Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Sixty Eight . . .

by Stormcat

Funny that I can't seem to be comfortable sleeping
in an evenly heated place! I think that
I feel some loss
of control when I don't have five or six layers available
to add on or peel back as comfort dictates!

Then I wonder about the poor billions
or think about the main need of revolution being,
not guns,
but blankets! and
I wonder how much resolve I could, blanketless, muster.

Why don't the homeless just move south?
to where? a place
where they will be targeted and exploited?
Somewhere in all this is a threshold for revolution just
waiting for that one more is to many inflicted injustices

Like taxing the right to piss.

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Monday, February 24, 2014

Sixty Seven . . .

By Stormcat

It's antagonistic, even feudal, this relationship between heat
and cold. God would have you believe that cold is the absence
of heat, while the devil argues that heat is the absence of cool.
Which ever . . . both are uncomfortable in excess.

I wonder about Dostoyevsky,  I wonder about  the Parisian
impressionists (poor in the winter), I wonder about Bartok or
Kandinsky alone and foreign, exiled, depressed and homesick,
lonely amongst throngs, emotionally cold in overheated houses.

I now feel the sting of late autumn cold on hands and nose
flesh not yet acclimated, creates panic in the face of impending
winter frigidity. I've seen it before yet I'm never quite
prepared. Can't be enough wood to last the whole season . . .

I remember as a child growing up on the ranch going out
in the winter morning darkness to feed the cattle. The horses
working hard to pull the sleigh, stay warm. No matter how hard I
worked cold still penetrated my gloves turning my hands stiff . . .

So as the winter approaches and thought of cold invades
expectation, those so conditioned put forth extraordinary
effort to provide.  Heat is the main commodity, all given
yet unrecognized, though appreciated in theory,

Frozen hands burn unbearably under pure cold running water
Even the adults couldn't help but let out painful utterance
eventually water feels  cool, then hot water controls the mix
warmer and warmer until the whole body feels warm again

It's not the core that controls, but the extremities. . . hands
and feet, or even more relevant:      fingers, toes, and nose!
Frozen fingers and toes are the first to hurt.  That is unless
you're the  provider. Then your heart bears the pain!

 Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Sixty Six . . .

Chosen Star
by Stormcat

Don't call, or call
today. This longing cannot be satisfied
by your presence nor by your absence.
I'm so cold. I hide in bed under three
quilts and two blankets and one sheet. The cell
phone gives me away by not ringing. Continuously
I check for signal bars and battery bars. Always
present "be my love cause no one else can end
this yearning" close my eyes to allow the vision
This time it’s animals. Hmmm . . . first time
that's happened. I wanted it to be your face
An owl an eagle an owl a hawk a groundhog
what's this? Come closer. Oh! A pony.
A wild pony. With a winter coat. Its mane hanging
over its eyes like too long bangs. It seems to be

Tears without moisture.

Everything dies, even the stars.
I wonder. Do living stars have a funeral when one dies?
How many realists are disappointed when they realize
that their realism isn't real! Must we suffer
the consequence of a thousand ordinary dreams
such so that one genius dream can be realized?
No . . . and Yes
I forgive you a thousand times over for
not realizing that I have met a hundred thousand
stars and chosen only you to love.
How could you know? Or more to the point
how could I tell you without sounding self serving?
Or even more, it doesn't matter how many you were
chosen over if you yourself don't

 Copyright 2011 All rights reserved
Sixty Five . . .

Existentialistic Rumination
By Stormcat

I burned my thumb today while trying to add a log to the fire in the wood stove then anger erupted inside me like a volcano and filled me up so that I didn't think I could hold it and I thought I was going to explode. Is it so the opposite of how I felt last night when I was so alone and sad that I couldn't stop myself from crying when the man's lovely wife, in the movie I was watching, said yes I think it's crazy but if you think you need to do it then I'm with you.

Should I bring up God again?
Does drinking ease the pain or simply concentrate it into a future tragic event?

