Saturday, February 27, 2010


That was it, the spot, Yes, you hit it!
Have you been practicing?

Heated passion, fiery rage,
It's all there, you found it!

How accomplished you must feel to have once owned it.
It's not yours now but you have fueled it.

It burns stronger now for the unknown.
Yearning for the touch of a master, so unlike you.

Still alive, still wanting, ever alert against the unworthy.
Until it is killed again, only to be nurtured back to life once more.

Follow me down the hall, you whispered,
taking my hand to hurry me along.
The room is black, I see by touch,
legs, chest, mouth, I take you in.
Innocence lost in the shuffle,
but were we really expecting any less?
Your breath deepens, mine fades.
As we part you laugh.
It's what it was supposed to be,
no names-no face-no spirit.
When you leave I laugh.
I once thought I knew you,
now I pray I don't.

The walls close in, breathing of fear,
taunting, judging, exploring me.
I exhale slowly producing moist heat
soothing, calming, the only sense of life.
Hands of ghosts touch quivering flesh,
pulling, scratching, making me bleed.
The room goes black, enveloped once more,
arching, positioning, body writhing for power.
Fingers cover eyes and wrap tightly around my neck,
squeezing, caressing, softly now cradling me
Covering my mouth with a disrupting peace,
begging, praying, crying for absolution.
The light pools, focusing deep on my heart,
changing, controlling, awakening me from darkness.
The walls open up surrendering breath back to me,
gasping, inhaling, I have no fear left.

My poems NEVER rhyme,
I think of this all the time!
But something just doesn't sound fun,
'bout sounding like Suess when you're done!
But maybe I'll give it a shot,
and show grade school kids what I've got!
and maybe I'll even be smart,
rhyming with "Orange" just to set me apart!!!

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Short Story Time: Sensual Awakenings

was a small town girl with a passion for the unknown and the strength to make things happen. She worked hard but always found herself missing out in the "play hard" arena. For lack of a better word she was stagnant. But St. Patrick's day was coming up and she decided to spoil herself with a trip to Savannah. She planned every detail with giddy anticipation. This was going to be a time to let loose and let desires rise like the steam from a newly poured mug of coffee.

She was single, young and jaw dropping gorgeous, a deadly combination in a highly charged celebration town. There were no restrictions and no judgments would be cast on less than angelic behavior. Jazen dreamed of finding someone to settle down with one day. But this was not the time for that. This was the time to act on passion and dance with the devils of danger. She could have never imagined what would happen and how it would change her sensuality.


There were a few things Jazen wanted to accomplish in the two weeks allotted for vacation in Savannah. One was to not know anyone and the other was to get to know someone. She had even changed her wardrobe to reflect a different character role. Business suits with tight skirts and heels turned vampy black and disheveled in just the right spots. Her usual flair for finer attire was thrown behind in lieu of the darker side she kept cleverly buttoned up.

Walking on the edge was new to her and she was nervous but there was an ache deep inside for this outlet and it had spoken unanswered for too long. She would wear her hair down and her make-up heavy with crimson blood colored lips and nails. She would personify dark and mysterious and be a little bit of a bitch, which made her smile. She bit her lip thinking about a shadowed stranger in an alley coming up on her slowly and slamming her against the brick. Hands warm and uninvited, breath tickling her neck as her heart beats dangerously fast. Bodies of strangers as one in the chilly evening air. She let out a muffled sigh, took a bite at a pencil she was fidgeting with and came quickly back to the reality of a normal work day.

"You gonna just sit there snacking on that pencil Jazen or do you think we could actually GO to this meeting?"

"Don't be an ass Tom, I'll be there in a minute" she sarcastically replied while breaking the pencil in two.

Tom was in love with her, he was open about it and when she didn't return his feelings he turned into a nightmare to work with. She was perceived as all business but she had mistakenly shown him a glimpse of something else, now he was enchanted. One dark stormy day in the staircase at work, one slip of the hand to a garter with no panties, a few moans later, he was hers. She thought about stringing him along for sex, after all she did love sex and he was adept, but he would be an everyday liability if she did. She also thought it was almost too much fun fantasizing about it, so she withheld from him and sex, for too long. Now she found herself needing to play and be played. Her male friend said she had her "kitty on a pedestal" but that just made her want to hold out longer hoping the tease was worth the ache.

"Kitty is jumping down, and she's Hungry!" she growled as her friend begged to go with her to watch, she prodded openly at his weakness.

Tomorrow she would leave for Savannah and do what she wished with everyone she wished to do it with. The mere thought of release was empowering. She wondered if she could play this fantasy out. Her pale colored boy shorts had the days of the week printed on them, hardly the sign of a hardened seductress, and the fact that she wore them on the "proper" days made her laugh out loud.

