Tag Archives: poetry

Poetry & Bile

So apparently The Poet isn’t the only one who’s felt inspired by me. I recently received this poem by “South Dakota” in my OkCupid box and when I didn’t respond in a timely fashion, he emailed it to me, along with the preceding note to his friend Steve, who he believes might be a good match for me.

It has a certain tang of bitterness and I’m not quite sure why. It’s obvious that he’s read my blog and  I will assume that he doesn’t approve…of me or my lifestyle. He’s careful not to out-and-out judge but the judgement is there nevertheless. In our private correspondence he’s asked about Burning Man and seems skeptical that people aren’t all there for “the ritual,” as though it’s some Wiccan sex-fest. Which I suppose it is, for a specific slice of the burning demographic. Anyway:

Hi Steve:
What do you think about this poem that I wrote for that girl that I emailed you about sometime back to your OkCupid mailbox.  Yeah, the one that matches me zero percent and that is a 71 percent enemy just like you according to their rating system robot, the one Mary and I were joking about setting you up with, if she ever did get around to telling you, since Abby is looking for a guy to come join her in her West Village NY apartment.  I sent it to her but she hasn’t commented yet, she’ll probably like it, but she may want to slap me! lol
Tim

A Sweet Saturday Poem For Abby, by TK
Written June eighteenth, Twenty-Eleven

Life is an exhausting afterparty:
Butter and mayonnaise with crusts cut off,
You want a little?  I will give you some
Frosting of my already tasty cake.

Knock, a steady stream of gentlemen knock,
Go away boy-toy, I’m no longer young,
Sheesh, ya wippersnapper, go somewhere else;
I am more than a Mommy fantasy.

Please forgive my extreme navel gazing;
Where now are all the lovers on my list?
I’ve been mulling this over and over,
Friends are just lovers without all the sex.

Salivating seniors with wrinkled paws,
Bwahahaha, I’m available, not!
Older or fatter or starting to bald?
Not wanting to settle, up turns my nose.

Drinking and tanning were part of my life,
Rollar skating is my lovely fetish,
Star Spangle Banner chokes me up inside,
I don’t feel so terribly fetching lately.

Kiss me oh tall hairy toothy giant,
Love me sublime one, oh perfect someone,
Be faithful to me, I’m your sex goddess,
Celebrate with me now and feel my pain.

I love Burning Man loves your inner slut,
I volunteer, my eye is on the crew,
I worked my ass for free, but not for pay,
Forget your troubles, just party with me.

Hot dogs and burgers and bright-eyed newbies,
I’m in a great mood, not a smidge of snark,
Look at my corset and high-heeled boots,
The place is packed and people jam the mic.

Familiar faces wore my pajamas,
Release me from this sick hypnotic spell,
Thankyouverymuch it’s time to go home,
Pray for me cuz I’m trying to find love.

I’m not your wife and I’m not your girlfriend,
Would rather die on an island alone,
Than bend the knee and merge my heart with thine,
I’m told I’m hot and sexy all the time.

We play spin-the-bottle and truth or dare,
Passion and reason and games of the heart,
I pray for someone who will love me back,
Life is what’s left when we get done crying.

Out there somewhere is the man of my dreams,
Forever to love and never to part,
I yearn to know when at long last we’ll we meet,
Teach me sweet muse how to look at the heart.

And my response:

Morning, Tim!
I hadn’t responded because I was out enjoying the summer sunshine, the Mermaid Parade and, well, you know….being hot and sexy!
I’m not sure I’d call it a “sweet” poem. It has a healthy measure of bile in it. I wonder why you sound so bitter.
And who is this Steven person? Do you think we’d be a 70% + match? Wink.
Anyway, I see that you’ve taken some time with this, so I appreciate the effort. Hope you’re cool with me posting it to my blog! Heh.


Sunshine & Poetry

I had lunch today with The Poet. It was our most enjoyable afternoon yet. The first “date” was the most awkward, being a blind date and all. He brought me to tears. Our second meeting wasn’t really a date, since we’d decided that we’d be friends and nothing more. I brought him to tears. Today there were no tears. Just a whole lot of deep discussion, advice and conjecture. And lunch! And errands! And iced coffee in the park! It was probably the most beautiful day of the year and I was happy to have someone to share it with. It doesn’t hurt that The Poet says very nice things to me. (Or that he buys lunch. Thank you!)

He’s been a long-time reader of my blog and I asked for his advice on a specific situation that’s been kinda hangin’ me up and holdin’ me back. I’m not quite ready to act on his advice but at least I’ve got my motivations straight and know that when I do, my head and heart will both be in the right place.

