Nora’s Pantry

This is the place where I put the things I think and make; leaving myself totally exposed to

anyone who stops by to look.

This is where the train derails.

Unaffected Fool

The feminine winter

it’s skin, tissue paper

legs unshaven

The masculine winter,

with his even stride

believes he can reconstitute her

Monochrome

In everything I am or do

I am monochromatic.

In things I think and simple tasks

simplicity

There is a need to make a theme

In single color,

I nightly dream

a single voice in the cacophony

of screams

single digit mathematics

As a mother I should have

the knack

to decorate my hectic life

in plaid

and coordinate the many tasks

with ease

but exclusively I focus most

on the distinct hue

that needs a host

the holistic completeness

captivates me.

Wasteland

A gallon of American living

poured into an empty flask

greasy, with its amber mistakes

breaks the spoons of the hungry mouths

The forceful swallow

of all the shallows,

grabbing love in desperate places.

The brine, it bubbles

as it fills the pits

and goopy rubble still exists

in the wasteland latrines that pepper this putrefied province.

Balanced Guilt is a Good Thing

Guilty, Guilty Guilt

if you have it,

you have a heart.

But too much

can leave your life in ruins.

If you learn how

to avoid guilt entirely,

you’re either approaching perfection

or are a soulless monster.

Crippling guilt,

your presence and lack of it

both mean doom

for a soul.

Sure Footing

Too cautious,

I only step

where there is sure footing

which must be why

I can’t dance

like those bold souls

who flail about

without care

(and usually some grace).

A degree of calculation,

is my step

before any step,

tossing chance to the wind

and to the wolves,

and certainty,

my hovering angel.

But I

would rather be

paralyzed in fear

than misstep.

Stagnation

a better outcome

than risk.

Snapshot conversation

A man brings a woman a glass of red wine and a cocoa dusted truffle. He gently teases the truffle into the woman’s mouth. She follows up with a gulp of wine and lets out a moan.

“Mmm. That was an ideal communion.”

“Oh yeah? But with a truffle?”

“Yeah. I really appreciate the brotha that gave his life so I could eat and drink of him. Something about black men reminds me of chocolate. It really gets my mouth watering.”

(Laughs) “Oh?! And what’s wrong with a cracker?”

The Voyage of the Enigmatic Body

The back is the Pacific Ocean of the body

so vast and open

it’s ridges, exposed islands

and ribs like ripples

rolling towards the shore

…..

The arms are the maps of the body

with trails, tracks, story-scratched

highway veins, tattooed names

and territories light and dark,

half sun-marked

and hands that tell you where to go

…..

The eyes are the moons of the body

glowing, round radiant,

distant and ofttimes cold

celestial and mystic

piercing through you and millions of miles away all at once.

…..

The hair is the clouds of the body

swirling, curling around those lit moons

Sometimes calm and sometimes stormy,

drifting over mountains and oceans

always in motion

…..

The shoulders are the mountains of the body

bearing the weight of the world,

buried in the mist of clouds

standing tall and proud

or bravely chiseled by time

…..

The legs are pillars of the body

often of ruins or great oaks

tested through time

and still erect, if not a little cracked

supporting what was once great

and drawing our eyes to heavens above

…..

The belly is the shore of the body

the land, the sand

where children are raised

and man lays his head

it’s a centrifuge, a core, and more

a middle ground worth fighting for

…..

the bosom is the tree of the body

with two red leaves

bearing fruit for all to eat

with passing seasons change and wilt

it’s sibylline beauty

almost eternal

…..

The vagina is the spring of the body

welling sublime waters from deep within

giving life

from it’s stark abyss

a fountain that sustains

and nourishes its thirsty patron

…..

