked almost none stop, then I forced myself to take a few days vacation to only come back exhausted and ever since I've been back, nothing but work, work, and more work. I need some excitement, I need to escape, I need to find my paradise . . .

The sun rose in the eastern sky like it had done the day before and the day before that one, having completed its job for this morning, this day. As rays of light flickered on the walls like winged fairies dancing in the morning light, the night gave way. Having failed at another attempt, Death along with the darkness and all its shadows disappeared, slowly fading away as my eyes opened.

If this had been any other, both feet would have hit the floor before the sleep had cleared the eye, but not today. Alive, awake, but motionless as a corpse, I laid there. I had no appointments, no commitments, I had no reason to spring forth from the warmth of the bed that cradled my body. I was on vacation.

Outside, the mountain laurels rustled in the blowing breeze, the morning air still crisp, still clean. The mountain stream, its waters as cold as the ice cubes in a tall glass of sweet southern tea, flowed downstream. Over boulders, over branches of fallen trees the waters rushed, its power pounding the rocks smooth in its haste, its hurry to reach a destination not yet seen. As the Sirens of old beckoned Odysseus, the beauty outside calls to me, with all its charm, its allure, it tries to draw me away.


But it will fail. I'm already in paradise.

Mood: Exhausted

Why do we call it a vacation, when we get back home often times more give out, more tired, more exhausted than we were before we left. I need a vacation from the vacation.

Soothing Hands

What was I thinking when I made the offer to work, not only my shift but take on the responsibility of two other colleagues as well. I must have been out of my mind. Some days I had my doubts, I second guessed myself, I wondered if I had taken on a task greater than my strength, greater than my endurance. Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Day after day, nothing but work, endless days turned into weeks, but it is over. Dragging, limping, licking my wounds, I endured, I survived.

When I did have a few minutes to myself, I read the comments you left, the emails you sent. They were gentle hands soothing my tired body, they were a Gods send. Hopefully, soon I will be by to visit with each of you, and find the time to answer your emails. Hugs and Kisses . . .

What Day Is It?

I've been busier than a honey bee sucking nectar from a field of wild flowers and there is no end in sight. I'm running on auto-pilot, no time to think, to dream, to post. Someone please untie me . . . I need a day off!

Last Page, Last Line

Were you being polite or did you see the hidden secrets behind the veils of blue when our eyes met? Could this have been the reason for the brief, almost non existent upturn curve of your lips. A flash of warmth felt, a blush of red, had I given myself away? Why could I not stop these betraying eyes from looking? Why did you not look away? Now I felt like one of the opened books that laid before me, I was being read, I was being comprehended. Your eyes searching page by page, reading the secrets I kept hidden between the lines.

Dare I turn to the last page and read the last line or do I have the courage to let this story play out, chapter by chapter?

Did You Know

When the door opened, I did not look up, my eyes were transfixed on the book that laid before me, concentrating on the words of the text. I was spell bound, lost in their meaning, lost in my comprehension, unaware of your presence until I heard you speak. The words escaped your lips, in a whisper, barely audible, but none the less loud enough for me to hear them as you introduced yourself to the lady behind the counter. Your voice was the magic it took to break the spell that had been cast on me. No longer a prisoner to the text, my eyes lifted from the page, freed to search the room, freed to find the voice that had broken their chains. Did I stare too much, perhaps too long? Did you have that familiar feeling that someone was watching you, was this the cause, the reason our eyes met. Could you tell, did you know even then . . .

Finding My Way Out

The opening of my eyelids drove the darkness of the night away this morning as they opened to the sunlight shining through the windows of the bedroom. Arms folded over the chest, corpse like, I lay there motionless, allowing only the involuntary actions of my body to function. Blinking, clearing the eyes of sleep, clearing the mind of clouded dreams, I laid there. Aware of my morning hardness, aware of the deafening silence of an empty house, my senses became alive, but I remained a corpse in waiting, eyes staring out into space. Sitting on the nightstand, only a turn of the head away, a clock faithfully counted the seconds of the passing of the day, but I lost track of time. . . I laid there. The gears of a thinking mind, my mind were turning but no images were being projected, there was nothing but a blank screen. A maze of grey matter and I could not see the exit sign, body motionless, mind spinning, I wandered, I searched its corridors, finding only more dead ends. I laid there . . . catatonic . . . staring into space . . . Amelia Earhart lost.

Tumble Weed

All my life . . . I've been the mighty oak, grounded, able to withstand the gale force winds of the hurricane. Lifelines securely tied, I've been the anchor in the storm.

But . . . time is taking its toil. The winds batter my branches, even when there is calm. The teardrops overflowing the dam of my eyes wash away the earth that remains even when the clear sky keeps at bay the waters of the storm. Uprooted, ravaged by time, I topple over like the ancient pillars of Rome. I fall victim, to time. I can endure for you no longer. No longer for you can I survive. You must take breathe on your own. Our strength that once flowed through my veins is no more, I grow weaker, to continue will surely mean death for the both of us. Even now I wonder if it is too late? Have I strength enough to let go, enough faith, to allow myself to be blown across the barren landscape.

A tumble weed searching for its anchor . . .

