RH 78 Mar 2016

Tender oversized hugs made of never ending love.
A broad smile bought belly laughs time and time again.
Aching cheeks from a dose of over indulged happiness.

Always larger than life.
                        Life and soul.
                                     Our life and soul.

Deep set wrinkles from a lifetime of worry.

Never stopping to rest.

Fussing here pampering there.

Your selflessness and determintion to     enjoy life knew no bounds.

     You enjoyed the next generation of            
          the family as much as the last.

      No longer disabled and heaven                      
     rejoices at the return of an angel.

           The last of your generation.
      Reunited with long lost relatives.

We feel your love Nan
       We always have.
              We always will.

Till we meet again....

Good night
                            God Bless.

Sad times. Our Nan died. RIP nanny Vi.
sweet leigh Jan 2014

Are you fucking crazy, he says
and I want to nod,
want to grin
want to peel back my lips and gnash my teeth like a wild thing,
want to jump on the table and scream.

I want to caterwaul,
want to close my eyes and keep them shut
I want to dig my nails into flesh and hear the tear.
No, my voice is quiet like a whisper,
hesitant and unsure.

I want that to be the wrong answer
but I don’t...
I want him to get angrier still
but I don’t...

I don’t want him red-eyed,
blood thirsty,
coming down upon me
but I do.

And when he grips my chin with slender fingers,
I want to sigh,
want to moan like a bitch in heat.
Like a whore on the side of the road, full with cum,
sore with lust and clit-swollen.

When his hand slaps my bare bare skin,
stinging pink brightly under the force of my degradation.
My sweet humiliation,
leaving soft thick welts on my delicate limbs,
writhing helplessly in discomfort,
tears smudging old makeup and
I am weak,
I am ugly,
I am hurting and I am wrong,
impaired and imperfect,
and perhaps I am fucking crazy.

another random find from my notes

O Beloved.
Wound me with tenderness
as I embrace Your living flame of love.

Burn away my fears and self-pity
that holds me back from being
consumed by the flames of Your love.

Ignite the hearth of my own heart,
so I may share Your living flame
with tenderness to spread the flame of divine life.

Melt away my insecurities and dishonesty, so
I can stand before You as a living flame burning
wildly to embrace everything as a gift from You.

All around me, the sky with its deep shade of dark.
The stars.

The moon with its shrunken soul.
Can I become what I want to become?

Neither wife or mother.
I am noone and nobody is my lover.

I am afraid
that when I go mad,
my father will bow his downy head
into his silver wings and weep.

My daughter, O my daughter.

J Patrick H Feb 2013

What is that reality that appears to me in dreams,
chock-full of misgivings and doubt. I counteract my fear of life
with my fears of slumber,
dust in my eyes and stiff as lumber.

In truth - I'm not stiffened
by fear,
by nausea,
post-pubescent sacrilege,
or all of the above.
I'm not up-kept,
grizzly with ennui;
I'm dizzy, confiding my loss.

I feel the lips that kiss
but can't be drawn: from mind,
on sheets of thick
pale and
for the heart to mend.

My unsteady hand
is my fearful friend

A soft embrace
from a warm mind

and so full of Life
clung to by the scent of Death

with an eternal promise and regret
from veins of plants
or the glow of stars.
Cold, mechanical debt.

(my heart, so full of...)

(my mind, so hot with...)

(my body, trembling in...)

I am gulf-like
a stream full of trees and glass
echoing a promise of shattering wind.

Will I be published
after my death,
asleep predating, a life conceived.
Will I live to see myself alone,
and to discover
that which I'm not?
Or will I stutter
and wallow a curse,
Up towards the sky,
Until the final verse.
On a boast
or chasing the Rail,
pale as dirt, and shallow still.

Will my true love abandon,  break, strain,
Burn away the wax,
or hurry to blame?

