Spiritual Guidance

Have you ever wondered, is there more to life than this? Where am I and where am I going? Or even, what am I supposed to do now? This website can help you answer all of these questions. The website has articles, pictures and relevant topics to help you to 'create or improve your paths of destiny."

Check it out and if visiting there has helped you in some way please leave a comment and share with others.

http://www.free-spiritual-guidance.com/

What do Women want?

I was going through my emails trying to find some old poems that I've written and I found this one, that I didn't write. But, it has special significance to me nonetheless because it brought me back to a time when I was in such a loving relationship and I thought it was going to last forever. It didn't last forever, but today of all days I needed to be reminded that despite everything that happened, I need not doubt the love he had for me. ~x


"What Do Women Want?"
by Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.

Riding the Roads

Part I



A Telephone call on a Tuesday



A familiar stranger’s voice on the line

Wants to get reacquainted over coffee and a bumpy ride along city side roads



I consider and contemplate the situation

His voice has the ring of sincerity, a brave attempt to win me.



Could have gotten the sound of a click and a resounding dial tone in his left ear for the effort



I consent to coffee and conversation and commit to nothing.



Besides, what do I have to lose except my self-respect?



Part II



Coffee Shop Conversation and Other Absurdities



We sit in the coffee shop

Across from each other

Him, by the window, the city lights shining over his shoulder

Separated by a silver napkin holder,

My medium one and one decaf

And his steeped tea with half the amount of milk



We discuss my choice of nail polish

It is called Espionage but I don’t think the name is suitable

So

I rename the color Grapesh

He thinks the hue rather Mauvish



It is then that he offers to paint my toenails the same color so my fingernails and toenails will match

What an alluring proposition!

The thought of him bent over my feet carefully stroking my toenails with purple paint

Excites and turns me on.



I think, does he have a foot fetish?

Perhaps his only motive is to get me in a reclining position

With my feet precariously naked, lifted in the air

Waiting for the polish to dry





Part III



Riding the Roads with Dangerous Desires



Sitting beside you, riding in your car



Staring at the black starry eyed darkness thinking of

Strappy sandals with purple painted toenails peeking out





You: concentrate on driving over the pot-holed road

Occasionally you say something silly or otherwise, make a passing comment

Or reach over to turn the radio up an alarming volume.



It is then that you glance at me: quickly, appraisingly.

Sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a questioningly quizzical expression



I sit, warm and full in the heat of your vehicle.

My body heavily heaves at the thought of you reaching over to

Touch my knee, stroke my leg or brush my arm with your long cigarette stained fingers.



I can hardly breathe.

The air is full of the question of sex.

When, where, how?



My favorite part of the evening is when you move your hand to change gears

The way you confidently grasp the stick forward and backward makes me think of something similar



I stare too long

Too comfortable in the silence of sexual thought.



I bite my bottom lip

Debate telling him I want more than conventional sex



I fantasize about him taking what he wants, not asking for it



I imagine us grasped in each others arms rocking together as a boat rocks upon the ocean’s tumultuous waves during a wondrous winter storm



When I think of him I think naughty thoughts which should make me blush

But don’t.



I want to describe my desires to him,

Watching the crimson flood to his serious face

And his bespeckled eyes start with surprise

Living for money is nothing short of absurd

Our summer romance has reached its climax
No need to call me up and say hey
I’m a free man now

Cause it’s a Saturday night and I’m trying to pretend
I’ve got somewhere to be
Don’t make things complicated by saying you missed me

I’m dancing naked in the shower
Wishing I was there for an hour
Intercontinental flights don’t come cheap

But then you say I’m making lots of money
Yeah, I’m making enough for both of us honey
You’re broke, stop repeating yourself I’ve heard it already

Can’t get a passport because you’re a convict
I’m not the badass you say
Every girl has her day

Thought you weren’t like the rest
Then you tell me you’re jealous of my lifestyle
It’s a style of life I can’t afford

Bring me back into your life with just a word
Living for money is nothing short of absurd

Fold me in your arms like a paper airplane
I’ll be there still just wasting away

Without an umbrella

Without an umbrella
I rush into the street
Looking here and there,
Hoping for a bite to eat

As I walk quickly
My glasses become foggy
My shoes are soggy
Because

They’ve sprung a leak
Curious, I think
From under my rain coat I’ll take a peek

And this is what I see:

Umbrellas are dancing like leaves
Cats are hiding in tall trees
Walkers are ducking under eaves
Students are giggling in threes

I smile, I know,
The city is a great place to be!

