I was once a little twig with dreams of being a mighty tree
So people would come from all around just to look at me
As the years started to come and go I fell in love with the wind
I would open myself big and wide swaying to the music of my friend
My rings became many and my bark was as red as red could be
Then the day finally came I was the tallest of the tallest trees
I stood tall and I stood proud and everyone knew my name
As my rings continued recording my destiny to fame
Then the fateful day it came my friend and I had a fight
Looking back I can't recall who was wrong or right
I said, "You are but the wind something people can't even see"
" And I'm the king of them all the tallest of the tallest trees"
That night the wind started to howl she really started to blow
And I the tallest of all the trees learned we reap what we sow
My roots struggled to hold on tight but without a soul around
She who had been my dearest friend knocked me to the ground
The loggers came and cut me up then shipped me away
To my soul that truly was a sad and lonely day
Torn from all I knew and loved wishing I didn't have to feel
I was cut into boards and post down at the local mill
Now I'm back here at home just a few feet away
From where my friend the wind and I used to dance and play
I'm the deck on which you stand I lay below your feet
There is a bench made of me would you care to have a seat
Sometimes in life our roles change just take a look at me
The trick is no matter who are what you are be all you can be
See I was once a little twig who became a mighty tree
And now I'm a redwood deck as proud as proud can be
And of my friend the wind she visits me everyday
So I can thank her once again for helping me find my way
Copyright © Michael Jordan
I smell the scent in the water
As it pushes through my gills
My desire to return
beckons me to the place of my birth
For me the desire consumes me
I struggle against the current
Imagining my place of rest
I desire to place my children
safely on a bed of stones
Sweet water to welcome me home
I know this to be a perilous Journey
I may travel over a hundred miles
Grizzly bears and Eagles block my path
They are to be my test
Yet I am strong
I have swam the oceans
I have known predators greater than these
They will not impede my path
Flying upward in the air
I glimpse the night moon
reaching towards my horizon
water splashes as I make my way higher
yes, almost home
I push beyond my limits
My sisters and I
we turn the river red
imagination spawns reality
I release seven times
Now, completely exhausted
I can finally rest
I have waited
To come home.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux
I met her in a pawn shop on a warm summer night
When running from the rubble of my shattered life
To sell a broken dream that would never come true
An engagement ring to pay for the rent that was due
There she lay sleeping in a battered rosewood bed
Heart strings breaking in a rusty sea of velvet red
So hauntingly beautiful, she took my breath away
Violin - an old reject who would change my life that day
So I bought Violin and lived out on the street
And played Rhapsody in Blue as coins fell at my feet
And soon we had a little flat high above the Bay
And every day, I got better with every note I played
Today I am a maestro playing Carnegie Hall
My name in lights blinking on a Marquee Wall
For it was I who saw myself in Violin
A tarnished soul and the beauty buried there within
Author: Elaine George
Copyright © Elaine George
Blooming before us, like dandelions sprouting in the spring.
Rising above and beyond, invisible during the day,
Guardians at night.
Dangling up high as if it were puppets.
So close, mountains could give a kiss away.
The Stars dance and wiggle, as if putting on a play.
Clouds form a dark, grey, thunderstorm,
Clapping and roaring vividly, like an applause.
The wind glides along in appraise.
The moon shivers and squirms, it smiles upon the stars.
A shooting star evolves,
Leaving a trail of the dreams that sparkle in the dust.
Feeling pure joy, the
Moon erupts into a wall of tears.
Water breaks the bond of the dreams attached to the star,
It slowly sinks down into the homes, in the rooms,
Into the minds, of the beholder.
It has now lost its dreams.
The sun is rising, and the star at once must become invisible,
It now must start over and watch from above like a hawk.
It now must watch the lives of everyday people,
And become one with the beholder.
It now must take dreams and guard them with its life.
It now must take on its duty as a Dream-Catcher.
Copyright © Angel classified
What is it to hear a poem?
I struggle to listen when such words cut open
my head and try to make a nest out of my brain.
I DO NOT WISH TO HEAR A POEM!
My body jolts under these straps of limitation,
tightened by my ability to hear.
Why must one be limited to hear a poem?
I cast out stones towards those who care to listen.
Why don’t we be the poem?
Climb inside the mouth of a poem and
understand it’s true voice.
Be the pen kicking fiercely at the paper,
leaving behind marks of genius and creativity.
Rip open the heart of a poem and suck its
Feel a poem.
