She turns on the water and tips the bottle of bubble bath. The syrup flows a slow stream out the end of the bottle and slides into the steaming liquid. The bubbles swell and fill the tub.

Returning to the stereo she picks a CD and hits play. James Blunt will be the man of the hour to serenade her in her sensuous delight. "All The Lost Souls" seems somehow fitting tonight and having felt the urgency in some of his songs and the wanton plea in others she believes him to be the perfect choice for tonight.

The cupboard is opened and she reaches for a larger than necessary wine glass, the romantic one she likes to use for a long soak, an indulgence designed solely for herself.

Striking the wooden match on the side of the box, 2 candles are lit; one for the counter and the other open flame to dazzle and dance on the edge of the tub. The glow is enough to light her way as her eyes quickly adjust. Pupils growing wider, breath growing slower, anticipation wets her.

Placing the glass of white wine in the corner edge of the tub she lets her satin robe fall to the floor. The white fabric puddles on the rich brown tile as she steps from its folds and into the soft awaiting bubbles that fill the tub to the brim. She slowly lowers herself into the billowing cushion and feels the searing heat torch her skin. She knows the heat will dissipate so she tolerates the almost too hot water in the beginning.

The bubbles are full around her womanly curves, engulfing her, tickling her skin as they break in movement. She sinks in fully, releasing a long relaxing sigh. Her eyes twinkle in the dancing candle light as it bounces off the bubbles and the shiny walls of the tub. Sipping the chilled wine her body finds relief from the hot water. Slipping it down her throat and resting the cool glass on her dampened breast.

As she slides and rolls in the water the bubbles weaken and break. The flickering flame exposes glistening skin as it is visible through the openings in the bubbled shell. A raised leg, the soft mound of a breast, the ***** of a shoulder, the curl of a lock of hair silhouette in the candle light. Knees bent she pulls herself toward the end of the tub and gently smiles as the water caresses her skin while she pushes away. She runs her hands over her body, silky from the bubble bath but her hottest parts slippery of their own accord. Wet before but more wet now.

She hears a slight sound and turns to the door. He is standing there, silently watching her. How long has he been there? What had his gaze enjoyed? Not that it isn't ultimately all his to enjoy anyway. But now that he is there she shall play out her private time to his audience. He loves how she is confident in her own sexuality, how she finds enjoyment with the body she has been given and how she freely gives it to him. It is moments like these that he could explode for her in lust but hangs on not wanting the magic to end.

He steps to the tub and hands her the glass with the last sip of wine, watching as it cools her and slides down her throat. He holds the over sized bath sheet open for her and she steps from the tub. Folding her in the soft cotton he wicks away just enough of the water to stop her from dripping. A breeze coming in the window skims her damp skin and her ******* harden, fully *****.

She is about to get ***** all over again. It's a good thing she is washable.

I have dreamt this dream for several nights now.  It started off in colour; blues, greens, whites and yellows and with only the sound of beautiful piano music and the barest of floors.  Each night the vision grew in detail but faded in colour, until now it is in black, white and gray with the actual colour only implied by my memory of it.

The scene is part of a room, a corner, in a very large and majestic house.  The floor is hardwood with no carpet.  The walls are a very light, warm white with somewhat high ceilings.  I am standing (you cannot see me) looking towards the corner of the room where there are French doors.  The door trim is black.  The doors are open.  It is night and the moonlight is streaming in the doors and in a window, off slightly to the left.  Chiffon curtains frame the doorway and blow in the slight, cool, night breeze.  It is a warm summer’s night and the fresh air is scented with an ocean fragrance.

To my left, just barely in the picture, is a glossy, black baby grand piano.  The ebony of the piano is a sharp contrast to the soft white of the sheer curtains as the breeze wafts them towards the heavenly tones.  The music coming from the piano is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.  The notes reach into my chest and engulf my heart.  The pianist cannot be seen.  He is just out of the frame of my mind’s eye.  My heart tells me it is he.

I awaken from my dream and lie there, still, with my eyes closed.  Not wanting to lose the tranquility, I re-feel the dream again and again.  In the foggy abyss between dreamland and being fully awake, I imagine him sitting at the piano.  His hair falls in loose curls as he is slightly bent over the keys.  His fingers fly over the ivory as he plays with passion and heart.  His love of the music is evident.