Then there is this "girl" that I am trying to try for (of course) and I think I will make her a gift for Christmas that will be beautiful and the most unique gift that could ever be given! !%##%$^$##^#^*^&#$%$#%^! So I plan it and for every step of the process of making this gift it seems that the power tool I need is one of the one's stolen from me in the most recent robbery.  So then I have to work harder and make the gift by hand and it makes me wonder if, since I write whole paragraphs to her that she answers with a single word, whether she will even realize the extent of the effort.

Should I move on?
Does dreaming affect the outcome of the subject when the object resists?

And on top of all this there is my ex-wife who I often think about in the context of remembering all of our diminutive endearences and the sweetness of life lived with her whenever she was present; in spite of the demands, disappointments and hours of loneliness. Now she hates me, thinks I am the scum of the earth, and has no regret for having erased me from her life. I often wonder if it was a mistake on my part to push her to the point of hating me enough to demand divorce.

Does that she didn't really fight that hard indicate
 foreordination or existentialistic inevitability?

So I get to the point where I start to believe that living the good life really is better than living a good life because I can't really picture myself ever living a good enough life to make much of a lasting difference. Not only that but it seems that in the process you are constantly fighting against the multitude who are intent on living the good life at the expense of anyone and everyone else. Then you get an infected sliver in your finger while chopping firewood for the old man down the street and they amputate your arm.

So should I bring up God yet again?
Is believing in life after death the only requirement . . .

Maybe drinking oneself into oblivion really is the answer!

 Copyright 2013 All rights reserved
Sixty Four . . .

By Stormcat

There you are facing me
                                         my goddess.
            Clear eyed orchid,   fertile,   sexual perfection,   impossible to ignore!
Why are you shrouded in all these things? Uncover yourself.

                                                              Come to me, your god…

Surrender yourself and succumb to my maleness, let me take my pleasure in you and mate with you and fill you up over and over until your belly swells with my love.

Trust in me my goddess. You are revered! You are the essence of life. You are beauty itself. All gods worship you! Your presence is an honor; your nakedness, a gift; to mate with you, the ultimate treasure of the universe!

I am ashamed to desire you so openly. I am but a humble god unworthy of your stature but you are irresistible and I wish with all my heart to take my pleasure with you and you alone forever and ever.

 Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Sixty Three . . .

By Stormcat

There are those times, random, though not rare,
when the world seems distant and hellbent on ignorance.
The bustle of stagnation urges all to work harder only
to arrive where the heart can never find satiation.

Laud those that make isolation unbearably poignant.

Consider that told of the man living thus. Fiercely maintained 
remoteness finding little disturbance to extinguish self pity
Why do such stories always feature a rescue?
"lose yourself" beckons, with the promise of being found
by the most desirable person imaginable.
Thus self imposed exile seemingly guarantees that
some elusive similarly tortured soul-mate will breach the distance
to rescue you from the hellish sadness that you stoically endure.
Are stories even told where the rescue fails or more realistically 
is never even attempted or contemplated?.
Where's the interest in telling that scenario?

I see the nature of your bright essence
Even stars, glimmering from distances so vast as to pale eternity,
shed light to reveal their place and inspire my own.
I long to draw neigh, to revel in your light, to play
so close as to risk being burned by the intensity.

Are you the witch of my salvation? The angel of my meditation?
Let your light flow around my defenses, 
even through the chinks in my armor
Bathe me in your presence, let your softness overflow the 
hardness of sorrow and soothe away reticent wounds.
Embrace Eden not hidden in joyous innocence,
exposed, rather, In fully passionate unfettered desire.

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Sixty Two . . .

Chamomile Mystery
by Stormcat

Precious elixir, beauty steeped in the flow of life . . .
tossed, pressed, processed and extracted.
Alluring eyes, perfectly unruly hair, expectant, searching . . .
                                                seeking peace!

Woman of sun passing cold winters in the north . . .
clamoring for heat, seeking quiet warmth, longing for soft
companionship couched in passion . . .
                                                peaceful passion!

Make your home in me. See blue moonlight on the snow.
Hear the crackle of fire in the stove and feel the warmth
on your smooth soft skin. Let the wine of desire carry you to . . .
                                                passionate home!

 Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Sixty One . . .
Mindlovemisery prompt #43 Supernatural-lust

Somnambulistic Dilemma
By Stormcat

In dream state my lover appears softly. Then, all
that was surrounding me fades to rainbow mists
except her lovely nakedness draped in silken flows,
hair shining, past her half bare collarbones, eyelashes
slowly undulating like resting butterflies, intense
determination revealing an indivertible intent

She floats with the mischievous look of a falling angel
my cock grows large and rigid even as my heart
beats out of control and my breathing hastens. She
shall take me with her loins and I shall gladly let her
I feel her now, her mouth sucking my tongue, my
hands on her breasts, her cunt consuming me . . .

alarmingly I start to awaken, my dream fading to reality
why must I transition now at this moment of ecstasy?
Oh keep me in my sleep. . .  let me consummate this
mating!      But, alas, the dream fades further, replaced
by . . .   Wait! what is this? what's happening? am I still
dreaming. No! My lover. . .      reality,

loins astride,
in the throes of passion,
in ecstatic dream.

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved
Sixty . . .

Photo by Snowflake

By Stormcat

What is the color of acceleration?
      or deceleration for that matter?
        or change in direction?
           red shift blue shift . . . flat time,
             straight line, changing perception

ROYGBIV . . .  Do you really perceive
     indigo exactly as I -or- ignoring the science
        of rod color signal
            perhaps we're just taught it?
              "The Malkovitch Enigma"

Red orange yellow . . .  no doubt hot, but
    who decided that green was envy,
       blue is sadness we're told,
           pastels . . . soft warm happy,
               pure colors . . . harsh cold?

The hell . . . green means life to me;
       blue . . . peaceful eternity;
           yellows are mind blowing sexual hues
              and red . . . the color of the soles
                    of my true love's shoes.

 Copyright 2014 All Rights Reserved

Monday, February 17, 2014

Fifty nine . . .

. . . a fractured fairy tale . . .
by Stormcat

. . . .

"You have such big eyes" blurted red riding hood . . .
"The better to wink at you with, my dear" the big bad wolf calmly replied with a friendly wink.

"My what long legs you have" red exclaimed . . .
"The better to dance with you, my dear" soothed the wolf.

"My what elegant hands you have" she remarked . . .
"The better to comfort you with, my dear" he said as he softly caressed the back of her hand.

"Oh what strong slender arms you have" she said running her fingers over the smooth surface. . .
"The better to hold you with, my dear" he replied gently drawing her closer.

"What a strong beating heart you have" the princess whispered, pressing her ear to his chest . . .
"The better to love you with, my darling" the prince replied, softly kissing the top of her head. . . 

. . . .

 Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Fifty Eight . . .

Escaping Ghosts
by Stormcat

What to do when again my internal living betrays
me, my heart, my beloved, my friend
Subconscious spirits disturb sleep nightly conjuring ghostly voices screaming past transgressions, inducing fears of future advantage, obliterating present presence, yet facilitating the stormy advantage of surviving creativity
            Can analysis ever be mollified, enough to allow living simply. . .  habituated explanation dissolved, enough to allow peaceful honesty. . . misjudgment reduced, enough to allow fearless pleasure . . . misunderstanding forgiven, enough to allow uninterrupted love?
            Total disengagement seems like the only complete solution but it is so permanent and allows no room for circumstantial mistake. . .  self imposed exile though apparently comfortable offers only temporary escape soon to be replaced by bitter loneliness. There is no escape . . . perhaps only fierce engagement controls?
            Why is my love so closed when I so desire it to be open? What it this pain that I make for myself? Punishment? Loathing? Envy? Fear of losing? Fear of actually winning? Even as I write this I have no idea the answers!
            Do I control weather or does it me? Is it that I feel happy when it's bright and mild and sad when it's dreary and cold - or - that it is it bright and mild when I feel happy and dreary and cold when I'm sad.
            It's been raining a lot lately.
            Today I will run away . . . Today I will stay and fight . . . Today I simply suffer the disappointment . . . Today I will be the kind protector . . . Today I will rise above my circumstance and become divested of the consequence. . . Today these ghostly voices shall leave me . . . in peace . . . forever!

