Dubai Driving

Traveling by car and discovering Dubai is accomplished by going around instead of left as interchanges and overpasses are few and far between. Granted you may be able to see your final destination across the road but there is no quick left that will get you there. You do an endless amount of circling in this city because roundabouts are everywhere and the only rule that exists is whoever gets there first and the fastest. Playing with your horn is common, and the duration of your toot tells how pissed you really are at the other drivers. I experienced a fine example of this today when a cab driver (with a neck brace) laid on his horn for what seemed like an eternity causing me to wonder what driving infraction I committed that led to his distress.

Speaking of distress... gesturing is illegal in this town so my middle finger stays gripped to the steering wheel, while my heart, often resides uncomfortably in my stomach.

God's Affection For Chocolate

As my daughter becomes more aware of her body, she has shown frustration over the brown dots that exist on her palms and her foot, to which I reply, you can't blame God for loving chocolate... curiosity then replaces her adolescent chagrin as I begin to weave my tale. I explain that while she was growing, God's spirit would stop in and admire the beauty of what, we her parents, were creating. He is known for loving Hershey's Kisses, I say, and as he caressed your cheek, held your hands and tickled your toes, he must have had a bit of chocolate left on his spirit fingers, and as a result, the warmth of Mommy's womb baked his love into your still growing, delicate skin. Her curiosity increases to the point where she is compelled to question the heart-shaped birthmark He placed on her Father's thigh to which I say, that's easy... your Daddy's heart is full and pure, so much so, that God put his chocolate-flavored heart stamp of approval on his leg for all to see.

When at last she wondered where all of my dots were, I explained that God was so busy filling my head with thoughts and tales to hopefully one day pen, that he didn't have any time for dessert.

fornicating through a fictional relationship

It was a romantic but messy love affair... nothing more than a grown man and a stupid girl haphazardly seducing happenstance.

Finn found herself gliding across the ballroom floor in the Blue Room at The Roosevelt Hotel, on their Thursday, feeling like a princess, in what she knew, was a faux fairytale. Content to be his kept secret, she took pride in maintaining her arm candy presentation and making sure she was always where he needed her to be- emotionally, physically as well as sexually.

Her well of self-worth was dry, and she felt his bucket of beautiful promises was all that she deserved.

The commonality of their dysfunction increased, as new and exciting took on a more regular routine, so that when he broke the news of his relocation, followed by an offer to to put her up in an apartment and keep her in wealth and body, her only reply was, "well that's just geography".

And just like that the silk canvas that blanketed her emotions and held her like a noose was lifted... and she exited The Roosevelt for the last time, as a fractured, fraction of a woman.

6 line rhyme on time

The presence of time lends itself to learn.
She is patient as she keeps...
A watchful eye, as her people cry.
She is not eager and they are not meek.
Wisdom eludes them.
For in haste, they seek.

Etherally Excised

They were wined and dined by their beloved New Orleans on an oddly comfortable August evening that was so uncharacteristically cool, it persuaded them to leave the windows open while they made love under the watchful eye of the moon. He was unsettled by her body that night as he sensed that something had taken up residence in or near her womb.

It was an emergency trip to the hospital and an ultrasound of her new found girth that gave light to their worst fear. The form was lifeless and potentially diseased, and they found themselves at the surgical doors whispering prayers and exchanging kisses, that once they received the news, would turn to sobs. The doctor discovered cysts had formed on her ovaries and their necessary removal would rob them of their tomorrows.

Soon storms rolled in and there was no time to mourn, just days after the surgery they were forced to flee the home they shared to higher, drier ground. When asked years later about her Hurricane Katrina experience all she could say was, that's when God washed all her babies away.

Pilot's Wife

Plugged into my music library I am hoping to feel inspired... but my mental state is lost somewhere over the Atlantic, after jetting across the world and fooling Father Time. I am back to the land of eternal sunshine which is layered with dust and manicured green space and devoid of the promise Autumn brings.

There is a charred hole in the desert, just a stones throw from my home, that we all seem to be lost in. I am a pilot's wife, who is currently caught up in someone else's despair.

