tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-129407892011-11-13T22:43:30.756-08:00Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.comBlogger2871100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-73147158992493758202011-11-13T22:41:00.001-08:002011-11-13T22:43:30.781-08:00

Who is to say that the man you looked over in the grocery store and then decided was not “your type” was indeed the key to something you had forgotten or thought lost? I learned some time ago that surprising things often come in unexpected packages. Yet what has been unfolding for the past few weeks has caught me completely off guard. I am utterly without words to press this down on paper.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-49654991005327238892011-11-13T12:19:00.001-08:002011-11-13T12:20:34.157-08:00

Lay Lady Lay - Bob Dylan 1969 Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed Whatever colors you have in your mind I'll show them to you and you'll see them shine Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile Until the break of day, let me see you make him smile His clothes are dirty but his hands are

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-24611831855684435602011-11-09T23:25:00.000-08:002011-11-09T23:25:18.053-08:00

Sanctuary Found in the dark, wild and half starved for truth it is not so much sex as the cleansing of the succubus to reveal the hard syllables of loneliness. (How long since anyone has seen?) I feel myself reach for that place within (tall grass dusk sky), improbable. Undeniable. And when (silent) you join my body calling my name (a mere breath) there are no more words for meaning.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-88652105467623518662011-11-08T23:22:00.001-08:002011-11-08T23:22:04.269-08:00

Pipe Dreams - Travis I read every word And I still dont understand a thing What had you heard? What had you heard Was it love, was it take another walk in the dark? You'll never learn I'd pray to God if there was heaven But heaven seems so very far from here And it all boils down to the same old thing Just a yin and a yang or a couple of pipe dreams And it all boils down to the same old pain

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-82470420636843130852011-11-07T23:06:00.000-08:002011-11-08T23:07:43.860-08:00

I carry your heart with me - e.e. cummings i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling) i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-8108085182207400212011-10-12T23:22:00.001-07:002011-10-12T23:22:24.338-07:00

I love the unspoken. But sometimes I wonder if I miss something in my own translation. We have all done it... and it has left me feeling cold and a little like standing in cold water that causes your ankles to ache. Blame it on my Virgo'ness. Always thinking even when I am not thinking. Always working through every word, every syllable. Calculating the weight of the words you did say,

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-10506381645932951222011-10-08T11:41:00.000-07:002011-10-08T11:42:03.741-07:00

I have been busy with adventure and the mundane. So I leave you with Dahlias, not a blue one in sight. G.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-68300149220068954912011-10-04T21:47:00.000-07:002011-10-04T21:47:56.703-07:00

So, for the first time in six years I pulled the blog down. And then I wondered, have I crossed the line? I have said this before, I write for me. No one else. There is a sense of ritual for me in the words. My coming back here this September is an attempt to reclaim my voice and to quit hiding this insane adventure that I am on. It is part of who I am. And to pretend it does not exist

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-83080664336528629512011-10-02T22:36:00.000-07:002011-10-04T21:49:55.121-07:00

It's raining tonight. Loudly. It's a good night to be curled up with a glass of wine and a loved one. I have been reading a great deal these days. No, not a novel. Email. Delicious and tempting, it's easy to be seduced by words. I am always the first to fall and the first to fall flat. "I can corrupt you in a heart beat you think you are so special think you are so sweet" In a world

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-53244693526243617282011-10-02T11:10:00.000-07:002011-10-02T11:10:38.323-07:00

Sunday morning. I feel a little dazed, hung over on lack of sleep and too much sensation. Good sensation, don’t get me wrong. Last night J and I had our own little adventure with like-minded friends. Blame it on the Chocolate Martinis. This morning I woke to some maddening neighbour with a small excavator “beeping” through their yard. So much for beauty sleep. And so here I am. My

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-75873426084356462962011-09-30T22:31:00.001-07:002011-09-30T22:31:26.853-07:00

I have been playing match maker with one of my connections and a dear friend. It’s a strange position to be in, linking one lover with another. K was our third and has now become a fixture in our Vanilla world. No one the wiser (or so we think). She has been single on and off since we have known her and recently she lamented that any men left at our age include a large load of baggage or “