Be a poem.
Live a poem.
See words rise from the paper,
as they dance between the strings
of your heart.
Grab a hand of the message and twirl
it around your mind and smother its
meaning with praise.
Curl up inside the dot of an ‘i’.
Slide across an ‘l’ and mold it into a ‘t’.
Travel across an empty plain were stubborn
Attack black and white ideas with shades
of blue and green.
Drive a sword through their hearts and leave
them dead to what is known.
Fight a poem.
Hurt a poem.
Heal a poem.
Turn the waste of sound into
vibrant waves of belief and inspiration.
Let yourself be swept away by
imagination and surrealism.
Find your soul inside of a poem and
claim it as your own.
Bring down the fortress of structure and
make its remains into martyrs of lost cause.
Open the doors of a poem and remodel
NO! I do not want to hear a poem!
It sends pain through my soul to see the
voice of a poem silenced by the ignorant
dangers of sound.
Help yourself and plug your ears.
Visualize the words through serene images of
beauty cultured by unmatchable craft.
See a poem.
Grab a poem.
Know a poem.
Be influenced by a poem.
Learn a poem and all of its meanings.
Threaten a poem.
Scare a poem.
Stab a poem.
Teach it how to live amongst a world of vultures,
hungry for mistakes and misinterpretations.
Guide a poem into a building filled
with a million little fingers.
Like a poem.
Be touched by a poem.
Love a poem.
Show the world your insides.
Show them the words to your poem.
Copyright © Nicholas Hazelwood
As I seize from greener pasture
Forgive me for taking away nature
lives have always been in vain
stopping them from breathing with pain
I toil never to hold my gun
with tears full of fun
The sleepless night became difficult
Because hunting was my cult
I regret taking away this joy of hunting
But not jolliness of killing
remembering the beautiful butterfly
and the choral singing of birds pass by
I never forget about the forest
even when I went to rest.
Copyright © Amin Tres
I lay within a drawer so long
Loneliness was my heart's song
My diamonds never saw the light of day
Since granma's death,I'd been that way
Her grandson went a'courting strong
Maybe my exile now,will not last long
He brought home his bride-to-be
Glowing with pride,for his parents ,to see
He slipped me on her left hand,
They planned a wedding,oh so grand
That special day soon came around
A gold band nearby, I suddenly found
For many years we would not part
Such friendship heals the lonely heart
A day then arrived,of which I live in dread
Returned to a drawer,by a bed.
Copyright © Brian Strand
With a kiss of deadly breath
She finally brings her down
All her flames of crimson amber
Frozen on the ground
Snow white winter
Dead at last
Stares in silence
By the beauty
In the glass
Copyright © Elaine George
Mesmerizing flutters and flourishes
gracefully blow on the wind
drifting, creeping and crawling up and down my back door
I see you hit the pane
slide a little to the left and kiss another
slipping together as your mass melds - swaying as one
As if on dancing on ice
Together you perform
As the crowd thickens
or winds abate
Tired from your escapade together you settle
On the purest white bed
Where tomorrows warmth will warm your juices
Melting you and allowing you to slip away
almost unnoticed you make your exit
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty
Her pregnant brain shattered on concrete styles
I taught her how to give birth
For decades her brain had no experience
She spoke in giggles
Baby thoughts crawling away from her sheltered smiles
Voices speaking entrances and exits
Her tears were diluted with words
Coloured to give light to unborn emotions
She was too young to mother her intelligence
With stitches around the scent of her dreams
She had no clue how to give birth
Eyes were safeguarded in gloves for any greasy guidance
Sharp blades were spared for surgical opinions
She jumped into conclusions
Everyone saw what’s between her pen and paper
Her abdomen grew thorns
She lost all her baby poems for she birth only homemade babies
Her pregnancy was a secret
Now she mothers the nation
I taught her how to give birth
She speaks to them in rapid poems
She mothers the nation in pages
Copyright © Raymond Ngomane
She rides into town with a storm as her steed
With clicking ice spurs, and rattling reins
With somber delivery and the bleak look of gloom
Bursting with pride as an old year must end
She shoves her way into the house, out of spite
A gloomy gray cloud, who brings her own blight
Leaving a trail of mistletoe dust
Building a nest out of leftover crumbs
Flapping her wings and spinning her looms
Strutting her youth at the stroke of midnight
She stalks on wet feet, with some snow on her boots
She shouts out the news that some taxes are due
No care in the world she makes us feel blue!
