Money is a motive…

February 19, 2015

money

And money is one of the motives for becoming a writer. The others are leisure and money, women and money, and sometimes just money all alone by itself.”

J P Donleavy
An Author and His Image

People like you….

February 19, 2015

peoplelikeyou

This mug says it all….

February 19, 2015

saysitall

Suffering…

February 19, 2015

Punished

“The more I suffer, the more I love.”

Bernhard Schlink
The Reader

Girls open up like flowers…

February 19, 2015

reaching out

Full lips glimmering with
fresh kisses
the darkest eyes lustily
lookin, just lookin

Their furious fucking
Hastily undressing
Trembling women
For their manhood sake

Girls open up like flowers
in the heat of them
exposing their womanhood
in the deepest part of themselves

Then day breaks
and they are gone
So many flowers to taste
No time to waste

Reading this morning…

February 19, 2015

circle

I like to wait….

February 19, 2015

intimacy

“I like to wait while his mouth kisses my neck, moving down to where my neckline goes deep, and my breasts hurt swollen a little, waiting for his hands to begin, and my hair is falling loose over my bare shoulders, and my mouth is soft and wet and wanting under his.”

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Peter Pan…

February 19, 2015

PeterPan

Cut me open…

February 19, 2015

TEARS

My mother had cut me open and was unpacking my organs, stacking them in a row on my bed as my flesh flapped to either side. She was sewing her initials into each of them, then tossing them back to me, along with a passel of forgotten objects.

Gillian Flynn
Sharp Objects

Insurance

February 19, 2015

frost

‘When you sign
our plumbers will mend your burst pipes
and for so little more they will seal every drip
Of course we have rules:
just three calls a year
but with more of your cash their colleagues will fix all the wires
but not if they’re in a machine
for cooking
for washing
for ironing
or watching
don’t call us for those
buy new ones instead
But if you are old we will cover your life
not your cure
by your life we mean death.
Bad accidents happen
When bits of you break we will give you pounds daily
to hold in your hospital bed’

There are things that I wish I’d insured:
camellias budding through snow
my husband choosing words
the smell of just picked herbs
the serious breathing of a new baby

‘Your computer may sicken when viruses come ram-raiding the screen
Let us give you protection
don’t wait till the whole thing goes blank’

When my mind goes blank I will be in a garden
an uninsured garden
no fleece against frost
no stakes against wind
no clipping of edges
or spraying of hedges of roses
So the blank of the screen could be covered with flowers
the broken machines will be peaceful for hours
My world’s uninsured which means I am certain
I’ll end in a garden with clouds as a curtain

Rosamund Hall