It is a slow Winter's death as the weight of the frost on our emotionally frail limbs leaves us feeling fractured, exchanging too many kisses and I love you's before the car picks him up for a flight.

I am more conscious of near misses on the sidewalk, not wanting to step on the cracks and have my luck change... I need him to come home...

The Death of Sand

When I walk along the beach I stare at a perpetually blue sky that does not cry, it only blinds with reflective glory upon the granules beneath my feet.

I dig my toes into the sand in angered desperation and shed tears for the blue above me and the brown below me.

It is a life of contrast with bodies caught in its cruel center hopelessly yearning to blend.

I gouge out a hole in the flesh of the sea that the tide has left behind and hope for lightning.

I dream of an ethereal death for the crystals that silently fill my lungs and consume my soul.

I want to create a glass landscape as frail and muted as the heart that's housed within me.

Boot Straps and The Luck of Lucy

She was a pick yourself up by the boot straps kind of girl, and since the tender age of four - when she had been equipped with the smallest pair Luchesse's her Daddy could find - she'd had a stubborn tenacity intent on trying to fix all that was broken.

Lucy sat on the edge of Andrew's hospital bed and stared at his lifeless form. He was now tethered to her world by tubes and machines when only five days prior he had been dancing her around the freshly waxed floors of the local dance hall celebrating her birthday. Her feet shifted uncomfortably on the hospital floor below, dressed in the new boots he had bought for her as a present with a card that read, "I live and breathe to love you".

And just like that, the beeping ceased, and the power was cut on her present existence as she tucked the card into her pocket - a last attempt to anchor her heart to his.

She felt as helpless as a child, remembering the time she was forced to dismount grandpa Jake's tractor as the broken machine was hauled off to auction, and when once again, Daddy was there to gently guide her over the threshold of that hospital room into a new world - the one of a widow.

Babies and Breakdowns

Captain Recovery rises again to fix what is broken and mend Jill's hormone induced tornado of emotions with dinner and friends. The baby she cannot touch is sleeping while their toddler plays with Halloween finger puppets at her feet. The trees outside are screaming to release their leaves as Fall comes to a close and she knows that Winter is looming... waiting to blanket her lively landscape and match the coldness she feels in her soul. She has surrendered to the glass of wine safely secured by her finger tips as she tingles from it's effects. She has no reservoir of emotions and is unable to feel guilt for the excess she drinks quietly from the bottle she hides in the closet. Their toddler holds up a monster puppet and proudly says "Franken Einstein", laughing she cradles him, now drunk and able to exhale, she finally feels human.

Budweiser

Small town suffocation was her disease of which there was no cure. She was a thumb twiddler, part-time casino card fiddler who was aching to be noticed for a craft she'd not yet obtained. It was an unreasonably hot day and the famed Clydesdales that she was posing with were spewing horse hair in all directions, layering the photo shoot and all its props in a blanket of gold. She cleverly recited the acronym she had been taught while smiling for the camera in the Bud dress so many girls would covet the chance to wear..."Budweiser- because you deserve what every individual should enjoy regularly". She was stuck in America and felt as if she was drowning in the monotony of amber'd waves of grain. Singing hallelujah and the praises of a bottle of horse piss.

Daughters and Debts

I stare at my daughter's tiny sleeping body as the morning light is slowly waltzing through the window across her face. She is beautiful at the tender age of eight with piano fingers that lay cupped below her cherub like cheeks. As she grows, I hope her beauty will not be erased like mine, by the scars blemishes leave behind. She is a loveable and fierce force that is still untamed and at times difficult, but through her father's eyes I see adoration and I have learned to love me.

I wish to make a paper plane that is more beautiful and glides faster on the breeze than the one molded by my mother.

I am overwhelmed at times by the love I feel for my daughter and with a full heart I will her to be more than the mother that bore her.

Hip To Be Square?

Pearls and perfect posture are things I don't possess.
"No apron in the kitchen and heels only for the bedroom" I want to scream out in jest.
When I am in a crowded room and feel all alone, lucidity is like a clever imaginery friend, that hums in my ear..." square peg, round hole, square peg, round hole", signaling my social distress.

