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 Aug 2018
Nat Lipstadt
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...

that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows the when and why of differing
cuddling styles...

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows when to leave a man alone
alone in his man-mourning time,
distance needed,
letting his ex-rage dissipate or
watching his red and blue football
redefine ignominy...

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when the man low whistles, eyes adrift,
she heartily agrees and is
reciprocity rewarded regularly
with hunk alerts of
"hey-check-him-out!"

that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
a tigress in the bedroom
she asking, try this, I'll love it,
served with a desert demo of awkward afterward,
his less-than-perfect cuddling abilities

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who doesn't abhor partner silences,
comforting they are, in their own ways,
lying side by side, interrupted only by peccadillo body noises unexpected and
sheepish apologies and loving arm stroking

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who lets the man roar, top of voice,
when imprisoned in car,  
his voice, un enfant terrible,
performs with Creedence Clearwater
a sing-a-long in traffic, asking
"Have you ever seen the rain"
while amidst Israel-leaving-Egypt
Sunday beach traffic on the L.I.E.

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
when it's pheromones  alternative mode day,
he celebrates Carole King day,
she demonstrates her cuddling abilities,
par excellence, with kisses and tissues

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...

a woman, plain confident in her abilities
no matter the situational status,
when confronted by
less-than-crazy-impetuous,
she smiling says "why not,"
when he proposes,
a movie and dinner in a fav haunt?
"plenty excellent enough" her answer,
spoke in a rising voice
full of unfeigned delight

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
accepting the unexpected airport embrace
on a moving sidewalk, unexpected delays
with the aplomb of a well lived life's
long term sustainability perspective

when he kisses her hand for no reason,
while driving 75 miles per hour,
she only winces internally,
the other hand vise-grasping
the other door's handle,
who brushes hair wisps in a dark movie,
celebrating her Bathsheba Everdeen's
duality of strength and tenderness

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when on second date he proposes
a non-exclusive relationship,
confident enough to high-five respond,
and laugh about it,
seven years on

a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when she reads it,
analyzing the oeuvre as
"too **** personal and
as usual
too **** long"



that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her
cuddling abilities
in everything...
even a little occasional criticism
Entirely fictional, of course.

L.I.E. is the Lomg Island Expressway, a/k/a, the longest parking lot in the world.
Red and blue football team, the NY Giants.
Bathsheba Everdeen from Hardy's "Far From the Madding Crowd."
Alternate song choice, the Eagkes "Take It Easy."

Inspired by this:
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/10/style/modern-love-tinder-swiping-right-but-staying-put.html?rref=collection%2Fcolumn%2Fmodern-love&contentCollection;=style&action;=click&module;=NextInCollection®ion;=Footer&pgtype;=article
 Aug 2018
Jeff Stier
There are tricks
the eyes play on us

Tonight
when I stare into the darkness

I see rain

A summer of drought
and I see rain.
 Aug 2018
Valsa George
In the warmth of a summer sunset
I sat idle on the sea shore
Looking at the grey enormity
That heaved and swelled in turn

As I looked on, the breakers rose high
Thundering sea waves dashed
And crashed over the boulders
Before me was the wild brutality of the sea!
Though at times she is calm and windless,
A smoldering volcano lies beneath her surface

I sat away from the crowd
In a cool squire of quiet
Inhaling the briny air
And enjoying the foam and spray
My mind then was light as that of a child
That plays on the sea shore, making sand castles
I watched small boats carrying men
They were heading towards the Casino
Moored in the inlet of the sea
I felt those men were like flies lured by the flame
They come either to perish or to prosper
Most of them go back with empty wallets
Very few fortunate to splurge in money newly amassed

My eyes stretched far into the horizon
Bound by a vault of azure sky
Swallows were circling beneath tangled clouds
The tall masts of ships could be seen at a distance
I watched waves taking the shape of curving scrolls
Dolphins were seen leaping over the waters
And ever growing ripples drifted and strayed
As the fabric of blue got continuously shredded

For fun I scribbled my name on the sands
But a wave came crashing against the shore
And the very next moment washed it away
Was it here or there, I had scrawled my signature
I don’t know. It has vanished leaving no trace

Suddenly from a child, I grew into a sage
How transient is man’s life on Earth
How very tiny we are
Set against the vastness of the sea
In the wide expanse of life, as on a sea shore
We scribble our names to stay
But Alas! Some unknown hands wipe them away
  
It dawned on me that with time’s ceaseless flow
The world will continue to speed away
Without you or me
Leaving no memorials behind!
In my sixties, I have begun more often to brood over the transience of life !
 Jul 2018
Pagan Paul
.
And her arms enfold me,
I lay my cheek
against her breast.
The shaking starts,
the tears fall,
as sobs emerge unhindered.
Cries from way down deep,
and I hear her heart,
slow, steady, metronomic.
So I follow its rhythm
along a path richly bathed
in warm sunlight.
Through an archway
and across a threshold shrine,
the cemetery of the Ancients.
A hundred thousand names,
carved in marble,
adorned with statues and plinths.
Holding knowledge of old,
and the sound of silence,
like an abandoned library.

The shadow of love hovers close,
driving through midnight mists
and leading me on.
Practising narrative necromancy,
reanimating old words,
giving them life newly born,
upon the first carved marbles,
its names burnished with wisdom,
and the anonymity of obscurity.
There glows one name
in forgotten script
and I know my deepest identity,
the weight of the aeons
flows free into my mind,
histories of the millennia.
I know
my Forest Lady holds secrets
that belong to me.
And she gestates them all,
a coveted pregnancy.

A path-working, an etherical dream,
and her heart skips a beat,
as another part of me
crumbles and dies,
to mingle with the dust
of ancient knowledge.



© Pagan Paul (11/07/18)
.
 Jul 2018
zebra
I want to ask you what you know about yourself?
is it true that God doesn't know how he came about?
he claims he was always here
having no memory prior to his own existence
just like me

perhaps he has no memory at all
a Buddhist or Hindu
will tell you God only lives
in the ever-present now
a self-effulgent light that emanates from a great darkness
from a black mother,
she a vast formless womb
that takes up no space
who we westerners dare never speak of
the patriarchs may tell us
a truth that is a violation of the sacred

is a god a spoke of light deep within her?

archetypes,
****, and **** in love and war
like you and me
a perpetual delicious copulation casting the third eye
during an argument

In the beginning, there was primeval darkness
and she gave birth to light
and he is always everywhere within her
in ecstatic ******
like cherries in flames
their juices boiling oceans
all hot licks and *** soaked *****
a black sulfurous wave and a floating white swan
a howling crime and the remedy
a never-ending paradox

hissing snakes in love
a marriage of heaven and hell
a burdened breath
like a golden city under attack
in tuleries
of blood and glittering fruit

so i ask you what do you know about yourself?
living in this micro dream machine

like god
a creation that creates
by deeds
as trees that weave
and
rot to grieve
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