my book

This is a link to my book.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=this+is+where+you+belong

the little bird

The little bird has returned to the nest. She is so frail and tired. I can see her tiny heart and it appears as though it will burst through her chest. Some days she flies so high and I am so proud. Flitting about from flower to tree, testing her wings on the air currents. On those days, in my soul, I think my heart will burst through my chest. She fills me with such pride and I say to myself, "There's my little bird. All of those worms and bugs I brought to her have made her strong. The flying lessons we did together have made her strong. She flies with the best of them."

Sometimes the best of them are not at their best; they tease her and pick at her so she falls. Her wings falter and she comes crashing down into the nest for comfort and solace. She looks so fragile despite her adult body lying there with little tears welling up in her eyes. I do what I can, say what I believe, hoping it will revitalize her so she will fly again. Slowly she collects herself. I brush off her wings and we both get ready for her to go again. A part of me hopes that I won't have to do it again but my mind knows that we will repeat this ritual again and again. Some birds can leave and never return others stay close and a community is sprouted from the original egg, a community of birds that stick together, a network of birds that never leave one behind alone.

My little bird needs to be close and I love her. I love her for her strength and her weakness equally. It is her weakness that keeps her going, her desire to fly above the Mocking Birds and the Vultures. Where they are ugly she is beautiful, a tiny, delicate Humming bird in a world of boring Sparrows and vicious Blue Jays. She continues to fly her own path, tuning out the roar of the others. When the roar is too loud she stumbles. Wobbling she will return to the nest to fluff her feathers and receive encouragement.

Some nests are abandon after the first year but this nest is continually reworked and made larger for all the fledglings.

creation

From my current perspective I can feel a sense of relief. While some struggle to recover, still, after years and years I no longer struggle. I am grateful for your love. I am happy that we could share a part of our lives together. I learned so much about myself. I learned about my dark parts too. The couple is a mixture of two worlds, sometimes colliding and thrashing about. It isn't always smooth and comfortable. The illusion of 'happily ever after' is so rare. That does not mean it was bad.

Couples are the sculpture they create. We can judge from the outside other couples creations. "I would have made it this way." or "I would have added a little of that." But they are not our sculptures. That couple created what they did from within themselves. They dragged a little from childhood, a little from teen years, some from a job, parts from books, items from friendships, nonsense from the world outside, added a lot of heart and blended. Yet, the project is never finished. Until one leaves.

You left. You didn't want to, but the cosmos called you to their collective so our sculpture was finalized. When I look at our creation I see smooth, round curves and spikes and colors melting and I see limbs reaching for the sky. It is not bad art or great art it is OUR art to be appreciated by us and those who know us best. I can now look at our carving and see the beauty in our design, sometimes it was haphazard sometimes it was artfully crafted. It is done.

So now I am holding it reverently in my mind, turning it over, admiring and wishing I could have some a little different but it is not to be refashioned. It exists for all eternity as we created it together.

And it is pleasant.

temporary madness

“Love is a temporary madness; it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of eternal passion. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.” ~Louis de Bernieres

This is a painting by Jean Baptiste Huet, entitled Lovers in a Landscape. I love how happy and healthy they look. Their cheeks are rosy and they seem happy in their idyllic setting. I think most of us envision ourselves like this; which is why I prefer the images in my mind and have never photographed myself in the passion of lovemaking. The image I have in my head is so much more beautiful.

old man

There are many people in the room, talking, laughing, walking about, sitting together, the usual meeting of people that attend events like weddings, graduations, all other manor of human gatherings. I am just an old man sitting on a chair watching the crowd mingle. I used to be that crowd. I was the one with the funny jokes. That was me asking all the pretty girls to dance. The drinks and food were offered by me. Now, I am content to sit and watch. Let them have their fun.

Fun is different for me now, I enjoy life from an alternative perspective. I am not waiting for death I am simply slowing down and enjoying the show that was my life and the new ones evolving around me. There is that 3 year old boy giving his mother trouble. Oh, she is so mad but I am laughing inside because I know that it will be temporary, soon she will be tucking him into bed, kissing him on his tiny, soft cheek and thinking he is the most wonderful child that has ever lived and isn't she a lucky woman.

Also, I have been looking at that middle aged woman over there who keeps adjusting her hair, her lipstick, checking to make sure she is still the beautiful woman she used to be. Of course she is. To me, all women are beautiful. I love to look at them and talk to them. Still. Here is my nephew's girlfriend looking for a place to sit. I signal to her that a place is empty next to me. And she walks across the room to join me. So graceful, yet so timid. A small doe carefully choosing her path amongst the swilling wine glasses, children running, people mingling.

