As my soles strike the concrete
My soul soars across the skyline
And I catch myself considering
The constant conflict of life,
And the concept of beauty by which
Then I see a skyscraper
And my mind goes ballistic
With a sudden epiphany
Each window holds a story
Of a person or a family
Facing challenges like me
And the whole of humanity
I stand there
As I consider the potential
And I begin to entertain
The ludicrous notion
The world isn't broken
If all of those windows
Set aside all adversity
We could face any problem
With the highest degree of certainty
In order the heart, keep running without knowledge
Of the living torch, of the soiling fires that wipe
Hopes memory, the boiled blood must breathe
In a sea of borders, of waves and rushing tides.
In order the heart, beats time, though it knocks,
Near breaks, as the wind that swoons is divining
Treasure, the jewel in the box of flesh must hold,
Must shore the rivers of the branching bleed.
In order the heart, is closed, and dry of touches
Towering keep, let the eye know mercy, let the seas
That travel with the bones never feel the marching
Desert, the hollow caves of the discarded lovers.
If we might have a second chance
To live days once more
And rectify mistakes we have made before
To even up the score
If we might have a second chance
To use up the knowledge gained
Perhaps we might become at last
As fine as GOD ordained
Forever brings another chance
For us to try once more
5/6/00 3:49 PM
I am transcribing this mornings’ writings.
It is 11 a.m. I have been naked all day. So many windows to look through, both physically and in the mind.
I have been near silent the whole time I have been in this house. I find it so strangely familiar here. It fits; it all fits in the mysterious cosmic way I have yet to discover.
*I am a person who visits ‘his house when he is on trips. And here I find myself on a trip or two indeedy. The house, thought 1, I love his style.
It makes me think of what I want for myself. There is fantasy and reality to indulge in here.
Reality is the space and freedom. Space for all things special and ordinary. I miss space and order. He has all the thought provoking areas of interest of a real home. The colors are rich, deep blue, burgundy, and browns, all used in an artful mix of styles. Oddly pondering here because I would choose many of the same pieces myself. Every room has space for dancing, which I have done naked a few times here now.
Everyone else is watching big screen movies. I am in the other living room on a big brown leather couch; still naked, touching all of ‘his things with my body.
I awoke this morning to the sound of the modem. I swear it is the perfect alarm clock for me! You know I get excited every time I here the perfect connection.
My dreams were vivid awake and asleep because ‘he is on a trip and I am sleeping naked in the master bedroom. There is the possibility he could have come home at anytime. I had spent 6 hours already that night naked in his home without his knowledge. Everyone is used to me being naked when we come stay here. I don’t want to put clothes on here, in this house.
It is not the people around seeing me naked in the yard sunbathing, or running around the big house with big windows which have no coverings btw.
It is the space and atmosphere that draws out my facets. This space sparks my exhibitionist in a feisty way. * All the pussy massages for me to relax and enjoy, just being papered to highs. *
The white leather couch and a 60-inch screen for movies- others are sitting in the chairs and on the floor.
One joins me on the sofa. Everyone is watching a movie, so am I when my eyes are open. I am on the couch on my stomach, with a pillow under my hips and my head. My legs spread wide, there I am being touched inside and out constantly. I moan, open my eyes and see the many eyes on me and the ’s. I close my eyes and smile and say “watch the movie you guys geez”, giggle, wiggle and moan again. The surround sound covers some of my whimpers.
As soon as the movie was over I walked to the master bedroom and turned on the light. HIS clothes, files, and suitcases were still on the bed. WoW he really could come home. I wanted that bed!
-We- cleared the bed and I jumped in the middle and put ‘his pillow under my ass. I don’t know ‘him, but I love his style and I wanted to cum on his bed and pillows. The fact that I come here and stay naked all over his things excites me, and he has no idea. And yes, I came all over the master bed, we fucked madly! I know the others heard my bells and chains clinking at a feverish pace. I listened to the sounds ‘his bed made. I fully enjoyed his headboard, grabbing his oak poles, feeling each one up and down, as I was getting closer to coming. Ahhh my hand finds a broken bar, I think how it must have been broken by ‘him doing what I was at that moment. That moment I came.