And, then, you said I was missed

When you called you seemed far away
Indeed, you were in a distant place

Your voice after long hours was tired
Our conversation likewise became mired

I wanted to cut the silence, it roared in my ears
Coupled with your tone it amplified my fears

And, then, you said I was missed,
If I was near I’d be passionately kissed

Do you miss me too, you asked
In your wonderment I lightly basked

I said nothing, but instead
Nodded acquiescence in my head

Urbane Lovers

Urbane lover’s leisurely walk
Where the broken-hearted used to stalk


The rhythm of the summer heat
Drums a steady erotic beat


Lust plays carelessly upon the dilapidated street
This is where youthful maidens now meet


With arms linked they glide
After gentle promises plied


Fine offers bidden under august lamplight
Who dare resist a desire which prevents flight


He touches a heart tender, love makes him bold
On a starry night she may allow him a hand to hold

My impatient persona

My heart aches with distance,
Memories I wish for;
Steamy shower scenes
Which evoke soft splendour

To wait again
For his steady gaze
My impatient persona,
By its endurance I am amazed

My feelings are red
The realm of possibility grows
I cannot flee the meaning
Must yield and let them show

His words are ready
The truth in them I cannot fear
Though he is not with me,
I feel him ever near

A bit of light in my day

A bit of light in my day
Kind friends to lead the way
Moments when I can say,
“I’m finished!”

Time and its effects are all I own
These are the seeds I’ve sown
From the dusty soil my labours grown
And all I can wonder is, What is it?

My memory is my enemy
Flighty and choosy
Though image be botchy
It is what it is

Left to Premature Devices

Left to premature devices
I tally all life’s prices
In the knowledge that by loving you
I hurt myself

Endless hours and days like snow ready for an avalanche amass
Whilst through my hands the emoticon of love pass
In the knowledge that by loving you
I hurt myself

On the train she steadies herself against inertia in your embrace
My skin flushes an unsightly red when I realize it’s not your face
In the knowledge that by loving you
I hurt myself

A Poem Written

A poem written

Bleeds words

Drops letters

Misses punctuation

Meaning lost

Rhythm broken down

Metaphor ripped away

I want the thoughts to stay

As it was

Untrodden, rich in description

Not a shapeless tool

But a delight

Hypocrites of Haze

Here we work, hypocrites of haze
Where’s my baby, disappeared for daze.

This is exist, living without name
Who’s out there, calling I got game.

There truth lies, between us stranger
He’s my karma, formality , danger

With ‘lot love, summon airy text
It’s my soul, prayer after sext*

~ Jenny

* not the 'sext' you might be thinking of. Sext, or Sixth Hour, is a fixed time of prayer of the Divine Office of almost all the traditional Christian liturgies. It consists mainly of psalms and is said at noon. Its name comes from Latin and refers to the sixth hour of the day after dawn. (Wikipedia)

from:
http://img397.imageshack.us/i/picture268448edoi4.jpg/

With Faith As Sweet As Scent

I came across this poem called, "A Place Like This", and I really enjoyed it. So, I decided to write a poem of my own loosely based on the first half of it.

