The Ocean Cries

Rainfall woke me, but the benevolent deities heard my heart’s cry. The gods of wind and sky blew away the clouds, leaving a crystal dome for the sun’s rays to glint on the waters. I return to my mistress, the sea. My heart was lost to her as a child, and I never wish to regain it.

Slowly I make my way to the water’s edge. The dunes sink beneath my feet, leaving what seems to be an indelible mark. But it is an illusion, for nothing here lasts. As I tread the shore, trailing footprints, I reflect on my impermanence. I leave my mark for but a while, soon to disappear in the unceasing tide.

The sea erases the sins of man, and I come to be cleansed. I hesitate, needing to be washed but fearing the sting. She knows this, and rushes to greet me. The baptismal font flows, washing me, drawing out the stains. Anger, regret, heartbreak, all flood away in the tide.

I stand on the shore and weep

for Beauty and Joy
for Laughter and Friendship and Love
for Finding and Losing
for Hoping against hope
for Acceptance

I have left my mark in the lives of some. In time it will fade, only a memory and faint. I will be gone, as swiftly as my footfalls are washed away in the tide. But one day another young woman will come to the shore and weep, and she will find me there. For my soul belongs to the sea, and I will find my final rest there.

© 2006 pac611

The Living Cathedral

I went to pay homage at the living cathedral

bright blue sky adorned ceiling

pulse of the ocean hymns

rolling waves sermon

And spirits hovered over me

white-winged, golden-eyed

Crying in a tongue I could not speak

yet fully comprehended

I, the penitent

wayward soul

returning to hear once more

"Welcome home, child"

And I worshiped

© 2006 pac611

Cold Bones

The cold seeped into my bones
chilling my core
till my soul felt frozen in place

Unable to move
to dance, to sing
I waited for the thaw

Then you came
alight with a fire of your own
I was drawn in

You engulfed me
but there was no burn
only blessed warmth

Freed by your fire
I have feet again, and voice
alive in your flame

© 2006 pac611

Walking Man

I like to watch men walk. A man crossed the street in front of me today as I was driving home. He had a long overcoat on, as the weather was turning cold, and he was putting an earpiece in place, either for his iPod or cell phone.

His strides were confident, sure, quick without being a jog. His whole body moved fluidly, no hesitation.

I know that not all men walk like this, but these are the ones who catch my eye. Perhaps it seems foreign to me because so many women wear shoes that make bold walking difficult. But men can convey their power and virility in something as simple as a step.

And I notice.

The Journey of Words

I gave life to you
Lips, tongue, teeth, breath
Your creator
Once I breathed you to life
You had free will
And all I can do is wait
To see if you will return to me
And in what form

Like some “Where’s George?” game
I can trace your path once I set you on your course
But I can no longer direct you
Nor force my will upon you
Once spoken, you have life
And cannot be unmade

I sent you to him
Full of intent
But with your own will
You conveyed a different message

You return to me through him
The same, but different
A tone I did not speak
The message missed its mark

He received you
My creation
But he did not receive me
Your will imposed upon mine
Telling him what I did not say

© 2006 pac611

Spam-tastic

I have a few types of spam that I typically get in my e-mail.

First are the bogus "You've won...." offers.

Next are the "Increase your penis size" lies.

Followed by the "I'm a young horny girl" solicitations.

But now there's a new one. "Increase your sperm by 500%." I'm not sure what the attraction of this is. It doesn't seem to be aimed at infertile couples. I'm guessing it's a volume thing?

Either way, it makes no difference to me. I'm a girl--if I increase my sperm count by 500%, it's still gonna be zero.

The Cold Wind

The cold wind blows
the empty shell down the well-traveled road.
Bumping into obstacles makes no difference
to the empty shell, because it is hollow
And cannot feel.

The road is familiar
though there are some new twists in the path.
In spots mud sucks the shell in, threatening to consume it
But the wind dries the mud and blows the shell along.

Strangers see the shell, but it doesn’t register in their memory
because it is just an empty shell, not worth noticing.

Till the cold wind blows
the empty shell to a resting place
where the wind cannot reach.
The howling subsides,
and the shell abides
in anticipation of being

Filled again.

© 2006 pac611