Her windows are dark, and her doorway is bare
She holds a firm grip, till the end of her stay
Yet, slowly and surely, against her advice
Intrudes the domain, as she watches creeks rise
Then comes the sun, of a warm winter's day
It thaws her cold grip, with frowns of surprise
With remorse, she announces... it's time for goodbye!
Copyright © Carrie Richards
She is the talk of the town, every season that passes
You'll see her around,.... Miss Sassy Pistashe
Who flaunts her good looks, preening over the sage
When she makes her grand entrance, she’s the rage of the stage!
She peeks around summer, brilliant feathers, so brash
She is queen of the, autumn, with a flaming red sash
She’s never discreet, but is daring and chic’
She steals all the limelight, upon every hill
She upstages poor Willow, who seems rather ill
And outshines Miss Maple, …outshines Miss Ash
With colors of fire, and come hither tease
Her limbs tempt onlookers, with each crimson leaf
She dashes and flashes, and wiggles her twigs
She loves to show off, with her bright scarlet wig
Never humble, she’s bold, she puts on a show
Even Miss Sunset, has felt rather low
She has a right to be rash….Miss Sassy Pistashe’
At the first sign of chill, she will toss feathered leaves
She will even bare limbs…and dance in the breeze
Late in the season, she changes her tune
Bends all her branches, and makes valleys swoon
But she doesn't catch cold, ...she thrives by the moon
She she has thrown off her clothes, each leaf she has grown
Gone with the wind, like that Scarlet, we've known
Stealing the limelight, with no modesty,…then…
She will come back next autumn......begging attention again!!
Personifcation of Pistashe' 3/21/11
For Judy Kono's "Puttin On The Ritz"
Copyright © Carrie Richards
I am the maestro
Of land sky and sea
Of many sounds
That I have found
Like the BOOM
Of the ocean
When I lift her up
Then throw her down
When I roll her
To crash upon the cliffs
Along the shore
Or the tinkling
Of her shattered pieces
Into the tide
As I fly - Fly - Fly -
Of a North Carolinian sky
The burning sand
As I tickle
Through the cities
And the towns
And banging doors
Before I leave
Turning every leaf
On every tree
As I fly- fly- fly-
Higher and higher
The heavy black clouds
To make them cry
They crack the sky
Bolts of lighting
Pelting drops of rain
As I fly- fly - fly -
Through the night
Into another day
Copyright © Elaine George
The first thing that I recall knowing
As a sturdy and young olive tree
Extremely well rooted and growing
Was the sweltering sunlight on me
For two centuries I took deep root
To prepare for my ultimate fate
So when I could no longer bear fruit
There was then but a decade to wait
I was cut—left to dry for ten years
So that seasoned I’d perfectly be
For what the carpenter engineers
For admirers my beauty to see
Finally, the time came to carve me
Into the stout piece that would bear
The One who came down from His glory
I’d become a rough-hewn olive chair
Into the great city I traveled
The same city once fated for doom
Through alleys, then up a steep stairway
I was put in a small upper room
Beside the simple wooden table
I was placed in center position
Where the King who was born in a stable
Sat prepared to accomplish His mission
He prayed and broke bread with His brothers
As a symbol of what He would do
He blessed it then passed to the others
As His body; ’twas "broken for you"
Then to signify His precious blood
The red wine from the cup He did sip
So that it could cleanse as a flood
As from nail wounds it later would drip
To this day, I still can remember
How it felt when Christ Jesus did rest
I sensed that His love was so tender
Even when He was put to the test
He said, “Father, Father, forgive them”
As He faced His long prophesied death
The love for all things He had poured out
As He uttered His very last breath
Today, the risen Lord I remember
Whose story has long since been told
As I sit in the same dusty chamber
And recall that Last Supper of old
* Placed 1st in Deborah Guzzi's contest, "The Chairs Tale"
Copyright © Donna Golden
Have you ever seen a catterfairy?
Many found her to be quite scary,
She came out of her cocoon others said to soon
And only part of her had seemed to bloom.
Her green body dragged on the cold wet ground
Yet her face was like an angel and her wings were profound.
She had passed many animals, insects and fish
Though she was rejected by them all...she still held on to one special wish.
That someday she would gracefully fly
Far past all their critical eyes.
Show the world who she was inside
Never again feel the need to isolate and hide.
One day a mouse with two pointy green tails
Scuttled by her sobbing with a horrendous wail.
