Early Mark, Poetry and How I Got My Man

Snuck in early to post today - cause, well, you know - I have SO MUCH TO DO and a little bit less time to do it in because not only is it NO MORE SLEEPS until my darling comes home to me, it is also raining.

Rain is great in itself without any additional perks, you know. I was a child of Central Queensland and, as any person whose family has relied on the weather and climatic conditions, the want for rain is a very debilitating condition.

When I was in my early 20s, I moved to Sydney. The first 17 weekends I lived there it bucketed down. Every Friday night. Every Saturday. Every Sunday. I had moved to Sydney because I had embarked on my (first) brilliant career so that meant that (a) I had no daylight hours during the week (workaholism immediately suckered me), (b) I did not get to experience any relaxing, exploratory walks through new neighbourhoods on my days off, and (c) the concrete backyard got a lovely sheen of green.

Still, I could not understand the negativity surrounding the rain. Unfortunately, Sydney these days understands all too well the want of rain - but in those days it was greeted with disdain.

But I digress. I love rain. Yes, there are instances when you can have too much rain. I mean, those poor schoolchildren in Townsville today can't go to school today. And I am saddened when the nightly news brings me stories of lost villages and mudslides and wiped out crops - I not a totally heartless bitch in my pro-rain stance. I am a moderate in most things (except when things really get up my nose or really tickle my fancy).

But you see - my honey doesn't get to work when it rains - which means he doesn't get paid which can kinda suck for him. But if he doesn't get to work, he can always do his housework OR he could study OR he could talk to me - or maybe come visit. We always have marvellous ideas and plans for rain days - especially those attached to a weekend. It will make the 3 1/2 hour drive more comfortable. There will be less traffic on the road (hopefully) driving more carefully (hopefully) so my angst about him being in a dangerous situation may be slightly reduced. And hey, he leaves his town early and we might get a longer weekend together - and those additional hours may include one or two of the child free variety!!! I love rain for that!!!

Well, I was going to tell you all about my long distance darling and how our wonderful courtship was conspired and I may have even said things that I should not - but darn, school bus is nearly here, I have so much to do before my darling gets here and I was going to give you a poem.

So instead I will precis it to saying thank you to my girls on my messageboards who suggested we go fishing, thank you to the internet for providing the waterhole, and thank you to my honey for taking the bait!!! Oh - and thanks for the rain!

And here is the rain poem - the first poem talked about in this post. Please enjoy.

PRECIPITATE

Man - balding, fat,
Coldly casts gloom over the masses.
“Rain,” he intones
Denoting
Oil slick roads
Fogged screens
Bedraggled hair
And yet it seems perhaps to me alone,
In this city heaving with despair,
Of the joyous jewel of justly deserved -
Of the gossamer gift of gladly received -
Of the opened arms and upturned face of my childhood,
Sadly lacking
Rain.

So bless us,
Precipitate.
This baked earth, parched its thirst,
Uplift the mantle to bear
The new life
And ever expanding cycle.
Come bless us.
Rain.

© Sophie Jean 1990

ps - have not yet worked out the "getting poetry to show on the net the way it appears on the page". darn. It is much prettier in layout than that.

And if you want to find the poem that I mentioned in that other post that is on the internet, firstly a warning - it does has adult content. Poems of environment like prissy little Precipitate up there is about 1/4 of my output - I don't mind doing a bit of raunch now and then, and Teaser is the "-est" of that calibre!

BTW - I was going to link you to that site is in, but I have an issue with that I realise. If you want to find out why, maybe I will discuss it in the future. Am I bitter about something there? Probably. Not because of what happened, but because what happened was without consent. I will get over it. One day. May take a bit of counselling and a few blogs but I will get over that tenderness provoked.

Especially when my sugar man is due to arrive in about 4 hours!!!

So here it is:

TEASER
Hey! You!
Yeah, you with that
“I’ve got nearly enough on my plate
but I’d like a serving of you
dressed in nothing more than massage oil”
look in your eyes.
You know,
I’d just love to kiss you.
I’ve got this kissing urge that goes way beyond
lips and skin and saliva and tongue.
You know, that sort of kissing urge
that just leads on and on to
all senses tingling
and screaming
and begging for more.
Yeah, I’d love to kiss you
Full, firmly on the smacker
so that our breath mingles
and the sweet secretions of
our mouths, open to each other,
blend and brew.
I’d really like to kiss you -
can you tell?

And then,
My hands as the servants of
an exploratory mind
would search your face, your head.
Phrenology a study that wants
examining further.
Your neck,
that smooth highway from your mind
to your physique
I would suckle and lick to find
Your pulse.
Your lifeblood.
I’d like to take the lobe of your ear
between my teeth
and tease your aural sensibilities
with the ramblings of my tongue.
I’d like to look deep down into your eyes
and open up your soul to
searing scrutiny.
I’d wrap my aura around yours
to form psychadelia.
I’d like to wrap my arms around
your shoulders
And hold your body from
clavicle to hip
tightly
Against the corresponding parts of me.
I’d like to feel the pressure of your
abs, pecs, thighs
As they fill and flow beneath
their smooth casing.
I’d like to watch them,
make them pumped
and play with them.
I’d like to use my nails against your back
and send morse messages
of lust and desire
through your spinal chord.
I’d follow each rib, each disc
serving as a sub-station
for my dictation.
I’d tattoo these thoughts and dreams
through to yours.
I’d like to massage your fantasies
into pliancy
and sculpt them into form.
I’d like to wrap your legs around
my legs around you
and pull you into me.
I’d like to make you climax so that
your brain loses all sense of
reality, time, rationalism and focus
and swells instead with a mantra
that means more.
I’d like to take you on that rollercoaster
where every loop is the crest of a breaking wave
that spirals down and around
and back until
ups and downs
seem no more like directions
but a never-ending montage.
I’d like to meld our bodies into one
joyous ball of energy
bouncing on the pleasurable see-saw
of ecstasy and bliss.

But I won’t.
For,
I’m not that sort of girl
any more.

© Sophie Jean 1996
(Again, the issues with the tabs. Sorry folks!)