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| Topic: the long and short of it | |
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Of Bows And Chains
if you think we all play by the same rules, you have never met her. she is stunning. she is moonlight, and she is also both triumph and disaster. she is a mess. she is selfish and blunt; almost to the point of being rude and I put up with it, we all do, it’s a small price to pay. when she’s around there’s always a cost; always something to be weighed. and for some reason, it always lands in my lap. don’t get me wrong, I love her and I have for years, (I guess I keep hoping that she will one day learn there’s a difference between bows and chains) but that doesn’t stop her from waiting for her Prince Valiant to come riding into town and sweep her away. I left her at my place while I went to pick up some more vodka and to try and score some weed. even though neither of smokes the stuff; tonight she just had to have it. when I got back she was sitting on the floor with tears trickling down her face. “what’s this?” she asked. “what does it look like?” (it was all I could think to say.) she had found my poems. two notebooks full of them. “I never knew you wrote.” she said. “well...” now you would think after all these years and the fact that, yes, I have read a few of them to her, she would have known this. I mean it’s not that I have hidden them from her, or anyone else, I guess she just never took the time. It reminds me of that movie when Lauren says to Bateman: “know me, what does that mean?...nobody ever knows anyone else, ever!” Lauren, you couldn’t be more right. “oh my, some of these are so sad.” she remarked. I was waiting for her to ask if any had to do with her and she didn’t let me down. “are all of these about me?” “not all, no” “this one is beautiful”…”I know you wrote it for me!” “maybe, I’m not sure which one you are referring to.” “I want them, the ones about or to me.” she demanded. “we’ll talk about that in the morning.” I suggested. then she asked me to make the drinks and to roll her a joint, so she could keep reading. all the while, she was also texting on her phone. two hours later, a slight buzz going and bored to death, I told her I was going to bed. she was stoned and after drinking most of the bottle of vodka, pretty drunk, but she wanted to finish reading the poems. before going to my room I went into my office and loaded the printer with a new ink cartridge and as much paper as it can hold and hit the print button. I didn’t have enough time to get comfortable and there she was, standing at the bedroom door. she did a little dance as she removed her clothing, then leaped onto the bed. her soft body covered me like warm down and for the 536th time, I made love to her. though if you ask her she’ll tell you without pause and without considering even the simplest mathematical likelihood of such a thing, that all we did was have sex. when it was over, at her weakest point, as we lay there in our skein of arms, legs and emotions, just seconds from falling asleep, she murmured, “I love you”. I answered, “I know you do”, then I drifted off to sleep knowing It would be a couple of days before I would see her again. I woke to find a note next to me. it explained to me that what she meant was, she loved when I did that to her: shaking my head, rolling my eyes I walked down the hall. the printer had finished hours ago, (I knew that) so I went to the coffee table and picked up a freshly used glass and the now empty bottle. she of course was gone, so too was the pot and as expected my notebooks were nowhere to be seen. she always gets what she needs from me and I always get... see Lauren? in my case, this case, you couldn’t be more wrong. kc`11 |
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AR8_rLYrO1k without...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U47wLpEcjMg or with music? |
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Edited by
Ainjel
on
Sun 12/18/11 04:39 PM
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Beautiful words..
With or without the music.. |
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thank you, you're a doll, but that was a serious question. which one? |
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ok i got rid of the one with music....
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There was nothing wrong with the music one, it all blended well..
I couldn't make a choice sorry... 
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it's quite alright, I had help in making the decision and I’m okay with it.
 <--------- see?
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Your voice is always so mesmerizing to me. No music needed.
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Edited by
kc0003
on
Sun 01/22/12 01:09 PM
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It’s Simple...
I won’t be discovered after my death, we already have an Emily Dickinson I have no dilutions about it it’ll not make me rich or famous I don’t follow the rules I don’t plan I simply write I cannot quote the greats I don’t try to emulate any of them I don’t wish to be the next Neruda, Whitman, or Yeats I just want to be me so I simply write and I write simply I don’t do it to please people I don’t do it because I want to I do it, because sometimes it’s in me sometimes, it needs to get out and I write purely because there are times when being silent is not living and so it is, with apologies to the masters I write kc `12 |
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I'm glad you share your writes that are 'in you'..Fab..