As she sits I smell her flowery scent. I feel the light wisp as she tosses her back. She smiles at me and tells me how tired her feet are. Now, if I were young I might offer to get up and get her a drink but that isn't my job anymore. It is my job to sit and listen and look. She is telling me of the fun she is having at the party, how happy she is that her boyfriend brought her to meet his family. I warn her that the family has been known to be crazy but she laughs. I wag my finger at her teasingly, saying that she has been warned. I see her lovely lips encircle her pearly teeth as she smiles at me. She asks me to tell her about my nephew, what he was like when he was a boy. I could tell her that he was a mischievous brat but I lie and tell her that he was a wonderful boy. Well, it's true. He still is a wonderful boy, all those incidents were just playful learning experiences.

The sound of her sweet voice I will roll around in my mind tonight when I fall asleep before I revisit my nightly fantasy of my wife. She has been gone for 5 years but every night I think of her just as if she were still falling asleep beside me. I even have a pillow there beside me so that I can pretend she is there. Soon I will see her again. Very soon I think. It is almost time. I am not afraid. It is the way of things.

But for now, I am enjoying this sprite of a young woman who has no idea what life has in store for her. Tonight, I enjoy the sound of a woman's voice on my ear. Breathing in her scent, gazing at her pretty face, noting that strand of hair that rebels continuously against her repeated attempts to put it back. I take her soft, delicate hand in between mine and hold it gently. Tapping it lightly, I hold it. I don't want to frighten the little doe. I do not have lecherous thoughts. I do this to stir my own memories. I hold her hand and think of another.

Once there was a young man who loved a fairy like this. To her it such a long, long time ago but to me it was just yesterday. In my mind I am twirling around the dance floor with her. That is what I have now, memories. Lots and lots of memories. No, no, don't feel sorry for me. I am not sad. I had my times and adventures. I have no regrets. This insignificant encounter with my nephew's lady is a gift to an old man. It recaptures my memories, rewinding the movie of life so that now I only have to watch the good parts.

I so enjoy being around people, especially women. It takes all the women in the world to recapture the one I will see again soon.

what you say

Words. Your words, they affect me. They roll around in my head for days, and months. Each time I bring them forward in my mind and relive them. Sometimes they affect a private smile and no one knows why. I sit in a bored, crowded room with silent people as we pass time waiting for something, some appointment, some service and I smile. The mundane event is now a repeat of the place and time you first spoke your words to me.

Some words tickle me on the inside and I blush. Other words caress my inner ear. Often I feel them rolling around my belly. Sometimes they even tingle. I love what you say. I love you.

all it's ever been

No one else came before you, it has always been you. In the depths of my being I feel you. Permeating my mind, my body, you are everywhere. And have been in all ways. My life has been re-imagined and it is your face that fills my memories, your voice that resonates in my thoughts and dreams as though it has forever been thus. Time before has blended with the time that is now.

You replace all that was, the past is dimly lit with other recollections, replaced with your glowing love. I am more foolish now in this middle age, laughing at myself freely. Throwing away the ridiculous restraints of youth I can embrace everything with abandon. I embrace you with my youthful heart. I drop inhibitions like a robe around my feet and emerge in wholeness and abandon, just you and me exist, have always existed.

What I thought was love before was not, it was the apprenticeship.

paintings

I love to read love stories. I love to dream of love stories. I love to write about love. I can do all of these things myself but, I cannot draw about love. I leave that to people who are talented. A website that I enjoy is:

The collection includes so many beautiful paintings and drawings. I thought I would share it.

http://www.bonzasheila.com/welcome.html

Insomnia

Ah, she arrives, Insomnia. She is here again, knowing that I desire sleep but she has her own agenda and my yearning for the warm blanket of sleep means nothing to her. I lay in my bed, listening to the tranquil sounds of the sleeping breaths of others. The dog at my feet has her tiny little breathes, my love has his deeply satisfying, lung filling breathes. Through the slit in the window the trees are sighing their nightly rustle and in she glides. Insomnia has arrived and begins flitting around my mind. She tickles a thought here and touches a memory there. Winging here and there she taps ideas, musings, hopes, speculations, feelings, notions, and ideas. She likes the activity. She wants all of them to be awake together, running together, holding hands and skipping through my mind. She shakes her finger at Sleep, "Go away." she says.