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-77897071927530717632011-09-29T22:01:00.000-07:002011-09-29T22:01:20.510-07:00

I am in an unusual position these days. It would seem that I am a curiosity. An anomaly. Let me explain a few things. I am just a woman who knows what I want and has been lucky enough to find a partner who gives me the freedom to do that. It’s a very un-sexy articulation of facts. No. I am not a “slut”. Your wives and girlfriends have hobbies, crafting and scrap booking, shopping

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-85810436409928544632011-09-28T23:53:00.001-07:002011-09-29T11:52:12.666-07:00

There is something comforting in seeing something old and making it new again. I have this thing about bringing married men into our world. Not for the ethical reasoning you might expect ... I have been there and understand what it can be like to live in a world with limited possibility. I limit it purely due to selfish reasons. I hate the logistical gymnastics of figuring it all out. The

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-32928459781378810442011-09-25T15:00:00.000-07:002011-09-28T23:52:31.796-07:00

For J. You are there, (I can't see you but know you are close your laughter rings in my ears) watching out for me. Why is it when I want you you are never right here. All the pretty ones like you (and what you hide in your swagger) and I fight through the waves to touch that face that has said (a hundred thousand times) my name. I am yours. Yet, let you drift out again on the sea of

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-89347531679086435612011-09-18T17:00:00.000-07:002011-09-28T23:40:39.199-07:00

It is my birthday. I am one year older. Crushingly. Funny how a number can do that. Make you wonder if really you are beautiful, vital, a part of this world. It is only a number, really. I know this in logical terms. I am what I will myself to be. And so it seems dangerous to feel older, to give in to the temptation. I have noticed though, that people (men) seem to have a vision of

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-21729775997041271652011-09-11T21:00:00.000-07:002011-09-30T22:10:30.658-07:00

For C.F. Ten Years I turn seeing (or thinking I have) too late. Gone (was it only a hitch in my breath?) Your flesh turned to leaves (something adrift on the light) words a clothesline strung tight between two trees (shifting lightly) figments of what I(mis)understood it to be each time I turn a new (found), impression of not (knowing) now. G.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-56711231105635185912011-09-09T23:28:00.000-07:002011-09-28T23:29:52.759-07:00

And so we set sail. B. From across this little space I feel the sparrow lifting upward (small and light she arcs silver brown against flesh) A slow dance in indigo, taken under the last fading summer sky. Later I seek the promise of kisses, in my own (lonely) dance, it is your name I trill.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-41935220137414779222011-09-05T21:21:00.000-07:002011-09-28T23:23:52.531-07:00

There is something I have learned over the last year. I am good at sharing but not my self. No, that is not a typo. J and I have agreed to open up again and invite others into our world. Before you judge, you should know it's a sign that we trust one another. That love is not possessive. Instead love is patient and ready to move outside the simple definitions you scribble out in the bright

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-37295537522121923712010-09-27T16:47:00.006-07:002010-09-27T17:42:19.181-07:00

So here we are once again. Like years before, I fought the coming of fall. I resisted the dying of the summer flowers and looking at leaves changing on the hills as I drive in to work. Oh, and the rain, I kept out one pair of sandals...Another birthday has gone by. I am just that much older. Am I wiser though? I hardly feel like it. I wish I could say I was a great beauty, that with age comes

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-3829947742151543542010-01-30T01:09:00.001-08:002010-01-30T01:15:53.315-08:00

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-79839772891612159912010-01-30T01:04:00.003-08:002010-01-30T01:08:42.733-08:00

I can't erase the image of your fingers, wedding band catching the light, flat against the floor as you rise. Your wife below. And then as quickly as I caught the secret shadow of your lust, it is gone. And you return to being just a man in a room full of men, teaching us the power of violence.G.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-75782339637019944692010-01-03T23:02:00.002-08:002010-01-03T23:18:36.133-08:00