My mind was so in this “space”, that after we were spent I jumped up and ran to the pool. Everyone else was still wake and followed me outside. Skinny-dipping after hours of pleasure is the best recovery! Wooo Hooo!
I was the only one naked – still, I didn’t mind and neither did anyone else. They were announcing to me when the pool jets came on, giggles, they wanted me sitting on them. A wind picked up and I went inside, everyone followed me in.
We all watched Eyes Wide Shut, and then everyone went to his or her separate rooms.
I took ‘his room, I love the big space, the many doors and windows all left open, so nice and free. I stood beside ‘his bed and slowly dropped my chains and bells beside his slippers on the floor. I sprawled about on his sheet and fell into a light sleep.
I was dreaming that there was a camera taking pictures of me, while I was replaying in my dream the real conversation I had with ‘him the night before. He was asleep on the phone, I called and he never fully woke up to give my message to his roommate. I listened to him breath, and I spoke quietly to him, softly and sweetly, he spoke back a few times and then I hung up. But in the dream I was having it was phone sex, and I was talking in my sleep, in ‘his bed. What a twist of cosmic ways. With all the dreams: of the snap shots and the discovery of me in his bed, nude, alone and moaning fuck me. In my dream I was saying it, and I know the other people in the other rooms could hear me speaking my mind in my sleep. The rooms are close by indeed.
Awoke by the modem with 5 hours of sleep, I was stiff bodied, yet excited to wake up in ‘his bed. It was 8:30 a.m. I rolled over and moaned loud enough to draw attention to myself, knowing it would work .
I kept my eyes closed and softly said how sore my ribs and back were. The hands of the night before returned to rub my body once again. After a few minutes of morning massage, I smiled, giggled and rolled off the bed and darted to the pool.
Naked morning sunshine, I love it, jump in the pool and by the time I got fully wet the coffee came to me. Everyone was eating breakfast poolside while I skinny-dipped my body into a limber state. After breakfast everyone jumped in the pool with me, but I was the only one naked. We all swam for 30 minutes or so. I spotted the lounge chair and decided to sunbathe Seconds after my body reclined, the hands and oil came to pamper me once again. I was spread out in full view of all in the pool, getting slicked up al over, with oil and such. It felt great inside and out, I didn’t care that everyone was watching me get my pussy satisfied. I was vividly aware of where I was, out in the open space and the freedom of space, as I thought my ass rose in the air and my body twitched repeatedly. I heard the voices in the pool, and felt the sun on me as I came hard, right there in front of everyone. Hell, I needed help getting up off that chair, and an oiled hand took mine, and led me to the master bedroom.
The master’s bed now has oil on the sheets and the headboard, and the wall. I left myself all over his things. He will know some of my essence whether he knows it or not, I will. Here I sit naked in his den loving every naked minute of it.
I am back from being oil girl. Being bent over people spreading glistening oil on nakedness, my ass got a lil bit to much sun! I go to the master bedroom again, everyone is still poolside. I try on things, because they are left out on the bed. You know how I always ask what a mans' favorite pair of pants are? Well there was 501’s in my size, I couldn’t resist sliding him on me, loving how they fit my ass. I went back outside and paraded around showing how good ‘his pants fit me. “Do you have underwear on?” I was asked, I laughed and said no. I got an odd look from the people. I danced off to the bedroom and put them back, knowing how he fit was enough.
Right now I am sitting outside writing and a camera is pointed right at my pussy. So I shall stand up for a few shots. I got up and stood on the table and spread for some close ups, lmao, ok enough sun, my tits are red.
After delivering a few drinks poolside, I return to ‘his bed, laying on my belly, thinking, pen in hand.
I hear the shower turn off and I close my legs, I feel the wet drops hit my back, as he sits on my legs. He is holding them together with his weight. I feel the oil hit my back, sliding down the crack of my ass.
The lower back massage becomes two bodies sliding against each other. At first his hands slide between my tightly pressed thighs. My hips grabbed and lightly lifted, raising my ass in the air, yet tightly holding my legs together.
A breath on my neck touched me at the same time he entered my pussy once again. My pen never left my hand. I was focused.
