The cyclist

Cycling
silently
behind
a silent
cyclist
I watch him
from behind:
silver helmet
neat
beige pants
pale green fluorescent
ankle straps
pale pinstriped shirt
blue and ballooning
softly
in the wind

slowly he cycles
old-man-like
patient
and in no hurry
but when I almost
catch him
as we reel
down a hill
I see
the shining thickness
of his pure black hair

And then
before I can
capture
his elegant eagle’s face
he turns
to vanish
down a quiet street
into the hidden treasure
of his life

Watching in stillness

Brushing my teeth the other day
It occurred to me
That there is no need
For guilt.
That I can just watch myself
With curiosity
My impetuous anger
Erupting like clockwork
I can just stand by
And observe
As my feelings flounder by
Like garish floats
In the parade of my life
I can watch
In stillness
From the calm center
Of the storm

Passion

Poem
Being near you ignites a fire with in me.
I search for an extinguisher to quench it
in fear that I will be consumed.
Yet, were I to pull you close, I would
answer my own distress call, and quiet
the flame myself.
With the sense of your full voluptuous
form held against me.
With the sensation of your lips that have
their own magnetic pull. Now pressed
against mine, I taste you with a curious
excitement, I'm enjoying your breath,
and my life is saved.
Now I nuzzle your neck playfully, and
breath deep as you giggle and sigh.
Desire is our plaything and we have not
yet left the elementary level.
Then the nuzzle becomes a nibble and the
nibble a bite...and we quickly scale
erotic heights and bury our faces in
sensuous lows.
We taste freely and I part your waters
with my tongue. The ebb and flow
pulls me in and my resistance is futile.
The heady aroma is a drowning for
my olfactory sense.
Aromatherapy is the excuse that I
use to plunge again and again.
My desire thickened, erects it's own
statue. You prepare to mount it
gently, like an escalator you drop,
only to make the ascent again for
one more trip.
While you look into my eyes
and flash your mischievous smile.
Your eyes suddenly roll upwards
and your face grows flush.
You squeeze them shut and dig your
nails into my chest.
Your pace quickens as if you were
late for work, I tell you to slow,
take your time, everything will be
okay.
As you come to the rest stop and
unload your baggage.
As we both watch, the station is
full and yet, activity is suspended.
This picture taken, a snap shot
for the ages, filed away in our
scrapbook...a page to which
we can return anytime our mind
request...Passion.

thinking about dying

I’ve been thinking about dying
so content am i
doing the things of living
I want to go
shining and peaceful
like a bridge to that
shimmering other place

but now
a tiny pain intrudes
its niggling question:
How and when and where?
and I find myself fretting
down the dark road of pain
and despair

But i don't relish
going there
so i ask inside
where my guide
hides
Help! some comfort please!

And quieter than breath
less than a thought
the answer comes:
Death will come
when it comes
and it will be
what it will be…

and somehow
that is good enough
for me

Dream in a time of darkness

I am in a great black supermarket, a supermarket city – it is night, and there are no lights. Everything is confusion around me – no one knows where anything is, and people can only find with difficulty the goods they are looking for…

But all around me I am surprised and touched to hear people singing – separate voices, men’s voices singing alone in the dark – songs of joy, like hymns …

As we leave, we turn back and see the city on a hill – and beside it two trees gleaming with lights are stand side by side under the luminous arc of the night sky…

We Have a Blog!

It occurred to me this morning that the Women's Poetry Group could have a blog.

A place to share our writings, and also interchange - about whatever. 

So here it is. Please use it to post your poetry and other writings, as well as your comments, ideas, proposals, news, etc. 

I will start by posting a dream I had last night, and a couple of new poems...