Infidelity.Define that in the world we live in. It seems like a simple enough task. ``To be unfaithful.`` Yes. It would appear so.But now apply that to a relationship where the normal bounds are not easily defined to square edges. Where coloring outside the lines is seen as liberation from the normal day to day ideas of what is this and what is that.Now infidelity is not so neat and tidy.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-1815265988012751192009-12-28T22:49:00.000-08:002010-01-03T22:59:41.020-08:00

There have been nights of no sleep. Of wind on the roof and a dog pacing our bed. There have been days of droopy eyes and the lament of coffee long gone. There has been some laughter. Mostly, there has been this numb creeping of indifference.My mother has been diagnosed with stage three cancer. I made the mistake of researching it online. I refuse to believe that she is going to be a

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-74255970249372493292009-08-27T00:13:00.004-07:002009-08-27T00:25:37.202-07:00

The wind chimes are singing their off kilter song. The coyotes are loud and sound like they are laughing.I lost two hours and thirty minutes of my life. Erased. A black hole where there was no comprehension of my existence. I have a hard time thinking that there was nothing in my mind, only that cold, quiet darkness. Was there at least one dream?Leading to the surgery I dreamt in vivid color,

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-83350699109498586352009-07-29T23:14:00.002-07:002009-07-29T23:27:13.254-07:00

The heat has pulled me from my slumber. Hardly sweet... my heels have been sticking to the pavement as I move from one air conditioned bliss to another.I am tempted my my neighbour's pool. They even have the honeysuckle that goes with it. Sitting here, in the mid dark while sipping a glass that is mostly ice, I am reminded of how dreams cannot be merely pushed away as a used toy. How pervasive

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-61968267976109792162008-11-10T23:12:00.002-08:002008-11-10T23:15:26.610-08:00

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-27278775619389105012008-11-10T23:09:00.002-08:002008-11-10T23:11:31.896-08:00

(silences)It is quiet in this place.Voices only an echo,the birds suspended.The still before the storm.A church after prayers are said.The space between realityand my soul.G.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-91648676993498313132008-09-12T07:36:00.004-07:002008-09-12T07:37:23.487-07:00

I am off. May the pictures come.G

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-47085873172542979772008-09-06T21:11:00.000-07:002008-09-06T21:14:07.397-07:00

RASA (sanskrit):the ‘taste” or essence of any impression;the aesthetic experience in transcendence;the emotional fulfillment of the soul;the essence of Divine Love.My head is in the stars tonight. Infinite signs of affection. Infinite possibility to feel the sharp prick of loss. Is it better to feel the knife or to avoid the sweet fruit you slice? These are questions we have asked ourselves

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-80815239315671419252008-09-02T21:06:00.003-07:002008-10-31T22:21:42.674-07:00

Summer is at a close and I find myself suddenly dazed, wondering where it all went.Walking the serpentine paths of the park down the road, I was aware of the change in the light. The smell of September is already upon us. And now, sixteen days to my birthday, we begin the steady climb to Christmas.Soon, I will be begging for the heat of summer again. I leave for Montreal on the 12th. A city of

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-1120886674077609322008-08-28T19:23:00.004-07:002008-08-28T19:46:29.885-07:00

Old Barn Doors(I had this feeling when) He said“take this and throw it like a stone,further than the last”,(trickery)so Iwould stand still long enoughfor stars to dissolve the night sky.Dreams are just forgottenreality, (fantasy and realityare too far apart, I lie)when released, they stretch outacross the thousand lightarcs of heaven, and feel the latchto the door I keep closed(just against the

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-71174346927911906252008-08-12T19:15:00.003-07:002008-08-14T20:32:55.703-07:00

Well, I have had more traffic in here than when I blasted the American inaction with the Katrina victims. What does that say about us?I pulled Christopher's name. Not because Holly emailed me twice this morning (and again from her blackberry, requesting I no longer post her responses.) No. I did this for Christopher's wife. She does not deserve any more heartache than what I have already caused

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-57431001545502745542008-08-11T21:29:00.003-07:002008-08-12T19:15:38.981-07:00

