Waiting For Beauty

Waiting For Beauty

 
Standing, I foolishly waited for the cosmetics to be rendered their due honors.

Their patron, patiently applying what might work yesterday, not being visualized today.

Who first sought to turn the natural look of a woman in to heightened loveliness, into more when all that might be realized is before man.

Why take GOD’S pure image of treasured greatness and morph her into an idealized perception of her own greatness.

I believe man’s desire for a quick glance to comfort his tyrannical need for perfect has now extended to whom he loves; his judgement is clouded and this blinds him to reality.

A woman is beautiful.

Pay attention to her movements, each pause, turn or hesitation; a selection of choreographed symphonic passions that emanate friendship, love, devotion, loyalty.

What of Man. Will our narrow minded desire for the “perfect woman” alter perceptions of even GODS ordained order. HIS expectation that we are seeking what we might share–perfect, as we see in life, while desirous of what we have not, is a quandary that man will ever seek to overcome.

Why waste her beauty, with the toss of her head we hesitate, by the mere adjustment of her shoulder–perhaps a flex; are we not taken and tossed about.

Every shake or sway of hair, by wind, breeze, fan or step.

A moistening of her lips the sight of her lips slightly parted, rival the most beautiful of sculptures or photos or paintings ever created or may be created.

A slight furrow of her brow, a tender crinkling of her nose, or a twitch–she is honored for her magnificence.

Man, you might miss out while seeking perfection, just as you try to encourage and alter the concept that beauty transformed is the only way. This only leads to foolish pride.

Think.

Look at her unpretentious beauty, visualize her passion, experience her intelligence, see her strength, and learn that which she richly shares, then marvel about all that is about and within her.

If we measured life by what we see upon the surface, life would be miserable and unfulfilled.

Sharing events, or understanding the moments of beauty we are granted, make our lives truly exceptional.

Lost Love, Lost Self, Lost Life

Crush my heart. End the misery.
As does the Earth to a pebble
dropping from the heavens above.
Hope is vaporized in an instant as
quickly as we see the tiny bright
illuminating star, which upon
drawing closer–ceases to be.


Rocking to and fro, unique but to myself…the hospital staff observes but from a polite distance. I whimper, when I think one is near to hear. I hold my breath until I might faint. Sweating, lips parted, I gasp until one comes to mop my brow and gently place wet swabs by which I draw water past my lips.


I’m running as fast as I can,
the crowd is screaming, streaming
behind my desperate wake. Frightened, I look not left nor right but run, run, run. I try to remember–if you are right handed run to the left. Never…I feel the pain in my back and
stumble forward. The crowd catches me and begin to pummel my face and body with fists, sticks, the odd brick.
I’m dying from the blood flow out of my back. What, do you mean
“burn the Warlock, burn the Warlock, burn the Warlock”–as I drift off to sleep.

Love: One Version

Love: One Version

You heard the word as you stood upon the ledge; whispering mournfully as a beckoning call.

You felt the word as it swept gently through your hair, as would your lover’s fingers tenderly caressing.

You sense it as a sincere hug from a friend, who wishes their words might soothe the loneliness of loves plaintive call-sweetly, ever sweetly, until your desire overwhelms completely.

I Need You

I Need You

Thinking back upon the events that guide us to this place,
I thrust my mind from your momentary beauty grateful that you surrendered ending my chase.

I saw you first as my heart caught fire while you moved about with measured grace,
softly stepping or walking firmly as each deliberate footfall spoke of determination in your pace.

I think on my love sick desires to have your photo in my grasp,
while keeping heart in check from fruitless efforts in the past.

For the beauty seen in you at a moments pause as for something you tried to find,
I saw tenderness in your touch, though of my stare you seemed not to mind.

The slippery slope of love with its twists and turns I’ve spoken of before,
riding the tunnel of love to end avoiding the traps of pain and loss that likely beset, turns love in to a chore.

Yet, was it your conscience beauty that captured my eye and mind,
or like measured tunes from a piece well written did my heart become entwined.

Did I merely envision the end as we lay arms embraced,
did I toss and turn on nights without end as I hid the love on my face.

