Untitled

-Untitled-

It's a half heart with a penchant for a lie;
And abysmal dream that's savored 'til we die.
A sparkling hope and an excited air,
Disregard for the morally right or fair.
A half hearted mechanism, made without a soul,
Laughing at the inconsistencies as it deals the final blow.
Keep reaching now, keep reaching now,
For that part of you that's true,
Ignoring the black mark,
That park that makes you you.
It's a diseased scorpion, a serpent in the rough,
No one ever said that it was ever smart or tough,
But yet it manipulates the very mind it wields,
Breaking down the barriers, eviscerating shields.
You can't hide in the corners, the still parts of your mind,
It's hard to look the other way when it's yourself you find.
Keep reaching now, keep reaching up,
For the part of you that's good,
Push aside the darkness,
To find the soul you should.

Hit the Road

Hit The Road

Quarters eaten by phone booths,
slot machines, dingy back-woods carnivals.
Strewn about in the passenger seat between-
Receipts for slices of cherry pie, and 15 gallon tanks of gas.

Hands with bitten nails, chipped black polish,
Calloused from gripping the steering wheel;
The reins of an Appaloosa gelding, the sides of old oak bars.
A life-line dissected by secrets.

A back seat rumpled with bohemian dresses,
a faded pair of converse sneakers;
Twice-worn jeans with holes in the knees, pine cones and bits of sage;
A half-smoked pack of Turkish Silvers and a jar of strawberry jam.

Lips bruised by the wind and sun, and the kisses of wayfaring strangers,
Stained by the juices of peaches and cherries, fresh picked and bursting ripe.
Dazed by the humming vibration of a gypsy tune,
And tingling from the touch of cool starlit snow on mountain-tops.

And there's nothing in the way, nothing holding back,
Just open arms and bare feet dancing in the cool grass,
A heart made for shifting gears and tires spinning across the 'great wide open.'
A mind given up to the sun, the moon, the stars and the endless road.

Temptress

Temptress

Jumping off the cliff
With the wind running
Skeletal fingers through tousled hair
The hands of an indelicate imagined lover
Below the darkness giving way
To lapping waves of sea or rock
Encompassing screaming joy
The leap- the fall- the flying freedom
Such a vivid vision it was
The ebb and flow of laughter and tension
Lilies crushed between whispering lips
Keeping the secrets and illusions in
Tempt me darling-Tempt me

(c)CS

Her Lips are Dark

Her lips are dark,
With the stain of the season's
First blackberries,
Plucked from their dew-dropped homes,
By eager, reverent hands.
Her lips are dark,
With the kiss,
Of a dark moon rose,
Trailing over her skin.
Full of promises, a lover in the night
Full of dreams, nestled in satin sheets.
Her lips are dark,
With the whisper of death,
Circling, calling, crying,
Bliss and passion now gone,
Lost to otherworld dreams.

-C-

Zombi-fi-cation

B and I were at home and the phone rang and said something about zombies and we opened the door and there was some small critter there and we had to kill because it was zombie-fied. This went on for a few days, and I distinctly remember there being a zombie praying mantis and a zombie crow.

Then Brandon had to go out of town for a awhile (where or why I don't recall.) and I was outside talking to the neighbors and there was this woman standing under this tree and I realized she was a zombie and I started yelling at everyone, and some cop tried to shoot her, but he was a moron and no matter how many times I said 'shoot her in the fucking head' he could not grasp the concept... so I finally hit her on the head with some large blunt object (pick-axe, maybe?)

Anyway, so everyone decided to go back to their apartments (I know, brilliant) because it was getting dark- and everything is more scary at night, you know. I talked this girl into going back to my apartment with me because she was in training for the military and had a gun.

We got inside and I opened the patio door to make sure there was no one out there, and there wasn't. Then I shut it and realized that I had shut Nima out, so I opened it but I hadn't really shut Nima out- there was a little brown Pug out there. (Hence forth referred to as 'Pugsly.') So I let him in and we were going to see if he turned into a Zombie-Pug (which he never did.) Then I shut the blinds, but they kept blowing about, which was really bugging me because I didn't particularly want to see outside.

We had a gun and I kept forgetting to get it out and put the bullets in. It was severe ADD time in dream-land and that was problematic. The Military chick was in the bathroom and I looked out the peephole and there was a zombie there and then I turned on the patio light and there was this creepy old blond-haired zombie wearing a red flannel robe. Neither of them were trying to get in because they "weren't hungry yet." I considered shooting red flannel robe guy, but was very concerned about breaking the glass on the patio window and didn't want to open the door and give him motivation to move.

Military chick came out of the bathroom, and when I woke up (when Brandon got up for work) we were trying to decide which door she could go out to smoke a cigarette... even though there were Zombies at both.

The Sacred Ceremony

A Calling to the Goddess:

I call you from the depth of my soul. A depth which is purely woman. I call you from my heart which is that of a peasant’s daughter and a princess. That of an untouched virgin, a heart-full mother, and a wise grandmother.

I offer myself to you as a daughter, a sister, and a mother. I offer myself to you as a slave, a priestess, and a harlot.

I am in this moment all that I have been in a million other lifetimes. I am each thing, I am all things.

Blessed Mother, take me now and show me the chosen path, grant me my power. For I am a woman.

He looked down at her as her eyes pierced the midnight sky. Knowing that his role here was minimal. He played the role of a God. One cycle, one circle and he was to return to the earth, each day setting and relinquishing his vibrant power to her. She was the One. Her body convulsed, dew drops sliding down her soft skin, fragranced with jasmine and lily. She was so precious, so beautiful. He was honored to help her on this night, to be a link in her becoming.

Finally, her lips ceased to chant and her eyes moved to his body. Ridged with need and desire, but waiting on the brink to relinquish control. She smiled, her body turning to liquid fire against him.

“Come to me, my lord. Tonight you are the God and I am the Goddess, complete me.”

And so he did.

(C) CS

A bar-a-logue

I hope y'all find this at least a little amusing. It's not as good as it could have been. You see, the first time I wrote it, and went to save it, the computer gave me the blue screen of death and so of course, I lost it. I tried again, and the second time it came out even better, and I liked it, tried to save it... and... BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH! So finally I just wrote it on a regular ol' legal pad... and it's not nearly as good as the first two times. But still- enjoy!
Love;
Cel

I'm running circles in your heart...
Oh wait- that's a different part!
That's such a big surprise;
With your cigarette breath & beer-shot eyes.
How long have you been at this bar?
It's obviously been too long by far.
You look me up and look me down,
I ain't no field and you ain't no plow.
I'm too much woman for you, hon,
And you just don't look like that much fun.
With your thumbs hitched in your too-tight jeans,
Last night's stains show they're none-to-clean.
Think you can "get you some,"
Your shirt all slopped with day-old rum.
Don't try to take me for a ride,
I swear to God you won't survive.
I'm too much woman for a man like you,
You've downed your drink and that's my cue.
I'm out the door into the night,
To find a man who fits me right.
Not some scumbag at a bar,
With a deere on his hat and a beat-up car.
Who can barely manage a 'Hey Baby,'
Much less an 'Are you Free?'
Yeah, I'm a little too much woman for you,
With places to go, and better things to do.
But don't worry, you'll be just fine,
When you're snoring at the bar by a quarter past nine.
P.S. and a Note To Self;
Blind dates really are something else...
(c) CS