SILENCE
The silent night covers over me
There is not light except this screen
I crave the quiet and the peace
That this room often brings me
Writing in the night I find my way
Where I'm going not sure to say
A place with quiet and easy existence
With old quilts and wooden pieces
A life where I can feel at rest
With the world in all it's best
Say hello Joe, Say hello Mary
A woman of nite quite contrary
I wish wore a flowing skirt
Cotton panties and old work shirt
Lots of flowers and a stream
A soft flowing radio
A front porch screen
A woman of nite could hear the crickets
Write her poems
Feed the chickens
Rock on the porch to slow flowing songs
This is a life that could go on
I close my eyes and feel the breeze
Smell the flowers
Feeling free
Would you like to touch my rose petal skin?
I don't ask for much from within
Rocking back and forth I feel you breath
Of course this being a dream I'm already relaxed and wet
Holding your hand and lying my head in your lap
Running your fingers, knowing me like map
Silence...
I can hear this life
Would you like to take me there?
Maybe for a night?
I'd watch the stars and shine so bright
Writing and writing I try as I might
To be this woman of delight
Close your eyes and join me there
Quiet solitude
Cool night air
Remove your clothes
Very slow
Down on your knees
Hold me close
Feel me up
Feel me down
Open the windows and let the wind blow through
Take off my clothes and I will come join you
Quietly take me bed
Hold me close naked and content
posted by The Woman of Nite at 11:13 PM
1 Comments:
Do you type mostly, or tend to hand write some things? You ever notice the difference in tone when practicing the two? It's amazing, and sometimes fairly significant, I feel.
Depends on the mood, I suppose.
Your free spirit is enjoying it's,uh, well, freedom. It had time to think, feel itself out, locate its current state, where it was, where it could go, and all that was once loved, then forgotten, is now possibly new and vibrant again, just with a twist of lemon.
The woman you are meeting the woman you hope to be, and it's all very, very good.
Most likely I'm way off. Please don't think me ignorant, I'm merely interpreting the words. I don't know the whole idea, or the whole of the idea.
Grandmother's are very special, especially when it comes to grandchildren. What you feel, it may be some clinging grief, or fear. Fear is necessary. It along with sadness remind us that we are indeed human. I've never felt a need to let go of someone you love; just understanding that they are not around anymore works for me. Then again, I grew up with people who visited brujos and cullanderos (Spanish forms of warlocks, shamans, witches, and what have you. If you believe in that sort of thing.)They sure do.
And that's all it takes for their magic to work.
I hope you don't mind if I enquire as to your current occupation. I like hearing what people do, and they seem to enjoy talking about it. I like to listen. Rarely am I a talker.
Me, I'm a para-professional (sorry to let you down) for my city's school district. They're paying for me to continue my education, so I agreed to the job. Once I finish, I'm calling it quits, however. I don't enjoy it, really, but it pays the bills, and I know it won't last forever. I miss being in business, and that's where I want to apply my degree, though I want be a writer. Any kind.
The knowledge of law and medical research comes from independent learning. If I want to know about something, I'll learn about it; as much as I can. I've gone to great lengths, even setting up interviews with professionals just so I can pick their brain. As I said, people love talking about what they do.
I would have moved away years ago, but my grandfather is very ill. I don't think he'll live through year's end. I could be wrong, though. He's a tough cookie. He survived Pearl Harbor, and an existence without a proper education, managing to put six children through college. I'll write about him some day. I love that man with everything that is me. He still claims my grandmother is trying to kill him.
How I look: In my own eyes, ghastly. I used to avoid mirrors at all costs, until I became serious about bodybuilding, but I still avoid the face. I figure there's bigfoot, a shaved ape, and I'm right after that, though the shaved ape has a better chance in a singles bar than I do.
Truthfully, I'm not the ugliest guy,and I'm not the handsomest, but at least I know what's going on in the world.
I will say I'm in the best shape of my life, and I'd have to be. My mom's side suffers from diabetes and heart disease, my dad's side is plagued by, oh yeah, diabetes and heart disease.
I figure I'll wind up with some form of cancer down the line.
I'm roughly 6 feet. I've received compliments on my shoulders, legs, arms, and calves, but I think they're too small and could use more detail.
A few years ago I had brown hair, but then I shaved it, and it returned black. I love it.
I wear glasses. No time for contacts, and I can wait for lasic surgery, but I like the glasses. My eyes are small, and I feel glasses and ponytails give people something to look forward to when seeing someone in a different light when they are without either one.
I still feel like a kid. I quit alcohol, and haven't smoked since I was 12. I'm no saint, but I'm no monster. I'm a housecat, really. I love to do extensive travelling, but stay home whenever the road needs a break from telling me stories.
I miss pillow talk (crud, you've got me rambling).
Would you be so kind as to enlighten me on your ideas of yourself.
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