Truths we’d rather not see
Raked into the compost,
buried deep–
Used to feed vines,
growing twisted,
roping round,
A soul stilled
in one place.
Category: Uncategorized
Featured Post: If You Could Be Mine – M.A. Morris
Friends surprise with a birthday dinner.
Then out to the bar for a few drinks.
They laugh and wink
When a tiny little thing
With long, dark shining hair
That looks so velvety soft
That to touch it would be
To fall up into a rural night sky
Of inky black laced
With the light of
A thousand stars,
Smiles at me,
And with the encouragement of her friends,
Asks me for a dance.
But she is young,
Much too young for me.
But I like the way she moves as if just for me.
I think I could do this just like I used to in my youth.
Something stirs within as if of old muscle memory
Of how to divorce the physical from the spiritual.
Yes, just like in my youth.
I could take her home,
Whisper things like,
“If you could be mine….”
And really go to…
View original post 197 more words
Featured Post: The Truth That Never Hurts – M.A. Morris
Is there a truth that never hurts?
The truth of a garden?
Of the Texas sky?
Of a home?
Or an empty house?
Is there a truth that never hurts?
The truth of a love?
Of the human heart?
Of a parent?
Of a child?
Of a dog?
Or even God?
When did the truth
Contained in each
Contain no pain?
No hurt?
Not a scrap?
Not a speck?
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing
Featured Post: Ash – M.A. Morris
Gather and pile
the wood neatly.
Stuff the paper
Torn from notebooks.
Pile the ribbon tied cards
High and wide.
Take a torch,
Or a lighter,
Or a match,
And light this pyre.
Let it warm the night.
Stand near enough
To let its heat
Make the body sweat
Away what remains
Of promises made
Promises kept
Promises broken
Promises turned lies.
Let the dead words
Burn in the flames
Of the pyre
Curling and turning black
Within the orange and yellow.
Mourn the death
Of words diseased
By lack of meaning
If you must.
And when it is done,
Cover your head
With their ashes.
Then let the rains
Wash you clean.
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my writing…
View original post 5 more words
Shadows
In the shadows of the mountains
Where beasts have fled,
Leaving behind cloven hoof prints
In the inky muck of the forest floor
Beside the pristine waters of a rushing stream
Near the fading timberline here,
The scent of decaying pine bark and musk
On a faint icy breeze
Weaves all into the forest primordial.
Nothing human can be found
In a fear filled chest.
A Dream of the Wolf
A whipped dog, Head down, Eyes, lowered, Ears back, Haunches drawn Dreams the wolf-- Sharp weapons of tooth and claw, Armor of hide and fur, Heart of a free, wild warrior. A dream of the lone wolf, Who may find comfort Here or there For a season. Then moves onward alone Before what will come As the whipped dog knows, Always, always does.
Featured Post: Curious Wine – M.A. Morris
Originally published on Braveandreckless.com
I drink this curious wine
Amidst this dying battle
In the early morning hours
When sleep is a dream
Chased no longer.
A bruised oppressive rawness
Settles over all.
No joy to find
Amidst such wreckage.
I am siege wearied
By a bombardment of words.
Thus, I lay down the sword,
Offer up my neck to you.
And though I should win
The gold and gems,
It is bitter truth to swallow
In this curious wine
You’ve given me to drink.
I begin a day with no respite.
Stones piled
One upon the other,
Weighing on the chest.
I feel the crunch now of bones
Pressed by the tonnage.
Death by stones of grief.
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my…
View original post 6 more words
Featured Post: The Color Purple – M.A. Morris
Originally published on Braveandrclessblog.com
I dug and planted,
Watered and tended,
Replanted and pruned.
I planted what should be.
I checked the labels
At the nursery.
Yet,
Nothing here blooms
That is the color purple.
I have other colors in abundance,
But not the lilacs or the lavender
Will bloom that shade of purple sky
Seen in the sunrise.
Nothing I do
Can make that
Mythic color true.
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing
Featured Post: Orlando – M.A. Morris
Originally published on Braveandrecklessblog.com
All is melded together in a tide of fluidity
In the giving and receiving.
Effortless is the trading off of places
And ways of touch.
From the warmth within skin to skin,
There is no question.
Lacking need for definitive definitions,
The passion found in the changing of tides
Is such a joy filled revelation.
In roles not static.
The fluidity found
Wields ecstasy profound.
Image Courtesy of Pinterest
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing
Featured Post: The Gravity Between Us – M.A. Morris
originally published on braveandrecklessblog.com
In my final days,
I will soar into the sun
And wait for you.
Or should it be
Find you there
Waiting for me.
Then we will fly beyond,
Mingling and joining
With the elements
Of air
Of earth
Of water
Of fire,
Merging and separating,
And merging again.
For an eternity,
Playing in the gravity
Between us.
Then should we
Fall to earth once again,
No matter where,
No matter the time,
We will find
Each other
Again.
I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement. I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.
You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing
Hearing The Mermaids Sing 