NASA Image of the Day

Monday, September 28, 2009

Spit and Apples

Oh, afternoons.

The bright sun belied the crisp of leaves, and slight breeze, as we lay the blanket amongst the trees. Strangely, I was unafraid, despite how intensely you were staring at me, smiling. Of course I was unafraid: it was you, and I had no need to fear you, despite your quiet, and mine.

You kept saying, "You know, I've never really been on a picnic before. This is almost surreal."

I laughed, and said you could not possibly be Canadian, never having been on a picnic with a woman before. You said that no one had thought it a good, valuable use of time. I sniffed, somewhat contemptuously, at the idea of someone being so pompous. Life is not complete with at least one picnic in one's life, particularly if one appreciates the simple perfection of feeding food to another person, savouring a swirl of wine on the tongue - with enough time to taste the one lovely glass of it, which accompanies the decency of a good meal - or something. (I tend to elongate, when I try to summarize what I thought at a given moment. I think in layers, and it gets difficult, particularly when you smell like strong sandalwood soap, which I adore, of course...)

I remember you said that you thought that cheese, bread and apples had never tasted quite so exquisite, as I fed them to you, but you kept rubbing your face against my leg, so I kept having difficulty getting the food into you, which was terribly frustrating, although it left me tingly, as I recall....I sigh.

In any case, I said I wanted you to tell me why you thought I was interesting, after all was said and done, and you got this funny smile on your face, when I said that I found it odd, considering what perfect specimens of womanhood with which you were constantly surrounded. I wasn't being mocking, or jealous, when I said it, either, as you know - which I think is a terrible waste of time, like being petty - just rather introspective, since I am not particularly stunning, physically, although I have some decent qualities, and my chest is still fairly decent, at 45 - which takes some work, and a small investment fund in good support bras, frankly.

Then I said I loved your hair, because you looked like John Lennon, and it made me want to roll us both up in the blanket and fall asleep, after some major exercise, as long as we were naked, and it didn't get too cold outside, that night. Also, I was somewhat worried that a dog might come and pee on us, for some strange reason, which I think ruined the romance of the moment, although you spit out your apples, and wine came out your nose, for a full five minutes after I said it, while you laughed and tried not to choke. I had to pat you on the back, and I got quite concerned, when your face started changing colour, although I really would not have minded giving you mouth to mouth, as long as you didn't try and bird share your chewed apple with me, which probably would have made me feel rather sick. (Some things are meant for one person to savour, and discuss with someone else. It's like sharing gum you've picked off the road; there's a reason your mother warns you not to do it, after all. It turnes out it's a little nasty, darling. Ech.)

Anyway...where was I? Right; apples spewing. When you had recovered from humourously regurgitating at a particularly awe inspiring moment of possible dramatic necking, etc., in which we did not engage at that particular moment, because you said you thought a bit of throw up had become lodged in your throat, which I thought might have ruined it, somewhat, despite me dying to, after all....well, then, you sighed, heavily, with tears in your eyes, and said..."Oh, ask me another time." (You were still trying to breathe.)

I said I would, and I mean to, one day soon.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Scrubs for Peace

Azure and agile, spark and murmuring silently, muse and moment,
Only speak.
Speak, and there will be a movement, here, in my quiet, that I have hidden,
Kept safe, guarded and shielded
Against Death.
Held here, in the ink of night, ink of heart, ink of flame and of flower,
It has watered the garden of forget, the blossom of try, and the field of hope.
It has danced, when my feet could not, dragging, like the awkward placement
of Me
in My own life.
I feel I intrude, somehow, without you.
See, here! Here is this small mountain, raised towards your hand. It is a proud breast, this.
Strange, how skin is current, then, after all.
Strange, this soft sweet now, and warm, and breathe,
When all the earth is shrieking with
Permutations of its Own Agony.
I want it to Heal Itself.
Circle's half, here is my piece; hold my hand.
We'll not know who is Assisting.
It's Irrelevant.

Self Defence

"What do I look like, a pussy?", he said, glowering.

She paused - as was her wont - thoughtfully, pursing her lips, and narrowing her eyes at him.
The words, when they rolled softly from her lips, were punctuated by perfectly enunciated consonants.

"Well", she mused, "my only other alternative was asshole, and it seemed rather rude, frankly."

Three people, struggling mightily to control their sudden coughing, left the room, as the door clicked loudly behind them. A muffled kind of strangled sound - rather like screaming laughter and choking - sounded from the hallway.

She smiled at him, fondly.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


"What do you dream?" he said, softly.

"You", she said, quietly.

"Why?" he said, gently.

"Because" she answered slowly.

"Often?" he said, hesitantly.

"Enough, and always", she said, honestly.

"Is it good?" he asked.

"The best", she said.

"Do I wait?" he said.

"Unbelievably", she said.

"That's good", he said.

"I know", she said.

He smiled.

"Like life", he said.

She smiled.

"Now", she said, and kissed him.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Make Up

What is this instant, sheen-like spin, that settles around my mind like vibrating protons
Urging blood flow, within the sphere that is my imagination's cortex?
I would say bees, but they are nothing, and everything, like electron mix
Of next, coaching towards Total Self, and Other Self, and Half.

