Archives for category: story

it is my great pleasure

to hear

a taste of a

Whisper of you

a taste is more exciting

than a banquet

of all your charms

the scent

between your breasts

the perfume of your neck

because imagination from a simple taste

of you –  a woman

is a meal savored

in its fullness

flavored by your soul

and leaves me

Hungry for more

an appetite

for the scent

of your womaness

a taste Kings desire

but rarely are ever

to dine on :

Kings take what they desire

and gorge themselves

without tasting :

but what is best freely given

between

a man and a woman

the private conversation

between souls

a taste of the

Beauty

of life

i am a simple man – past my prime as to creativity- i wasted so much time –

tick tock    – it does not stop – tick tock

i threw away my watch as time does not measure itself as we like

seconds ?   hours ?   days ?   years  ?

time measures by its own passing

and only a child

on a rainy day

staring out at that moment of rain

can make that moment

last forever

self portrait -2-9961

people will judge your outlook in life

by your perception of your glass

is it half full ?

or half empty ?

i have a thirst for life

so will simply

savor the taste –

the flavor

of what i drink

i hunger to see

different images

in anything

such as Thunder Thighs

or the beauty of a rose

without colour

basic thunder thighs-9965 B&W rose -6718

life is not –

to me –

what is in your glass

wether half empty

or half full

but rather

what you fill it with

what you taste

wether it be an mirage of a horse

or the tracks in the desert sand

that will vanish

with the slight stirring

of the wind

arabian-1486 tracks-2

what boots

will i walk in today ?

will i leave tracks

that anyone will follow ?

will anyone thirst

for what i have seen ?

boot copy

 

Shakespeare ,

to my way of feeling,

had it wrong-

it should not be written as –

” a horse- a horse-my kingdom for a horse ”

but rather

“MY Kingdom IS my Horse !”

Jake and I -4928 copy

rose-0196 copy

 

people love roses :

when they are at a peak of bloom

a beauty in the garden

of life

but not when the gown of beauty

is wrinkled and worn

petals falling

the perfume fading

the makeup washed away

by time –

to me

beauty is ageless

and love is

when you can still view your other

as when you first

joined with them

without the blemish

of age , of time

and all the wrinkles

etched on our faces

are a roadmap

of our souls

of our journey

intertwined

in this life

we have traveled

thru together

 

if i were a Prince

in this life

or next

i would search the ballroom

of faded beauties

to find only you

and slip the glass slippers

on your slender feet

and dance

the last waltz

with only you

 

can you find  the beauty

in these aged beauties

that time has

turned old ?

aged rose-0254 aged rose-0236 aaged rose-0198 aged rose-0234

 

a Hero

is one who

offers

up their

tears

so that another’s

Soul

may grow

 

i cannot

shed tears

for myself

as i age

only

hope

that i can take my place

alongside

my Ancestors

in the

Halls of Valhalla

and become an

Ancestor

myself

worthy of being

remembered

family of future ancestors

age – old – ancient – history –

once upon a time –

memories

a pattern of wrinkles etched on our souls ,

far deeper than the wrinkles etched

on our bodies

a roadmap of our journey thru life

that life will discard without a thought

 

 

my hair is grey now

my feeling of being immortal

has long since past

stories i could tell,

but will anybody listen ?

to a man with no voice

yet i can sing better than Elvis

or Pavoratti !

when i sing in the shower

but my silent voice

is washed away by the shower waters

down the drain

 

i was fortunate to live in Japan when the Japanese still held the value of their elders as a treasure -when to be old was not a distraction to the  living   – but rather a teacher of value to be admired and respected  – the Japanese held their elders in respect for a history to learn from – but even now this history is vanishing-

 

in my country   – aged people are more often shuffled off to a “retirement home” where they are visited once in a while – the wealth of their memories is not listened to much – and will pass into dust as they will soon themselves pass into the ages

 

are we    who have much to still listen to – who gave the youth their lives – not worthy to listen to ?  are we not worthy of respect for our age , our memories , our mistakes that we can help the youth avoid ?

 

nostalgia – memories distorted

by our own memories

 

this is all written out of nostalgia – it started with the memory of my first horseback ride- at a castle in Northern Japan in 1957 by a lake  – i was put on the horse by a man who slapped him on the rump and off i went into a forest of tall trees – but then i was little and the trees and horse were big- thats it  –  no more memory of this

and then my memory of a great TV show   hosted by Richard Boone–it was about how possibly the first horse came to the plains Indians   – horses were reintroduced by the Spanish Conquistadors during the conquest of the Americas- the Indian happened onto a horse- a strange animal clad in saddle and armor standing grazing on the prairie in a sunrise  – it took some telling – but the Indian managed to shed the saddle and other stuff from the horse and got onto its back- he fell off a number of times as the horse ran – and got back on- but then the most exhilerating  thing –   my memory  – the Indian finally staying on the horse as it RAN galloping across the plain in the silence of the end of the day- the Indian with his arms outstretched – on a beast that let him race with the winds that swept the plains  — and FEEL the freedom of the Gods

 

this morning i took some iPhone photos of roses –

roses have a short life of beauty – of a fragrant smell –

and then fade from memory

yet even in aging

beauty has its beauty

that memory can recall and not let fade

 

there was once another TV program that i remember – that of two ancient people who had fallen in love with each other and lived  their lifetimes together- they aged – and not gracefully as aging  will do – but they saw each other -not as growing older- but as the beauty of their youthful dream of love – they saw themselves as they were because they did not age in their love for each other – they saw themselves as they were

 

love is not defined by any one thing – a horse can bring you passion beyond anything you may know -a flower may bring you beauty in its dying moments – these few photos i offer rose-iPhone-3149 aged rose-iPhone-3150 aged rose-iPhone-3151 aged rose-iPhone-3152 rose-iPhone-3154 copy bring a beauty of a dying rose- a beauty of age-

 

 

it would seem that i have committed myself to writing this story to completion–the Weaver–at first it was a simple story of the fabricating of a slightly erotic Lace for the Woman the Weaver has fallen in love with–but all of a sudden some great charactors appeared  –Lucifer’s Stallion for one –and the Bad Ass Crow–

we shall see —  it shall appear in chapters  —chapter one is close to completion

 

lucifers stalliom

the stars are bits of broken glass

from the jar of broken dreams

that lie scattered across the Heavens

sparkling only with the reflection

of the fire

of passion

and creativity

that burns within you

gems – diamonds , rubies , emeralds

all are beautiful

all have value placed on them

by the ones who desire them

but the true gem of the Heavens

the wealth i desire

the Heart of the matter

is the Heart of a woman

the life she breathes

into my soul

the thoughts she births

in my imagination

more wealth

than i can gaze upon

spread across the night sky

as stars glittering

as gems