Similar Posts
maybe life is a mixed drink [or just be an animal tonight]
I once had a funny conversation with a friend. She was talking about two men in her life: One that worked at a holistic center for something or other and one who was a smoking, drinking band member-type. She seemed to feel pulled between these two polarities. I said, “It’s like one is a clean…
Share this:
- Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest
- Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
- Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit
- Click to share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky
- Click to share on Threads (Opens in new window) Threads
- Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) LinkedIn
- Click to share on X (Opens in new window) X
- Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email
how i loved you [or the alchemy of heartbreak]
how i loved you no one understood the torture– the sweet musk of ache in my heart no one knew you utterly macerated my sweet butterfly in your gaping mouth but I knew (and I let you) (and I let you) a thousand flutters of longing–thrusting in a moonlit garden of jasmine while, for ten…
Share this:
- Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest
- Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
- Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit
- Click to share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky
- Click to share on Threads (Opens in new window) Threads
- Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) LinkedIn
- Click to share on X (Opens in new window) X
- Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email
New Directions
Outside there is a thin wind flirting with the trees it has teased the curtains into dancing; I keep time in my head. Memorizing the seasons, I touch things as if my fingers will learn them again; weary of explanations, at mid-life I am more comfortable with the truth. Outside, the mountain ash hangs heavy…
Share this:
- Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest
- Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
- Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit
- Click to share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky
- Click to share on Threads (Opens in new window) Threads
- Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) LinkedIn
- Click to share on X (Opens in new window) X
- Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email
- healing | love | photography | self-excavation | truth | Uncategorized
my short skirt and embarassing assumptions
The other day a woman at my daughter’s school was telling me about the book I am an Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World by Eve Ensler. She told me she wanted to loan it me and thought I would enjoy it. She told me one particular part of it reminded…
Share this:
- Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest
- Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
- Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit
- Click to share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky
- Click to share on Threads (Opens in new window) Threads
- Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) LinkedIn
- Click to share on X (Opens in new window) X
- Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email
divine | mystery | photography | pleasure | poetry | the delicious nowalways careening
invited in but always careening towards something (careless footsteps) skin throbbing from the sting (and not wanting to forget) the pulsating rhythm of blood rushing to the point of entry bathed in sunlight, the clenching stops while quiescent clouds gather rich, mellifluous enchantment moments and memories stitched together (everything in his house has a story)…
Share this:
- Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest
- Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
- Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit
- Click to share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky
- Click to share on Threads (Opens in new window) Threads
- Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) LinkedIn
- Click to share on X (Opens in new window) X
- Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email
- healing | love | poetry | self-excavation
the turning of the wheel [or "In brightest day, in blackest night"]
(it began and ended with super heroes) sweetness of night cold and clear the lights of the city and the telling of stories massaging out the knots mutuality (the light is nearly at its climax now) rain-soaked honeysuckle blossoms on bare skin in the morning veneration and passion (and the burgeoning fear) “In brightest day,…
Share this:
- Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest
- Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook
- Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit
- Click to share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky
- Click to share on Threads (Opens in new window) Threads
- Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) LinkedIn
- Click to share on X (Opens in new window) X
- Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email
