Rainbow Pride EastEnd Toronto

More rainbow flags from around east end Toronto.

tree proud
bases covered
patriotic queers
more tree pride
porch proud
growing into pride
let it wave
pride is essential

I do have a limited number of the original Distant Music chapbook for sale for $25.00 each (includes surface mail postage). Send via the paypal above along with where to send it.

paypal.me/TOpoet 

Wrestling With Connection

Week 7 on The Artist’s Way is about connection to creativity – as opposed to our connection with others. One of things that hampers that creative connection is perfectionism. I have a writing friend who has been perfecting the same thirty page opening to his novel for some ten years now. It has to be perfect so he can send it to an agent etc. He no longer asks me for advice 🙂 I stopped that by telling him it would cost $100 an hour for a minimum of three hours before I would be willing to look at his work-in-progress.

There is a section on risk – the willingness to try & not succeed as we envisioned. For me this is part of the process of letting go of expectations, of control. In recovery they say you plan the plans but the results are in the universe’s hands. I’ve painted rooms one colour only to have the paint dry in a different one 🙂

As with the Ways chapters so far there some sifting through the past for missed opportunities & for good turning points. In my covid house-cleaning frenzy I’ve unearthed old note books, old rough drafts, old photographs. Those photos reconnected me with where I was in my early 20’s, long before I moved to Toronto. I’ve also been reading Old Trout Funnies – an excellent book about a comic book series by Paul  ‘Moose’ MacKinnon that was first issued while I was living in Cape Breton. (https://www.facebook.com/OldTroutFunnies).

Moose was one of my drinking crowd & he included real people (some of whom I knew) in the comics & calendars. In one issue there is even a plug (page 70) for my poetry book ‘Distant Music’ which had been published at the time. So there was actual creative support for me in that community at that time.

 

One of the tasks was to wear a favourite item of clothing for no special reason. All my clothes are favourites, so what I did was to pick some things I rarely wear but save for intimate encounters 🙂 Namely some wrestling singlets & some revealing undies I bought a few years ago. Very snug but also very sexy. Photos “fansonly” 🙂

My Underwear

it seems the best way 

to put out the fire

in your heart

was to run over to a bar

drink till there was 

only a stumble of drunks 

to deal with

there was no way out of it

except to break the windows

push your grandma down the stairs

so what if there weren’t 

any stairs in our apartment

you still get the picture

 

yeah I know

drawing it in crayons

all over the hall to our place

wasn’t a great idea

but you have to admit

it caught the lighting of the fire

without using up all the reds

only the blues

the blues you give everyone

who is lucky enough

to catch you on your balcony

ready to jump

don’t do it

or if you have to 

wait till I get back with coffee

I have to be careful 

the contents may be hot

but wet will always 

put out the flame

it makes no difference to me 

what burns you out of my system

hot coffee or direct flame

 

maybe tossing all your undies 

in the shredder was a bit much

but it seems the only way 

to keep you out of them

to keep you fresh

ready and pliant

not that you wore them 

that often anyway

going commando

wasn’t a rare event

bare-assed at McDonalds

where did you park those buns

yeah not so funny

does it look like I’m laughing

all the way home

to the shadowed moment 

when there once was a dart of hope

now just a bunch 

of empty coat hangers

in a clump 

I can’t pull apart

hangers that once held

everything you ever wore

around the house

out in the street

 

yeah I’m a total liar

I never picked up a drink 

because of you

that isn’t going to happen

wasn’t even tempted

you took something out of my life 

but you left behind 

more that you took

I don’t need to breath 

it’s all up to you now

as if it alway wasn’t

 

I can’t get over

the number of times

I wanted to paint the hall way

that I wanted to use 

your tooth brush to clean 

the coffee machine

so I wouldn’t have to go out 

for a fresh cup to dump 

in your laugh

because I’m sure 

that behind closed eyes

you are smirking like a tried urinal

knowing that you pissed 

me off one too many times

 

you know

if you were here now

I’d probably take you back

but still wouldn’t trust you 

as far as you could throw 

my underwear

I do have a limited number of the original Distant Music chapbook for sale for $25.00 each (includes surface mail postage). Order via the paypal along with where to send it.

paypal.me/TOpoet 

Picture Perfect 20

A few minutes later Sanjay walked into the lane way.

