Stare

I’d like to be the one
at the end of that
heated stare,
burning from its wild
intensity.

I’d like to be the one
at the root of that
pointed look,
thrilling to its sharp
attentiveness.

I’d like to be the one
at the start of
that naked stare,
open to its raw
desperation.

~ KDB

Copyright 2013

Audio Blogging?

My friend Nigel posted a link to his new page on Sound Cloud, and I went to visit.  He has recorded part of his newest novel on there, and suddenly it came to me, as I listened to him, that I could record myself reading my poetry and some stories there, too!  I've done one.  I wrote the poem I read below on April 16, the sixteenth poem I had written for NaPoWriMo, which was the month-long poetry-writing challenge held last month. 

Go here to listen:  https://soundcloud.com/ladyscop/poetry-on-saturday-afternoon

I hope you all enjoy this!  I think I will!

Solitaire for Two

He was standing over me, waiting for me to make the next move.  I shifted away from him, not wanting to be touched or watched.  I studied the cards, then shifted the ace of hearts to the two of hearts.

"Why'd you do that?" he demanded.  "You could have made two moves instead of one, if you'd..."

"Look," I interrupted tightly, "It's called 'Solitaire' for a reason!"

I gritted my teeth, and studied the carfds for the next move.  There was a blank space that had to be filled before I could deal again.  Should I move the stack of clubs?  I did, but didn't like the ten of diamonds that t revealed.  That was only one move and I wanted more for my empty space.

"Can you do that?  Isn't that cheating?"  His voice rasped over my shoulder, raking into my raw nerves.

"I can do whatever I like!" I snapped.  "Why don't you go find your own game to play.

"Because I want to be with you," he replied.  "You said we don't spend enough time together, and you used to like it when I helped you before."  He paused, then added, "Besides, two heads are better than one!  Don't you want to win the game?"

"I'm going to win the game.  I always do!" I snapped again.  It's not about the winning!"

"Then what's it about?  Why play a game if you don't care about winning?"  He was clearly puzzled.

"Maybe I'm trying to think.  Maybe I'm trying to avoid thinking.  Maybe I'm trying to avoid you!" 

I was past caring what I said at that point.  I only desperately wanted for him to go away.  I remembered how we used to play Solitaire together before, how good it felt to move multiple cards and make giant leaps when he and I played as one.  First I would move, then he'd follow on, until we'd won with a great score.

But things were different now.  Now Solitaire was really only for one person.  Anyone else was an intruder, and this intruder had usurped my place as master and become better than me.  And he had taken to flaunting it, which irked me more than I would have thought possible.  Why did he have to be better than me at everything?  Why couldn't I excel at something?  Not even a bloody game of Solitaire was safe!  'Solitaire for two' was just another place for him to win over me, to be better than me, to master me!

Well, not anymore.  I was determined to take back my game, and my self-esteem, and to hell with him!  He needed to win -- I needed to escape.  Let him win at his own game -- Solitaire was mine! 

I clicked on the X to close the window.

"What are you doing?" he protested.

"Didn't I tell you?  Game over!" I said, closing the game.  "You want to play?  Go ahead, start your own game!"

I stood up, expecting him to follow me.

He sat down...

Fiction in a Flash: "Oh hell!"

The lights blinded her.  They swirled around, dazzling her eyes.  She squinted and sat up.  What the hell had happened?  Where the hell was she?  Why the hell was she cursing 'hell' all the time?  Where was Dirk?

Her eyes tracked over to the glasses, and the sight brought it all back.  Oh hell!  Dirk!

Fiction in a Flash: "Arousal"

He looked at the single rose in the bud vase and felt his body harden.  The delicate pinkness of the petals, kissed by crystal droplets, brought back the memory of their time together.  He saw her lying open, ready, offering herself.

He touched a trembling finger to a drop, and sucked it into his mouth.

Fiction in a Flash: "The Plan"

Counting down the hours, she watched the boat chug upriver.  When Evensong ended in the great Cathedral -- she sighed for the loss of the songs -- she would slip through the flood gates down to the water.  The boat, and her freedom, would be waiting.  Hefting the market basket, she trudged back to her scullery duties. 

Kiss me, y'all...

Edit This Post

...I'm 1/8 Irish! 

God bless my sainted great grandmother, may she continue to rest in peace.  I met that old lady -- she lived to be 104! -- but I was just a wee bebae in arms at the time.  My mum has a picture of her and my great grandfather, who looked to be African, posing in the typical Victorian way...she on the chaise with a mob cap covering her hair, he standing behind her, both with austere and serious expressions on their faces.

I would have liked to have known them...

I'm happy to be a mongrel.  My mongrelness -- or is that "mongrelity"?  -- has given me a unique and satisfying perspective on the world, and on people.  I'm glad I don't see in black or white, or even in Irish.  LOL!  My children -- the two Americans and the one Antiguan -- claim their Jamaicanness with as much eager acceptance as I claim my Irishness.  It's that delightful mongrelism (un huh, that's another word!) that makes us such great people to get to know!

Anyhoo, happy St. Patrick's Day to ye all, both the Fully Irish, the Fractional Irish, and the Wannabe Irish!