The enigmatic body is an earth,

a heavenly creation

of vast planes and craters

harnessing it’s unique and unrivaled

beauty, purpose and divine transformations

and only its climate determines

its inhabitants

Let the ol’ Bastard be lost

The tracks in the snow

are so obviously

those of a old man drunk on scotch

I can see the trail,

a staggered meter

of one-two, one nununun-two,

his decrepit left hip

hoisting the burden

onto the right

and a rift between he

and an old friend

sent him into the sleet and wind

Now we’re tracking him.

Snapshot conversation

My daughter, currently caught between childhood and the heavy dealings of maturity was watching a game show.
“Name something you take care of so it will last a long time.”
“Cars” “Jewelry” “A home” “pets”
“Stupid people! Say Relationships! Marriage and relationships!”
Folks, this nearly brought a tear to my eye. She’s learning.

T’wats the Night Before Christmas

Originally Published on: Dec 7, 2008

I thought I’d drag this one back out for another peep, since it’s the holidays and all…

T’was the night before Christmas

and in the back of the house

her juices were stirring

with lust for her spouse.

.

Her stockings undone from the garter with care

In hopes that his thickness would soon meet her bare

The children, all nestled and snug in their beds

Had no idea this affair had come to a head

.

Mom, in her corset, and dad, with the whip

Started with a kiss, as he ordered her to strip.

When over the pillow, her hair layed, scattered

He sprang on the bed, as if only she mattered.

.

Away she worked like an impulsive flash

as he throttled and pounded, with eager, her gash

The moon on her breast like new fallen snow

Made it easy for him to see where his tongue should go

.

To his wondering eyes, all a sudden did appear

Her legs, round his head, and her moment drawing near

He started to drive her, so lively and quick

He knew in a moment what made her tick

.

More rapid than coursers she came and she came

She sighed and she moaned and she called out his name

“Oh, take me, ahhh yes! Yes! YES! YESSSSS!” said the vixen

On top or on bottom, on hope chest they’re fixin’

.

To the heights of their being, and up against the wall

They grind away, sweating for the best gift of all.

Their bodies , like leaves in a wild hurricane fly

meeting, enmeshing, and mount to the sky

.

To the tips of the universe, like quarks and gluons they flew

Using a night stand full of toys, and their bodies, toys too,

and then, with a twinkling, in both their eyes

the petting and pawing brought the greatest surprise

.

He withdrew his hands, and then quickly turned her around

Down her proverbial chimney, he came with a bound

Stroking her fur, titillated from head to foot

Smashing and lashing the crest of her butt.

.

His bundle, unleashed, pendulum swinging, front to back

Retaining the swelling in his bulging sack.

Her eyes- how they twinkled! His chest how it heaved

Her bosoms like roses, fast to them, he cleaved.

.

Her droll little mouth drawn up like a bow

opening and closing with each mighty blow

The stump of his shaft, held tight in her teeth,

Looked like an angel breathing on a wet Christmas wreath

.

His face broad with pleasure, hair tickling his belly,

made him thankful their coital gifts never required jelly.

His member, chubby and plump, withdrew from herself

Ready to finish off this fine milf.

.

With a wink of his eye, and a nod of her head

She was thrown back to the edge of the bed.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work

Rhythmic, pounding, with just the right jerk.

.

And simultaneously, as both parties chose,

He filled up her chimney as their pulses both rose.

They sprang to the porch, to have a quick smoke

And commented how it was, by far, the best Christmas poke

.

Back in bed, pulses rested, exclaims to his wife

Sweetheart, thank you for another Merry Christmas tonight.

Coitus Cubed

You are butter

smooth, delicious and slippery

pale, creamy, lip-licking sweet.

spread and sizzle

melt all over me

let us make a dish to savor

a flesh flash flavor

coitus cubed

now liquefied and lubed

rising, bubbling heat

a dairy drizzle

enamorous effussive eats

creamed and volume heightened whippery

so tasty, I’m all aflutter

I’m a crappy gift, and you’re the gift wrap

I wanna drink this down hard and fast

feel it hit my sour tummy

and wrap myself all up in you.