“Long time no see.” He said as they kissed quickly.

“Yeah. How was the party?”

“Same old. I left before Sylvan could pressure me to help with the service. Feels like I haven’t slept for days.”

“I’m just finishing up here.”

“Anything I can give you hand with?” Sanjay started to roll one of the bins.

“As a matter of fact there is.” Dan grappled with Sanjay from behind and pulled him into the nook. He’d never had sex out there himself. What would that be like. How would it look on the monitors. He could star in his own moment.

“What the fuck.” Sanjay struggled to get away.

“It’s okay.” Dan unzipped Sanjay’s jeans and tried to get his cock out.

“It is not okay. Someone might see us.”

“Not here. Too dark.” He stepped into the darkest corner of the nook. “Can you see me?” Dan knew would be the best spot for the camera to catch any action. He undid his fly and let his erection catch the light.

“Sort of but … that’s not the point.” Sanjay stepped back and into the limited light. “What’s got into you?”

For the time they’d been together Dan had kept his lane way fascination a secret. There didn’t seem to be any of starting a conversation about it with anyone. He didn’t discuss it with his V-Files buddies. He saw no point. But now that he the chance to share it this way with Sanjay was too much for him to resist. He pulled Sanjay back into him and sank to knees. Sanjay pushed away.

“You been drinking or what?”

“No.” Dan said as he finally wrested Sanjay’s thick dick out of his underwear. He lunged forward and got in into his mouth. Was the light right? The angle. It better be for all the work his was doing to get this shot.

“Stop.” Sanjay shoved him hard into the wall. “This isn’t like you.” He shoved his cock back in his pants, did up the fly as he moved away from Dan.

“Sorry.” Dan stood doing up his own fly. A minute more and he would have shot off. “I was just happy to see you. Happy and horny.”

“I can tell.” Sanjay glanced around to see if anyone might have seen them. 

They pushed the bins into the nook. Dan went back into the store to get his bike. He desperately wanted to check the security cameras to see what they picked up. He could access them when he got home.

He strapped his bike to the trunk rack and got in the car.

“Man what a day.” He said. “I’m surprised someone didn’t throw a vcr through the window. Even with the signs saying No VCR’s people insist on bringing them to trade in. They take it personally, as if I was telling they weren’t worth the money, not their tired old equipment. Funny how some people resent being told no.”

“Look, I’m sorry.” Sanjay patted Dan on the knee. “About back there. So you can stop yammering about nothing.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Dan, I know you well enough to know when you are talking around something rather than facing it. I didn’t mind really I didn’t. It was just a bit unexpected.”

“Another time maybe?” Dan said. He knew that the element of the unexpected was a big part for him in making it truly hot. Planning would spoil things too much.

“I doubt it. You know how I feel about …”

“Public displays of affection.”

“Honey that was no display of affection, that was damn near rape.”

“Can’t rape the willing.”

“Or the unwilling.” Sanjay pulled the car into their garage. He handed Dan a plastic bag with some take-out containers in it.

He glanced in the bag as he went into the house. “Chinese?”

“What passes for it anyway.” Sanjay followed him in. “You change and I’ll set the table.”

“Change?”

“You smell like an electronics factory.”

“You don’t like my robot lubricator scent?”

“No more than you do. Now git.”

“Yes, sir. I love it when you tell me what to do.” He took the stairs two at a time. 

“Shower while you’re at it.” Sanjay called up to him.

“What about you?” He called back.

“Did that before I left the pie factory. Be quick so I can do some laundry.”

The water pressure in the house didn’t allow for shower and laundry at the same time. 

When Dam came down Sanjay had set their dinner on the coffee table in the living room.

“Top Chef.” He said. “I have two episodes to catch up on. Start without me. I’ll be right back after I slip into some looser.”

Dan spooned shrimp fried rice, red gooey something done to chicken by a General and some ginger beef onto a plate.

Sanjay came back down in a tank top and sarong. 

“Loose enough?” He asked as he sat down. He took the remote and turned on the TV, found the episodes of Top Chef and pressed play.

“You should try out for that.” Dan said. 

“Not pretty enough.” Sanjay said.