He is wearing a crisp, white tuxedo shirt and black morning suit with the tails falling over the back of the piano bench.  He has not yet adorned the formal tie needed to complete the ensemble.  Or maybe he has already removed it.

This is the artist’s private time for peace and composure.  As he closes the piece of music, he raises his face to the moonlight.  His moist eyes glisten in the silver glow.  His face is relaxed and calm.  As he slowly closes his eyes, a soft, contented smile graces his lips and his body sighs.  He has found the completion he seeks, in his music.

Being human, you are not perfect.
Almost, but even you are slightly flawed.
I turn a blind eye to what I choose not to see.
It is only your perfection I applaud.

This is a foolish way for me to think.
I know you are just like anyone else.
Sometimes giving to others,
Sometimes keeping for yourself.

I really know you are like all of us.
Just a person trying to be.
We struggle, we fall, we get back up.
It’s only ourselves perfection won’t free.

Perched on a pedestal, up so high
You see where the rest of us have failed.
You are afraid to fail yourself.
But no one can live up to the you that you have put out there.

You have been a fool, a liar, your whole life a lie.
Will the real you ever step forward?
Is there a real you?
I doubt it. If there is no one, not you, not me, no one, could recognize it.

I am to the point of pitying you now.
What a waste of a life.
What a waste of all that you could have had.
All that you have every wanted. And you turned your back on it .... afraid.

You were one of the first to teach me about value.
You helped me gain independence, little by little.
I shared my desires with you and you helped me to fulfill them.
Sometimes I needed just that little bit more and there you were,
Ready to pitch in and help out.

I remember a smile breaking onto my face with the very glimpse of you,
Your shining face gleaming at me from afar.
Sometimes those you thought were your friends would just toss you away,
But not me, not ever.
I cherish you for everything you are worth and then some.

You have always been unique, different than all the rest I would come across.
You have your own look.
Yes, you may look similar to others in one way,
But with a quick flip you are shining again like only you can.
Time may tarnish your gleam, but no matter how rugged you get you will always be of worth.

Special childhood moments come back to me now.
Holding you in my sweaty little palm, I would fill with excitement
Knowing you were about to deliver to me the sweetness of my dreams.
All I needed was you and maybe a few more of your friends.
And off we’d go to spend a Saturday afternoon in delightful company.

Seniors would push you away, unwanted, undervalued.
They would take one quick glance to see if they recognized you.
Then they would pass you on to a youngster,
As if they had far too much of you to care for more.
But not me, I would swoop you up and run off, delighted.

Now you are to be no more. No replacements.
You will be allowed to discolour and erode with age as so many of your ancestors have done.
But to me, you will always be the highly valued shining copper penny
Who taught me to count, to value goals and how to use money to attain some of them.
And most importantly, how to take the first steps towards my independence.

I am never up at this hour on an ordinary day. Is this to be an extra-ordinary day? Pulling up I see 4 beers cans perched on the lower cement pillars by the water’s edge, remnants of an interrupted night before. The cans are still full.
It is almost perfectly calm but not quite. You seldom get a completely calm day in this windy prairie city. Slight ripples reflect the emerging light and make the lake dance and twinkle, a happy moment of day’s awakening. As the eastern sky lightens natural silhouettes take form. Birds floating in the distance, the far off shoreline, tree tops and buildings share the horizon. Water beetles break the surface with the larger ones exposing themselves with a flip, then down they go again. Lights on Albert Street Bridge and the Promenade make for a pretty picture on this late summer’s morn’. I click but will have to wait until later to see if they actually turn out good enough.
The birds begin to move around. Seagulls flying above catching slow to nest night bugs, other water birds start off on their daily trek around the lake, back and forth. A cyclist rides by and a man passes out for his morning walk. Both say good morning, happy to share this beautiful hour of the day with a kindred spirit.
It is a less than spectacular sunrise but that is okay. My camera batteries are dead now anyway. I will have to rise in the wee hours of another 24 to capture a good one and share it with you. Good thing tomorrow is another day.