Oh how we, as humble human beings, love drama. It seems my post has received some attention because I posted Christopher's name. Does everyone not see this was intentional? Holly S. wrote me to tell me the following:G,You dont know me but I came across your blog about an affair you had with Chris. You are very detailed in this blog and you even have his first and last name as the title. I think

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-11392613309227058492008-07-20T09:00:00.004-07:002008-08-12T19:13:37.826-07:00

I woke this morning from a dream of my old lover. He pulled me in like old times, I tucked my chin into his neck like I used to. Like not a breath has pulled us apart. There was none of the sadness as we made love under the stars. I did bring J. into it though, he was a constant nagging thought "How am I going to explain this to him?"I took him to a lake in Whistler I know, to swim. I could feel

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-54169721667549317392008-07-09T21:12:00.001-07:002008-07-20T09:25:43.716-07:00

A million years ago. Fifteen. Sun drenched, safe on the lake I grew up in. His blond hair, the setting sun... a game on two rocks in the water. Then, when courage overtook me... a kiss. If only he had known it was such and not me trying to knock him backwards. With the advent of underwater digital cameras, the rock in Hicks Lake. G.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-6715238938949291562008-07-08T20:43:00.006-07:002008-07-08T21:11:34.546-07:00

Lucy. (Her recall is so great with this name, we are reluctant to change it... Lucy would not have be my first choice.) Lucy is 10 months old and has made her way to us from Regina. Her previous family could no longer take care of her ... if you know Jack Russells you know how intense they can be. Friends of mine drove out with her on their vacation. Included in this was another Jack, Cooper. (

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-11662658979045555012008-06-15T10:57:00.003-07:002008-06-28T16:27:55.061-07:00

Have I mentioned J and his love of spending money? We are now the happy parents of not one, noooo... but TWO exquisite Japanese Maples. But then there was the drama of securing them in the truck, in a downpour, for the long trek home. Yup. All to J's exacting standards of "I am man, this is how you tie down a load." Oh, but a domestic in the middle of town would not be so pretty.Did I mention, I

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-39086409343499672942008-06-11T08:15:00.000-07:002008-06-15T10:56:55.207-07:00

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-4306240488705543042008-06-08T15:49:00.009-07:002008-06-28T16:29:50.569-07:00

We attended the Gwynne Vahn Park garden party as has been the tradition for the last few years, but this time it was a torrential downpour. I don't mind returning there, I have good memories of the old Victorian lady... but I also see her as being a prison I lived in for five years. I did my time and I ain't goin' back. She seems less dark than when we lived there... the trees seem to hug the

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-16701873617280260812008-06-06T23:55:00.005-07:002008-06-07T00:02:51.461-07:00

Where the pictures I took on the way home should be.... if only I could get them off the phone.Clouds. And the afternoon commute.Tomorrow?Besides, we have things to celebrate. Today is the third anniversary of meeting J.G

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-63677556655233486362008-06-04T20:36:00.008-07:002008-06-04T21:05:37.531-07:00

Sparrow Suicides ~ Light play, the softbrown of wings (delicatebelly) reachinginto broken sky(wing tip to tail feather)fallsweep across the(grass ditch)country road, toflash by my purposefulhood (narrowluck) andmissI calculate distance,(check for survivors)wonder if birdsare thrill seekers,competetive (freefall) racerswho enjoy tormentingevening commuters.(who can translatethe tricky body

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-82495909293201350802008-06-03T21:19:00.003-07:002008-06-03T21:23:57.253-07:00

Words do not come easily these days, yet they are the shadow that follows me. Elusive golems. I write in my head; the music bringing them, the pale green of freshly cut hay, the morning sky fighting the great guardian Mt. Cheam. There is something in the world I move through, beauty and pavement. In the eyes of those I walk past, the simple fact of knowing I am ok.There is so much to be thankful

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-6045210128930993192008-06-02T21:45:00.000-07:002008-06-03T20:00:34.416-07:00

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-80476111414322457632008-06-01T13:53:00.002-07:002008-06-01T13:59:17.467-07:00