“Doesn’t seem to matter much for this show. The gals can be a bit glam but the guys are truly ordinary. Even chunky.”

“You mean fat. Say it.”

“You know that’s what I mean. I mean hefty. Some of us prefer the hefty handful, as you well know.”

“Shh …” Sanjay glanced him.

Dan finished his plate of food, during the commercial break helped himself to another and got up from the couch. “I’ll leave you to it. I got work to check out anyway.”

“You’re worse than me for always having work to do. Another case?”

“No. Still doing my research on those missing kids.”

“Right.” The commercials were over. “See you in bed.”

Dan went to his desk. Turned on the store computer to see what the monitors might have picked up of his flirtation with with Sanjay. If there was anything he’d send to his personal computer. He’d learned years ago to keep his work computer free of personal files.

He reversed the feed to the approximate time. Yes, there they were. He glanced to make sure Sanjay hadn’t left Top Chef. It happened so quickly Dan had to watch it a few times to see what was happening. None of it was at the right angles for him to see what he longed to see. Sanjay’s cock going into his mouth for a moment. If he had been in the office at the time he could have moved the camera enough to get what he wants. Probably. Damn! What a wasted opportunity.

He set the feed back to the present time. There were some people in the laneway. Perfect timing. Again he checked to make sure Sanjay was still caught up in Top Chef.

It was two people. One was pushing a bundle buggy. The other opened the garbage bin and began rooting in it. Pickers. He was used to that activity. They’s have a field day with the trade in discards. He used to spend time sorting that stuff but when he noticed that it was all often gone by morning before the garbage trucks had been by he stopped being so thorough. 

These two were pretty happy to find what was in the bins tonight. Now this was reality TV. No editing for drama. He shut the work computer off and turned on his personal one. His post on V-Files was still generating likes and looks. He watched it again. Not bad. He shut that computer off as well.

Enough is enough. He stretched and took his dirty dish to the kitchen. Sanjay came in just after him.

“The latino guy was sent packing. I’m not surprised though. Would think these guys had never watched Top Chef they keep making the same mistakes year after year.”

“I guess that’s part of the screening. Have you even seen Top Chef before?” he adopted a comic bass voice. “We have ways of making you cook.”

Sanjay laughed. 

“I’m going to turn in.” Dan said. “Its been an exhausting day. An exhausting week in fact. Missing children, Cuppa threat, RCMP looking for clues, me looking at my past.”

“What about your past?”

“Stuff about when we moved here. The why. Stuff about Timmy Dunlop that I was too young to realize or understand I guess. Funny how childhood can be rewritten when new facts come to light.

“I thought Timmy visited me because he missed me but it was most likely to escape abuse in his own home. We just happened to offer safe shelter. And … ” he almost told Sanjay about the soft-core porn he’d found. He didn’t know what to make of that himself. 

“And?”

“Nothing. Just thinking aloud. You coming up soon?”

“In a bit. I’m still unwinding.”

“By watching other chefs?”

“Yeah, not having to worry about supervise them is soothing for some reason. I’ll be up once my laundry is done.”

Dan yawned. He was falling asleep on his feet. 

Dan woke to Sanjay muttering as he got into the bed.

“What is it.” Dan asked.

“You never put away after yourself.”

“What?”

“Your laundry was all over the laundry room. I had to fold it up and put it away before I could do my own.”

“Sorry.” Without opening his eyes he reached over to where Sanjay was. “I’ll do it the morning. Promise.” He drifted back to sleep.

He woken again sometime later to go the bathroom. Sanjay was no longer in the bed. In the dark he made his way to the washroom. He peeked into the other room and Sanjay was there reading a book in a dime light.

“Can’t sleep?” Dan sat on the edge of the bed.

“Guess not.” Sanjay looked up from his book. 

“You still sore about before. In the lane way?”

Sanjay pulled Dan to him and pushed him onto the bed, kissing him.

“Stop.” Dan pulled away.

“Oh!” Sanjay stopped. “It is okay for you to … to ambush me in public but not okay for me to do the same in private.”

“I get your point. I said I was sorry. What more can I say.”

Sanjay pushed his blanket down.

“Say you want to suck this.” He pushed Dan’s head onto his cock.

Dan struggled to get away but couldn’t. 

