I would like to be a writer. I began this site with amorous intentions, and over the course of time, I hope to have evolved as a male in an ever changing society that is today, recognizing the true beauty and elegance of woman. My words and notions will I hope respond in poetic verse of many genre and style. Come along and please share your ideas and insights. Thank you for your visit.

Posts tagged “rhythm

Full Moon Blues

I looked at the moon tonight,

I wished it were described

through her eyes,

so that only I could understand,

what it is she was looking for.


I would like to imagine passion,

like the lunar magic in a holistic pattern,

all of us drawn,

well especially her and me,

by the mystique of the moon.


I stayed inside then

the remainder of the night,

I knew the stars were there,

under the moon light,

we could all pretend we were

there together.


I listened to the blues,

wondered about certain energy,

hoped I might be alright,

to have this tendency,

to want to understand,

and get it.


Under the light of the moon,

Sang the blues in a quiet swoon.

Finding Beauty





I choose the highlands

that reach toward the sky,

I live to know the heights

where my soul might linger

in a sweet peace of this world,

where it is I am in destiny,

the travels of my mind.

I know so little of what is time,

can only wish and dream perhaps

there might be a delight in line

for all of our heart felt agony.

I wonder often of failure

how the remark contains me

if it were just only a test

a limitless horizon of humanity

would it be so powerful then

once I might understand pathways.


I was once a child of a decade

where screen doors and trails,

soft breeze and playful friends

hot summers and weekend skis

the wisp of romance quite vivid

in the eyes of an older sib.

I remember then when life

could be as transparent as

the picture window in my home.


What happened to muddy the glass,

where is when I did suddenly

come to terms with losing idyllic

prayer and spiritual guidance?

How did I get to be so critical

of simply my own sacred humanity?

Why is it when I wake in the morning sun

my dreams become a starker reality,

a place where hope and beauty

always measured, isn’t a natural

course of my day’s mechanics?


I was watching you one evening

the music pounding my ears,

my body writhing to the rhythm,

yet you miles away in the heights

celebrating love, exploding sensuality

if I could lift my heart to you

like the potion driven magic

of my favorite never found chemist,

might I then find my peak,

while settling into ethereal arms

of passion and grace, would I with a smile

glance upon that valley of my dreams.


*photo credit – allen parseghian

when the music played

I wasn’t ever really sure what I was listening to

I just did

when I could I would do nothing else


I would let the pictures evolve in my mind,

each story a journey,

each moment a memory

each time I became lost in that moment that was about to replace

a notion

just earlier than the last one.

Yet when I stood still

the music would slow until almost inaudible

and there I would be

alone again


wondering how I had gotten here.

I could always wait a few more minutes and know

she would be there


soft in the morning sun,

the light of our world peeking through the fabric

her naked legs waiting

always wanting,

while in the moment we could choose to be

in love

when summertime came we felt free

for the notion of cover no longer seemed necessary

when our skin would touch,

the heat would transport us to another world,

that music would come back again,

and we would listen,

I would listen to her every move,

and when she was away,

I could still hear her some more

because energy,

when you are in love,

well that just happens that way,

don’t you see,

we never really have to see when we are in love.


That day the music changed its timbre

for only a few seconds I could see beyond the trees

and she was gone, and the music played,

and I was left alone,


Her Eyes … Pensive to Her Monitor(s)


All around the afternoon we go about our day,

she stays rather quiet in her discreet arena,

rhythm to move, the wood of a chair,

dance upon fabric that helps her reach the sky,

yet all around we go about our day,

her eyes are pensive to her monitor,

serious to the onlooker,

we won’t wonder, and she would like it

that way.

Slow, methodical, you can if you look close,

see her ankles twist a tad,

a slight motion of purpose,

her eyes are pensive to her monitor,

her hands appear to type upon the keyboard,

wondering how to simulate that touch she continues,

wood grain rise in the middle of a coffee table chair

to allow her lips to touch, to feel, to want,

Inside the heavy fabric of a cashmere pullover,

her nipples taut, slide as well along the friction of her blouse,

she is alive and wanting and passion is unraveling,

while they sit nearby, paper in their hand.

From afar if a glance goes her way,

the thought is how to get her to look this way,

such beauty and elegance, such determination,

yet no one knows how close she is today,

rocking, slow, dancing, slow, the motion now

causing her arms to tremble a tad, but the focus remains,

fingertips play the keyboard, imagining the free dance

of her delicious reality clothed,

now she will move to rise,

her buttocks placed properly in her seat,

ready now, still remarkably discreet,

to look close might be to see the flush skin,

if someone were to glance past her she might scream,

without fear, with only her release,

surprised eyes might engage, for only a minute,

but for now, the vibration is strong, legs moving,

hands are busy in the public venue,

only she knows the distance that remains,

Her eyes are pensive to her monitor,

her freedom inside of her own special pleasure,

rampant, wanton, delicious … private.

Spent in Your Eyes


the afterward,

when sounds, the motion of love

reach climax.

When do we move,

while laying close,

do I feel myself release, or is it you,

will my suggested thrust indicate time,

a desire,

to collapse inside you burying myself

while wedged upon silk buttocks,

my hands now rest slip sweet teased nipples

aching in their own pleasure to rest.

We are so connected we might linger here

arms intertwined, eyes together,

knowing this is us, we have found solace,

we know a certain ritual that brings our


Shall stay … toward calm,

deep breathing,

suggests we may.

stay a little longer … inside

love spent.

Treating You


Tip touch

fingertips hold

tip, touch firm

fingertips losing hold,

repositioning arms under your thighs,

tip, touch, flit

fingertips spread while thumbs glide

‘touch me’ asks for me,

I can see with my eyes,

how beautiful this woman always may be,

if only I treasure her folds.

tips touch with purpose,

round circles while fingertips

slide silk now wet

gasps will send my tongue deep inside,

where fingertips allow that slide,

taste, raw with motions begin …


tip, touch,

lips wet with desire,

fingertips now satisfy an aching need,

to create that rhythm,

tip touch,

mouth, lips swallow,

delicious sounds,

teeth, gentle,

now her gasps ask for more,

faster, deeper,

faster, oh damn, you stopped,

tip, touch …

we have the night!


Dance With Me

Do dance

on me, with me, around me

move your body to the rhythm

let me feel you come alive

eyes are focused as your move demands the next turn

the next twist, every muscle combined

to sweep your shoulders, legs, hips

with a certain passion that tells me i just want to explore your grace.

Dance with me

while my mind loses itself inside your eyes

staring directly, driving me, taunting me,

while your sweet comes alive, moves, twists

gyrates in such a manner I can only imagine you wrapping your legs around me

in the throes,

in the gasps of sexual release.

Can that beauty I see sweeping the floor to the blues

rock my world inside a dream of desire and climax

Yes I can, you can, we can

dance; dance with me on every floor.