My Love is a Rusty Old Backhoe
Dirt polished fingers of steel
Dig deep in your velvet softness
Scream to me how it feels
Ice sky tinges your mounds
Pulling furrows in straight lines
Push deeper in furtive ground
I pour my intention in your furrows
Build storm walls in your newly plowed mind
Weep at my destruction of you
Mourn the raw earth torn by cold tines
See how I never cease
Know that my violence is true
In the Spring you will see new roses
I planted them all for you
Look how the weeds have rescinded
Green grass manicured to lawn
Layers of terraced flowers
Glisten with dew under a fiery dawn
Look in my eyes and understand
My roughness is how I love
My way is wet earth dug with passion
My desire a cataclysmic thing
But after you weather my winter
You will rest in the arms of my Spring
Orgasmic. Intentional or not.
“Dig deep in your velvet softness
Scream to me how it feels
Ice sky tinges your mounds
Push deeper in furtive ground
I pour my intention in your furrows”
Yeah baby. My high school illiterate self emerges from the shallow ground I buried him beneath and screams sound of joy and victory.
Now, let me don my acceptable mask and return with comments appropriately erudite. The seeds you planted may be lifelong, if you’re one of the lucky ones.
I live for your deep and insightful comments, my friend. Yes, there was intentional comparison between passionate love and the effort it takes to bring forth a garden St. Augustine would appreciate.
I had to go through college, study Freud, only to come full circle to discover my adolescent brain was right all along. It is ALL about sex. I learned what a “metaphor” was and how to identify them quickly. Plow. Furrow. Seeds. It all came flooding back…OMG. These “things” you talk about bring meaning to the Void…and are perhaps the ONLY things that bring meaning to the emptiness which we call our lives.
It’s all true. Freud was right about everything being related to sex. It’s what keeps humankind going errantly about the planet creating havoc, chaos, and kids. I think Freud was wrong that our ills are related to mommy and daddy issues. I think it was all related to the quality and quantity of blissful nuptials and the steady practice thereof that formed our mindsets about our lives. The kindest thing that can happen in the last third of the last trimester of life is to die with fond memories to blunt the razor’s edge of our reality.
Thank you, Rene. You do see how emotional contemplation drives my writing. This poem was a swirling metaphor of life. Love and devotion can be masked by the harshness of the effort it takes to transform a thing into a beautiful result.
I do like the thought of the warrior poet. I thank you for that vision. Of course now my warrior skills are mostly used up fighting the weeds and grass in the lawn. I certainly see the beauty and synergy of our natural world and it inspires me to go a little further and see a little more.
Someone has to fight them or they will take over. I’m impressed, you truly are courageous. There’s a lot of inspiration in the beauty out there, thank you for sharing your
Incredible visions with us. 🤗
Bonjour HEART
J’ai une grosse pensée pour ceux qui subissent les inondations et qui ont tout perdu
COURAGE à vous dans cette période difficile à surmonter, des jours meilleurs viendront embellir votre maison
Je vous envoie mes pensées amicales
Que cette journée soit belle et douce
Que le soleil brille dans votre demeure
Que les oiseaux chantent pour vous
Je vous souhaite une merveilleuse journée
Rempli de joie et d’amour
Que le vent vous apporte de bonnes nouvelles
Votre Ami Bernard
Hyperion Sky 
Leave a reply to Dale Cancel reply