The catterfairy filled with compassion asked him what was wrong
The mouse pointed to his two tails and said “I’m not special or strong”
No one paid him any mind too
For his difference made others constantly ridicule.
The catterfairy said, "My dream is to fly"
"I am different too and can’t understand why"
At that moment they became the best of friends,
Their uniqueness became a treasure that helped them make amends
With whom they really were
Instantly feelings of loneliness became a blur.
The mouse one day had a marvelous idea
It would help his dear friend overcome a deep fear.
If he held up the catterfairys body while she attempted to fly
It would make her light enough so she could soar through the sky
Then, they both would graciously shine
Linked together till the end of time.
At once the mouse lifted the beautiful catterfairy's body high,
Holding on intensely, she got her wish and they both kissed the cold ground goodbye.
The catterfairy has human emotions and shows us how hard it can be when your different in our society. people judge others so often by how they look or if they have a disability. we all need love and friends and we have too look deeper than the outside. Someone will always come and lift that person up who feels rejected or different. Thank God we are all different. how boring this earth would be if we were all the same. Never try to be like anyone else for there is only one YOU and you are needed.
By: Sabina Nicole
Copyright © Sabina Nicole
Weeping willow tell me,
Why is it that you cry?
For is it that no ears can hear,
The stories that you sigh?
Weeping willow tell me,
Why do your hang your head?
What is it that your thinking,
That makes you bow with dread?
Weeping willow tell me,
What's in store for thee?
Can you see the future?
What is it that you see?
Weeping willow tell me,
What is it that you cry?
If only I could hear you,
Please don't think I pry.
Weeping willow tell me,
What are the words you say?
I only seek the answers from beneath the branches I lay.
Copyright © christie mills
Running your fingers
over my delicately tuned form.
Blind. - You know which keys to press.
To enhance sweet music from me.
Happily and playfully,
my white notes singing love.
The darker side brings juxtaposed
moods and sadness,
pedalling drama and bitterness.
You know just how to play me.
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty
The wild blackberry villain
Fell in love with my sweet rose.
I found them in the garden
All entangled in love's throes.
I took a hoe and hit him hard
With all the strength I had.
How could my hybrid beauty be
Seduced by such a cad?
I only meant to whack him down,
The sun got in my eyes.
My darling little blossom met
An early sad demise.
Now my rose lies motionless,
Betrayed by her wanton way,
Deserted by her false lover
Who led her far astray.
I know that coward's hiding
Beneath the sheltering ground,
Hiding, plotting, planning, scheming
Another to take down.
Dear one turn away that fraud,
Don't believe his selfish boast.
He will take you to his level and
Then thrive on your compost.
It is true that we are known
By the company we keep.
Consorting with a villain
Brings a price that's mighty steep.
For "Old Contest Entry" contest.
I entered this in Syed Amaan Ahmad free contest.
Any form any theme. I got only an h
but I thought it one of my best poems. So I'll try again.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson
Just outside the window
a row of coned shaped trees bend their foolish heads
for her attention
She can have her way with them....
yet, with such a wily nature, she passes over them,
and softly treads a path through the garden gate
Her steps are light as dew, as she hesitates to wake a slumbering rose
and timidly brushes past a trellis of sleeping morning glories..
Instead, she slowly slithers through his open window while he sleeps
the angle of her glance makes his closed eyes flutter...
and he smiles....
Her appearance casts shadows on the wall, as she stares across the room at him
She tarries for a moment,
A reflected image on the mirror spreads her silken white cloth...
He feels her move over him
He is kissed by this welcome intruder, hypnotized by her charm, her cool breath
Dazzled by this embrace, he tosses the quilt, in restless dream..
She caresses so softly, filling his heart, and making him sigh...
with her gentle touch upon his face
He basks in her love, and lies in sweet gratitude in his sleepy state
enraptured with sweet contentment
Soaking up and drunk with the radiance of her shine
Outside, eucalyptus branches are jealous
Impatient and longing to feel such affection...
Their branches clammor on the glass, hoping to break her spell...
angry clouds intrude to steal away the moment...
She runs and hides!
No longer does he feel the kiss, the sweet lunar touch, her seductive breath...
Coolness, and disappointment envelopes him as darkness returns again...
Her golden touch is gone, and he is once again alone in the shadow of the dark
He must pull his blanket up, and dream of other lovers....