I go for a smoke and jump back into the pool, knowing its time for me to leave soon. As I enter the main room, in just panties, I pick up my lotion and start putting it on my arms. Hands from behind gently take the lotion and begin putting it on my sunburned back. I defiantly feel the fact that I have panties on as the hands reach my lower back and slowly pull them off……
The story is very telling that my mind is truly not on present, but on what is not there. By saying this I almost ruin the erotica of it..but the psychology of the the story is rich too..
I wrote that day and the next paragraph by paragraph, each hour or so.
Who else was present is everyone who always saw me naked and saw it as no big deal. I was a nudist, they knew it. Its all very true...
Some fools are born, conditioned by fate,
And they, like all, still procreate.
All useful knowledge flees their minds,
As selfish life fulfills these swines.
And while they swing and cheat for joys,
The watchful eyes of their little boys
Do take a look at what they see,
And what they see is “A bigger me.”
Their little girls, in company of dolls,
On occasion, foresee what befalls
Upon them, too, as they soon explore,
An impending battle of love and war.
But then, there exists that little kid,
Whose sex and gender shall remain amid
A cloud of irrelevance and mystery:
Their wisdom calls most urgently.
And as this kid sees a life unravel
Along Lacanian stages of travel,
Concerned are they with the fuss and mess,
Which most adults do not confess
To what they cause and what they bring,
Most taken in by their offspring.
While one parent lacks all the care,
The other lives a life unfair;
In times of chaos and audacious cuss,
Dear vengeful killer, Oedipus,
Consumes all facets of the mind
Of the little kid who must confine
All pain, and hatred, and all rage,
Enough to place one in a cage,
And leave one there to squirm and rot,
Like a lobster boiling in a pot,
And free the bird whose wings to fly
Have been broken off, now left to die,
In part, by diabolical norms
That invade a home in all shapes and forms.
But the kid looks up at the two,
Then whispers quietly, “I’m neither of you;
Not the blinded one, who feels must reign;
Nor the obliged one, too tied to pain."
Nor does the kid ever dare to be
A product passed politically:
Ingrained in mind, in heart, and soul
A subordinate being in a bowl,
That turns, and turns, and turns, and turns
While greedy capitalists more they yearn.
Within this cycle is little choice,
Hetero-normatively sans a screaming voice,
For a true language for some not made;
Virile chest-pounds place a shade
Upon the stronger ones deprived
Appraisal for their stronger minds.
The kid, all this, can’t take to be,
As what they see they wish not to see.
In this unbalanced Yin and Yang,
The kid’s perception hits a bang:
“The power lies within the one,
Who mostly governs with a gun;
And how can a human hurt their double,
When love and passion are lesser trouble?"
A fitting sex the kid can't choose,
As in every win, each sex does lose.
But slowly, as they come to be,
The kid, society directs to see,
That to just one sex they must belong,
As genitalia proves feelings wrong.
This funny theory most credits Freud;
By collective viewpoints the kid’s annoyed:
'No good is said, no good is done',
For those who are all, but yet are none.
Great gender points makes Butler de Judith
While her female likes are out to proveth,
That she is wrong within her stance
‘Only female unity will give rise to chance'
To an inclusion of the female word,
And one that’s First, not Second or Third.
The opposite, still out to bend
The rules and laws, all to pretend
That the other sex does not exist
Because swollen egos must persist
In rule, in art, in build, and biz:
'Fields where opposites lack all wiz.'
The kid, in this silly world of theirs,
Looks at all the foolish heirs
Who bounce and shoot this gendered ball,
While the kid stands back and laughs at all.