You came along all bathed in light
Loaded bow with which to smite
Your aim was true, I took the pierce
I fell but hard and landed fierce.

The love you sent was welcomed free
By my treasured and by me.
We soon were joined, two hearts as one
Only to have it all undone.

You changed your haloed ring of gold
To a jester's crown, I am now told.
Far are we from wedded bliss
I remember not the last time we kissed.

Your dart was true, now the poison gone
For now I stand here all alone.
But if I knew then what I know by now
Would I have killed this sacred cow?

I would not have flinched or walked away.
I could not have dodged your hit that day.
I would not stand the one I am
But another's life I'd live a sham.

One cannot say what holds the heart
But to take a chance for love to start
Is the greatest gift known to man
And for that I'll gladly take my stand.

A chance to love and find your heart
To have it struck by Cupid's dart.
To risk a chance to be made a fool
Is all to real and all so cruel.

But to have life soar to endless bounds
That is why we take the rounds.
For to be one's love for ever more
That would end life's final score.

You will never know the extent to which you have been woven into my life.

Whether it is by accident or some greater design, I do not know.

I am a middle-aged, woman whose life fell apart a few years ago.

When I began sewing it back together, the thread that is you was laced into the weave.

Now the fabric in my lap is not what I would have ever envisioned in a million years.

It is full of expression, new people and exciting discoveries at every turn.

My life would have changed anyway but I think I like it better with you in the pattern.

You have an amazing gift. Not just your musical talent but your ability to somehow touch inside another person without even appearing to try or to know that you do.

Are you aware of this gift? Be careful with it. It is magical.

Thank you for everything you have given to me, especially yourself.

The hype is hard to handle when you’re different than the rest.
Everything focuses on the family in the traditional sense.
But when your world doesn’t look like that, you do your best.
I don’t resent their happiness. I feel no offense.

Looking for small gifts of tenderness and sharing are the tools for me.
My small family feels much bigger when it is the world I see.
So I will make it through another year and on into the next
Looking forward to another year knowing I’ve passed the test.

I am writing here, just off the cuff.
Some have a problem. I don't find it tough.

It's not very late but I find my mind slow.
Soon it will be off to bed I do go.

My eyes, they are heavy. Hard to keep open.
In slumber land soon, and dreamin', I'm, hopin'.

I like when I dream and best when remembered
Walls of protection easy surrendered.

I dream in colour, a rainbow is painted
Life as I want it, not reality tainted.

So I'll say goodnight, see you tomorrow.
Shut out the world and all of its sorrow.

The next day will dawn, all shiny and new
A good time for me and I hope also you.

Take me in your arms and lift me from this earth
High above the canyon to the towering peaks above.

Cliffs reaching up, up into the brilliant blue sky
Jagged-edged, stark and cold they lead to glorious heights.

Your muscled form, your wanting eyes, your willingness to please
All make me light, allow me to sail as we move together.

Gaining speed as you fly, my wing-ed god, my mythical creature.
Me laying gently curved and cradled in your arms.

Placed on the ledge, gently teetering and open to your knowing touch
To send me over the edge, awaiting, inviting, willing, wanting.

You caress, you invite, you tease me to leap, to dive
Eyes close, let it happen, let it build and all fall into place.

I'm over, off the edge, trusting, enjoying, coaxed into blissful release.
The free fall, the rush, the air, the colours, blue, green, red, silver diamonds sparkle.

Oh to be alive! To know what it is to feel, to live, to lose words, thought.
And to crash! The glorious breakthrough crash with you, into you, around you.

Pierce the surface, white water gushing, open and in....absorbed.
With you, swirling, there to bring me to the surface, to gasp.

Wrapped in your loving arms, wings spread, exhausted
We lie spent, drying in the sun, enveloped in a golden glow.

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

Something draws you in and you reach out a hand.
Don’t know why, it just happens that way sometimes.
You make a statement and get a response. The smiling kind.
So goes the give and take of acquaintance but there is more.
Sometimes there is a special connection, something you see,
Something the other person sees, feels that builds a friendship.
Laughter is easy, fun. You are you and they are they.
You see some of what indicates so much more.