Copyright © Carrie Richards
The thing that's so amazing about the poet's eye is when he looks up he does
not merely see the sky.
He sees the family of birds singing in the tree and the clouds so white against
the sky as the sun smiles upon his face to make the world feel free.
The thing that's so amazing about the poet's heart is when it comes to it's
emotions there's no limit, no ending, no start.
He feels things with courage and bravery, not letting it be shaped into the usual
mold and trapped into slavery.
The thing that's so amazing about the poet's mind is that, like every other poet,
it's one of a kind.
It wonders around and has to look behind every corner and under every object to
see what it might find.
The thing that's so amazing about the poet's fingers that hold the pen is that his
eyes, heart, and mind are in another land when his fingers are writing in the den.
The thing that's so amazing about the poet is well, that he's a poet.
Copyright © Misty Hoot
The swan in the cemetery looked so out of place
in such a depressing location to see such a symbol of grace
a mystical message engraved on a level of hidden depth
a breath of fresh life, hidden amongst the death.
as i watched the swan pace between the gravestones with all the confusion it
in a place of such solitude, i chuckle at the irony the swan represents
but all of a sudden the swan stops in its tracks.
looks up at the sky down at the ground and then over its shoulder as to look over
with an insinuation in its actions that portrays an essence of surprise
as it stops looking around and focuses on my eyes
which some how against my will has me rested on my knees
as the swan opens its beak but instead of a sqwauk a human voice pleas
a plea of forgiveness for all that its done
a plea to say goodbye to his wife and his son
but then the swan descends into the ground through a grave with not as much as
as i read the inscription on the stone i cry as i find it reads here lies hope
Copyright © Josh Denson
Darkness lays awake,
waiting upon her breaker.
The one that lies upon her and whispers to go,
leave behind nothing that you covered with your soul...
Yet she knows she does not need to hear these words
to initiate her departures; she could velvet herself
and ghost over the world so simply.
like a cloth dip in red wine; enveloping the color,
but not savoring the need of intoxication.
wanting to feel his warmth,
wanting to feel his glow over her body,
that truly in a way, makes her disappear,
for the world forgets her till she comes again.
torturing herself, for every ray of light cuts her skin,
but she is not masochistic.
Why does she stay?
Why does she endure?
He's coming, slowly over her...
Rises in such an ill manner, That you would think
he would give up an descend once more.
once more so he could ponder and wish;
all more to the dreamer that stays asleep in his wake.
How he wants to be one of these creatures that get to roam
inside her skirt, laugh between her legs, and rest upon her bosom.
so much of it heat rises, why he still feels the need to cry...
He feels her fleeting,
never ever seeing her, her known only by his touch.
His eyes stay close needing, pleading, seething,
just to see
just to see her
He stands fully now and the world is smiling,
but he is not.
Copyright © Jessica Arteaga
We touched for a moment
From across the room
As only eyes allow
Standing in yen
And somehow fearful
I turn away
If I held valiance
Crass and fiery
I would dare to you
Though not today
I am of frailty’s ire
Flames of forbidden desire
That is you
A rare beauty of youth
I am lost and aged tonight
Afraid to look in your eyes
Fearing the burn
Of desire fulfilled
Heavy heaves in my chest
In a sigh of defeat
Up the empty pathway
I move on
Copyright © Charles Fuller
As I sit in my window sill.
Relaxed no thrill.
Time goes by, but it seems the world stands still.
I sit and gaze .
By the beauty that sits in front of me.
The stars winks at me, twinkles and dance.
So magnificant I saw in watch in a trance.
The love I felt between us must be true romance.
But suddenly it fades.
It fades so quickly and with little warning.
Because within a few moments it will soon be morning.
So sadly it leaves, but leaves with a kiss of delight.
The wind whispers its goodbyes and promise to return tomorrow night.
