Beautiful nails all shiny and pink.
Delicate skin, soft and smooth.
These hands of gentle grace longing for the curve of a muscle.

The tender finger tip lightly tracing the edge of a masculine line,
as though the finger were the tip of her tongue.
A gentle tease of delight for both.

The feminine softness of a supple palm
pressed against the firmness of an urgent need
transmits desire from one to the other and back again.

The sense of touch;
A marvelous gift designed exquisitely
for sensual sharing.

A long day of running errands, looking here and there for things you think you need. It’s tiring to hobble around going slowly pretending you are looking but you are really resting.
The body gives out far too easily. Not giving a care that the mind still thinks you are 30 something or even younger. Back when that was true, 56 was old. Not anymore. Perspectives change as life does. I guess it is suppose to be that way.
Now more than when I was younger I have time to notice things like the odd colour of the atmosphere. It isn’t just the sky, it’s all the air around too. It’s a golden closeness, not just what is above the trees. Everything seems to glow with a richness. A cluster of leaves glows. The green grass, a plush carpet. And the sky! The sky is the colour of butterscotch pudding. Rich, deep, warm, sweet, slowly flowing. All those things have nothing to do with colour really but yet the sky is that colour. The sense of sight awakes al the others.
The mind is an amazing thing, allowing you to form and feel even when there is nothing there but air. Being human is a remarkable opportunity.

Connie Buchan
August 31, 2014

We take it for granted,
Our youth, our health, our freedom to live as we wish.
And then we start to age.
Our health gives way to a more bitter dish.

I guess we should be thankful
For the many good years we’ve already had,
Living our life
The way we wanted. It’s sad.

Sad to think this is it.
I still feel young and am young, really.
Now there are limits.
How I wish I still could live my life freely

August 17, 2014
Connie Buchan

My ankles are swollen now thanks to you buggers.
I didn’t even do anything but you satisfied your hungers.
We are sitting enjoying a glorious day
And in you buzz, determined to have your own way.
You hide your nests gradually making them bigger
And then their where abouts it’s our job to figure.
You can ruin a picnic or a leisurely walk
And drive a hiker to jump off a dock.
Under the water is a place you won’t go,
But we are air-breathers and this fact you know.
Cleaning up carrion and devouring our pests
But why come after me while I’m having my rests?
You’re nasty, Mr. Wasp; you and your stinger.
I hate you. I fear you. You’re a real hum-dinger!

She loved her children and theirs and theirs,
Quick to comfort woes and troubled cares.
Many years a devoted wife
Sharing with Walter, a bless-ed life.
Her Faith was strong and pure of heart.
She had Living Praise down to an art.

Cards were a passion and she often won
But never gloated if a trick, you’d none.
Family time was her greatest joy
And she passed that on to every girl and boy.
If you listened carefully you’d hear her wit
And with “Oh Walter!” make him quit.

A loving grandma, wife and mother,
Erna was truly like no other.
Her love of God was often proven
And now her reward waits her in Heaven.
Rest dear soul, your time has come.
A life well lived, a job well done.

~ Connie Buchan, May 9, 2014

A Naked Write I write today
Open and free, 'tis my way.
To pen what comes without a thought
And let it grow, love it or not.

I often write this way, unfettered.
A later look would have verse bettered.
But the cleansing way it makes me feel
Is the starting point from which I heal.

So today this poem is laid out bare
And I begin the day without a care.
Free to open and let air in
That is where I choose to begin.