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved
Fifty Seven . . .

Life as I Fear It . . . Do You’:
By Stormcat

"Do you believe in magic? You sexy thing!"

I keep wondering if there is any left that could imbue me with enough energy to do the wonderful things that my mind envisions. Enough magic to catalyze true love from the milieu of potentials through the seemingly impossible gauntlet of distance and subterfuge. Magic to render me fearless of consequence in the battles refining useful truth from the ores of chaos. Innocence to trust heaven even as the animals and children.

Do you need to know me? You playful thing!

Can we not frolic in youthful exuberance. Exploring the city and wilderness alike with curious wonderment. Sharing whispers of discovered truths, celebrating the purity with unabashed laugher. Holding hands while running with wild abandon then leaping into dangerous waters knowingly confident of the hand being grasped. No need to speak in other's presence. Soundless communication controls, a simple glance will suffice.

Do you have a secret? You gorgeous thing!

Auditory hallucinations call you from your slumbers inducing breathless terror. "Who's There!?" "Hello,       Hello!       Hello!!!"  Have you come to reveal me? I cannot lie anymore. You cannot keep the knowledge of past mistakes hidden. I cannot fear judgment. You cannot fear anything. I must hold you dear with no other possibility as you are already as you are. You must never force change.

Do you fear winning? You feisty thing!

Can anger overcome fear or is it peaceful patient kindness? To win is not to defeat but to advance. The only competitor is yourself. Visions of successes almost attained will fear advance. Can you not see your true nature? The person you are? It is hidden in the soul put forward to claim your body at your birth. Look deep! Believe in your nature! Love all that is true within you! You are the savior of yourself. You can win without retribution! You must!

Do you long for anything? You dreamy nugget!

Can you aver achieve respect as a woman if you only engage the abuser? Can I ever achieve respect as a man if I never abuse the desired? Do we only want the respect of ourselves! Not me! I want the regard of my peers and the desire of all women such that the one I find most desirable will have already chosen me. Do you not want the compliment to that? I really want that the one woman I find most desirable has the feeling that I am the one she finds most desirable too! Isn't loneliness the only acceptable alternative?

Do you embrace the passion? You peaceful thing!

Are dream states the exclusive domain of our companionship? Awaken desire! Expand your presence to breathless physicality.  Call out my name over and over, your breasts heaving, aching for the roughness of calloused hands brushing nippled tender flesh. Let your head fall back over the edge exposing the neck to the kissing bites that you so hope will soon come. Your hips are rising, floating, involuntarily reaching upward, searching for satiating release. You can almost feel your loins being parted, your fingers reach to open the way, moistness flows, muscles convulse in anticipation, then the reality of darkness settles around you. You are alone.

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved
Fifty Six . . .

Cattle Rancher:
by Stormcat

Wisdom . . .
If you chase
a wandering cow
it runs

Humility . . .
Fall asleep and
your horse
chooses the destination

Respect . . .
No saddle has
a built-in to hold
hot coffee

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved
Fifty Five . . .

Fire Master:
by Stormcat

Wisdom . . .
On some days
the driest tinder
only smolders

Humility . . .
On some cold days
it pays to own
a heavy coat

Respect . . .
On some days
starts itself

 Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Fifty Four . . .
Photo by Snowflake

You are my Heart
by Stormcat

You are the most important person ever to enter my life.
Any thought of you simply fills me with joy.
I fall asleep thinking your name,
wake to your realization, exist for your happiness.

You are time to my clock, the wind to my sail
the shout to my triumph, fear to my pale
the pond to my lily, night to my moon

brook to my babble, the sky to my blue
the sea to my wave crash, cane to my sweet
soul to my music, and the heart to my beat

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Fifty Three . . .