Cautiously seeking my heart twisted and reeling from loves accelerated pace,
I saw the beauty of love’s hope and dreams flow like water down my face.

I cautioned myself, what’s the use is there any hope of ending embraced as we are,
perhaps we might as on glorious nights we both sought the same reachable star.

Sea Dreamer

   I loved her. It was enough. 1749 seemed a difficult time for making a life for one’s self; not to mention a home, and family. The many self owned businesses manufactured gin and as a living was to be made from that.  Some people, me included preferred to earn my livelihood as had my father and his father before him. The love of the sea and its profits could make any man feel good about his work, and a modest profit besides. She was not yet with child and my heart knew that try as I might time and fortune would answer that riddle. She was most beautiful and was the answer to my hopes for someone who would share my life dreams and hopes.

   She was of a modest height coming to the bottom of my shoulder, her hair was the color of cured straw and her face held tender lips and eyes that were soft as the coming dawn. My mind drew comfort from being her husband. As such I was pleased that she kept house and was willing to quietly urge me to assist in chores that were not normally those of a man. Bear in mind, that this is between we men and are really not of a mind to shout from the rooftops those things our wives are able to encourage us to do. Things like tending the garden, and painting the house and such.

Mind you men folk, keep this to yourself.

She helped me as a fisherman, by aiding me to pull the boat from the beach and down to the water’s edge. I loved the strength I saw in her body, hair flying askew; legs and the beautiful arches of her feet as she strained and sweated along with me to float the tool of our livelihood to sea. I often enjoyed watching her mend the nets and she was more than able to do such work. She is the day to my night. I see her as a life mate for me. My purpose to provide for her was manifest. By my willingness to don a large warm sweater she knitted and row out into the sea where our fortunes awaited, was the greatest gift I felt as a man I could undertake.

Her world was my world. She was very special, almost unique. It is noted that from Eccles on Sea to Waxham she was known for her abilities in healing. I know nothing of those arts, but I am inclined to say that since they do well; they can not be bad. My love for her clouded my reason at times and in this manner I was content. She was demanding only to this extent that we have one day of the week and the odd holiday for our time spent just for the two of us. I could not see the harm as this gave me time to enjoy the forest which we both loved or the beach which we loved with equal measure. We would oft times walk, or picnic and finding a secluded area we loved with a hunger as though our lives were too short. She is beauty personified by the radiance of the sun; she is the pale underside of the leaves which contrast themselves against the gray skies of the incoming North Sea storm. She is the warmth and softness of the gentle spring sun. Her lips hold the moisture of the summer rains and her skin smells like flowers and her touch as kind as the innocent ewe seeking milk from its mother.

    I see her as my soul mate. I prayed that one day we would need not work so hard but live as the gentle folk in Surrey. My day at sea was to row out several miles and not return until my barrel was filled with salted fish. I left before sunup and sometimes returned after sundown. Always, she was there with lantern as I departed I could see her as I rowed east or the same as I rowed back upon returning toward the west. I could only refer to her position but she held true and never wavered. Upon one evenings return she wore a strangely colored smock, I deemed it not prudent to ask about it but waited until she wanted to tell me. She was fearful of my reaction but when she explained and seeing the mirth in my eyes I asked her to hug me and she knew shortly that the color caused another sensation within me. She smiled hugged me tighter and we fell into the consummate joy as our bodies answered each others beckons. She described it as an accident while she canned berries, wasting some upon her smock she tried in vain to wash it out. It would not so she decided to use the cloth to wash the kettle. The warm soft color like that of the rose would not come out but resulted is this new color seen only on the great paintings of the castles. We have not a name for it, I imagined berry color. She wears it for me when we retire and it is with great amusement that I enjoy it.

