| Green Monster's Stats |
| Views | 1309 |
| Ranking | 5569 of 182223 members |
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 | Green Monster |
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| Location: |
Wicked Pissah Bahston, MA |
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| Looking for: |
Friends, riding partners
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Turn ons:
Champagne mouth to mouth. Intelligent conversation. A good book. Loud pipes and lazy sweepers. The female form. |
Turn offs:
Spitefulness. Insensitive morons. Bullies. The intellectually challenged.
Making an effort only to realize there is no reciprocity. Drama whores (M/F). Hollywood invites: "Oh sure...stop by anytime at all...we'd love to see you..." BWAH-HAHAHA!! |
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Activities:
Putting on my gear. Then taking her out on the road, listening to how she wails...
Hanging with my friends at Docs.
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Interests:
Ridin', ya dummy! Poetry.
Museums. Photography. Impressionism.
My beautiful twin daughters, Leah and Caitlin.
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Favorite Music:
Most forms...but no fahking rap. I even listen to Country, sometimes. Arias. Metallica. The Clash. Aerosmith. Nickelback. Staind. Incubus. Tonic. Johnny Cash, R.I.P.
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Favorite TV Shows:
Documentaries. 48 Hours. NGeo.
Patriots Football!!
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Favorite Movies:
Name it...
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Favorite Books:
Oil!
Goodbye, Darkness
Greatest Generation
Ghandi
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee
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Favorite Quotes:
For now, place the empty champagne bottle
upon the high shelf, never mind she has the cork,
trust nostalgic CD’s to friends; they’ll misplace them.
Stash away brittle letters, move old emails to some
obscure address, forget the password and don’t ask.
In embarking on your trek of mortal epic failure,
realize she may no longer hold for you a place in her heart,
at best a shaky, grudging attempt at letting go of love.
All things being equal, your efforts to break the cycle of
yearning, telling yourself to give it up, back to yearning,
are as a reconsidered suicide clutching for a handrail left behind.
From solid start to disputed finish, isolating
time and distance are the culprits hell bent
on standing between city boy and country girl.
Never far from your thoughts, she is with you
upon awakening and all through the day to evening,
keeping company as sleep carries you to her.
No chance face-to-face nor formal introduction,
sight unseen romance began in a mutual forum,
connecting amid the posts and cluttered glyphs,
in assessment of each and the other.
The first call, a common ease and laughter,
the shortest path to the heart.
Unable to erase regrets at love’s passing,
the leavetaking elicits no talk of a return,
both knowing there is no fault in moving on.
In hindsight is the belief mistakes were made,
avenues toward salvage had not been visited,
and second chances are the first to go.
In the back of your mind, a self promise you will
one day be standing upon her front porch,
a warm and knowing smile saved for you.
In contemplations of having nothing and everything,
you have everything to lose and everything to gain.
Packed up, gassed up, drop top buttoned up,
get on with the business of rolling south
to southern-most, alongside myriad Ohio farmscapes.
Sweating out the closing mile, prospecting your heart
for eloquence honed by continuous rehearsal,
there is no poetry to call upon when needed most.
Braking to an idle on the property’s rough grassy drive,
a key turned, the engine’s throb yields to a quietness,
The antique farmhouse sits in half-light, veiled by twin maples,
curtained windows decked with mascara-black shutters
proffer no hint of welcome to a trespassing stranger.
Umbrella’d beneath a tin roof of original install,
a porch of rough pine abuts spalling shingles.
From behind the darkened front screen door
a summer dress shifts, sending your heart racing.
Stepping outside, barefoot and graceful in approach,
her gait slows to a measured halt short of the porch’s edge.
With upswept hand at her brow, dusky blue eyes
retreat into shade, shielding her gaze and sparking recognition,
a shared heartache of years gone sits twenty yards shy of reunion.
Exiting the V8 sled, leather jacket shrugged open,
hands are thrust deep into side pockets to cloak their shaking,
leaden feet struggle to negotiate the smallest of scattered gravel.
At present, a feigned oh-so-serious interest in mosses bypassed,
is interrupted by the first words of greeting from a voice
long ached for, and in stepping onto weathered pine,
it is all you can do to keep your balance.
Revealed is the warm and knowing smile, lips the color of red currant,
eyes of profound blue, though more so in this up-closeness,
the years have been a friend and her countenance is unchanged.
Loose curls settle below set-back shoulders, long and falling
all down the encouraging dress of silhouetting cotton,
proving a familiar, un-made up beauty.
She: “I’m not sure I believe what I’m seeing. And what brings you here?”
Her heart is pounding like a trip hammer.
Me: “Oh, I was just passing through. Thought I’d stop by and say hello.”
She: “Just passing through, huh? Any other reasons to travel 400 miles?”
Me: “Yeah, lots of them. Can only think of two right now.”
She: “And they would be…?”
Me: “I never let go of you.”
Her pensive gaze softens into easement.
She: “And the other?”
Me: ”We’re standing on it.”
A warm and knowing smile abides.
Bare feet step in close, and being closer, her eyes say everything,
a storyboard of a confessing heart still open to second chances.
Lowering her hands to yours and lifting them to her hips,
one shadow cleaved from two is cast upon the gained porch of dreams.
At first kiss, tears find their course, slackening dual pangs
of separation and of hearts placed on hold long ago.
From out back of the farmhouse a breeze stirs across furrowed rows,
skirting the one traveled to, cooling the one much traveled.
And in passing ‘round her, carries her perfume,
soft and capturing as when last inhaled.
The messenger breeze gathers up turned aside curls,
drifting them across red currant and framing unavoidable blue.
Holding open the screen door and with a single, gentle tug at your wrist,
she invites you inside.
copyright Greenmonster
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About Me:
I like long walks on the beach. At night. During a gale. With the waves washing us into the deep, dark sea. Without life jackets. I love to snuggle while sharing a bottle of wine in front of a crackling fireplace, or a 5 alarm fire as it consumes my neighbors house. I love the smell of a woman in leathers. I love to kiss the nape of her neck. And the way she tosses her hair back and smiles at me. The way the glow from the setting sun lights up blue eyes. And green eyes. Lastly, how caught off guard you are when you hear a small refrain of a song from long ago when you first kissed her. Or the subtle, drifting scent of her perfume, though she's no longer there...and you catch your breath.
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