The Grand Storm

Lying next to you

between rented sheets & walls –

basking in the moments between the

stormy passion of our love –

I look at you looking at me

as if you would swallow me whole.

Crooked ties, rumpled shirts & empty skirts

& pants surround the floor around us.

Framed by our gloriously messy hair

& twisted quilts; pillows spilling

over the edge.

It is within this disheveled mess

that I reach out to you,

& we pull each other close as if

we both know that our make-shift

storm of passion has only just begun.

No words be spoken –

for love is the only subject in the room.

Your hands know their way across

& through my body – open to you

like an endless ocean of love.

Your body knows that my body

is your rescue boat in our

deep sea of blankets.

Your mind knows that you need not

show a boarding pass to enter my heart.

We briefly allow ourselves enough time

to come up for air – to fill our lungs

& intoxicate ourselves with each other.

Your breath out is my breath in.

Soon we are soaked in passion

& drowning in love.

It is a grand storm of love.

Our surging waves of pleasure

make us dive back into the

blankets & twisted sheets.

We are ready to cause the next storm

of passion & ride out the

voyage of our love together.

Allow me to Introduce Myself...

Hello dear readers,

I have often been told that I should be publishing my poetry. It's not that the world needs another "poet" (does anyone other than myself buy poetry books anymore?) Anyways, as an alternative to 'traditional' publishing (and maybe I'm too busy or crazy or working on my next poetic creation to bother) I surmised that this could be a venue to release my work to those that could care less.

So firstly, my poetry isn't just "poetry." I would imagine that by the title of this blog you have figured out at least that my poetry isn't about sunsets or the environment or a sailing boat...unless it was in context of some great shagging under a sunset, out in the open, or on a boat. Context dear reader, it's all about context. It's made up of what I like to call "The Good Stuff." The first poetry reading I went to was a smallish art gallery that had an open mic. I showed up, two crinkled love poems shoved deep in my coat pocket. When it was my turn, after others had read about the estuary and the migrating geese, I stood up and read about a torrid love affair that resulted in thread-bare bed sheets. Sigh. The two little old ladies in the front row blushed slightly and giggled around the cookies and tea after quietly discussing the verse they enjoyed the most.

So I will post my poems on this blog and from time-to-time even write some prose on here although I tend to write my ramblings in my tattered notebook entitled "Poetry" on the cover. And, because I like to talk and write in general, I'll take the opportunity to just ramble on about whatever I damn well feel like.

So the thing I like about poetry is that the reader can apply it to their own unique situation. The imagination is such a great thing, if you let it run loose every once and awhile. Some of my poems are pure figments of imagination and pure First Class bullshit. Others are true accounts of some down and dirty poetry-inspiring fucking. Although, I don't use the word "fucking" or "pubic" or other vulgar words in the Poems. I consider these words "short cuts" for describing what is/has occurred to inspire said poetry. Really, there are many more words to describe a fantabulous shag than the word "fuck" when it comes to writing "love poetry." Maybe I need to be re-inspired and re-consider the use of this multi-tasking and direct-to-the-point word.

Enjoy, L