They see enough to want to learn more, share more, listen more, tell more.
Friendship is a smooth and gliding road; times of great speed and times of coasting pleasure.
We like the ride as we pedal along taking in the warm sunshine,
Delighting in unexpected moments of fun.
Sometimes there are bumps in the road and we even fall over a cliff but there is that hand; that friend’s hand.
The hand that belongs to the person who understands, who cares and tries hard to make us reach up and grab hold.
That friend is a special friend. One who doesn’t give up.  
Sometimes we don’t see our friend a lot or sometimes they are a new friend but a true friend nonetheless.
And sometimes they are a friend we have never actually met but we are close in spite of that.

I am guilty of sometimes not making sure my friends know I value them.
We all let the moments slip by. We have busy lives and we don’t always think.
We don’t always think of how much our friends give us and that to keep the bond strong we have to give back too and make sure they know how special they are to us.
My friends are like my family only better. I didn’t get to pick my family but I picked my friends or they picked me and I am so glad they did.
Whether meeting by accident or by design we have been thrown together and I am so glad we have been.

Way back when, my Grade 1 teacher wrote in my autograph book;
“Make new friends
but keep the old.
One is silver,
The other gold.”

the flame burns close
too hot
held near the skin
too close
trying to see the soul within
too near
a glimpse captured
too dear
breaking a sweat
too real
giving a burn
too you.
test how close
too much
back off a bit
too right
wait for the fire to catch
too long
turn up the heat
too far
all is ablaze
too late
out of control and away
too me.

Tuesday morning, shiny and bright.
I made it through one more night

So I thought I‘d send this message to you
And wish you a sunny day too.

I’m glad you think that I am funny
‘Cause I’m after your smile and not your money.

He sees her strut, legs alight.
His eye she catches, one dreary night.
He sets his snare, he waits her glance.
He'll only get one fleeting chance.

She is quick, herself quite proud
But he seeks her out from the madding crowd.
Her wit is quick, tongue lashing smart.
He knows he'll take her from the start.

His hook does catch, now's a waiting game.
His prize is her, but for to claim.
She'll make a move, he'll wait for that.
For now he watches like a cat.

She says hello, the door is cracked.
He wants her badly, on her scent he's jacked.
To win this prize and make her his
He'll test her hard. Can she pass the quiz?

She struggles well and resists his charm.
Her fear - he means her deathly harm.
He pursues his prey. Knows the prize.
He allows her valiant but feeble tries.

She is out-matched, she sees that quick
But to her plan she tries to stick.
He takes her down on bended knee.
Soon her soul will be set free.

She's confused and scared, he calms her fears
Whispers gently in her ears.
"You know I'll win, I 'm the one.
What I have done can not be undone."

She stops to think of her sealed fate.
The moment to flee has come too late.
She is his forever more.
He takes her in and shuts the door.

Now inside his lair of power
She peers out from gilded bower.
She submits. To him she'll heed
For now her king is all she'll need.

The cat tippy toes along the edge of the grass
Being sure to place each foot gently on the brick
That attempts to hold back the grass from growing
Into the flower bed.

The leaves have turned and fallen as the days have gotten colder.
They litter the lawn with their gold, rust and orange hues.
The dogs play toys and other evidence no longer visible beneath
The crispy carpet.

I will have to get out there and clear all that away before
The days get too uncomfortable to be enjoyable for yard work.
This time of year is always busy with winter preparations and
Summer’s remembering.

It just dawned on me; this is the first change of season
I have not been sad and anxious, that I can remember.
I wonder what that’s all about.  Not sure but
I like it...a lot.

Off I go to the Land of Nod
Where reality sleeps and dreams are God.
Where waking thoughts slip away from me
And hidden fears the braver be.

'Tis a world of light and suspended form
Where changing scenes become the norm.
My mind revealing a secret held,
Not wanting to see where the demon dwelled.

A message veiled, the truth untold
‘Til I am ready to face the cold.
The cold, the stark, unsheltered truth
Was hidden from me in my youth.

Laid out only when I am ready.
Now I’m strong and finally steady.
A voice inside me knows the time
To bring it forth in pantomime.

To weave the tale, show it all.
Only then will the blinders fall.
My eyes are closed but yet I see
What my waking mind has hid from me.