On the day that it occurred I was looking inward and not outward until the force of the gale hit. My nose was focused and remembering smelling my love and not my surroundings. The wind struck my boat with a mighty heave and the waves came up suddenly. I was forced to retrieve my nets and turn towards the west and home. The waves came up higher and the water washed over the gunwale. I paused often to bail out the water and knowing the wind was pushing west it gave me some comfort in rowing. I could not see my love with the lantern and hoping to do so I turned to look for her. I was not able to see the shore but I knew I was going toward them. It was just a matter of time when. My hands were bitter numb from the cold and my mind was seeing images of days of love and my darling’s fathomless eyes. How I longed to be in her arms this moment. How I wished to deeply to feel her fingers in my mouth. I wanted to touch her very spirit with my tongue. While I bailed a wave larger than most tore away one of the boats oars. I screamed in frustration. I could but helplessly sit and bail hoping that the wind would push me in towards shore. Such was not to be as a large wave crashed over the boat and spilled me and all my trade works over and into the sea.

    I have never felt such anger as I strove to swim away from the wreck only to find my legs entangled in the net. I felt myself being pulled down down towards where the sea was calmer and she seemed to wait with the lantern. I smiled and she smiled in return and I loved the brightness that enveloped us both. I kissed you and you kissed me in return. I love you so much.

    She waited until dawn and with lantern in her numb hands she returned wearily to their cottage. She knew he would return and prepared food for them both. She would constantly check every day until he returned. I came to you every day and I stretched my arm out towards you but I guess you could not see it. I was angry because I realized the stupid net held my arm pinned to my side. You would be proud of me. I held those stupid crabs off for two months before they consumed my flesh. Had it not been for a nosy squid that took a plug of my flesh, then after that it was every body help yourselves. I should have caught more of those and cooked them.  I can not see you now, I have but hollow eye sockets; but I know in my heart that you still wait. I love you so much and I will be faithful in paradise until you come join me. 

Oh yes, the color of your smock is pink.  Continue reading

Captured Beauty: Dust

My heart lay in scattered bits like shattered glass,

love was the force which made the blast of lonely nights and mournful days as my heart lingered in romances past.

Remember the boy whose love was in your hand you held me loosely like sand I trickled away and disappeared from your grasp;

falling upon your shoes or atop your bare soft feet as you wrinkled your nose and brow set to washing or brushing me away while giving your mind relief.

Satisfied you stepped through loves remains without a look back–did not you see the swirling in your wake as the dust was disturbed; how often have my pleas gone virtually unheard.

It was my love my tender plea’s hoping you might turn back to embrace me once again as I offer romantic bounty.

What was my chance to offer my hand of sand in the dance, what kind of reality was mine to chance.

Captured Beauty: The Kiss

Captured Beauty: The Kiss

The subway was crowded as this
was the norm, more so today by
the multitudes driven to shelter
by the storm.

I saw no reason to rush with initial
throngs of people so I picked up a
cup of tea from the kiosk, she was
just approaching and I heard her
order the same as I turned away.

Overhearing a voice say the storm
has passed I decided to enjoy the
fresh air and walk to my flat.

Outside the air was charged with the
new ions of cleansing–common when 
a city is bathed of its stale decay
deposited from every day life.

The gutters were washed free of silt
and i thought how new and grand a
rebirth rain can provide, now that dirt
and ilk can no longer hide.

Stopping at a local bookstore I browsed
the selections, the air conditioning and
new mingled with old books provided a
wonderful scented background, giving
browsers a new sense of direction.

She was beside me in an instant – I,
caught up in my daydream heard not
her approach or arrival.

“Hold your face against mine,
as the the minutes turn to hours
and our lives for this brief span
become one in time.

Place your lips against mine while
there is still light in the day,
hold not yourself back with imagined
reservations of what is right or will
she stay.

Question not the beauty of sincerity,
the strength of what real, the warmth
of my body, my lips near yours and
taste my tongue – know the truth of
what you feel.

Close not your mind to the joy of
possibilities, to the power of your
own abilities.

As day melds to night touch my
heart feel my thoughts as they
caress your neck and climb upward,
feel the sincerity of my hands as
they gently mold your chin-as your
lips yield to my tender fingers.

Know the truth of loves divinity.”

That said she turned and walked
away. I forsook my book search
and followed her. She stopped,
turned, smiled, and waited.