libby

Dreams of a familiar stranger

Moments

When I close my eyes to dream
I don’t recognize the woman I see.

Her long hair flows softly with the breeze,
as she stands barefoot on the beach.
Not a bikini-clad, sun goddess
but a free-spirited bohemian princess.

Her crooked, gap-toothed smile lights up her face
as she warmly greets passersby.
Not with a simple hello,
but a sincere, “How are you today?”

Her golden brown eyes reflect the light of the sun,
as though the depth of her mind did not exist.
Not a reflection of no cares in the world,
but freedom from the prison of her thoughts.

Her round hips sway as she strolls,
as if she’s dancing to a private song.
Not quite a salsa, not quite a samba,
but a rhythm all her own.

She is a familiar stranger that I’d like to know;
she is the me, I want to be.

My Beauty

My beauty

Seriously Though

Reflected in his eyes:My Beauty
my beauty.

His gaze,
intense,
as it softly strokes my hair,
lightly kisses my lips,
buries itself in the depths of my soul as it
worships my breasts.

I feel its caresses as it
navigates my curves,
explores all of me,
before
finding my center,
craving its taste,
yearning to dwell in its warmth,
allowing me to see that I am beautiful.

Felt through his skin:
my beauty.

His touch,
electric,
as it softly strokes my hair,
lightly kisses my lips,
nibbles my ears,
buries itself in the depths of my soul as it
worships my breasts.

I feel its caresses as it
navigates my curves,
explores all of me,
before
finding my center,
craving its taste,
yearning to dwell in its warmth,
making me feel that I am beautiful.

Spoken in his silence:
my beauty.

His passion,
transcended,
softly whispering,
as it tells me that I am beautiful.

Originally published in SQ Chronicles

noforks

I’ve got to stop eating? A Dear Diary moment

Moments

The LDS religion, of which I was a member for many years, believes that family history is important. They have one of, if not the, largest number of genealogical records in the world. But they’re not just about researching your ancestry, they also advocate that an individual write his or her history for their progeny. To this end, they’re big proponents of journaling.

Though it’s been years and years since I’ve been a member of the religion, I’m still very thankful that journaling was a part of my youth.  I have journal after journal full of…well…teenage angst. Reading them is an embarrassing trip back through my history, and a reminder that I too was once a self-involved, insecure, know-it-all, wanna-be grown up.

It had been a few years since I read them, but a few months ago I got them out of storage and found this little ditty. One of my very first poems.  Yeah, teenagers those days…

P.S. Hope you appreciate the very 80s Jane Fonda video reference

I’ve Got to Stop Eating

Food no matter how healthy

Should not be eaten unless you are wealthy

And can afford to pay

to have the pounds lost the way

Many people do these days.

That’s why I’ve to to stop eating

Giving my legs and stomach a beating.

Everyday I stuff myself

and pay the price by looking like a fat elf.

I’ve got to stop eating

but do not know how

it has got to stop before

I look like a cow.

Maybe I should exercise

with the music on the radio

or maybe get a VCR

and Jane Fonda’s video.

How will I do it?

I do not know,

but for now I have to find

a way for the fat not to show

I was America

Moments

I was once land of the free, home of the brave.
I was a pillar of strength.

I welcomed and nurtured you, though none of you were my own.
I brought you up to have pride, to build a legacy of hard work and innovation.
Though you were all different, your love for me had the power to bring you together.

Ten years ago today, I was attacked.
The injuries devastating, incomprehensible, meant to tear you, my children, apart.
For a moment your love for me prevailed
as you put aside your differences to be by my side, to support me, to save me.

But it was short lived.

Your love turned to sadness and your pride into anger as
you looked around suspiciously questioning who belonged by my side.

You rushed to claim my name and my riches
as your brothers and sisters became ‘the other.’

Your attention wavered as fear took control leaving me to die a little every day

and now?

Now, I am merely a memory.
Distorted versions of me used for the sake of selfish gain.

But, not all is lost…

I live in you!

You, my progeny, are now America.

My legacy is in your hands.

Who will you become?

heartincloud-rounded

Confined: solitary safety

Moments

Time passes as the rusting armor encasing me, protecting my wounded heart, shields us from storms. Its lock impenetrable.

Then…

You, a surprise.

Your words earn the key.

Your smile turns the lock.

Your love is a light that cloaks me in warmth.

But in time your light begins to blind me.

The temperature rises until I am burning.

I push you away, cowering back into the armor that also locks me away from the sunshine.

Confined in solitary safety.