For me, fitting in to conform is like a dress that's unworn, and no matter its beauty, it's just not my duty.

And so, I am happy to say, I have founded a misfits paradise named Oblongs Anonymous.
Membership is free, you just can't be... completely square.

Tags: misfit, Silly, squar

Pillow Samba

He's just landed in Perth, while she's stateside, visiting home... they are tethered to one another by pillows and telephones. He has just disembarked another plane, and along with his crew of passenger air transport soldiers, he marches off to his temporary home. He reconnects with his love, now that he is grounded, through signals sent across the night sky. She is once again in his ear, as her laughter brings him ease of mind...and their ritual can begin. He switches to a language that is unrecognizable by his crew, it is French this time, and the telling of her favorite lullaby ensues. She smiles, as her lids say goodbye to day, with the tone of his voice dropping kisses tenderly in her ear, phonetic fairies dance the samba on her pillow as love enters her empty space and the sadness disappears.

Trepidation and Her Sisters

The oldest daughter, Trepidation, often found herself lingering on the landing between two floors — success was on the ground floor, an attainable and well lived-in space, while failure could be found on the floor above, bearing a lack-luster appearance that was unappealing and without grace. Trepidation's curiosity led her often to the attic, a dark place, which was home to forgotten promises and childhood clutter; kept hidden from judgmental eyes for the daughters' sake. In the corner of that neglected room, sat a trunk filled with memories and potential magic, known only to the girls as their hope chest. Their mother, Discerning, would quietly creep up the stairs to add to the chest when she knew her daughters were done playing with life's moments, and once they had been tucked away, the girls would heal from the wounds those moments had left behind. While Trepidation continued to waffle over ascending the stairs, her sisters, Bold and Daring, mocked their baby sister, Complacency, who seemed to be content to gaze from the picture window on failure's second floor. Curious about her stagnant behavior, all the girls joined Complacency at the window and soon became engulfed in nature's offering with a view that was amazing, and on this, all the young women could agree... but the chest would beckon them to open it soon, and the rest may very well be, written history.

Pearl Necklace

He drove away from his picturesque Nantucket dream and smiled with distinct pleasure as he watched the moon dance across her nubile chest. Her arm was draped across his lap, intimately positioned to signal a hunger that he was prepared to quell, like a geared up captain who had navigated rough seas to his advantage and won the regatta.

As a business owner he answered to no one, and played often, well away from the perimeter of his picket fence.

She was nothing like his wife — who was beautiful but with expectations that had grown stale — instead she had a devoid nature that pleased him, as she wore no ring of despair.

He quickly pulled over and stopped on the deserted beach road when she proclaimed geographic perfection for their midnight romp in the surf.

He was careful to lock the glove compartment that contained the recently purchased pearl necklace and earrings before he got out... after all, it would be his 12th anniversary tomorrow and pearls were the perfect modern gift for what he perceived as the perfectly modern relationship.

Up To No Good in 1984

Barreling down the highway in a black Trans Am, we were hell bent on a frolicking good time tubing down the Bogue Chitto River. My 78 Firebird was sporting a lack luster frown but with the roof panels removed all the girls were ready to ride. Successive live oak and cypress trees flashed across our speedy landscape as the breeze blew their hair those teen dreams all felt like prom queens. Summer days seemed endless when you were floating downstream housed in a rubber cocoon sipping on Natural Light. The scenery was second to none as I was surrounded by bronzed beauties with smooth skin, unblemished by the curse of time; glistening in the sun due to a coating of Tropicana oil that left a coconut scent wafting through the air. Rebel was along for the ride too, barking bubbles... courtesy of Hubba Bubba.

