Sweet Peach

For Real Toads Tuesday Platform. Something light.

Summer Love
“Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.” – Oscar Wilde

hot summer night – room full
of locals dancing to a local country band
and now they are playing a waltz.
Sweet peach of a man/boy
you glided across the floor and asked me,
Want to dance?
Oh yes!
Your arm around my waist
guiding me around
and in and out of other dancers,
swaying, sliding, feet making that
swooshswoosh sound against the
rough boards.
You, sweet peach of a man/boy,
my head on your shoulder
breathing in the smell of you –
sundried cotton shirt and Ivory soap
and the faint newly budding man-smell.
Even after all these years
these smells make my hips sway
and my lips curve into a lazy smile.
Oh yes! Sweet peach of a man/boy.

Haibun: Ageless

This is linked to Real Toads, Tuesday Platform. With total admiration in De Jackson’s (WhimsyGizmo) style of poetry.

Ageless
This poem is ageless –
No wrinkles, no white hair, no unsteady gait.

This poem dances on the shores
of oceans, lakes, deserts.

This poem sings on her backporch
in the moonlight – loudly – Handel’s Halleluiah Chorus .

This poem loves deeply and joyfully
and exchanges the feeling of skin on skin.

This poem is ageless.
This poem flies with owls between the trees –
silent and unafraid.

dVerse Poetics: Rain rein reign

Today Lillian is hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. She is asking that we rain on, rein in, reign over…just don’t rain on her parade! No doom and gloom, no politics, no naysayers – sounds like a plan to me! The Pub opens at 3:00 pm EST. Bring your best umbrella, your best scepter, your best horse!

Lovely Day
I remember when I was a little girl –
but then I’ve always been little –
Dancing on our front porch while
the rain came down.
Isn’t it a lovely day….
Spring rain happy,
summer rain quick,
autumn rain melancholy,
winter rain snowy…
I was by turns Fred Astaire
and then I was Ginger Rogers.
Dancing on the walkway in front of the house,
Dancing on the walkway around the house,
Dancing dancing dancing.
I remember taking you out into the rain
and dancing –
You threw back your head and laughed.
You had never danced in the rain before.
Like a summer rain you came and went.

I still dance in the rain.
I wear Wellies now –
Hello Kitty!

public domain photo

Sometimes, I still surprise my husband…

Tonight, in TV wasteland (it’s only TV wasteland….) my husband happened upon Saturday Night Fever.  I begged him to please watch something more amusing, such as the Walking Dead, but he was insistent.  I sighed and resigned myself.  Okay, I know how to deal with this, I sez to myself.

Having been a disco inferno – 10 pm – 4 am worshiper at the shrine of disco, I knew what to do.  As soon as the movie went into action, I went with it, scene by scene…swingin’ the paint can, arguing about the bloody pork chop….he was annoyed until this scene started and I matched John step by step, beat by beat.

As soon as it was over, my beloved hit the off button on the remote and said to me:  I knew you did the disco rounds and I’ve seen you dance ballroom, but at 62, you just put Travolta to shame.  I smiled and nodded and said, “and your point?”

He said, you are a dangerous woman – and when I grow up, I want to dance like that.  I shrugged. “My dear, I hope you dance better.”

So…..keep some things secret ladies…and pull out those secrets when they will make the most impact….

I’m still keeping my air guitar impression of Pete Townsend doing Baba O’Reilly for another day.

Moonlight, Kendo, Coffee spoons, Perfect Cherry Blossoms, and Springsteen

 

Regret, melancholy, walling oneself up alive,

Breaking down the wall,

Blowing that spark into a fire,

Doing kendo in the dark.

 

We make choices

We make sacrifices

We love deeply and intensely

We seek perfection and only at the last moment

Do we realize a thing was perfect all the time.

 

Living life by carefully dipped measures

Afraid to move to take chances to open up again.

But being brave enough to let the wind of change

Turn that last spark in us into a conflagration.

 

Turning up the MP3 full blast

Springsteen in all his rampant pounding wailing.

Dancing in the moonlight,

Doing kendo in the dark.

 

Lifting my shinai to the moon

And laughing aloud.

I remember when I taught my love how to dance

How to rhumba to jive to hustle

How to move his hips and shake his butt

He taught me how to do kendo in the dark.

Now I’m learning again.

 

I’m not bricking up that wall again.

I’m piling up perfect cherry blossoms

In all the cracks of my days.

Decadent display of pink and white.

I’m driving too fast and listening

To Springsteen too loud.

(Oops girl, slow down – that county mountie

Looked too hard at you whizzing past!) <huge grin>

 

I’m not measuring the moonlight

By coffee spoons.

I’m bathing in it and being profligate.

No regrets, no retreat, no surrender.

I’m starting a fire.
I’m relighting passion

I’m thinking of love

And doing kendo in the dark.