Omit my evils from the star-charts,
then just to vacate the void.
From the half-broken corridors of rocks,
nooks, crannies.
Carry laughter through the night
burn the effigy bowed-down,
before dawn's courageous,
ever-splaying light

of Carlo and Marx,
plenty by noon
again by day
thus replay,
Endeavor to infinity, fair child.
Remold the light by Day
and remold the Day
by Night.

Anna Mosca Mar 2015

I long for your hand
reaching out to you
in your solitary time

it feels right to exchange
tenderness as rare
garment today

everyone wearing
passion, jealousy, envy
claiming to feel

alive consumed indeed
that common look
wearing everything out

underwear outerwear
deeds feelings selfies
very little left beneath

simply I reach out
to your hand let it be
all with all its significance

All these poems are from The California Notebook collection from www.annamosca.com
Mikaila Feb 2013

Do you know the sound of the wind through the trees in the dead of a summer night?
The soft glow of the moon, golden on every surface,
Reflected deep brown in every shadow.
The balmy smoothness of the air along your skin, full of the sweetness of wet earth, new grass, and night blooming flowers.
The ghostly white moths that flit along the ocean of grass in the fields, capping billowing green waves.
The hush and hum of a sudden rain pattering on the sundried ground, darkening the darkness and blotting the moon with grey cotton clouds that glow from within.
Darling, I miss you like that. I miss you like a summer night. I miss you with that beauty,
Natural like a heartbeat,
Subtle like a breath,
Constant like the earth.
I miss you like a summer night.

Rai Nov 2010

Tenderness flawed by the endless need
to hold on to your own sanity
I turned to look for you
But saw nothing
A desert stretched out before me
It felt as though death had
buried you before my return
No face
Where faces loomed
No presence to fill the gloom
Tenderness within the silk of the hour
was surely mine to bestow

Oh this tenderness
The beauty of you amazes me
As I undress in the sun
Shining through the window
Curtains fluttering in the breeze
This Spanish villas part of me

Your eyes as slender
As an irresistible lover
Watching the silk fall from my hips
Taking me in your arms as this
Is bliss

Years we have waited
To meet once more
Thousands of hours
Hundreds of days
A million thoughts have kept you alive
In my head
Turning over all that was said
Tiny snippets of memory kept me in this eternity
Needing you back with me

Now the dream is reality
Undress in front of me
Lay upon my body
This warm familiarity
I have acted this out in my mind
A million times
Lightening flashes inside of me
Then hush

If only I knew before
Life after death was
As this

Elaiza Banasig Feb 2013

your soft gaze in the warm sunset
your whispers of good night and sleep tight
your sweaty palm brushing my nape
in the midst of ache I can't escape

Tenderness is a touch , a thought, a feeling of bliss. Standing in awe, tenderness is a euphoric experience. Tenderness of woe is the self-love reached for to console pain and strife throughout your life.

Tenderness is all encompassing, never ending, just a healing of a beginning. The beginning is the understanding of worth and justness. I crave a night with tenderness not lust. Woe can take control leaving you motionless. Longings leaves you with aches and pains.

Tenderness is like a man with plenty of drink: it eases a free flow of reality, intensified by serene intoxication. Some like the stench and others request the volume of commitment in this decision.

Tenderness of woe is like mercury, hard to hold. You can chase it, ever moving, breaking into thousands of pieces. What happens when you catch it and consume it?

Much like a chocolate bar, sweet tasty, lightly caressing, leaving you wanting more. Seduction at it's most subtle. Woe is me how does sweet death fit our spirituality? How does it serve humanity?

Only when tenderness of woe is shared with others does it set us free into the service of spirit how can I heal thee?

I promise to listen and to truly feel your plight. Send me your questions and answers shall come in the night. To read and find our dreams have meanings tis our desire to have the light. Woe is me I feel the tenderness of woe does you right.

Shekhinah En Ka Mitt(C)                                                                          4/13/09

I want to feel your heartbeat
against my barren skin

Skipping and racing
as your lips brush tenderly
against my lips

A moment frozen in time

Forever held safely
wrapped within the warm embrace,
of your loving arms

© 2013 Christina Jackson

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