Kept at it all day - snuck in some time at work, and then continued at home. I need to get a little ahead because this weekend is committed to someting else, so I'll get very little done.
Today the total is 18,715. I'm trying to go back and pick up what I missed, and still make progress at the end, so this is spread over several chapters. The biggest issue today is that much of the stuff I was writing during work was emotional - my heroine has just lost her husband, for God's sake - and occasionally brings tears to your eyes. Well, it does me and I'm writing it. I remember the same thing happening last year and I was very happy with the results when I was done. Still, it is a little disconcerting when this happens at work. I'm about through the real (non-fantasy) part of things. Hopefully the rest wont get to me so much.
Anyway, I feel good to be ahead of the game, at least a little.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
An Old Lover
I watched you dance,
The joy in your eyes,
The music only you could hear
As your clothes moved in the gentle breeze,
The blissful, swirling colors a storm of passion I'd never know again.
You brought me to this place
But within I knew
You were far too good
For the likes of me.
A lady for a carpenter,
A queen for a soldier,
I learned the goodness within you could share
Your brilliant mind
Blinding my simple heart
In ectasy I thought must last forever,
But in truth
Could only stay until
The moon turned again.
I gave you everything I had
But it was not enough,
Not enough to hold your interest,
Not against every boy in town.
And when at last you left,
Your laughter skipping down the street behind you
I would have wept
But I couldn't
Because you'd left me such happiness to remember
Until I die.
And so I come
Hidden by the green shelter of gentle leaves
And happy beyond words
That I'd ever had you.
That was enough.
I've not written poetry since I started working on the full-on writing biz. It was a delight
Monday, April 12, 2010
Your heart opened
And you gave me all you were
The most sacred parts of your body
You offered to my touch
Until there was nothing hidden
And then I asked for your submission
I watched you struggle
Wondering if you could truly give yourself
I knew how high the cost
But without it
The rest was meaningless.
You begged me not to ask it of you
Knelt before me
Tears winding down your face
As I told you what more you must do
To be truly mine.
You were silent
You thought me unfair
To demand your demeaning
The fear of pain twisting your thoughts
You could not
You in tears
Me in strength
It would be a painful time
Sometimes being hard hurts
It was a lonely week
But I had no choice
I am who I am.
I heard the tap
Gentle like a bird looking for a meal
You stood on my sill
Eyes on your toes
Hands behind your back
You couldn't talk
In lieu of flowers
Or a kiss
You handed me a cane
You'd found yourself
And walked past me
I could hear the sobs, quiet
As you turned
Faced the chair
Opening yourself to me
It took my breath
I loved you then as I do now
With everything I have
For being mine.
Thanks to Ang for an interesting MfM theme. Havent had a chance to do much with you all lately. This was kind of an interesting one for me.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The ships came from all corners of the republic, carrying these holy men, these princes of the church, back to the planet from which their religion sprang nearly three millenia ago; human or not, they came, bidden to carry out a rite little changed, selecting the leader for untold numbers of worshippers. It would be a once in a lifetime experience for most, given the recent inclination to choose younger men; for those of us who watched as well, drawn by the drama of renewal.
The ships – ah the ships. Anyone who had stared upward at the spaceport had seen military cruisers, freighters, the huge emigration tubs, But these were unique. They were privately owned, a fleet beholden to no one save their God. Most were old, but all were in perfect condition – so the tri-D had been telling us all week. An amazing collection we couldn't stay away from. We went down to watch them come in. We were close enough to catch a glimpse of their cargo; gasps escaped our lips at the rare sight of an alien member. It is far different to see one in real life, even at a distance that taxed our young eyesight, than to see them on a vid, no matter how realistic. This was the real thing.
At last we went home – Jirry's house had the best tri-D and we clustered around the living room, watching them sit around the table as if it sat in the corner, listening to them speak, watching connections make and break. Of course, it wasn't real – it was a psych-sim, the avatars high in the room kept reminding us – for nineteen centuries only the men in the room knew what happened, and they largely kept it to them selves. Still we watched, fascinated. They chatted – some renewing old friendships, others carrying on the business of shepherding souls. As discussion wore down, consensus led to a first vote. We watched, fascinated, as they collected the ballots in a crucible of gold, counted, and, failing to choose, burned the results with the straw in a building nearly as old as their communion. We wondered what straw was, exactly – it was outside our knowledge, being city boys.
The sim was amazingly accurate, at least in portraying time. The view cut to a view of the chimney, black smoke visible, true believers at the top of their voices, urging on the men performing their sacred duties; they were, of course, completely isolated from the spectacle without. At this point, the avatars warned us, the sim became more and more unreliable due to changing attitudes of the participants, but they would continue for a while. We watched as the Cardinals began politicking, just as any politicians might; the commentary from our friends above predicted just who would next be Bishop of Rome, and, by extension, leader of their church. When, after how many votes, was the question.