It's Getting Too Crowded In Here

Too many irons in the fire, too many pots on the stove, too many hands kneading the dough. Hands reaching out, hands pulling me here, tugging me there, unable to go forward, unable to go backward, I stand and spin around and around. I can do just so much. I can be in just so many places at one time, and frankly, I do not want to do that, or that and I do not want to go there, be there. I don't suppose one of your many options being flung my way is to leave me the fuck alone, is it? You have problems? Well, I hate to inform you but so does she, he and it. And do you want to know what else, so do I. I would love to pull the magic wand out sprinkle you with fairy dust and make the rain clouds over your head disappear today, but I can't, I'm not God! If I was, do you think I would be living in this fucking closet? Can't you understand, I can not fix your problem, stop calling, the damn ringing of the phone is driving me insane. Don't you get the message by now? I'm not answering it! Today is my day off and I have a date with Stephen, Jr. That is, if you will stop interrupting me with the damn ringing of that phone.

Naked

I tear out, by the roots, a lifetime of teachings.

Acceptance without questioning why, will be no longer.

I stand here, as the day I was born, naked, bleeding from the wounds of a lifetime.

Seeking the truth, I present not to you, but to myself a blank canvas.

This time I will be the painter.

Screams of a Drowning Man

The waves wash over me, sucking me down into the depths of Neptune. I gasp, but my lungs finds, fills only with the waters that surround me.

Against the riptide, I struggle but it is too strong, from the safety of the sandy beach I am pulled, I am helpless against its strength, helpless against its power. I am nothing more than the sea weed floating beside me, like it, I've been set adrift by the storm.

I am drowning. . . drowning in a sea of men, with the frenzy of sharks, their masculinity surrounds me. They circle me! So many, yet so few, so close yet so far away.

Will the waves of the storm forever keep the reach of my life guard an arm's length away?

I Am Doomed

I am doomed I tell you, doomed. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to jail, doomed.


The day started off just like any other day, another sunny day, no rain in sight. Rain? I haven't seen the rain or felt its wetness upon my face for so long, I've almost forgotten what those wonderful drops from heaven are. What I wouldn't give to see the dark gray storm clouds rolling in the Southern sky, what I wouldn't give to see them burst open and spill upon this dry parched earth their tears. Sorry, forgive me. I forgot what I was doing.

Let's see, I remember now, no rain in sight, I was sitting on the deck soaking in the freshness of a new day, checking my emails. I scanned the few I had received and yes, there it was, another one from the special friend. I opened it first, the eyes read the words, his words. . . waiting on a response was the last words my eyes saw, the last words that entered and floated around inside my mind. The heart fluttered, the hands may have trembled a bit as the fingers typed back a response. Where and when? The wonders of the Internet, almost instantly the email alert came back.

Today. . . this afternoon . . .2 pm sound OK with you? I will be waiting for you. No problem, I replied, I will meet you there. After all, I thought to myself, nothing is going to happen, just a chance to finally meet this mystery man I had been talking to for some weeks now. A chance to meet, a chance to talk, and if nothing else, a chance to make a new friend.

We met, we talked, he suggested we go to a more secluded place, a more private place, a place he knew, a place I'm sure he had been before. I admit, I saw the red flag waving in the breeze but I was still intrigued, the logical reasoning of my sane mind, replaced with the lust filled expanding appendage being held captive within my well worn jeans. I know, go ahead. Call me a slut! Call me what you will! It doesn't matter, I am doomed anyway I tell you, doomed.

Things happened, things were done, the taste of his lips still linger, the touch of his roaming hands, I remember . . . but I must not think of these things, I must forget.

"Why did you not tell me this before?" I heard myself asking.

Oh, My God, what have I done? I am doomed, doomed to spend eternity, my soul lost to the bowels of Hell!

Wait . . . maybe all is not lost! Maybe, just maybe, could it be possible? Could this man be also my redeemer!

Bless me Father, for I have sinned!

All I Need

Words are not necessary, lying in your arms is all I need.

Listening to you breathe, feeling your breathe against my skin is all I need.

The warmth of your body replaces the chill I feel inside, all my troubles, my problems melt away.

The exploring of your hands over my body is wonderful, but you know me so well. Today . . . now . . . they just hold me. You know your presence is enough, it is all I need.

Today, you are not my lover, today you are my friend.

It is enough, it is all I need. . .

Is The Well Dry?

When did it creep inside me. . . could I not have felt it slowly worming its way in . . . how did I not know? It was clever, I give it that, laying dormant, patiently waiting for its time to pounce, all the while knowing it would gain more and more strength the longer it waited, gathering more strength the longer "I" waited. It bided its time, lying low, remaining in the shadows the way a sniper waits just for the right moment to pull the trigger. His finger resting on the trigger, concentrating, sure of his skill, sure of his target, he (it) gently squeezes the trigger, a shot rings out, its piercing sound echoing in the stillness of the air. A thump, an instant of pain felt, a wetness of red flows . . .I'm bleeding.

I wonder. . .

Has my time come and gone, is my well dry, barren of its life sustaining water. When did I allow, this thief of dreams . . . this thief of hope to creep inside and rob me of my tomorrows. I refuse to believe there is nothing, but the bucket comes back empty. I thirst. . .