I am so sad

and feel like going on a rampage

no, a binge

of self-destruction

and some soft lips

a warm blanket

and a little comfort may help me forget

whatever it is that is bringing me down.

The Biggest Bang

What hot mass weighs on your heavy soul?

Does it burn clear through to the bottom

and free fall into that limbo-like stratosphere

where your heart hovers?

With a searing clinch

let me melt my hands

leaving, not finger prints,

but my touch, a gift of burnt skin

fused to your fiery surface.

I will trace my obscene confession in the sky

with blood and fire

and when next we meet,

our fervent union will become a blazing star

illuminating all the heavens

and we will detonate with such a thunderous blast

that a new era will dawn.

Great Escape

Got a womb for rent

going cheap

for a tired grown man

who needs a place to sleep

It’s got red velvet curtains

heated floors, so much more

adorned in fleshy luxury

and free of oozing sores

Hide away, deep in my belly

away from the sour world

and coo to the sound of heart beats

and lullaby gurgles, sublimly swirled

The walls so thick, slick

ne’er impenetrable, few exits

make for a retreat, sweet and Freudish.

Dry up and die

On these Autumn days, I wonder

as I look at the colorful trees,

if I too am to be so colorful

when I dry up and die.

partially executed bravery ususally results in painful failure

examples:

the time when I thought I could spring up very high on a diving board and curve my body up and over like a rainbow, to get in to the water pin straight and diagonal, hands pointed above my head. The classic dive. Whilst midair I realized it was not going to work or I got scared. Whatever the reason was, I belly flopped HARD! It jolted my neck like sedan whiplash. That plane of water slapped me hard and taught me a lesson. That lesson is the title of this blog.

One time I thought about making a snappy comeback in jest by using the voice and words of Eric Cartman. I chickened out on the voice, and what I said didn’t come across as being a quote from a foul mouthed cartoon character, but rather as my own feeling about the situation. That lead to a big misundestanding later, and a great deal of awkwardness.

I was in the spelling bee when I was in sixth grade. I studied my ass off. I was so sure that I was going to do great. So many times I had stood on the stage at church and sang, my knees quivering, and would go cry after I was done. Not because I had done poorly, but just from the sheer terror of being watched by so many people made my nerves fray. When I went to the spelling bee, I had unusual courage. I bombed. I was the third one out. The word that was the nail in my coffin was one that my mom gave me a pneumonic device to remember. It was wrong though, so I had memorized it wrong. I wasn’t mad at my mom. I was mad at myself for having been so bold, brave and confident. Never again, I vowed, would I ever be so sure of myself.

If you ever feel like putting yourself on the line, make sure you go full balls out and see it through, or have the wills or skills to do it in the first place. Otherwise, it’s gonna hurt. Have you ever seen a tattoo where the person chickened out half way through?

Snapshot conversation

“Yes, I can’t remember your name, but I remember your face.”

“Oh, that’s funny. You should be remembering my legs, breasts and the small of my back.”

Mellowfluous

On days like these

ink creeps down the confessing page

rain slides down the windows

and blood weeps slow through my polar veins

the coffee perks and drips in sync

and someday soon

all these liquids will efface

amalgamize in a swirl in the palm of my hand

and I will smear them down my sullen face

Maritime Melancholy

Months lost at sea

with all these knots

and thoughts

that will not hold tight

slipping and giving the wind my sails

.

The creaking sway

a lullaby of loneliness

a cradle

a heaping ladle

of maritime melancholy

my flag, a sun-bleached map

.

Is it a voyage when you are lost

and content to be tossed

upon the miles of tumultuous waves

praying for landlessness

hopelessness, a welcome compass?

Rendered Handsome

He is alabaster

with a sheen

and brass knob,

polished clean

chiseled brawn

catching the afternoon sun

How he glistens

smooth to touch

His sculpted curves

give me a rush

Apparently, the Lord’s work is done.