“Suck it. You know you want to?” Sanjay said. “Suck it.”

Dam opened his mouth and as he began to suck Sanjay pulled him away.

“That is how I felt. Violated. Did you think I would get off on being violated like that.”

“Sanjay, it’s not as if we were strangers. Not as if we have never had sex before. We’ve done it on the patio, in the car that time. Remember you pulled over so hot from that movie we’d seen. You had to get blown there and then.”

“That was different. In the car you had been touching me. You had started things, I merely let you have your way.”

“Okay I get it.” Dan started to stand.

Sanjay pulled him back to the bed. 

“You starting something you want me to finish?” Dan pulled his t-shirt off over his head.

“No. I just wanted to kiss you good night.”

Sanjay kissed him lightly on the mouth and pushed him way from the bed.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International LicenseHey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees 

 sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet 

Kiss The Monster

The Monster 

whose lips are these

did they kiss 

before they were grafted to my face

this attitude to the kiss

where did it come from

what cultural imperative 

was infused into my brain

to tell me the power of the kiss

 

I look down at this body

ruminate about this brain

all the things woven into 

my sense of self

that I don’t know were they originated

though I know they are controlled

by attitudes I can’t alter

 

the history of dominant needs

sutured to my ideologies 

as seamlessly as these lips

as these hands

which send ripples of fear

through the global villagers

 

a monster created in their minds

moving in this world

asking them

are your lips yours

or have they too been grafted

seamlessly

as you groped with those hands

(your hands?)

into adulthood

 

Stepping away from the Rules for a break 🙂 Each October I’ve been writing poetry inspired by horror movies. I’ve been a fan from an early age – ghost stories, spooky stuff had a distinct appeal for me. I can’t pin-point an actual age or movie that sparked my interest. Maybe it was ghost stories at Y camp?

 

One approach is to see the world from the creature’s point of view. This is the most famous monster of all – Frankenstien’s creation. I’ve given him a more introspective sensibility that is even present in the novel. In the book he is quite chatty & thanks to his bad brains, rather vengeful. My creature is stitched together from similar parts from movies, books & shoe-gazer angst.

He questions the sociological construct of the kiss, of the sense of self. The sort of questioning that many non-conforming gender people often go though as they sort though the history of dominant needs. LGBTQ people often end up with a sense of sexual self that they have to put together for themselves. How do you adapt this self to a culture that says self-acceptance still doesn’t change the fact that you are fucking monster that can send women & children screaming when you go to the washroom.

Part of the fear of the monster is often how it makes us question our own sense of self. Are these my lips. Is this kiss, is this gender, me or is it a cultural costume I wear to fit in, fit in so well there’s no need to make any decision. Why not accept the pre-made identity that allows us to conform so that we don’t scare even ourselves when we look into the mirror.

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet 

Abundance

Week 6 of the Artist’s Way is about abundance/money. One of AA’s promises is ‘the fear of money & economic insecurity will leave us’ – the trick being the word ‘fear’  as ‘economic insecurity’ never leaves us – just ask Trump about his tax returns & his fear flares up instantly. I’ve rarely heard anyone say they have too much money or that the money that they have makes them all that secure. Money can’t buy you happiness but it can get you a decent therapist.

As with the other weeks there are lots of lists to make. Here’s one of mine: silver cloud rolls royce; spaniel; lilacs; maple pecan ices cream; kiwi; cauliflower; bbq ribs & bake potato; endless list; red. Can you guess what this is a list of? In some ways this list a challenge because some of the items where areas of my life I that aren’t very relevant.

The artists dates have not been going someplace but cleaning neglected nooks & closets in my house & making discoveries. Caches of photos from 1973; rough drafts of early novels; old notebooks; boxes old bandages (do they expire? I tossed them regardless). An abundance memory, dust & paper-clips. Letting go of that stuff has become easier creating an abundance of space, space I’ll not to refill.

The Way doesn’t really address the culture of materialism – in which having enough is seen settling for less. Compulsive consumers are seen as the key to progress – so one wants to be unblocked creatively in order to make more money to keep the wheels of progress turning. In the USA now there are people who see social distancing impeding progress. I guess money $ for the funeral industry is actually a good thing.