I close my eyes and I see you stand before me.
I know your height, your slender shape and stance.
I see your tousled crown; your bright eyes captivate me.
I would know you anywhere at just a glance.

I listen and I hear your soft voice call me.
I hear the love and tenderness abound.
Your purity and clear tone pierce right through me.
There is no sweeter, no more desired sound.

The scent that is only you surrounds me.
A powerful memory to trigger thoughts of yesterdays.
The same of taste, your salty tears upon me.
They filter in and linger in the haze.

The one sensation that locks its secret from me
Is your touch, the feel of your soft and gentle skin.
But what of the caress my memory hides from me?
Perhaps that is when the unraveling will begin.

Hanging on, like an empty bird house waiting for spring to arrive
And bring a new crop of visitors who need me.

Hanging on, like last years leaves, not ready to drop from the tree
Even though all the signs are there to tell me I have over stayed my welcome.

Hanging on, like melting snow on a roof top
Slowing losing my grip and falling further and further over the edge.

Hanging on, waiting for your creation would be as difficult as all that
If it weren’t for your messages and my belief in your ability to make it all worthwhile.

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

I lay in a tub of bubbles thinking of your soft voice and gentle smile.
I feel your hand wrap around mine as we walk down the street.
I see our reflection in the shop windows.
We seem comfortable.
The shop owner mistakes us for husband and wife and we don’t correct him.
But somehow, you are not ready.

We spend a lazy day doing errands and paying bills.
You leave me in the car as you run in to book a moving truck,
Me ready to move the vehicle if we get scolded.
We are at easy and enjoying the day.
You tell me things you have not told anyone.
But somehow, you are not ready.

I beam as you approach the house, happy to see you.
You kiss me tenderly when we meet and again because the first one felt so good.
You give me a special gift when you didn’t really need to.
It is beautiful and suits me just like you knew it would.
You are tired and I understand you need to sleep.
No, you are not ready.

We talk for many hours about many things.
You do not want to tell all so I do not push.
I want to support you and let you know you can talk to me.
You need to talk to someone.
This is a hard time for you.
I know you are not ready.

We get closer, too close.
Closer than we both intended.
We know this may be a mistake but we are taken up in the moment.
You are strong but I lead you.
You pull back and I let you.
No, you are not ready.

You want this to be different.
We both want this to be special.
It would be nice if it could be.
We would both be happy, perhaps.
One day you will be ready.
But right now you are not ready.
I hope I am there when you are.

She stands at the kitchen window, slowly stirring the rich brew. The shade from the Mountain Ash still cloaks half of the tomato plants in cool relief.  The ones in the full sun of day are bigger and are already bearing fruit. What is the message this full exposure/half shaded patch is sending out to her as she gazes and sips her tea?

Remain in the shadows and only live half a life? Exposure yourself to all before you and find your fruit for life spent too soon? Who is to know? Somewhere in there she thinks there must be a happy medium. Some balance between the overly protected and the completely exposed. That is the fine balance she strives to find for herself.

She decides to venture out into the garden and walk the path that lies before her. Around every turn there is a surprise, some beauty to behold. Also along the walk are the nasty pests of life which rot and eat up the beauty that is there to be found. Adjusting the rocks and plantings, she disturbs the nest of the invaders hoping to salvage and rebuild the cuttings; to nurture new growth. Time will tell if she is successful.

She meanders to a new area of the yard still under construction. Development is slow. It takes thought and motivation to make a start; always a bit unsure of how to begin and then how to proceed. Structure takes shape one bit at a time. She has faith that she will be pleased with the end result. There is comfort in knowing that if she does not she can always tear it down and start again. It is not an easy process to begin again but sometimes it is necessary.