I think that if I lay still and breathe deeply I can chase her away. I try to emulate my love's gentle breaths, in...and...out, in...and...out. Stealthily I paint a picture in my head of waves lapping a beach, of leaves rustling in their branches while I whisper to Sleep, "come back, come back". Insomnia catches me, winks at me and says, "No, I have been waiting all day to play!" Sleep slinks away. Coward.

We used to be mortal enemies. Once I cringed at her entrance, I fought her. Food, drink, TV, books, music were thrown at her. Wanting to crush her I even tried to drown her with alcohol. For such a tiny thing she was much more powerful. 2 AM came and I resented her. 4:30 AM would arrived and I wanted to smash her. Throughout the day I would resent her and vow that I would conquer her, somehow she was going to leave. I would throw her off the cliff of my mind. She is mighty. I learned to succumb. Now I humor her.

As my household drifts into the wondrous world of sleep I am left alone in the gray night, the lone wakeful one surrounded by slumber. The wind blows in my psyche and she arrives bringing her whirlwind. Thoughts are tossed about like a child going through a toy box. They scramble together. A memory from fourth grade meets an idea from yesterday. Remembrances of a long ago past dance with visions of today. Insomnia skips in and out, joining one with another. I store these joinings. There is now a notebook in my head and then after I finally sleep and wake again another day I take them and create. No longer my nemesis, she is now my muse.

two hurts

When you hurt, my heart flutters in companion with yours. The anguish you feel is in my belly too. Your agony courses through me in tandem with yours. Your tears meld with mine. With you I gasp for air trying to push this ache away. Turning my head away in disbelief, shaking. I am with you in that pit, clawing, scraping to get out of the wretchedness. We are tied, you and I, bonded from the beginning of your life. Wherever you are, my arms stretch to catch you up and pull you close, shelter you from the harm that is being thrust upon you. I am in that abyss with you where colors have faded, smells are gone, worldly noises are static and meaningless. Black and grey swirls around us in this Mordor of heartache. I know. I feel. You are not plodding on this rocky path alone.

But I want to harm them. I want to come crashing at them, growling, snarling with murderous intent. Those that dare to hurt the ones I love risk much. My nature is protection for you at my own peril. From that bear state I want to cradle you in fairy arms and lift you to my nest, sooth you before you go back to life. You will go back and you will persist. I am the cocoon from which you emerge to one day replace me for your own creation.

trepidation

Awake again, in the middle of the night, the world is sleeping, you are sleeping. You are breathing so smoothly, quietly... I am thinking of you. I want to touch you and caress your skin. Maybe glide my hand on your arm. I would like to play with your hair, nuzzle in the flesh across your back, slide my feet along your legs but you are sleeping. Waking you seems so taboo, sleep is so precious. Many nights I lay next to you in our bed and dream of you while you are in the sweet world of dreams. Last night I invaded your dreams and touched you softly until you stirred. Like a fern unfurling I awoke you and felt you respond gratefully. So many more nights I desire you but hold back with trepidation, dare I awake my sleeping prince? Will he tire of my nightly desires?

comfort/insomnia

There is no solitude quite like 1:47 am or 2:43 am. We are certainly alone at this time. Comforting voices are asleep in other rooms, other beds, in other places. Images, ideas and thoughts play and replay around in our heads to be shared with no one but ourselves. Floor boards creak, wind rustles leaves, clocks tick, partners and children breath in and out, sleeping the sleep that we crave. Rewind, play back, the thoughts merry-go-round in my mind, over and over. They will seem light in the morning but now they are vivid and heavy, demanding to acknowledged over and over. A commercial that annoyingly repeats itself, yes, I heard you you.

So I touch your skin. I lightly brush your arm. I nuzzle my face in your back. I lightly kiss your shoulder. Some comfort is there for me. Maybe if I lay closer to you your blanket of sleep will cover me too and then we can be in dream world together. Insomnia no longer imprisons me the way it once did because I have you. Even in the silence of the night you give me comfort. HA! Take that, Insomnia. I have a defense against you! My lover brings me peace in this abyss you create. It is dark, quiet but no longer lonely because of him. His body laying next to me here in your sleep deprived cave keeps me warm. I gather strength from the contentedly sleeping man next to me. Even in his soundless state he supports me and you don't drain me anymore.

still holding you

Now you are larger than me but I still hold you in my arms. I still see your tiny face and remember your tiny fingers. You may even have your own tiny one, yet I still your eyes staring back at me from the security of my arms. I still remember the sweaty scent from a little head resting on my shoulder. There are your eyes looking up at me and me looking at you adoringly. No man feel this and I am sad for them. This is only ours.