It's been so long. So long. I had forgotten the way the words felt on my fingers. The way the voice coils inside me, slowly at first... then with a sudden holler, too loud to ignore it pushes out into this world of dark and light. I heard strange music and it woke the part of me that wanted to sleep. And as a bear wakes from winter, I cleared the film from my eyes and stumbled here. Half

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-17206084695663778022007-07-17T21:20:00.000-07:002007-07-17T21:32:41.245-07:00

I woke at five this morning to the rain on the skylights. The air was thick with the stink of water starved grass. There is that heavy ozone scent... I always mistake it for a type of electricity, the renewed potential.When I was in Tennessee there were flash storms. Sudden and violent. A flurry of lightening and rain, rain like we only see in winter here. I had seen nothing like it, really.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-4324203028399188022007-07-10T22:45:00.000-07:002007-07-10T22:54:13.945-07:00

Driving home tonight, I took the shortcut through farm country. It is astonishing to think that less than a hundred years ago the entire area that I passed through was under water. (They drained a large but shallow lake and created a canal to control the flow of one great river into another.)It was incredibly hot today, further in the valley reaching close to 40~. Unusual in these here parts. We

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-53367786963217304762007-07-07T22:02:00.000-07:002007-07-11T19:04:08.523-07:00

“When you see daddy comin’You're licken' you lipNails bitten downTo the quick.”Summer.Today, a tanned vixen in a black bathing suit, white convertible, tattooed boy. The grass is nipple high. Everything screams of sex. I was listening to Junior Kimbrough on the highway today, windows down. I had cravings of late night dancing in some blues club in Memphis. Past summers of working in the sweat.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-58033505531413163942007-03-06T22:44:00.000-08:002007-03-06T22:49:13.557-08:00

Tonight... the first sign of spring. Soft, far off... The music of frogs. I have finally pushed up through the murky water to take my first breath of sweet air and found the sky full of magic.G.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-602782866794557542007-02-27T06:52:00.000-08:002007-02-26T21:56:44.193-08:00

~~Rounding The WomanWe spoke of Oklahoma skies, bluescribbled with children's cloudsand the Marlboro man that broke her tenderangel wings; his dusty boots under the edgeof his teen bride’s bed.I was lost for the afternoon, dreamingof the grass in waves, the ranch handsdusted with sweat and the scent of horses.Washboard roads, well traveledby beat up red trucks and country tunes,jangling the dog

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-86007609344510540572007-02-26T21:40:00.000-08:002007-02-26T21:45:39.621-08:00

This Thing Not Mistaken ForParting my lips (cherrypetals against the paleof my eyes) you said(pressing me down)surrender to this open jawof lust, give in(your sex so loud in my ears)you hurt (you coaxed outthe mewing of sensation)with your passion:all bruises fade to this color,the color of the suit you wear(fuck you, I am notyour businesstransaction)fuck the frost shellfrom my skin instead(your

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-51804711223770999782007-02-25T11:18:00.000-08:002007-07-01T19:50:04.643-07:00

There are times when I feel guilty… not posting here. Times when I worry that each of you readers drifts away, leaves on an un-loyal breeze.I do write though. Constantly. Sometimes only in my head… on scraps of paper, post it notes, in the car, here… in digital font.The problem is this…There are times in my life where I insulate myself, pulling into my internal world so sharply it seems sudden

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-51039840354198624562007-02-19T20:01:00.000-08:002007-02-19T20:39:08.229-08:00

Each morning, something new.It could be the force of the rain obliterating the view ahead of me, the mad rush of tires and brake lights… or the more mundane beauty of sunrise.Gray clouds, orange sun.Woman walking with an umbrella and green gumboots.Children huddled under a tree almost as big as them.The flashing ruby red of the train crossing.New calves, shocking black and white against the drab

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ppppp"If you do not give the right attention to the oneyou love, it is a kind of killing.When you are in the car together, if you are lost in your thoughts, assuming you already know everything about her, she will slowly die." ~ Thich Nhat Hanhppppp

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-1701066769659665822007-01-16T18:38:00.000-08:002007-01-16T18:42:06.519-08:00