Mad science, when pressed; yet not anything I am prior, only yet.
If air move dance is yet, and perhaps pause is then, then now can only be sigh possible
Hitting Matter.
Oh, then, Reaction is Opposite, and Equal, Truly, madly, Deeply:

Vortex, born Star, Genesis, and Shangri-La of Touch and imprint, and Mac.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Dent Progress

If I press my hand against your cheek, a remembrance of my body imprints, momentarily, upon your skin, and then you become yourself again.
I am just a momentary dent, in the beingness of your body, springing back into itself.
How different, my soul, when I softly open myself to your murmuring exploring,
And all that is new and wonderful about joining, and searching, and striving for more than dent - to closed eyes, to opened eyes, to staring, breathing
Straight stare, total tremble, at once, while so, at gaze staring back -
Is in the sigh, that always waits
For mine.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009


Top speed, 32 miles an hour, Dawn sits astride her brand new e-bike (a prize won at work), excitedly strapping on her new helmet in the dark, so that none of the neighbours see her introductory ride...

Good thing, too: as she hits the pedals to initiate the brakes (which aren't located there, of course, as she remembered them being, on the bicycle on which she first began to ride) before actually going anywhere, panicking, she squeezes the ride hand control...which also happens to be the accelerator - how surprising! - slamming into the driveway railroad tie, and ingloriously managing to fall over, as the bike shoots towards the neighbour's porch, without her on it, rather like a sailing hand held car - without the remote.

Somewhat predictably, it moves amazingly faster, without an actual body on it. (Cough.) The body sits blinking rather awkwardly on the asphalt, looking decidedly relieved that the very first attempt at learning the controls - without an actual manual, with all visible directions in Korean symbols, on the actual bike - occur in the dark, without anyone actually seeing......

Three tours around the neighbourhood, after learning where the headlights and the horn are, and not mixing them up, finally, along with a worn down battery later, she also discovers that there is no reverse, and that speeding up while going around a corner can result in a Flintstone like-movement which causes foot dragging and a small amount of swearing, in order to avoid flying into a car or a sign. Also, sticking both feet straight out, like the flying nun, does not, contrary to the balance of physics philosophy, make things steadier, but it does cause both a windshift and a shimmy while heading towards the side of a barn. Again, experimentation in the dark is a blessed thing, and no actual collisions occur, as the finite aspects of learning where the controls are, and discovering the joy of small circles instead of reverse, becomes a learned, and precious dance movement on wheels.

Hurrah to ebikes! I think I'll like this.....wink. Ah, the speeding wind through the hair, mashed underneath my beanie!! Is this what the Model T felt like, as the scarf flew through the wind...? Be still my heart! (I think I came close to losing it, when I stopped jamming the pedals backwards to stop....grin.)

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Oh, in Autumn

Oh, in autumn, when the leaves are painted with impending sleep
To brighten the sky, before the world draws in upon itself,
And Winter blankets all with a cool pause,
There is still time for crisp apple's juice, blinking stars,
and rose-cheeked smiles, amidst summer's plenty,
As we stroll down these quiet country ways,
Clasping hands among the trees,
Murmuring to each other of yesterday's youth,
And not minding its

Thursday, September 3, 2009

The Day after Your Birthday.

"What exactly gives you impetus?" He said the words softly to her, but the quizzical look was genuine, and urgent.

She breathed quietly, drew her lip up over her teeth, sucked in the offending lip briefly, narrowed her eyes, and stared up at him. He was standing over her, shifting slightly awkwardly from one foot to another. She thought he looked slightly like he was waiting to receive detention. She smiled, and he stopped shifting from one foot to another, smiling back at her.

"Your ass", she said, blinking at him. He coughed, suddenly. "It's a perfect personality." He blew air out of his nose suddenly, expecting pith and profundity, and receiving an example of it, wondered at its simplicity.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


September 2, 2009

Well, I was going to write a poem today, in celebration, but I kept seeing these little blurbs on all of the rag mag pages..."What do you think of Keanu Reeves?", to the point that I was moved to paragraph: an infrequent, if enjoyed, stylistic stretch.

So..."What do I think of Keanu Reeves", on this, his 45th birthday?


Here is effort and success, in the face of fits and starts: indeed, in spite of them.

Here is respect for craft, sincere submission to the progression of it, in one's self, and a genuine love of challenge within its confines. It is a lack of fear, and a striving, within its midst, and amongst its practitioners.

Here is compassion, and encouragement, and appreciation, having achieved a level of success, and this same combination of states of mind, within one's own sphere of being, for others'- without patronizing them, or minimizing them, or characterizing their own striving, their own evaluations, and valuations of their own work, as unimportant. Here is true comaraderie, and trust, when exploring, creatively, from another, as a result of that implicit, and noted, respect. Here is real regard, and sharing, as its reward.

Here is passion, restrained, and ardour, controlled, to just such an extent that it is a part of vitality, and effort, and need, extended - and becomes a sense of, (in connecting with that sense of being, in the face of Death, and Loss, and Pain,) its defiant excitement.

Here is Quiet Admission, and Wildness, in sync, meeting its Other in Places, and Faces, and Moments, and its gentle protection of them, in a personal, and loving way.

Here is the Coolest of Breath, in the Heat of Life, and Love.

Here is Keanu.

Happy Birthday, Charlie. Many more, filled with all of this, and more, is what I wish for you, on this day.


Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Cloud Busting

A streak across the is breath, there in the blackness of night canopy;
Breath - when you spoke a moment so near my neck that
The hair stood on end, straining nearer to your lips:
Fast cilia, waving, and fine that
Shadow suggestion made my
Quiver, in its
And then, the earth turned....was turned.
Suddenness, and I had
Taken Your Breath for
with just a glimmer and Twinkle in my Eyes
For Comfort, amidst the
Pure Jewry.