One thing I did do that created an instant sense of too much & wow! was indulging in a sale that Brick Books is having – a box of 50 poetry books for $30. Mine arrived this past week & I was amazed. The books average at 18.00 each – which is $900.00 worth of books. Then I reflected on the nature of becoming a published poet & was saddened. https://www.brickbooks.ca/30-for-a-box-of-books-sale/ . But what won’t keep me from enjoying the books. Guess what my friends are getting for Christmas 🙂

My Luck

when I tell people

I’m lucky to be alive today

they react as if I’m over-reacting

because in many ways

my life has been a breeze

I didn’t suffer any physical 

sexual 

emotional 

abuse growing up

never went hungry

my parents never divorced

so what do I have to complain about

 

it’s not that I’m complaining

merely making a statement of fact

I’m lucky to alive

that was a time

when gay teens 

were put into institutions 

to be cured

given shock treatment

lobotomies

behaviour modification

so they could be normal 

gender conforming

boys & girls

 

what saved my life 

was music

music never judged you

never waited outside school 

to beat you up

didn’t tell on you

didn’t turn away

when you searched album covers

for inspiration in words

in the tight pants of lead guitarists

or the sturdy arms of drummers

mooning over Keith Moon

 

never knowing anything 

about their lives

maybe if I had known 

Jim Morrison 

was really a backdoor man

Moon was a bi guy

I might have had a glimmer

of hope 

 

but even though they had talent

fame 

that allowed them freedom

but not enough to be out

careers would have been ruined

and when the music was over

they self-destructed

I was lucky to be alive

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6

nothing thanks to covid19 😦

Hey! You can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee

sweet, eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

Don’t Take My Time

My Time

I am a creature of routine

no matter how hot the guy

I am unavailable at certain times

often the only time they are free

which they take personally

even though all we know

about each other are profile pics

& what we claim are our likes

 

they act as if my time boundary

is playing hard to get

or just playing them

a sign I’m not really interested

that all I want is their desire

not their bodies

one guy said ‘if you’re going to be that way

good luck because you’ll need it’

as if my schedule 

was a character fault

 

one called me inflexible

though I had suggested other times

other days

his inflexibility was of no concern to him

whereas mine was arbitrary

whatever 

I have a life

I don’t set it aside for no dick

 

or perhaps they see it

as control

that I am making it clear

I am the dominant, the top,

not some submissive bottom bitch

gasping eager for their randy visit

 

even if I am eager

it’s still my time

I have an acquaintance in recovery who will phone & launch into their conversation. No hello, no is this a good time, no how are you. I will stop them asap if I’m busy but they’ve never learned to say – is this a good time. I have another friend in recovery who calls & really needs to meet facto face for a real talk. I suggest times – none of which fit his schedule – he assumes that for the sake off recovery I’ll change my schedule to suit his needs. I’ve done this a few times only to have him text to say he’d be late or etc.

What does this have to do with ‘My Time’ – recovery has taught me to respect my own needs, to respect my boundaries & not to let people-pleasing turning into martyrdom. Times I’ve been persuaded to make allowances for another’s time constraints have rarely worked well for either party.

Sticking to my guns often has people acting as if my not being inconvenienced by them is an inconvenience to them. That also might have to do with he fact that I don’t apologize, any more, or explain either, when I say ‘not free at that time.’ Odd how being firm can be seen as arrogant or indifferent.

I no longer take the bait of being guilted into being agreeable. I’d rather be seen as unreasonable than being seen as an ‘any time Chuck.’ Now in the age of covid distancing such inflexibility is even more necessary & a covid ‘no’ is acceptable to many. Even if I am eager, now, it’s still my life.


Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy coffee at – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet 

‘falling in love while in love’

Hot Damn’s season 6 finale was via Zoom. For once I didn’t feel I was taking the best seat in the house 🙂 But it was a pretty quiet house of nearly 60 people from across Canada & possibly around the world as there is no way to tell where who is zoomin’ from. In fact one has the choice of being in the room & not being seen. Cool & the tool of  future social distancing.

Slam rules cover costume & props but may have to extend to backdrops 🙂 The picture quality is good, depending on the cameras of the users. Sound quality was excellent. The poets were all very comfortable in front of the camera & in fact some more confident without a live audience in front of them.