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HolocaustsI have been dreamingof oceans, the treessailing in the wind, leavesflicking over to silver shimmersin the August heat.When I turnto take in your eyesI only see wildfires, funeral pyresholocauststhere is no love thereand the wind speaks to me(empty tender breeze)run.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-37922668018235557792006-12-29T22:13:00.000-08:002006-12-29T22:14:52.897-08:00

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For the Turnstiles - Neil YoungAll the sailorswith their seasick mamasHear the sirens on the shore,Singin' songsfor pimps with tailorsWho charge ten dollarsat the door.You can reallylearn a lot that wayIt will change youin the middle of the day.Though your confidencemay be shattered,It doesn't matter.All the great explorersAre now in granite laid,Under white sheetsfor the great unveilingAt the

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-78548447068435780052006-12-26T21:01:00.000-08:002006-12-26T21:08:31.967-08:00

It’s been over a month….We survived Christmas in the usual “Martha Wanna Be” way. And I have to say, it was much quieter than I had expected. But what madness to prepare!Since I am so negligent, let me with you a Merry Christmas. I hope it found you in warm company, well fed and with a glass full of something lovely.And onward we shall go………..G

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-81795484827207497142006-12-24T21:21:00.000-08:002006-12-29T22:12:40.691-08:00

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Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-30810309095298483622006-11-19T15:28:00.000-08:002006-11-19T15:37:44.485-08:00

Wailing I perceive nothing tangible now...onlydetail in perfection:clear, crystalfar off minutiae of tree limbed emptiness.A flannel shirt, soft in the sun;smooth bone buttons, cream againsttextured plaid.I hear the birds,the constant chatter of squirrelsthere is the scent of dirt, wet in the coldreassuring under the blanketof gold and red leavesprecise againstthe green.Light filters downamongst

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This is the time of year to remember. Not just the dead, but the living. A time to listen to those old songs, to let the wine drift you into the gold and iridescent memories we keep for days like today.Do you? Do you remember me? Or is it only me that thinks of you. I can feel that night. The thin trees out the kitchen window, the way the pear’s skin comes away in my hand.. the juice on my wrist.

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-52154618434840302372006-11-07T08:20:00.000-08:002006-11-19T14:24:51.339-08:00

The rain has begun with a temper tantrum passion. All out. No holds barred.I would not normally mind the cold rain or the whipping wind, I enjoy the way it knocks the leaves off their branches. But as of Halloween, I have no hair. Yes… you heard that correct. NO HAIR.I managed to raise a little over $2000 to assist families with children fighting cancer. I auctioned off my red locks in a show of

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There are red leaves on the lawn. Autumn is so slow this year… I wore (knowing better) flip flops to the junk shop around the corner yesterday. The sky has that blue of coming chill, a washed out version of summer. I still have not pulled my winter coat out of the attic or found all of my sweaters. Driving home from work I pass the fields in harvest, see the bent heads of the cheap Southeast

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Pale September

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Today I saw a beautiful woman in La Vie En Rose with hands full of delicious lingerie. Her second toeresembleda man'spenis.See what you miss out on when you rush through your life?G.

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1971Eileen and Garybeforethey became THEM:a couplewhose nameswere inseparable.She in a hat, the brimframing her face,youngand beautiful;she beams at him.Him with his cowlickand darkish lookshandsome and unrecognizable.But I know them,know I am like Him,not like Her at all.Some strangeness of beingtheir first bornnot recognizing myselfin their smiles;me the futurethe road turn not yet seennot yet

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My birthday.It was a hard one to swallow this year. Hard for various reasons… and then I feel shallow for pouting. I have been given so much this year and then I behave like a spoiled brat.What is another year, really?I have been going through a job promotion/interview thingy the last few weeks and something I have to acknowledge is that I am more ambitious than I gave myself credit for. And

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-1157076962215660132006-08-31T19:16:00.000-07:002006-10-22T12:41:39.458-07:00

Something We Know is Lost

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I am tired. Tired deep. Tired. But my heart is light. This weekend was madness. From the moment I locked the office door Friday afternoon to the moment I unlocked it this morning.At the airport on Sunday, we walked out from the underground parking and there was a Fir tree swarmed with small black birds. Each one singing some story to the dusk sky. I have never seen anything like that. Tree