                                  Images by Snowflake

by Stormcat

I like to see             passion
unleashed where it lays       hidden       within
(and it always lays hidden within)

It defies anticipation,              concentration,       discipline, training
crosses meditation's power of control
supersedes limit

speed, precision, endurance, strength, fierceness, all
fall to passion's cadence, the swirl of its light,
its penetration of will, swing of its rhythmic undulation

building  building         pressurizing unnoticed Adrenalin
heart-released only against present moment walls of limits
swirling searing light, moisture laden avalanche, gentle cool tornado

Balanced on destruction edge
the only choice of will . . . . survive Vesuvius' stratospheric ride
or     assimilate to . . . Pompeiic ash

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Monday, February 10, 2014

Fifty Two . . .
Photos by Snowflake                   

by Stormcat

Is homo sapiens the only species that bears its
children into impossible poverty -
Blessing from God seems inconsequential -
And that big full adult-size spirit
crammed into that innocent pint-sized bit of a body  imparts
hope in the face of hopelessness and courage
in the face of fear - yet - at the prospect
of simple company - in the presence of all that - misery -
even the random stranger - meets:
honest - unabashed - enthusiastic -
smiles of joy!

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Fifty One . . .

Unexpected Meeting
By Stormcat

ten thousand cuts as ignorance      endured
like a cat that only wants to be      fed
love      keeps coming back      never
convenient      always compelling      painful
pleasure      forsaken for      some
unremembered reason

legs collapse under the weight      acquiescing
to the burden of emotions      unrecognized
denied      blame the official      idiot
savant      robot with that deafening      stamp
careless      dismissal      without
justification stated

scrape the dregs to retrieve      anything
once fed disappears without      ceremony
ultimate      manipulation      conducted
contrived      the most artificial      sustained
emotion      endures boring      sustenance
almost success

disappointment passes       as if just mood
get a big dog and train it to be      nice
solitude      walk the forest      rest
peacefully      realize the natural you     accept
your past       embrace present life
dare to dream again?

 Copyright 2014 All rights reserved
Fifty . . .

By Stormcat

I wish people would quit talking about gravity
gravity is only phenomenological
gravity is the word used
to describe the effect of vortices on mater
the ordering of mass by density
vortices in space are huge entities centered on
universes and galaxies, stars and planets, asteroids and comets
each vortex is an energy center
that reaches out forever
until it is diluted by overlap with
infinite numbers of competing

The vortex centers move
crash into each other and coalesce
explode to subdivide when the energy exceeds the critical point
invade each other, adopt each other, order each other
why do you think all the planets of our solar system
essentially orbit concentrically in one plane
the smallest atom known is hydrogen
one proton and one electron
is there no material smaller than hydrogen?
or is it that we as humans are not experienced with it
because we are not capable of detecting
materials that exist only at the outer limits of vortices

We have traveled to the moon
big Wow!
we didn't even take samples of the matter in the space between
and the moon isn't even anywhere near of the influence of the vortex centered on earth
much less the limits of that vortex centered on our sun
gravity is simply the ordering of matter by density
lowest energy state . . . light further out heavy closer in
heavy displaces light
beyond earth's atmosphere matter is lighter than hydrogen.
so what is the influence of vortices on the soul
where are the universal centers of spiritual energy?

Is my father the center of my spiritual vortex?
my grandfather?
my great grandfather?
my great great grandfather?
my great great great grandfather?
my god?
the vortex of spirit is centered
on families
on the ordering of generations
since Adam since Noah since Abraham
the expansion of life does not violate the 2nd law of thermodynamics
spirit simply follows gravity

 Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Friday, February 7, 2014

Forty Nine . . .

Player's Bane
by Stormcat

They cultivate the lifestyle
Harvest sweet surrender
Mining nectar from the flower
Precious wine to render

While silent hopeful beasts afield
scavenge the offered price
Opportunists in the shadows
Ranged beyond destructive vice

Love's autumn colors never fade
They simply float away
Extracted from the treetops
Replaced with cold and gray

Copyright 2012 All rights reserved

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Forty Eight . . .