oh beautiful man
your mind, god, your mind
i bask in it's shine
i read your words
i love every side of you
i love you in your silence
in your screaming too
i can't explain the draw
the knowledge that i have
you are the master weaver
i wish to be fiber in your hands
how can it be you've captured me
true, i'll follow you eternally
inside me is a raging sea
my heart it's cried an ocean
no one can cherish you as i do
no one will honor and obey
no one will hold a torch as brightly
no one can appreciate your decay
my darling you will never know
what sweet torture i endure
how many times a day i think of you
i pray your name
my heart, it's cried an ocean
i'll sail away
into your arms
i'll proudly stay
you'll finally see why i say
my heart, it's cried an ocean
SELFISH EDUCATION MINUS POETICAL WISDOM
MAKES THE WORLD LAME
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; firstname.lastname@example.org)
Nothing is wrong with selfish education;
Career is an important part of a good life
Much of human life over the years
Is devoted to career acquisition
In oblivion of poetical wisdom
Philosophy does not make it any easier,ok
For apothecaries to remove a prostate gland;
Apothecarical education is long, arduous and dear in cost
Never temper it with apparent irrelevance
But poetical wisdom soothes the tools
Helps apothecaries to volite in dilemma
Poetical wisdom is essential for apothecary’s work
Without it; apothecary tells a mother-to-be
Your baby will be a dwarf dwarfishly
The apothecary explains the mother’s options yet in fault
Since it takes more than just knowledge of genetics
Since it requires an understanding of suffering,
Of disappointment and puerperal attachment
Apothecary tell a daughter but in sham; that
Your mother’s life support needs to be removed
It takes more than just knowledge of physiology
It too requires an understanding of emotional loss
A casualty room apothecary goofs to avoid despair
When faced with a baby battered nearly to death
By its own zinjathropus father
Such horror requires a faith in humanity
That cannot be learned in the selfish education
It’s not just apothecaries absolute
To benefit from a broader learning
It is but entire humanity
Studying drama would no help financiers
Devise capricious financial parasites
That doomed the world into financial mire
But, if they were familiar with Faust,
They may have thought twice about
The consequences of their vice,
Being able to sing from Shelley’s poems
Will not help politicians get elected
Carousing Ozymandias might make them more humble
And thoughtful about their accomplishments
Rupert Murdoch might not now be shaking his head
And whining; how I wish I new
Instead, he were to echo Shakespeare’s words
About how easy it is to be; done to death by a slanderous tongue,
I sing this poem in a crouch in the twilight
Around the world as my audience
Behold poetic eyebrows of my comrades,
A generation of humanity familiar poetical kingdoms
Of history, philosophy and literature is a wonderful vision
Doubts not that reading Goethe
And Shelley and Shakespeare guarantees wisdom
You are correct, kudos to you,
Reading, by itself, won’t make anyone a sage
Experience is a pertinent Florence
As Odysseus learns on his journey back to Ithaca,
Important lessons can only be learned the hard way
Through bitter experience, perhaps has a change,
Youth start out with sex, drugs, rock and roll
With experience they eventually emotions decadence
In calm appreciation that; nothing to excess,
Tragic exceptions like poor Amy Wine house;
Only serve to prove the rule, there is a problem,
Ergo, Experience alone cannot guarantee wisdom
Any more than reading books can
The lessons of life are only available
To those who are ready to learn them
If wisdom is the goal, then humanity must walk 10,000 miles,
To read 10,000 books
Said 17th century Chinese philosopher, GU Yanwu
Becoming wise requires more than set of adventures
But a cultured mind that is open and liberal
Readily able to absorb the lessons that experience teaches
Pasteur famously said that; Chance favours the prepared mind
Our job as learning humanity is to take his words seriously
Prepare mankind to learn from experience,
Humanity is to go beyond selfish education
To learn colours of hope in the poetical wisdom;
Life, death, tragedy, love, beauty, courage, loyalty
All of these are omitted from selfish education
yet, when it comes time to sum up our lives,
They are the only things that ever go places,
Catholic priesthood ever admonishes the flocks;
Thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return
A salutary reminder of what we all have in waiting f
Like the Preacher in the Ecclesiastes;
We spend our years trying to find some meaning in our lives
It is easy to fall into the bottomless pit
Life is tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing
But before humanity reaches Macbeth’s conclusion,
We must provide with the poetical glory
Musing fortunately as all humanities is anxious
There is a thirsty for poetical wisdom
Which parochial selfish education cannot quench,
There ought to be a list of great poetical works
From east, west, north and south of the world
Globalectically Nursing poetic urge of the earth
With which every piece of humanity should suckle
In wisdom that Books have the power to convey wisdom,
From these poetical sources that humanity learn about love
And loss, about memory and desire,
About loyalty and duty,
About our world and love-bound universe
And about what it means to be a human being
Lovers,of God's world, I say to you.