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thank you,
now it's time for the next step...(cross fingers) |
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thank you, now it's time for the next step...(cross fingers) What am I crossing my fingers for..? |
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Of Bows And Chains if you think we all play by the same rules, you have never met her. she is stunning. she is moonlight, and she is also both triumph and disaster. she is a mess. she is selfish and blunt; almost to the point of being rude and I put up with it, we all do, it’s a small price to pay. when she’s around there’s always a cost; always something to be weighed. and for some reason, it always lands in my lap. don’t get me wrong, I love her and I have for years, (I guess I keep hoping that she will one day learn there’s a difference between bows and chains) but that doesn’t stop her from waiting for her Prince Valiant to come riding into town and sweep her away. I left her at my place while I went to pick up some more vodka and to try and score some weed. even though neither of smokes the stuff; tonight she just had to have it. when I got back she was sitting on the floor with tears trickling down her face. “what’s this?” she asked. “what does it look like?” (it was all I could think to say.) she had found my poems. two notebooks full of them. “I never knew you wrote.” she said. “well...” now you would think after all these years and the fact that, yes, I have read a few of them to her, she would have known this. I mean it’s not that I have hidden them from her, or anyone else, I guess she just never took the time. It reminds me of that movie when Lauren says to Bateman: “know me, what does that mean?...nobody ever knows anyone else, ever!” Lauren, you couldn’t be more right. “oh my, some of these are so sad.” she remarked. I was waiting for her to ask if any had to do with her and she didn’t let me down. “are all of these about me?” “not all, no” “this one is beautiful”…”I know you wrote it for me!” “maybe, I’m not sure which one you are referring to.” “I want them, the ones about or to me.” she demanded. “we’ll talk about that in the morning.” I suggested. then she asked me to make the drinks and to roll her a joint, so she could keep reading. all the while, she was also texting on her phone. two hours later, a slight buzz going and bored to death, I told her I was going to bed. she was stoned and after drinking most of the bottle of vodka, pretty drunk, but she wanted to finish reading the poems. before going to my room I went into my office and loaded the printer with a new ink cartridge and as much paper as it can hold and hit the print button. I didn’t have enough time to get comfortable and there she was, standing at the bedroom door. she did a little dance as she removed her clothing, then leaped onto the bed. her soft body covered me like warm down and for the 536th time, I made love to her. though if you ask her she’ll tell you without pause and without considering even the simplest mathematical likelihood of such a thing, that all we did was have sex. when it was over, at her weakest point, as we lay there in our skein of arms, legs and emotions, just seconds from falling asleep, she murmured, “I love you”. I answered, “I know you do”, then I drifted off to sleep knowing It would be a couple of days before I would see her again. I woke to find a note next to me. it explained to me that what she meant was, she loved when I did that to her: shaking my head, rolling my eyes I walked down the hall. the printer had finished hours ago, (I knew that) so I went to the coffee table and picked up a freshly used glass and the now empty bottle. she of course was gone, so too was the pot and as expected my notebooks were nowhere to be seen. she always gets what she needs from me and I always get... see Lauren? in my case, this case, you couldn’t be more wrong. kc`11 I can't stop crying. |
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awwwww
that makes me smile (no ofense) 
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It’s Simple... I won’t be discovered after my death, we already have an Emily Dickinson I have no dilutions about it it’ll not make me rich or famous I don’t follow the rules I don’t plan I simply write I cannot quote the greats I don’t try to emulate any of them I don’t wish to be the next Neruda, Whitman, or Yeats I just want to be me so I simply write and I write simply I don’t do it to please people I don’t do it because I want to I do it, because sometimes it’s in me sometimes, it needs to get out and I write purely because there are times when being silent is not living and so it is, with apologies to the masters I write kc `12 Those are the best reasons of all, so wonderfully put as always... |
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thank you Pam, nice to see you as always
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I understand why anyone writes. No explanations really needed, but that too, in and of itself, needs to be penned, etched, scratched in breathing's flow.
You have a way that draws the soul to meander, to wind and twist so eloquently at times. |
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tonight the August air is still though predictably heavy with humidity that’s the way it is the south; in the summer the moon is full and brilliant in the north sky I’m sitting in the middle of my backyard sipping a glass of wine, enjoying the day’s last cigarette and I am at peace all around me the night is teaming with life a few lingering fireflies dance under the wisteria canopy that hangs from the Bradford Pear, just this side of the back fence tree frogs are calling out to one-another the bull frogs loudly proclaim their presence crickets and even locust scream for their recognition a coyote howls in the distance and now, that little rat terrier next door is joining in (as usual) I genuinely hate that mutt with his four inch legs and Napoleonic complex, but tonight, I am at peace in among the Pin Oaks next to the run-off creek that borders me to the west, on a crooked branch of the lone hickory tree, sits my bi-weekly visitor his magnificent silhouette is easy to spot with the backdrop of the bright sky he is rather large and being very vocal tonight “who…who…whooowoooooo, who...who…whooowoooooo” he calls and we wait, moments later, from the far off distance the exact call returns and we are both at peace as menacing as he may seem to the rabbit that lives here, seemingly to feed exclusively off of my tulip bulbs, and the squirrels that remain hidden in the trees around him I find a comfort in his attendance unlike the cat that just scurried into the bushes at the corner of my house, I look forward to seeing him I usually talk to him, but tonight, I simply sit here with my feet wet from the dew that clings to the narrow blades of grass that are trying to tickle my ankles the same grass that is home to the spiders and worms, the ants and toads, the occasional box turtle and snake I just sit here and listen and I am at peace the night is blaring, but there are no sirens no cars passing by filled with people too busy to actually enjoy themselves no children playing no screams of fear just me and the night full of activity and it is exquisite I apologize; I thought for a moment tonight I would write a poem a poem about those arms, her arms, the ones that hold me gently when I need it and firmly when I don’t realize I need that too it was going to be beautiful it would have been had she existed, and God knows we all could use a bit more beauty, but as I sit here rapt by the din of my surroundings the arms have been replaced by something unexpected and I am at peace knowing that in the shadows of this crystal moon, lies enough beauty to generate the jealousy of a thousand suns kc `11 took me awhile to catch up, but.... exquisitely well done :)
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took me awhile to catch up, but.... exquisitely well done :) OMG, YOUR ALIVE! 
I miss you! 
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took me awhile to catch up, but.... exquisitely well done :) OMG, YOUR ALIVE!
I miss you!
wait?? i'm alive?? yeah!!!!! miss you too luv 
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