young

On a tangled mess the morning light peaks through the blinds. Does it see the image I have in my head? The one of us surrounded by crumpled sheets and blankets falling to the floor? The vision in my head is, me, lying in what you call 'the after glow', blissfully and unabashedly naked. I see a young man laying next to me without the lines and scars of a full life on his body and I hope he sees a young woman in love, not the one with body gently ravaged by life, the imperfect one I see in the mirror after I shower. I haven't been here before in this place of abandon. I don't need to pull the covers up over me. Every muscle is relaxed, even the ones that are tense the rest of the day, my blood is quietly flowing through me, a little fairy telling every cell to rest now, warmth blows gently over my skin. I have indulged myself again in you. The smell of you, the sight of you, the taste of you, the sound of you.

your hands

Sometimes, when you don't know it I am looking at you. I am gazing at your finger tips. I am remembering where they have been, how they touched me, I think of my secret places they have known. I look at your legs exposed from the bottom of your shorts while you are driving and I call to mind when they were entwined with mine. When I see your nose I think of it at the back of my neck. I glance at you as you walk across a room and relive you taking me into your arms. I shiver when you are talking to me of common things because your voice reminds me of whispered things. Lover's whispers in my ear that no one else has heard. The sight of your mustache gives me ghostly tickles when I turn to see you while we watch a movie, reminiscing the light brush it gave me just hours before. Sometimes I quiver quietly to myself when I see your arm exposed in the sun. How many times has that arm brought me to you to be caressed and kissed by you? I steal glances of you when you are cooking for me and I see your hands, your amazing, wonderfully strong hands that easily take my chin and bring my lips to your mouth with tenderness.

You think I am simply sitting beside you watching TV or across from you eating a meal but there is more...... I am experiencing you again and again. Lovemaking never ends for me it continues long after we have left our bed.

laughing

It isn't all you think it is, sometimes it comes down to laughter, just simple laughter, straight from the gut. Sure kissing is nice and hugging and holding hands, all that normal romantic stuff but sometimes laughter is the best love potion there is. If I can make you laugh from your belly I feel wizardly. My powerless little being has become a giant and I can release what is inside of you. Hearing your laughter roll through my ears and go down in my heart creates a joy inside of me. Another facet of love is uncovered. Laying quietly as we fall asleep you begin to chuckle and remind me of how I made you laugh, I smile because I know that I have secured my place in your mind. Years from now you will think of it again and I will be the one who made you laugh and you will remember how I brought happiness to you.

Really, sex and laughter do go very well together, and I wondered- and still do- which is more important. Hermione Gingold

chameleon

It isn't me, it's really you, you are responsible for what you see. Being with you transforms me into the woman you see. Your touch softens my skin. Your eyes see me beautiful. I come alive when you are near, no longer gray I become rosy with life and love. Like a chameleon I blend in with my surroundings, you surround me with the colors of love.

cloak

I wear the beautiful cape of red velvet, lined with silk in shades of nature that you gifted me. Securely it en-robes me, I walk through the streets with it on and people can see it only through my smiles. It has the lightness of a breeze. When I move it glides with me lightly touching my skin and my heart. Wrapped my in cloak I approached you but in that dark room it was merely gray and you could not see me. You said you could smell my scent as I got closer. As a cat waits for a mouse or a blossom waits for the morning sun you laid patiently. I relied on touch and scent to find you. I stood above you feeling your heart call to mine, faintly it whispered to me and I heard its calling. With one deft sweep of my arm I enclosed us both with my cloak, your gift. Soon we were enveloped together. I saw you with my finger tips, I felt you with my ears, I heard you with my nostrils. The absence of light shut my eyes and opened my mind to parts of you I had not felt before.

If I woke up next to you

I'm going to a new place in my mind and I am trying to sort it out...

After the evening is spent in playing and exploring the morning comes floating into my dreams. I do not open my eyes and I lay quietly within myself. I am laying naked next to my  lover and once I open my eyes everything that had been a dream will be real. Do I want the dream to end and reality to begin? Keeping my eyes shut I allow my mind to relive once more before the day begins. You are still sleeping and I am torn, let you continue your dreams or wake you up and make more.

Rolling on my side I open my eyes to your body and caress it with my eyes. The white flesh gently rising with your breath. I reach my fingers out and softly stroke your skin, beautiful, light, soft. Your stirring cause tingling my body. Opening your eyes I see you smile at me. Reality will be as beautiful as the night.