Photo by Snowflake

By: Stormcat

it’s magic this
excruciation hidden in light
flirtation masking
reality ready to make the quiet
appearance. mustn't let it show
before the holy observer

masks of grotesque form each
hang on the back room
stone wall entertaining opportunity to
next shroud the observee safely
into quiet obscurity
subterfuge behind social ebullience

sexual sophistry alluding
superiority running blindly
counter of desired desirability
can this defeat me, exclude me, keep me
downtrodden of the nobles’
noble intelligent peasants

moving cats-paw quiet slipping easily
past trustworthy guards making a way
behind the frightening barrier
masks discovering terrible truth
far less terrible exposed than

rather beautiful naked most beautiful
goddess in embryo shown
full free expression shameless experience
measured in joyful play let
loosened spirits frolic unabashed abroad
dominion stripped masks powerless now to stay.

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Forty Seven . . .

Photo by Snowflake

Love for Eternity
by Stormcat

Suddenly I've got loving eyes
There may be some flaw but I can't see it.  Maybe
She is perfect and doesn't even ever tell lies
I know she is suffering now but she seems so free
and I know that she is just dealing with reality
So all I want is to simply love her

I go outside and notice that the willow has turned to silver
the locust starts to exhibit shades of yellow
but threat of winter just makes it more that  I want her
to come into my arms an let my love bestow
that calm protective assurance and let me show
that I am the one who will always be there

We both share the sorrow of disappointments past
We both need the healing of trust renewed
where those loved show their loyalty at last
and each person bonds so close that life becomes imbued
with a confidence that will not fade and is trued
through the fire of love for all time and eternity

 Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Forty Six . . .

By Stormcat

It's the shadow of the collarbone that seems perfect to me.
And the closeness of a whisper.
It's imperfection that generates variety and depth. . .
                                    does anyone think that nature is less than perfect?
What's beyond the bend?
The potential of unexpectedly finding love at first sight
                                     as you move around the corner . . .

copyright 2013 all rights reserved

Monday, February 3, 2014

Forty Five . . .

by Stormcat

I type the byline first. no title - no content
the only sure thing at the beginning
is that I'm the one doing the writing.

Then I do the surrealistic
stream of consciousness thing
Just in case God wants to speak through me.

After that comes the contrived -
let's make it as weird and disconnected
as I can possibly conceive.

So . . . with all that litter before me
I suddenly feel beyond humbled!
Who am I to write about this?

And then, BOOM!
it dawns on me.
after that comes the endless editing!

copyright 2013 all rights reserved

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Forty Four . . .  (In honor of the passing of Pete)

Photo by Snowflake

Where did all the flowers go? Really?
By Stormcat

It's that all the important things were denied.
Not just the missing soul-mate, but where are the children?
I adore children anyway . . .  so how much more would I feel if they were of me?
If everything you do in your life has to do with the belief in
and in preparation for some beautiful normalcy
then the ultimate disappointment ensues
when neither the soul-mate nor the children materialize..
Existentialism satisfies my sense of agency
and explains the randomness of good and bad consequence
It encourages self reliance, but does nothing for the heart. . .
Solitude is wonderful and missing from most peoples' lives
but solitude imposed equals loneliness.
I'm a flower child! Born of the sixties. Believer of nature and peace and
of being open minded and non-judgmental. Believer that the universe
loves it's children and will not only take care of them but will embellish and reward them for their trust and gratitude. But that trusting belief only gets me so far . . .
Where is my one and only? my family?
Can the life of a genius really end with in and of itself?
Spirit children of God, physical children of man . . .
reaching salvation only through avoiding the blackmailish threat of otherwise condemnation. Is life really a harsh screening tool for some eternity or a learning experience not meant to damn but to evolve us.
If . . . I am a child of god then I. Am. A. God. and my children likewise!
my children are my flowers . . . so where are they . . . where have my flowers gone?

Copyright 2013 All rights reserved

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Forty Three . . .

Photo by Snowflake

Giant Magic Grains of Sand
by Stormcat

first came darkness and the lights went out.
four days the storm pummeled then blew out toward the east
coincident exactly as the tide receded west.
that's when they appeared.
giants on the beach frontage behind the house.
as if dropped from space or heaved up through the ground.
we were children then and dubbed them giant magic grains of sand.
many hours of play were dedicated to those rocks.
to this day I don't know how they got there nor do I ever want to know.

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved