Featured Post: Orlando – M.A. Morris

Originally published on Braveandrecklessblog.com

braveandrecklessblog's avatarBrave & Reckless

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

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Featured Post: The Gravity Between Us – M.A. Morris

originally published on braveandrecklessblog.com

braveandrecklessblog's avatarBrave & Reckless

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

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Featured Post: Stone Butch Blues – M.A. Morris

Originally published on braveandwrecklessblog.com

braveandrecklessblog's avatarBrave & Reckless

(paying for your butch ego)

The fragility of the butch ego
To which we are slave,
Must be soothed by us,
Whispered to and petted,
In private,
As well as public,
So they can strut,
Cock of the walk.

Should their ego be slightly scratched,
A minor scratch that should be paid for by
Lips and tongue and sweet words,
Yet such currency is deemed unacceptable, rejected.
And so we must pay the price.
Have our own selves bound and lashed
By that stone butch cruelty,
Containing not a thing we crave.
Our every flaw memorized, learned by rote,
Recited daily,
As if a lamentation and a prayer
Were needed
To remind us of the
Imperfections of hip and thigh,
Of eye, nose, lips, and face,
Of breast and belly.
And before long, even of mind and soul.
Soon we become,
Not enough.
Our totality,
Added up
And blessed
Within…

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Broken Bits

  
 Pain,
 A squeezing down
 Into nothingness,
 Into blackness,
 Into broken bits
 In the chest.
  
 Pain,
 A soreness remains after
 The squeezing fist
 Grinds down 
 These shards of glass,
 The broken bits,
 This blackness
 Into nothingness
 That began long ago. 
 A damage
 Left of childhood
 Whimpers.
  
 Pain,
 The squeezing down
 Of a nightmare
 And 
 The leaking valve
 Of this hole 
 In my chest.
  

Words in the Electronic Ages

  
 What we know of words upon a page
 Read, learned over again until sated
 In the richness found.
  
 Then turn to the electronic blue haze
 Where even words resonate, echoing fade.
  
 For the sweetest lies, a believer craves.
 Then scrolling over plastic flowers dancing,  
 The words of a lover’s refrain found
 Written once too often 
 In wooing others
 On the same blank cards
 With pictures of bears.
  
 The words like 
 Cheap plated jewelry’s shine 
 Turn black in the bitterness
 On the day some thought 
 Something pure, pristine was born.
  
 Then, finally, is it known the words
 Of the poetic, the romantic
 Are but rhetoric and lies
 Written and said  
 More than once
 But promised
 For one.
 
 The gravity, the gravity
 A black hole.

Water

Turn

Breathe warmth

Rest comes easy now

Curled around you—

Poured would be better

Yes—

Become liquid

To be the bath water

Surrounding you

Or the water droplets of a shower

Cascading over you

To possess for a moment

The ability of water

To touch you everywhere at once

SMOKE THE CRAVING

I debate:

Should I buy

That pack of cigarettes?

God knows I want too.

The store clerk

Stares at me

As if I’ve lost my mind.

I nearly answer—

Yes, I have and other things too.

Please, God.

I just want to feel the smoke

Rush through my lungs.

Skimming, skipping, speeding

The way pictures crash the dam of my heart.

I am flooded.

I’d rather be flooded with waves of nicotine.

Yes, it’d be a blessing to drown in nicotine.

Reveling in the stench of smoke

Would help dull this taste of bitterness,

Would dull this craving for a sweetness

I can no longer have.

And why not?

What’s it all matter now?

A slow roll kind of Catholic suicide.

How long could it take?

I mean, really, at this stage?

“Ma’am, can I help you with somethin’ else?”

Says the clerk behind the counter.

I am still standing there,

The crazy lady,

Trying to wring the water out

Of the water bottle I just bought.

“No, thank you,” as I walk away.

So, no slow roll Catholic suicide.

At least, starting not today.

But this patch of bitter taste,

This patch of craving for a sweetness,

Are sewn with double stitched seams

On the underside

Of my skin.

The Well of Loneliness

Originally Posted on https://braveandrecklessblog.com

Searching for something

In this void

Of fatigue–

A tender touch

Or warm skin to lie against,

A hope to grasp

When against slick

Stone.

Hours pass.

Anger and sadness silently left

And closed the door.

But the heart is chambered

Like a shell,

Swirling down within itself

Until reaching a breaking point

Of being long overdrawn,

Overworked, over tired,

Over

Over

Over.

Still learning in the stillness

Of time mixed with languages

Neither known nor understood

At all.

When there be no common ground

To stand upon–

A start, a beginning is lost.

In the travels

To find new shores

In this age

Without directions

Or something resembling

The instruction manual.

Turn to ask a friend,

“How does that dialogue go again?”

But there is no answer

In the old cliché’ of “seek and ye shall find”

You’ve knocked upon the door

And no one answered.

Live days in monastic silence,

Find it difficult to voice an answer

To the Walmart clerk saying,

“Have a nice day!”

Every night

Crawl downward and in,

Say a small, silent fervent prayer—

“I will always miss you

And I will always love you.

May my soul find you.”

Waking in fragments

To find it is time

For glue and duct tape.

They fix anything

That needs to be held

Together

At the bottom

Of the well.

The Price Of Salt

Originally posted on https://braveandrecklessblog.com

I went to all my baskets of words

To find them emptied out.

In fact, it seems

Anger and sadness

Sandblasted holes

Clean through the dang baskets.

Then I went to all my junk drawers of words,

Pulled each open and found each empty.

Frustrated, I tugged them all the way out

To make sure no junk, trying to hide away,

had shimmied behind the drawers.

But my efforts were to no avail.

All my words were gone, stolen.

Even my most treasured one,

Used ever so rarely for food or wine,

Used just once, only once,

For a love. 

Is this the price?

The price I pay for salt?

But this isn’t essential

To human existence.

No, I should report a robbery.

Call the cops and say,

“Someone stole all my words

And my most treasured one.”

Then I could file an insurance claim.

Perhaps collect something incalculable

And patch those dang baskets.

But how would they calculate

The value of such a word?

Used so rarely for things

And only once, just once

For something, someone rare?

How to calculate exquisite?

Happy Endings Are All Alike

Originally posted on https://braveandrecklessblog.com

Or so they say.

Wish I may,

Wish I might,

Find one to curl up into tonight.

But it’s too late.

Far too late for that.

I can imagine what those endings are like.

I’ve read them in books.

I’ve seen them in movies.

I’ve even lived them for little while,

A season, maybe two,

A few years and played a fool

Because I wanted too

And didn’t want to see

A truth or two.

I have friends

Who model happy endings.

It’s really sickening

In the syrupy sweetness

Of it all.

Yes, they are all alike,

I do suppose.

Perhaps,

Unhappy endings are most interesting

Of all.

I don’t really know.

I’ll tell you at the end.