For now, I’m feeling spent and ready to sleep. Another big day tomorrow of logistics at my sister’s new apartment, trying to get these two dogs adopted and a crafting gathering with friends to work on our Mermaid Parade costumes! For now, I’ll leave you with the latest from The Poet:

When I first met sweet Abby
She claimed forty-nine
As her age on a profile
Her pictures divine

We had a few laughs
And more serious thoughts
While chatting online
True lovers we sought

We talked of romance
And the smells of attraction
And of heartache and longing
Of desires and passion

We had two friendly lunches
On sunny weekdays
And then I soon learned
She had a birthday in May

The friends celebrated
No time for her slumber
They shared in her birthday
Seems fifty-two is the number

I must honestly say
That she looks great even now
She is sexy and stacked
Not a hint of a dowd

So when you see Abby
Tell her she smells great
And don’t be surprised
If she looks thirty-eight.

Nice Guys…

So during my somewhat short-lived Married Man Marathon last week, I’d have to say that everyone I met was very nice. Nice is a strange word. A non-committal sort of word. The one guy I had planned on meeting but didn’t considered himself a “good guy” or whatever, but yet, there he is looking to cheat on his wife. I got into an argument the other night with a friend who called all the men on Ashley Madison douche bags, simply because, well, they’re on Ashley Madison. It’s painting many men, with almost as many motivations, with one pretty sloppy paintbrush. I’ll venture that the larger percentage of men on there are douche bags. A thousand faceless penises can’t be wrong! But there are some guys whose hearts are in the right places, even if they’re looking to put there penises in the wrong ones.

Probably my most enjoyable date was with “Mike,” who traveled a considerable distance to meet me for lunch. We hung out and chatted long after we’d finished eating and he even accompanied me on an errand, eventually helping me to my door, where my two current foster dogs barked up such a storm that he ran off with his tail between his legs. Okay, that’s not quite accurate but it sure rolled off my tongue…er, fingertips!

Seriously, “Mike” had sent me a long series of thoughtful, well written emails, not the least of which contained the tear-inducing poem I’d mentioned a few posts ago. [See below.] Our conversation centered around our motivations for being on the site and “Mike” asked me questions no one else ever has. He wondered what makes me happy, what I’m really looking for, and he genuinely seemed interested. I had a very difficult time answering and I told him, admitting out loud for what may have been the first time ever, that I don’t know what I really want, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m afraid I’ll never get it or I’m afraid to even think about it…either way, I’m never been able to even get in touch with what I really, really want. It was both an intellectually and emotionally stimulating afternoon.

Since that meeting I’ve been asking myself those questions. I’ve also been feeling quite agitated. I’m not sure if the two are related. I certainly hope not. Because if they are, I’d better get in touch with what I want soon before I chase away all my friends!

In the midst of last week’s marathon — and my meals with other male friends — I went on a real date, a date with a single guy, someone I was pretty excited to meet. And I had an amazing time. The afternoon turned into evening, there were beers, his best friend and making out in a bar. Pretty perfect. Good enough to make a second date! He actually made a cameo appearance in my Saturday night; as he put it, he “parachuted in,” and we agreed it didn’t count as a second date. That was Sunday night. A delicious home-cooked meal at his place followed by more conversation and making out. I’ll save my sexual neuroses for another post but I will say I enjoyed myself, even if I kept my clothes on. Our evening ended watching the news of Bin Laden’s death on TV, sharing the historical  moment, before I headed for the subway home.

Oh my…this post is rambling a bit. I told you I was out of sorts! Anyway, what I’ve been trying to tell you about is nice guys. My past 10 days have been blessed with the companionship of — and meals with — nice men. They show me why I could never make a practice of seeing guys for “grocery dates” just as I never was able to pull off being a pro domme. Either I like you or I don’t; if I don’t, I’m pretty terrible at faking it, even for food. Or cash. Which then puts me in the position of thinking a bit harder about my motivations for being on Ashley Madison. Or even OkCupid. I know what I want. And I don’t know that I’ll ever find it online.

Here’s the lovely poem from “Mike”:

The faces of Abby
Are so many they seem
Expressions fantastic
Each costume a scene

The vamp and the pirate
The southwestern lace
In satin and leather
Her lovely tanned face

Celebrations, parades
Shrill sounds and bright lights
They gather and rave
And share her long nights

The promotions and stars
Demands of the game
Pushing new boundaries
Again and again

Words fly from the keyboard
Appointments, deadlines
Her cups brimming full
Overflowing in time

Her spirit grows restless
For a gentleman past
Quiet tears and sweet sorrow
Loving memories last

To delight her young heart
In a life of extremes
She beckons for someone
To fulfill her new dream

One after the other
The suitors they ply
Her attention to hold
Her affections to try

A scientist poet
With a heart to sojourn
Her heart to romance
My passions to burn

Perhaps we will meld
Like lovers embrace
But I hope to at least
Glimpse Abby’s true face

In that mid-marathon lunch meeting, he did get to glimpse my true face. And as I try to focus on the things I really, really do want, well, it just makes me sad.