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Covered Bridge

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There is something to be said about the beauty of where we live. Could anything be more gorgeous, a study in contrasts? The lush green of the corn fields in the Fraser Valley to the grey green of sage in Salmon Arm? The dark jade green of the Columbia River and the pastel turquoise of White Swan Lake? I love this beautiful place. With it’s red sun and it’s roundabout roads. We drove twelve

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Something Blue

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Due to my recent escapades and adventures there has been a need for new photographs. Strangely, I do not completely trust them to J, although I did as much cropping today as I would have with pictures he had taken. Still, the need was there… and so I set up the all seeing eye to try and capture some of my skin.The camera is such a fickle lover.Inspired by Eliza, I crave the play of light. I need

Rare Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11169247122197365700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12940789.post-1154306361050289432006-07-27T14:04:00.000-07:002006-10-22T12:41:38.688-07:00

The lawn is dying. And do I really care? There is a line across the street. Gold for those who do not give a shit, green for those who do. The green is so lush this time of year, a marked contrast to the unforgiving brown of neglect. How is it though, that the weeds live on?We are so resilient. The weeds. Considering my love has spent a fortune on implements for whacking away the weeds and

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I took a French lover once. An arrogant, self serving, uncouth, beautiful, sexy man. When we went our separate ways it was with a passionate uproar that rippled out and touched everyone we knew. Yes, it was messy. But such things happen after you live with such passion…Or was it conceived passion?This was a man who had multiple affairs, with me… with other women. A man who lied about

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Purple Star

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This time of year it is difficult to resist the sweetness of temptation.The succulent red globed cherries shockingly shaped like a circumcised penis head. (Think of that next time you bite down hard to the pit, or as you lick it clean to bite again…)The golden plum with it’s burnished shadow of orange. It smells like when I was twenty-one and all those pleasures plucked from that tree.The

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Lady's Mantle

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Yarrow

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Pavilion

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“Summertime...and the livin iseasy...the fish are jumpin'and the cotton is high..."When the soft feathers of rain touch my shoulders, I will come find you.G.

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Spread Open

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There are secret worlds living out around us. How we forget in our own microcosms that each stranger is living the same sort of dance. Modern. Ballet. Jazz. Punk. Still a dance. Still something primal that we beat out in a simple rhythm that slowly becomes forgotten sound… the thump of our hearts.Do you look at people? Wonder what stories they would tell?Why does the old man next door live in a

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More Detail

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Detail

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Feather Tips

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Brambles and Barbed Wire

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June Grass & Barn

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Just Because 3

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Just Because 2

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Just Because

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I feel the need to explain…. I have been packing and hugely negligent. I will be back once the dust clears and the last box is labeled.G.

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Who Could Resist, George

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What is in a kiss?Soft as it may be. Sweet and wine scented. There is no rush to deliberate on the greater reasoning. No. There is only the soft ripe apricot of lip, the tender flesh on the inner bite…A kiss is something dangerous. Overlooked. Such rising tides smash at the shore of my reason under it’s subtlety. I am a fool for the warm ease at which it quickly, quietly, drowns me.

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Pink PetalsShe walks out underthe cherry treesin blossom.They wave gentlyto her passing, petalsfalling to supplicateat her pointed heel.Gentle green trampledin the flicker of blondshe fidgets away her prettinessforgetting(this blooming lastsonly for a short time)Do we envy the fearlessin her smile?Or is it the turn of her hipand upturned breast?The petals drift, snaggingonto the beautiful stasis

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This is a Love Poem without Restraint – Lorna CROZIERThis poemis full of painfull of piecesIt cries outoh! oh! oh!It has no prideno discretionIt whimpersIt will not drop its eyeswhen it meets a strangerIt will not hideits tears▪It will talkof beautyLilacs ApplesThe smell of rainin caraganasYour mouthYour eyesWhat are you going to do about it?You cannot stop menow▪The moon shines on this pageas

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Starfish

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