The work of the slam poets was excellent, I don’t envy the judges. I enjoyed the few pieces that took on covid19 in a practical way – what do you do when the voices in your head that use to force you to wash your hands compulsively are now really coming from your TV? Writing & performances were excellent. Scoring was quicker without flip cards to flip 🙂

 

Feature Jillian Christmas, in BC wearing polkadots & behind a drum kit, started her set by reminding us of what has been silenced in the covid19 clatter i.e. pipeline oppression of indigenous peoples. I’ve seen Jillian several times & her warmth & emotional vulnerability is a blessing. Singing, reciting & reading a few piece from her book ‘The Gospel of Breaking’ her set was too short. Her simple self-accompaniment reminded me of Jessie Mae Hemphill. Just a couple of lines of too many great lines ‘there are no renewable resources’ ‘falling in love while in love.’ If you want more, buy her book: https://arsenalpulp.com/Books/T/The-Gospel-of-Breaking 

The show was nimbly hosted by Robyn Sidhu, with an able assist by Charlie Petch. It was a great success without a venue 🙂 But I did miss the live reactions of the audience. There is no ‘hiss’ or ‘boo’ button to react to the scores. Texting those remarks doesn’t have the same energy.Scores were added up. A winner was declared. Who? You’ll have to follow Hot Damn to find out 🙂

Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees – thankspaypal.me/TOpoet 

Living-Room

So this is a glance at my living-room. These two prints I picked up many many years ago at The Clay Room on the Danforth. I bought the veranda one first – I love the mood & sense that someone just stepped into the house. It sits over the mantle piece. A few years late I bought the bicycle one. Again the mood is relaxing. 

 

There is fine detail work in both that my camera doesn’t capture. They were both framed & under glass when I bought them. The fact that frames were a perfect match for the walls did play a part in my getting them. Both by the same artist whose name is scrawled unreadable (by me) on the bottom. The Clay Room no longer sells prints.

 

On the mantle piece is this scale model of a TTC bus. Here I’m showing it off out of its box but it does sit in its box on the mantle. Don’t want dust to demise its collector value. Made to scale. I ordered it from the TTC gift store. Hand painted, it also has a set of details int he box for various routes, which will remain in the box. I do have a spare one tucked away in a drawer too. Some day they may be worth enough to get some Stratford Festival tickets 🙂

The samurai is one of the posters for a 1989 show at the Beaux Arts in Montreal – ‘Le Japon de Shogun’ – which I bought when I went to the amazing exhibit there. It took a year or so to realize the person in the samurai was real & not a mannequin of some sort. I used to visit Montreal with a recovery friend who moved to TO & would go back for a week every summer. I loved the city & even learned a few helpful phrases – Mon hôtel est près d’ici. 🙂

Finally is this object that my partner bought at a sale at his school decades ago. It was made in one of the arts classes there & reminded him, for some reason, of Lord of The Rings. It is a grotesque & serves as a warning to negative energy to back off. It sits on top of shelf near the TV. 

Love’s Tangled Socks

what’s the word

you know the one

to call a kiss

that feels like walking into 

a dew jewelled spider web

on a sunny day

while looking in the basement 

for that lost sock

 

you know that word

that slip of the tongue

that tip of the tail

wagging excitedly 

yet with a vague damp unease

at the same time

wanting to give in

feeling it’s all too sudden

too sticky in your face

while one hand reaches

to brush the spider web off

the other wants to fondle the spider

 

what is that word

I have to get the right word

for that sensation

also one for that rapidly

elusive need for the right word

I have to tell you all this

in exactly the right tone

if I don’t 

it may never happen again

I may never find that sock

I’ll have to go with one foot bare

on this chilled concrete floor

while other is snug in a sock

trying to balance that tightrope

of grit under one foot

and comfy protection on the other

 

when did I lose that sock

when did I do laundry last 

I have pairs upstairs 

in neat rows in a drawer

but it has to be these socks

the ones you liked

to pull off my feet

you like to undress me

kiss each freshly bared part

trace my outline in your silver silva

draw me into to that web

the bed at the centre

where we would devour each other

without a second thought

 