We watched for hours; the sim predicted votes closely, and the reality break as the cameras moved to the chapel's exterior made it seem even more real. Commentary on the various contenders continued as, spellbound, we considered who might come to the fore of the ancient process, refined though it had been over the centuries. Finally a vote showed a young Cardinal from an alien race was chosen, at least according to the sim. It wasn't unknown – two hundred some years before an excellent leader had been chosen who was not human as well. It was still a surprise. There was a long pause while the avatars popped down, their desk now back into our room. They filled the time until something happened, explaining that the sim could go no further since it thought that the issue was decided.
We found out the ancient way. The cameras cut to the light smoke above the chapel; shortly the men we had been watching in simulation walked out into the sunset. They had completed their responsibility, an ancient rite of transition fufilled. Frezzo picked up a ball, balanced it on his fingertip.
“Ready to go out?”
We left, pusuing the joys of our childhood, all of us remembering what we had just seen. It put today in perspective, the child of millenia past.
Finally got a little time to try something new for MicroFantasyMonday. It is not as bawdy as the usual stuff I write for that, but it should be responsive to Ang's choice for the week - ancient rituals. Thanks for an unusual subject.
Much of my writing time has been involved with pieces I'm submitting for publication. You'd be amazed how much time gets chewed up with nitty little details. Shortly I'll have a separate full website completed for my stuff.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
We curled together
Our bodies united
So many different ways
She gave herself to me
And I took her
She was so young
Had not yet learned
To protect her soul
From life itself
I felt myself her guide
Not that I was much older
But far more tattered
When we kissed I felt her stir
Her body replied to every thrust
Her soft skin slick under my worn fingers
The wonder of her beauty never tired me
The delight of her soul with everyday things
Brought me joy beyond my cynic's droll view of life
I was careful with her. I touched her soul gently
Never wanting to cause her the hurt that would force her
To become as I, scarred over raw pain
I felt the weight of her heart in my hands
Light, gentle, untouched, innocent
Of course, there came a day when it was not enough
When carefree moments
The joy of unfettered youth
The need to go forward won out.
I knew it would
I waved adieu and watched her walk down the cobblestones
With a boy I could have killed in a single stroke.
Je t'aime, I thought. Always will, I suppose.
I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes.
Perhaps tonight I'll go out for a beer.
Submitted to the #journalling game - see http://sensualstories.realaffection.com/
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Your lips beckoned
Pursed with desire.
Never did I hold back
I always came
Despite the pain.
I could almost feel the silk of your skin
Slide beneath my fingertips
You writhe with passion
Then slide away, laughing
As I try to claim you
Catching only a wispy touch
Your thighs, perhaps
Your beautiful golden hair
The sound of your gentle voice
Whispering to my ear
So missing from my life
These long months
But this is my dream
This is where we meet
This is where I can hold you
I can have you
Until morning's brutal call
The laughter stops
You lay back
Watch me for a moment
As you did
Then your eyes
Your beautiful eyes
Your body white and cold
I have lost you once more
There is no trace of your scent
No strands of your hair
No mark of your head on the pillow
You are gone
This is for MicroFantasyMonday; this week Ang's theme is dreams. I had done an earlier poem on a similar theme previously, although it was not a theme-driven event. This was what the theme of dreams led me to again.
For the earlier version see http://papatomla.blogspot.com/2009/07/sensual-stories-july-21-version.html#links
Monday, December 28, 2009
We had, as always, a big family Christmas; unwrapping gifts was one of the high points of the day. From three-year-olds to octegenarians, we all sat around while the younger generation passed out cards and wrapped packages from under the tree. At the magic word "Go" everyone started unwrapping, the tearing of paper drowned out by screams of joy. I held mine in my lap and looked across the room at her, waiting for the response. As she finished unwrapping, she held it up. It was a private joke - all the women admired the antique wooden hairbrush, but only the two of us knew what it was for.
I knew when she finished reading the card by the way she looked up at me and blushed. She refused to share the card - I dont think she wanted twenty-five people to read the PS that said
"When everyone leaves tomorrow morning I'm going to turn you over my knee"
The blush turned to laughter as she watched me open my present. It was a well-oiled heavy leather belt. Perfect. It was all I could do not to fold it over and snap it. We both looked at each other smiling.
She walked over to me.
"You have to read the card"
I hadn't seen it since it was taped to the inside bottom of the box. I opened it.
"Dear Santa. I've been a very bad girl this year. I trust you'll take care of that"
I stood up and we kissed, a long passionate kiss. Since we had kids staying with us there wasn't much else we'd been able to do.
She nibbled on my ear lobe, whispering into my ear.
"Merry Christmas, Santa. Surprise."
"Ummmm. Merry Christmas to you too. And that was a lovely surprise. We'll unwrap that present tomorrow. And by the way..."
She looked up at me.
"There's a brand new cane in my closet too. I couldn't figure out how to wrap it. Surprise."
This is for MfM, put on by Ang. This week's theme was surprise. Please see http://swelteringcelt.com/ for further information.