All the while, she reminds herself it is the journey along the path and the building as she goes that gives her the most joy; to see her life unfold as she places brick on brick. The garden will be done when it is done. In the meantime, she is enjoying the ever changing design. She sits to take a breath and finish her tea. The sweet refreshment flavours her tongue. She reflects as a gentle smile crosses her lips and she prepares for her day.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember his sleek blonde hair.
The way he would swing his head to the music
And his flaxen locks would flow.
The way I would stroke his head
To comfort both him and I in troubled times.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember his dark blue eyes.
The way they twinkled when he was happy
And the way they cried for relief when he was ill.
The way he could look into your soul
And search for that special way to connect.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember his soft, pure skin.
The way it never changed as he grew older.
It was peaches and cream
And felt like silk to the touch.
It is one of the things I miss the most.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember how he would wrap himself around me in his sleep.
The way he was unable to accept closeness in the wake of day,
His will would give way to the love of a mother.
As I cradled him in my arms,
My heart would ache, knowing this was a fleeting moment.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember our life together.
The way we strengthened each other
To tackle whatever lie ahead.
The way we taught each other
The meaning of unconditional love and acceptance.

Every day, I think of him.
Every day, I miss him.
Every day, I love him.
Today, I honour him.

Brave souls set out from the world that they knew,
A dangerous trip with death for more than a few.
Enduring hardship as they travelled the sea
Seeking their fortune and a better life there to be.
Single adventurers, families , all ages and types,
Possessions all stowed, they come risking their lives.
Decisions to sail were as varied as men,
Moving onto the now and leaving the then.
Not knowing before them what would unfold,
Stories and legends of many were told.
Some coming with love and wanting to teach
Of God and religion seeing heathens to reach.
Others not so, more evil of heart,
Finding men and their money so easy to part.
Fleeing the gallows of home they did run
Making a life with violence and gun.
Heroes were few but ******* abound
As they eked out a living and laid claim to their ground.
Pioneers and the lawless, fortune seekers and cads
The harlots, the clergy, all lasses and lads.
They came and they stayed. My country did grow.
Canada was born. And with pride now I glow.

I can only hope you are watching, like they say you are.
That way you will see the good that I do and not just the bad.
I have my moments on both ends of the spectrum.
That is how you made me, or so they say.
It is a good thing we are not judged on one snapshot in time
But rather on our whole body of work.

Are you watching?
Do you see me?
The good and the bad?
And do you love me anyway?
They say you do.
They say you always will.

If you see me when I don’t take the time to do a job to my best ability
I hope you are also watching when I later spend extra time to fix it.
When I rush through my day and cut others short
I hope you also know when I help the lost stranger in the street.
If I love someone who is not mine to love
Are you aware that I also love those who are unloved in our society?

Are you watching?
Do you see me?
The good with the bad?
Do you love me anyway?
They say you do.
They say you always will.

The good deeds do not erase the bad choices I make.
I know that. There is no room to make a deal.
I will do what I do. Live my life and then live, or rather die, with the consequences.
I try my best but sometimes I fail. That is what it means to be human.
Some days I am more human than other days.
But still I would choose no other way to be.

Are you watching?
Do you see me?
The good with the bad?
Do you love me anyway?
They say you do.
They say you always will.

Are they right?
Are you watching?

If I t’were have lived in long ago times
With corsets and uncommon lace.
Where women were seen but seldom well known
And easily kept in their place.

If manners were strict and customs the rule
Where’d that leave a woman like me?
For I am not one to conform to law
When unnecessarily cruel it be.

Those were the days when girls where not taught
But were expected to fill a pure role.
Learning to read and even to write
Less important than a painted on mole.

A society fake with filth underneath
Was reality, no truth did they seek.
For death was at hand if you were cast out.
Your future success very bleak.

The rich set the rules of life’s ***** game
And many corrupted the more.
Positions of power were but a whim
Set by the generations before.

If I lived back then I fear I’d have died
An early and untimely death.
Resisting the pain of my sisters in arm
Ending in my final breath.

To love half way is to do the greatest harm.
To entice another heart to open to you
And then to not open the door to your own all the way
Is the most effective way to hurt the other, even if you do not intend it.

Your intent does not matter.
If it is fear within yourself or mistrust or
Lack of the ability to understand or love back does not matter.
The effect is more harsh than if you had damaged with malice.

It doesn’t matter if you are a government without a fully developed plan or
A parent with no understanding of the lasting consequences of your actions or
A lover unable to open your heart to one who is wanting to love you.
The harm you cause tears at the heart of another, and yes, the wound scars.

