Elsie A. Gidlow says:

kissCOME
and lie with me
and love me,
Bitterness;
Touch me with your hands a little,
Kiss me, as you lean above me,
With your cold, sadistic kisses;
Wind your hair close, close around me,
Pain might dissipate this blankness;
Hurt me even, even wound me;
I have need of love that stings.
Come and lie with me and love me,
Bitterness,
So that I can laugh at things.

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Summer’s Zephyr

It makes
me feel
so young….
and so old.

That summer
zephyr
blowing
through
what’s left
of my tousled
head of hair.

Oh,
sweet lemon
and ice
clinking-
drinking
pleasure
in with nature’s
magical elixir
that has somehow
remained so,
despite the oh,
so many other
tastes
abandoned
or simply
unlearned.

The scent of
freshly mown grass,
so fragrant and
piquant that I can
still smell it
with this nose,
despite being broken
so many times.

That special
reddish-pink
hue in the morning sky
reminding me of places
and faces that I had
feared were forgotten.

Bees buzzing
around my
head in the garden
like they own the
place, and were paying
the mortgage with their
labor and not mine.

And yes,
without fail,
the Empress
of Summer
sends her zephyr
to collect her
annual tribute,
in more than just
Earth and Water,
but She also
always leaves
her keepsakes
within me.

.

I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside

What is it about
that particular
beach that
makes me feel
all nine-years-old
again , I wonder ?

It’s amazing to me
that after all these
years, that a stroll
down the boardwalk
at night still makes
me every bit as
excited as it would then.

It’s not the wild
whirl of the
amusement rides,
the dark appeal of
mysterious shops,
the animation of
people all around,
.. or the ubiquitous
neon buzz of the
Mac’s Pizza signs
every block or so…..

I stop to ponder
further upon it.

Perhaps the
explanation lies
within some quiet
compromise of
sensory remembrance –

the sounds of the
great ocean swift
sweeping in and
out of that same
beach where I had
spent so many
happy hours –

my ocean –

– eyes tracing the place
on the pier where I was
gifted my very first kiss,
feeling still, the covert
tenderness of that hour,

her kiss –

– sniffing that special
fragrant balance of ocean,
sweat, and the oh-so-
sweet perfume of being
on vacation,

– the memory-tasting
of walk-around foods
of all kinds.

But there’s also
something essential
that’s not of bodily
sensation at all –

So, what is it,
I ask?

And as I pause
once more to
wonder at it,
I suddenly
perceive what
seems to be
a rift in time –

my head is spinning
and I find myself in
the strangest state
of mind –

like I could simply
leap over the railing
and dive into the
‘there and then’ –

until a blaring
Watch The Tramcar
brings me back to
the ‘here and now’.

Startled, 
and yes,
shaken a bit,
I commence
to stroll
once more,
and before long
it comes to me
what the missing
aspect was –

Freedom.

Yes, above all
those other things –

– it was the lovely
languorous freedom

freedom to walk,
or not walk –

freedom to swim
or not swim,

freedom to eat
or not eat –

freedom to be …
freedom to be me.

See ?

.

!!! HOY !!!

Arthur Symons says:

symons

” Your kisses, and the way you curl,
Delicious and distracting girl,
Into one’s arms, and round about,
Luxuriously in and out
Twining inextricably, as twine
The clasping tangles of the vine;
Strong to embrace and long to kiss,
And strenuous for the sharper bliss,
Insatiably enamored of
The ultimate ecstasy of love. “