For hurt doesn't come to you blindly to be hurt.
Love your enemies, do good by loving them.
Love those that blast you for security.
When there's really no need.
Because of being hurt by insecurity.
Hunger for wisdom to stand strong.
When you're the only one right.
And hosts of others are completely wrong.
Love attitudes, comes from knowledge.
And who know you better?
Laugh at your pain, instead of cry.
When you do you realize later you're wearing a smile.
Rejoice in joy, your life will shines more when it does come.
Happy is anyone that has someone.
Not that being lonely doesn't make you that way.
Remember and admit that love is a dangerous weapon
Against those that drive themselves to be evil.
Humble yourself in God's teaching.
His words that's written has a powerful meaning.
Find nothing that He hadn't predicted to be false.
Cause in reality they have appeared.
God gives it.
Do good and your reward shall be great?
Even among the unthankful.
Remember God does this.
The measure of your graciousness will determine your heart.
When we must answer to the Lord.
When I was little, I used to draw maps. Maps of everything. The world. Fairy tale lands. My elementary school. They were detailed, beautiful, had keys and compasses and everything.
Looking back, through out the years I wish my life had a map as fine as that. One that would guide me. Tell me which turns were the wrong ones.
I realized that it does. I draw it everyday. I draw it onto the pages of this earth. Each trail, mountain, stream and bridge gets added as I come across it. When I grow up, I will be able to look back upon this map, smiling at all the places I have been. I will be able to turn around, and walk off of it. Into the uncharted, with the knowledge that there will always be part of my map that I will never know.
I wish I could meet and talk with you,
To see your faces, to see your children,
To drink with you, have coffee or wine.
What is your story? Where were you born?
What is your star? What is your compass?
I'd like to see your bedroom, your favorite book.
Do you have a favorite shirt? Where have you traveled?
What are your secret fears, your gnawing fears?
Would you rather be elsewhere? I'd like to see
Your face when you're near your mother, your father,
Your wife, your husband, your devoted dog,
Your gestures, the glint in your eye, your smile.
It would be nice to see you with a coffee cup
When a lake or the grass or a tree is waking,
Or when a car is clearing its throat on a winter morning,
Or when a few birds dart past your window,
Or when the first snowfall of the year comes
And children are up to their usual mischief.
Does something pierce your heart? What happened, my friend?
Is that why I woke up sad this morning?
It's just that you and I will die someday...
It's just that I cannot survive without you:
You made my shoes somewhere far away;
It took your knowledge, your effort, your time;
You designed my apartment, my building, the room
Is warm, the window shields me from the elements,
The shower works, the toilet works because of you.
You wove my shirts or you built the machines that weave;
I know nothing of electricity, yet there it is;
I know nothing of computer mechanics, yet the computer
Works beautifully, smoothly, and you fix them too;
I cook, but I don't grow my food, it comes from
You who packaged it, who grew it in a farm.
The apples are crisp and sweet thanks to you;
My body is comfortable and warm thanks to you;
The water is clear or nearly clear thanks to you;
I have a water purifying system thanks to you.
I learned some things, but millions of brains, your brains
Learned and learned, my friends, things I don't know.
It would have been damned hard to smell the roses,
It would have been damned hard to soak in birds' song,
The symphony of stars, my lover's eyes,
Without your effort, your discoveries, medicine.
In another century, I'd have died in infancy perhaps,
And varied experiences would not have smiled on me,
Would not have set on tables their bowls of fruit.
I would never have seen the Taj Mahal, the Eiffel Tower,
The beautiful souls I met in other countries,
Without you, the builders, the designers.
And you, mother, you decided to have me...
The dawn with its vast poetic speech,
The glassy lake with its articulate silence,
My lover now who comforts and cooks for me,
Who waters a flower I never knew I had
Before I met her, were made available to me
Because of your decision and your care.
You were especially careful in what you ate
When dawn and dusk were still concealed.
When I was out screaming in the crib,
How many peaceful nights were denied you?