All it takes to prevent the cut is to have courage;
Courage to do the right thing;
Courage to discover the right way to do it;
Courage to have the will.

Many people live without courage
And thereby, give only halfway.
A life lived halfway is a wasted opportunity.
To love only halfway is to waste more opportunities than just your own.

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!

They were only words 'til I heard you sing them,
They were only thoughts 'til you understood them.

You have coloured my mind with your emotion and voice.
I can never go back. I do not have a choice.

I don't see the world the same anymore.
You've entered my skin, every cell, every pore.

It isn't just you, it's all you've brought here to me;
New friends, lots of fun, a dream yet to be.

For this I am thankful, no words can express.
It is you, I would now, try to impress.

Your life is pared down at the end of it all, not as you would want it but as it has to be.

A near 80 years of collection tossed off as shackles even though you saw them as the ties that bind,

Binding your life together, year after year, memory after memory.

All lie in heaps of refuse waiting to be hauled away to a place where the forgotten reside for eternity.

Those left behind pick your bones and assemble your kingdom, all at the same time.

Assessing you with their own judgements.

Unable to defend or bask in the glory, you watch from beyond with the faint hope that you have not passed by this place unnoticed.

The rendering of a life comes to us all without our say.

The richness of what remains is determined as we make our choices along the journey.

One can only hope the choices were then well made.

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 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.

I was at the top of my game. I succeeded at everything I tried. Whatever I wanted, I got. When I spoke, I was heard. The world was mine.  Or so I thought. People would tell me I was smart and could do anything. I was fearless. I heard it so many times I began to believe it myself.

Defining yourself by the reality seen through the eyes of others is the most distorted view of your own life that you can have. Living up to the kind of person others think you are is the hardest gig and eventually the show will close. With a crash!

For me it was many years ago now, but when the curtain fell it was with a deafening boom. Sooner or later you have to be honest with at least yourself about what you really are, how you really feel, what you can really do, what you are really afraid of.

It’s funny. You think that nakedness, that vulnerability, is the thing you fear the most but once you are exposed, out there for all to see, you realize that it is the most free you will ever feel in your whole life.

Yeah, you might hear bad things about yourself. Others may judge you.  But that is other people’s perceptions, their own insecurities. No one is perfect. Not you and certainly not your critics. The difference is that you’ve figured that out and they haven’t.

The good thing is you find you are not alone. You are truly loved just for you by people who genuinely care about you.

Snatched from my life.
He is gone so quickly.
I am not ready. Are you ever ready to lose one so dear?

Now all is black, black and cold and silent.
There I cringe.
Shrunken, at the bottom of a deep, black, cold and silent well.
So deep not a spark of light can reach me.
There is not a glimmer of hope to shine in and give me life again.

There I sit, curled with my arms wrapped about my knees holding them as close as I can.
Squeezing them in tight, the only thing to now fill the void in my arms where he once cradled.
Head deeply bent. There is no reason to raise my eyes.
I know he will not be there.
There is nothing there.
A huge empty black foreverness is all that surrounds me.

Each breath, each moment, each day I am a little smaller.
The pain of a broken heart is unbearable, the blackness ***** the life from me.
I cannot live like this and finally, after a time there is a small spark.
I see the words form in my mind. "I cannot live like this." And I realize I do not want to die.

So I fight. I struggle. I try to move.
I push the cold walls of the well back slightly.
Just the tiniest bit lets a small glimmer of light shine in.
That is all it takes to let me see there is another way.
This desperation and despair is not for me. I cannot die this way. I am not ready to give up my life.
It is not my time. I cannot give up, not yet. My will to live is all that can save me now.

I stretch my hand up and find a crevice in the stone to make a start,
A start of a long journey back to life, one step at a time.
I climb, little by little, up to the light that shines above.
Above this hole in the ground, above this death, above this hell.

The black stone walls now show streaks of gray and white, very little white but some white.
The air warms, is lighter, smells sweeter. It is easier to breathe.
The dampness lessens as I inch my way to the surface.
The farther I crawl upward the bigger the circle of light becomes,
The brighter the sunlight,
The warmer I feel.
At some point, I cannot pinpoint when, I know I will live.
I will struggle but I will live.

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