the other sock has escaped 

I thought I had it trapped

like your tongue

held firmly in my grasp

yet it slips slides

elusive fleshy fragments

of tender mystery

and all I can think about

is the tender shock 

of this cobweb on my face

don’t want it to get in my eyes

it has caressed my lips

a dusty sooty taste

 

one hand darts up to brush it away

but stops when I see 

the spider scuttle away

into the dark

shocked by the size of this catch 

not ready to crawl across my shoulders

the way you do so well

not ready to take the seed

spray it into new shapes 

along my stomach

slithering cool trails

us laughing at the moment

turning over in the bed

looking for our clothes

time for clean socks

the other must be in the laundry

I’ll be right back

only I’m stuck here

caught in a loss for words

looking for a definition

that will wind you

around me forever

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6

May

? Richard III – Stratford Festival

June

July

? All’s Well That Ends Well – Stratford Festival

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Measure Up

Measure Up

I concede 

I’m not that competitive

whether you are the better

isn’t that important to me

I want to be judged

on my merits alone

not on how much 

better or worse I may be

compared with anyone

better is relative

 

who is the winner

the one who comes in first 

or the one who finishes the race

on their own terms

 

I grew up

in a school system

where I learned 

I would never measure up

because I wasn’t smart enough

to memorize the times table

smart enough

to regurgitate passages of text books

when I wrote exams

even when I was right

I was given no credit

because my spelling was so wrong

 

coming out

I learned I would never measure

I was never young enough

buff enough

hung enough

to be desirable enough

in the eyes of those

who I wanted to measure up to

without realizing

I was trying to measure up



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Virility

The Best

‘you will be my third today’

he was proud of his virility

‘I save the best for last’

I wasn’t interested in being his best

‘you have a nice ass’

 

not that I thought he was

anything more than a fun fuck

but to hear of his conquests

wasn’t arousing me

 

we’d met on line

he was a 30 something

whose nickname was blktop4u

blk meaning black

it started with him messaging me

I had glanced at his profile 

even though there was no pic

it laid out the facts honestly

the first time we hooked up

I didn’t expect him to show

but he did

he was as he claimed to be

though his profile 

didn’t say he needed to fuck

three times a day

 

that fact didn’t come out for a year

we’d meet every month or so

I’d hear about his background 

but he was so fearful of identity theft 

we could only make contact

via the dating site

no cell phone

no email

 

sometimes longish text chats

on the site

then he’d show up

as arranged 

until one day he didn’t 

he contacted me two days later

to explain

he’d had a better offer

in a deluxe condo

 

so my interest changed

next time we chatted

he was so keen to play

I declined

I declined another two times

then said sure come on over

but if you’re a no show

it’s a no go ever again

 

I began to discount 

everything he told me

there was no truth

in the shifting life of a man

who wouldn’t even tell me his name

things were okay until he told me

‘you will be my third today

I save the best for last’

 

I declined to be part of his body count

said no

he asked why

I replied

you can’t always get what you want

then blocked him

because he wasn’t the best

A poet friend of mine recently started a little discussion about pieces we’ve written but that we have chosen not to share for various reasons – such as – didn’t want to tigger listeners/readers, too emotionally revealing, too blunt & judgemental. For me this is one that I am tempted to hide away – or put in an envelope ‘to be opened twenty years after my death.’ Hidden because of the the racial content & also because of what it reveals about my sex life.

 

 

It’s also a piece about a backhanded compliment. When ‘he’ said I was the best I’m sure he didn’t realize what he was saying wasn’t heard as a compliment. For the most part this is a factual real life adventure. I’ve omitted a few details that didn’t add enough to the story. The dialogue is verbatim.

 

 

Because of his secrecy I was never interested in letting our interaction become more than physical. As time passed I became more ‘illusive’ as well. It takes more than sex to keep me interested. But he never asked for more than sex, either. never needed transit money etc. 

 

Then he made the mistake of telling me about his sex life. Now, I didn’t think he was a one man man nor did I expect him to be. I’m a realist. I didn’t trust all of what he told me most of the time but when he casually mentioned ‘my third today’ I believed him. I didn’t challenge him, what was the point after all we were merely FB with no strings. My reply is also verbatim. 

 

I have heard from him since – I guess that’s one of the rewards of being ‘the best.’ No thanks.


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