Every few hours witnessed you
In my room, changing diapers, giving milk.
You sheltered me, bought clothing, and for a while
I was your world, your dawn, your night, you scarcely knew another,
And your love would not be overcome, sweet mother.
While I grew and grew inviting as many troubles
As a clear summer night does the stars,
You extricated me, you'd always come;
For all your anger, your love was not overcome.
For every shadow you may have cast
Where lines of irritating ants crawled like redundant arguments,
You shone ten beams or kindnesses,
You showed me God knows how many gardens.
For a few years the winters had claimed you,
You woke up to a twilight wind, bony fingers of bush
Scratching the kitchen window. You went to a job
You could scarcely tolerate, the place was far away,
And at the time I didn't know or care to know
Of your anxieties and dissatisfactions,
Though shuffling your cards as you did
In the wan light of the kitchen made me suspect...
I remember the evenings when you'd come
With your burden, yet your love was not overcome...
You did this when I thought I had problems,
When I was snubbed by a girl or dejected
By the fact a girl lived too far away,
Dejected because of some low test scores,
Because I thought the pimples drove the girls away.
You did it when I was convinced of my cleverness,
When I was convinced I understood the world
In a way that you and father hadn't.
How many meals of yours had I not savored,
The ingredients of which you bought?
How many times did I find clean shirts, underwear,
A clean room and thought it was my due,
While sometimes, to my friends, I criticized you?
Father, yours was a tougher kind of love...
It was a love in which doubt played a part.
You doubted my abilities, you doubted my strength.
You thought my mother's love was sending me to the grave.
Pillows and feathers couldn't teach me to be brave.
I was too self-enclosed, and you were right...
It may be you never supported my passion,
Yet each denial or doubt made me stronger,
Each harsh word, really, gave birth to a bird
That would skirt the bright blue with poetic speech.
I complained that you never understood.
Yet I never understood you, I just thought I did.
From a comfortable room I sifted through
Your stories, thinking stories make the man,
Thinking descriptions are reality,
As if the word "rose" is in fact the rose,
As if the word "dawn" can help one drink the dawn.
And what could I really know of grinding it out
In post World War Two Russia, shifting about?
You had supporters, but you were hurt too.
You got to know anxiety a little too well.
But I, being the conceited child, thought:
Aha! But I would have done otherwise!
Where comforts abound, a fanciful Otherwise
Gets bloated, ingratitude assuming a spider's eyes.
You - you took me traveling, I remember France
Most vividly: we descended the building's quiet stairs,
The lobby carpet conveying a musty smell,
Strangely endearing, and crossed where the light had fell
Like a geometric dream, walking out to the song of birds,
To leaping architecture and buzzing cars,
As though we may have been Adam's first words.
We took a taxi to Paris' heart,
To a street where bold awnings were, tinkling glasses,
Rippling words, waiters shuffling to and fro,
Where linear lawns dreamt manes of grasses,
And tourists were taking photos or on the go.
We had brunch, crossed a bridge: All was wonder...
The blue trance of sky served sun of elation,
Served sweetness, delicious disorientation,
As we walked, radiating the city's heart,
Toward the Louvre museum, royalty of art.
The spirits of gods congregated there.
The walls unfurled heavens of the ages,
The sufferings, visions of seers and sages,
And I nearly swooned in the rarefied air...
When we passed lawns dreaming manes of grasses,
Returned to the apartment for a while,
When I saw your nod and approving smile,
And you began preparing for your master classes,
Playing Bach slowly, sweetly on the violin,
My calling whispered to me from within...
Father, though much those few days had unfurled,
It didn't yet hit me, it didn't yet hit me
It was thanks to you I was shown a world...
What is this feeling? Is it embarrassment? Shame?
To think of my fellow beings who taught me languages,
To think of all the teachers I had who gave their time,
To think I was difficult and I scoffed,
To think I regarded affection and comfort as just my due,
To think how many unknown fellow beings
Nurtured me, enriched me, helped me to survive...
The sun is setting, and for a moment it stares...
A few petals swirled on a winding trail
With a creaking gate, are the thoughts of twilight...
How much have I given back? I have complained,
I have judged, but how much was given back?