Copyright © DeVonta Reese
Hip-Hop is dead
I can’t feel the throb, the devotion, the dedication
I wear all black
Black stilettos, black cut dress, aimed real low
Seductive but simple, I know my place
Beside the King, my sweet deceased Revolutionist
Rap’s number one supporter, holding the casket with a broken
S I G H
Someone plays, a radio, across the way
Slick beats drip past the ears to slime the brain
Wet and easy manipulated clay
Media displays wealth and misogyny
50 million dollar chains
Females addicted to being slapped around
Like China Dolls in half-made Cl o thes
Pose, Shawty and let this crunk beat fill your hips
Purse your lips, Mami, and I’ll let you
Be my accessory
Remember when the revolution was a evolution of the mind
Freestyles match drums in intensity
When freestyles were uncontrolled like the wild brown skin he was in
I felt, loved, Hip-hop in my veins
Let him be the catalyst for the beating of my heart
I was so in love with his swagger, his love of himself and his people
Hat tipped real low to hide the pain
Beat real tight to stop the taint
Of failure and to rise like the dust after a stampede
I’d take Hip-Hop to bed every night
Let him rise and fall like the heaving of my chest
It was so hot I could barely breathe for the intensity overcoming me
The pounding of intellect in my throat
Stroked me from head to toe
And Rocked my ghetto loving soul
And he said things I’ve waited my whole life to hear
play sweetly in my ear
Dreaming of dreams too big
To let fade away
He grew shallow, loving women with hollow heads and thick thighs
Low rides and forgetting what he left at home
Long nights and overtime left me alone
Released hundreds of artists
Torn between money and the spoken word
His best friends tried to revive what was inside, too late the damage took over
50 Cent arrived with Lil’s, and Young’s and a mess of southern heat
I was there when the light left his eyes
After Dr.Dre’s Chronic
Hip-Hop was Dead
Copyright © Bella Cardenas
And the trees
laiden down their dappled hands
or bows of earth bound angelic foundries
where leaves in all their spaning handliness
cast their stained glass impressions of their souls
and dance on through the arms of fairies
their petalled gowns thrown high
will show their faces onto the heavens
to hail the kings that poise,
away above the flowered dances
another world unknown
Copyright © misty hunter
There, .......in the meadow......
trembles my heart....
wide-open for all the
hunters of love to
....frozen, in place....
trying to avoid the self-
perceived dangers even
a slight flinch
This place was once
a garden of rejuvination
and needed space ....
that healed all wounds,
now......an unsureness fills
the misty air, revealing
scattered pieces of what it
is this heart has been
words, like bullets, shot
forth from the trusted
emotion, called love.....
piercing, burning, betraying
my heart of the comfort
that lured me once before
to this meadow ......
A trophy, for an insecure
hunter with no passion of
his hunt?...not .this heart , it shall
return when the timing
feels right...and the clover
does not taste
Copyright © regina branham
The eyes of the old house
watch me as i pass by
my steps quicken as i make haste
past the wrinkled pallid face
during the day i walk slowly
for it is then that he is sleeping...
Copyright © Sharon Ruebel
I sat on the toy store shelf, feeling all bottled-up and unwanted.
The kids prefer to play with video games, these days,
rather than being outdoors with me.
Then one day, this little girl grabbed me down from the shelf
and begged her Mommy to buy me.
She took me out to play as soon as we got home.
The spring day was so bright as I met the sun for the first time.
I could not contain the joy that I felt
as she unscrewed the lid and dipped the plastic wand
into the soapy liquid. She brought the wand to her lips
and gently blew out a line of iridescent bubbles.
I felt so free, floating through the air with my new friends.
Her giggles of delight were the sweetest sound.
She dances as we swirl around her. Pure imagination takes over
as she pretends to be a fish in a bubbly underwater world.
I will never forget the wonder that was in her eyes.
The wind caught each one of us, taking us on a new adventure.
She runs to try and catch me as I drift up and away from her.
Written by: Kelly Deschler
May 20th, 2014
Copyright © Kelly Deschler
With complete confidence, I the writer, knowing my wit and charm had always gotten me what I wanted in the past, entered the room.
There she sat - on the top of my desk - this cool black beauty, ignoring me completely.
My mission - to get the scoop.
They called her, ‘The Iron lady’; not my type, but that didn’t scare me in the least.
The easy touch. Yes! It always worked. All I needed was a few nights alone with her.
The first night, I began by gently pushing her buttons, over and over again, caressing every part of her from A to Z, bringing her to the edge and back again.
In the morning, completely spent, having learned very little about her, I kicked the crumpled sheets lying on the floor, aside, and left the room vowing never to return.
The next night, I discovered she liked a firm touch. After that, there was no stopping us. She kept me up night after night - into the wee small hours.
How many sleepless nights can a guy endure? Well! Patience is a virtue.
I returned to the Iron Lady night after night, after night, until the truth was told.
In the end....the story she spilled for me, became a National best seller.
She was my type after all.
Author: Elaine Cecelia George of Canada
Copyright © Elaine George