A place like this
© Milo Shumpert'appel

I need an island in the sea,
Away from you away from me,
Beyond the waves beyond the wind,
Beyond the world that we live in,
Under skies of shining stars,
Away from lights and noisy cars,
Above the egos and the stress,
Beyond the world we made a mess.
A place for me a place for you,
An earth that's green a sky that's blue,
A place for you a place for me,
An open sky and light blue sea,
With dreams as solid as the ground,
A place like this I think I've found.
A happy thought no one can take it,
A place like this is where we make it.
I need a mountain in the sky,
Just beneath where angels fly,
Where snowflakes falling on the ground,
Is the most disruptive sound,
Above the waves above the wind,
Above the world that we live in,
Above my life above the stress,
Where I can lay it all to rest,
Under skies of falling snow,
Just above the world below,
Just above the trees and birds,
A place I can't describe in words.
An empty place that's so appealing,
How'd I get this stupid feeling?
Bad ideas come and go,
But none as potent as the snow,
I need no island in the sea,
Just the things that make me me.
I need no mountain in the sky,
Just to laugh try not to cry,
Forget these far off fantasies,
And manifest as realities,
Reach out and grab it in good time,
Seize the moment make it mine,
Catch the moment make it last.
Just be grateful when it's past.
Sensations as real as the wind,
Try not to be sad when it ends.
A happy thought no one can take it,
A time like this is when we make it.
I need an island in the sea,
And all of that which makes me me.

With Faith as Sweet as Scent

~Jenny

I need a place on the sea
Away from us away from we

Beyond the light beyond the sun
Beyond the company of everyone

Under sheets of scarlett saTIN
Away from vows and other sins

Above the confusion and the fuss
Beyond the push beyond the rush

There's a place for love and light
A peaceful time, no wrong no right

There's a place for love and light
Where understanding takes flight

With faith as sweet as scent
There is time for us yet.

Winter

Writing this poem about winter stirred up a lot of vivid memories, though it is not my favourite season of the year it is a very special time when I am reminded again of the importance of family and friends and the peace and stillness of the season. I received inspiration for my poem from Barbara Reiher-Meyers who wrote "Blizzard"(below).

I hope you enjoy it. Wishing you a lovely toasty warm winter holiday. ~ love and x, Jenny.



Winter

Tree alight frost bite
Warm fires snow tires
Fruit cake stay awake
Shiny bows Christmas clothes
Winter boots Santa suits
Hockey night snowball fight
Street decorations sweet temptations
Frozen fingers cinnamon lingers
Family together stormy weather
Good cheer new year


Blizzard by Barbara Reiher-Meyers

Gale warning hail warning
Sky sifts high drifts
Finding bright blinding white
Snowball snowfall
Moonscape snowscape
Frostbite dost bite
Rococo swirls hot cocoa curls
Icy glove spicy love
Huddle in cuddle in
Rock salt clocks halt

Say This City Has Ten Million Souls, W.H. Auden

I just came across this poem and reading it gave me goosebumps. Let there be peace!

--------------------------

Say this city has ten million souls,
Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:
Yet there's no place for us, my dear, yet there's no place for us.

Once we had a country and we thought it fair,
Look in the atlas and you'll find it there:
We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now.

In the village churchyard there grows an old yew,
Every spring it blossoms anew:
Old passports can't do that, my dear, old passports can't do that.

The consul banged the table and said,
"If you've got no passport you're officially dead":
But we are still alive, my dear, but we are still alive.

Went to a committee; they offered me a chair;
Asked me politely to return next year:
But where shall we go to-day, my dear, but where shall we go to-day?

Came to a public meeting; the speaker got up and said;
"If we let them in, they will steal our daily bread":
He was talking of you and me, my dear, he was talking of you and me.

Thought I heard the thunder rumbling in the sky;
It was Hitler over Europe, saying, "They must die":
O we were in his mind, my dear, O we were in his mind.

Saw a poodle in a jacket fastened with a pin,
Saw a door opened and a cat let in:
But they weren't German Jews, my dear, but they weren't German Jews.

Went down the harbour and stood upon the quay,
Saw the fish swimming as if they were free:
Only ten feet away, my dear, only ten feet away.

Walked through a wood, saw the birds in the trees;
They had no politicians and sang at their ease:
They weren't the human race, my dear, they weren't the human race.

Dreamed I saw a building with a thousand floors,
A thousand windows and a thousand doors:
Not one of them was ours, my dear, not one of them was ours.

Stood on a great plain in the falling snow;
Ten thousand soldiers marched to and fro:
Looking for you and me, my dear, looking for you and me.