"Well "Blazin' Jazen", it's all you now!" she smiled as she gave herself a nod to the past, and finished packing to prepare for an adventure in the future.

Monday, February 22, 2010

The Tease

When is a touch enough?
Does he penetrate you to the point of an uncontrolled throb
or brush the surface, teasing the very core of you?
Do you taste each other lightly
or be ravenous and greedy of each sense?
How long will you hang on the edge of rapture,
before dropping in to experience the release?
In the wait, true seduction lingers.
A whispered prelude to a thunderous end.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Your move

She was quivering. The intensity had risen to an unbearable level. Too good to continue but also too incredible to stop. He had a hold on her like no other but he did not respect her. She knew he was playing a game that would ultimately end in dissolution, but she liked being the pawn, or maybe she liked knowing that he thought she was.

He relished every opportunity to taste her every movement and wondered if maybe he had savored her for too long. Was he now addicted to a bite of passion, entrapped in his own web of seduction and power? There would never be a relationship. He would never rush home to a cooked meal and night of TV with her feet in his lap. Neither were naive to the fact that the attraction was purely physical, but there was still passion, jealousy and rage.

The nights became a violent back and forth between them, both walking the line of a disturbing picture of extreme masochism. A game of knife play yielded injury to her but as the blood ran, she unleashed an orgasm more potent than she had ever released before. He licked the wound and thrust deeper with a calmed rage that frightened yet entranced her. His might was gone each time they touched, given completely to her as he had to no one else. She could feel his anger hot inside of her and it fed her needs.

They continued.......

Always breathless and levitating......

Always questioning how far to push and how dark is too dark......

Always satisfied with the strategies of manipulation they used to play the game.......

Always oblivious to the fact that they BOTH thought they controlled the final roll of the dice.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Inspired by art

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Just because you laugh, does not mean you're happy.
There are strings attached to every emotion you give.
What a gift you are to those around, living quietly, helping them.
You never cry on their shoulders or grasp their hands firmly in need.
You give wise words and envelope every one's pain.
But yours is quickly negated because you can not face it, you won't.
How long before someone notices you dangling there?
Suspended on strings of false happiness and pride?
How long before you just let go?
Would anyone even notice that you have?
But you are not brave enough.
So the story ends here.


Closing my eyes I still feel the pain of waking up -
Or did I?
Conversation reverberates, I choke on tubes placed to aid breath -
Such irony!
A simple realization and I lose the presence that once haunted me -
Is she awake?
Deeply sleeping yet still aware and questioning -
Did this happen?
The beauty of sound jars me, brings me back -
A new location in time.
There is too much left undone and unanswered to remain ambivalent -
I awaken fully.
Renewed with life and the happenings of a new chapter -
It remains unwritten.


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Shaking hands travel skin, nails layered with polish, dark and imperfect like her.
Heated breath lingers accentuated by sounds only total release can bring.
She is coming undone with herself and by her own doing.
Fingers pulse deeper into satin, lost in the memory of his taste.
Her back arches, writhing in fading visions of long nights in whispered ecstasy.
She preserves the only positive memories of a lost relationship.
Held in the tangling of sheets around wrists on a bed of nails she occupies alone.


Hidden tragedies
Lost faith
Innocence tarnished
Hope fades
Broken realities
Still beautiful
Inner power flourishing
Walk away
You have no right to linger
Waiting to prey
As she becomes whole again


Sunday, February 7, 2010


She lives in a world of enchantment where glimmer and shine abound. Her hands create watery blues that turn into turquoise with bursts of purple screaming off kite tails. They are abstract but defined pieces with untold mystery and the awe of an uninhibited child mixed in. Her world is silent, there has never been a sound registered in her memory but she listens to everything then captures it all in oils. She has no idea what passion music brings except for the rhythm's she feels in the remnants of sound waves passing her by. Yet somehow her art imitates music with flow and rhyme and the beauty of notes randomly yet expertly put together. She is a musician.

He hears tones and feels resonance that pass others by. He creates whimsical notes with deep vibration and soft pitch that fly around you and dance freely in your mind. He has never seen color or hue. Never has he experienced the sun exploding over the horizon or the iridescence in a child's dark hair. His renderings bring you to a myriad of shades and hues that envelope you with warmth. He sees the autumnal sunsets and the shimmering dust of stars on a deep blue night and captures it in sound. He creates the beaming white smiles of children and the toss of a bright red ball. He is a painter.

Never let a "disability" define you when it can redefine you.