Easter and Pasties

He was dripping doo-wop style complete with a finely placed fedora on this evening of yet another matrimonial occasion with which he could twirl me on his finger and teach me to box step. I was his brown eyed girl with dark tendrils cascading down my shoulders and together we gingerly shimmied through time until the pace quickened and I chose to trade in my petticoats for prom dresses. Years after, self-sufficiency saw me as the black sheep of the family...only not to the man who was now older and wiser, but still with eyes of grey and a heart of gold. We sat soaking in the sun of a lovely spring afternoon among all the plastic and paper carnage that Easter chocolate brings as he in his casual best says. “ So, are you still a Go Go dancer?” With a mouthful full of gumbo I hesitated to reply, and he said, “I thought so, you always had a little bit of wild in you”

Picked to Perfection

He was like kissed by the sun perfection lazily leaning on the car cradling an acoustic guitar while gently holding a pick where I longed to be- between his lips. He was a tamer of freely fornicating fillies and I knew that trouble regularly rested on his knee... but still I wanted to be broken. His demeanor was casual as he switched to strumming flamenco while the mouth that once was occupied by a pick now held a cigarette as plumes of smoke clouded his eyes and gave me a moment to breathe, just breathe. Not long after, I was caught inhaling his sex just as the smoke cleared and now we both knew that I would be a willing participant to his every intentions. The notes were clear and plucked with resonate emotion causing my heart to feel weak and my innermost legs to be wet. As dusk fell into night, for the first time I knew these hormones stewing inside me would be satiated by something other than my own hands.

She Misplaced Her Morals At Bourbon and Iberville

Never did Clare imagine that life's twist and turns would see her holding court scantily clad among the soft blues and pinks of in-house Fred Astaire stage lighting.

Like Cinderella before the ball she was a young rogue girl in cut-off jeans and a haphazard ponytail applying the signature smokey eye with precision, dabbing blush and blotting lips with a bit of wild child grace while the stylist rolled and coiffed her hair to make sure her alter ego was ready for the evening's suitors.

A last look in the mirror as she buckled her patent leather Mary Jane heels and headed downstairs to a bustling crowd of beautiful boys who were caught up in bachelor revelry and impatient men wanting to relive the adolescent effervescence that was deeply sedate in their loins.

Night after night she mixed and mingled with clients whose hands were dressed with pretty cocktails as dancer and guest were cloistered together in a dimly lit room that was heavily soaked with idle chatter; all cleverly designed to make your character questionable and the wallet a bit loose.

They put her on a pedestal... for five minutes at a time, where she shook her ass for senators and pretended to listen to the lonely. Good girls get lost all the time they would say... her soul was outside, left on the street, deluged in regret and in search of a viable savior.

I'll Have What He's Having

She decided she would be Evangeline today, Clare mused to herself, as she pulled the chord in the dimly lit street car to request to get off at stop #27 and head toward the river, just a block and a half away from St. Charles Avenue to La Crêpe Nanou - her favorite romantic bistro, which sat quietly close to the corners of Prytania and Robert Streets.

Once she exited, thoughts ran rampant in her cool and calculating mind as she gingerly strolled and perfected her evening's strategy, intent on using her bag of tricks for all matters involved in that night's seduction of her childhood love that she hoped would save her.

She laid out a mental picture of how the events should transpire: he would be there waiting for her, having pre-ordered cocktails that she would in turn acknowledge with appreciation and a cat-shy glance that teased and whispered, favors will be bestowed in the boudoir after dinner for a pre-requisite to desert.

Casual conversation would then lead them through breadsticks and strawberries swimming in fondue as she planned to affix his glance downwards with the haphazard and continuous crossing and re-crossing of her legs, and when he can take no more, the main course should arrive, and as they devoured the cleverly ordered Moules Mariniéres she hoped of reminding him of a texture he longs to taste.

After the table has been cleared of their pre-feast, she would excuse herself momentarily and disappear as his eyes would follow her every move, and with the gentle but hypnotic sway of her hips, she could lure him into her web; indenturing him to her power and graces thus proving to him that the attention she hoped to draw from the masses would be obsolete as he would then see himself as the lucky suitor whose been picked from a pool of powerful potentials.

The opening of the door to the bistro carried her back to the present, and as she passed through the red velvet drapes that hung across the entrance, it was like a curtain rising on the opening act of a play and when the petite frenchman who played the accordion most nights swayed to the left she instantly recognized the face at the bar... when handed the menu of digestifs and cocktails, she knew that it would be in vain — for she knew without a doubt what he would be having....