Ya think?...

New co-worker: "I'm flabbergasted!"

Jean: "Any particular reason, or do you just like the way that feels?"

New co-worker: (blink, blink)

Jean: (smiling)

New co-worker: "You don't make much sense sometimes."


...fade to other co-workers laughing and peeing pants.

Memory...

There's something about a good man's hands...
It matters not what work they do.
Rough or soft, scarred, thick or thin.

Ever so gently, yet firm, cupped around my face.
Confident and strong, drawing me toward him.
Tender, shielding, sharing.

Fingers under my chin, holding steady while his thumbs,
caressing, stroke across my cheeks... as if a cherished gift.
Closer still, my lips are warmed by his even before they
finally touch. Lightly. Briefly.

Then barely back away, returning slowly to kiss only
my lower lip.
Languishing there a bit, pulling it softly between his teeth.
Just enough to make me moan, quietly.

He is doing it all. I accept and blush warm.
Nothing touches except his hands and lips. Yet, it is total
giving and submitting. Eager but restrained.
The tiniest details explored with care, over and over again.

If it happens only once, it will still last forever, because
I can remember.

Repeat As Necessary...

No promise of
sense or sanity.
Life expectancy of either.
Saturate with what
good is now.
Dissect, digest what
dark may bring again.
Away with that which creeps
and hopes to hide
jeweled bits of learning.
Know, remind (self)
good is greater here.

I am more.

More than troubles.
More than grief
and error.
Heartbeat does continue
pulsing life and
joy and dreams.
If beat should skip
then pause, reflect.
Breathe deep.
Breathe deep.
Continue...

RAGE!

is no light
sodden black
envelopes
smothers air
wanting end
surrender
sinking
will not end.
it's will will not win!
refuse the depths
claw, pull, climb upward
screaming, cursing, sweating
rage against this death!
rage against this dark!
implore, nay... demand
be gone!

Hello, again...

Well, folks, you are dealing with one whacko broad raht chere.
Oh. Maybe you already figured that out.
I should give you more credit, huh? Sorry.

I'd like to say the crisis has passed, but as long as there is
life here, we can always find some crisis.
I think it is safe to say, however, that for now, it has abated.

Progress, tiny bits that it might be, is being made. Panic over.
Normal breathing resumed.

Besides, I seem to be addicted to this blogworld and the
writing that goes with it. Not a bad thing, that.
I just needed some time to prioritize and make a better
schedule for my life... in all areas.
If I'm not careful, I just might become somewhat efficient.
If you know me, that thought will make you giggle.

I have been writing during my absence. There are three posts
waiting in draft. The first two are poems. The first one might
give you a good look at my mood when I went AWOL from here.
I eagerly await your comments. Posting will be tomorrow.

During my lighter than normal blog browsing, I came across a
quote on Sgt. Hook's blog, posted by Drill Sgt. Bleu who
periodically adds his words of wisdom and ranting there:

"The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects
it to change; the realist adjusts the sails."
William Arthur Ward

I like that... a lot. And, finding it today was perfect timing for me.

Much thanks to all of you who continued to check for life here
and offer words of encouragement in comments and e-mail.