Married Life

You ask, what does it feel like to be married for 50 years

That’s a long time you say

To be with the same man

But I think, not the same man at all

First was the prophet in sandals

That I snatched from the jaws of a zen center

And introduced to family life

Who turned into a bearded woodsman with a sledge hammer

And Chrysler engines

Who transformed into a clean shaved boy

With a weakness for vodka

Who changed again, sobered up

In counterpoint to me

And became a charismatic teacher all admired

Went through a dog, a cat, a dog, three cats two children, a mistress

For 50 years

What a long long time I say

To be married to so many different men

I look over at him

In his current incarnation

You’ve got to change I say to him.



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Icy isn’t it

As if I need more ways to fall

What are you trying to do, you cold bitch?

Kill me?

Send me tumbling down the driveway

Trip me up on a snowy rut

Feet flying out, ass bouncing on the ground

Icy isn’t it

Now I have a black eye

Swollen knee

I get back up

I don’t cry

Not dead yet you bitch I shout

I’m old

I fall I break and bruise and bleed

On the ice.

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Calm Down

If in a panic you should cry out afraid that

Atomic rain is steaming down

Fires are blazing up

It’s really

Not the end of the world

Take a deep breath, you will see

The rain gray away, the flames sink quiet

You will see.


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Who loves more than me?  I say, infinity

I say bigger than ever and hold my fingers an inch apart

Huge I say and stretch my arms wide

I jump up and shout infinity times infinity

So how much

Do you love me I ask sitting down

That much?



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Getting old #2

dependent-dementia-woman-old-70578I like getting old for bad reasons

I used to envy prettier women

Now they are getting on

Now they are gray grannies

Like me


Heads don’t turn anymore

I went through life making faces at those women

Not nice of me I know

Sometimes I am not nice

But now I can say to them

Don’t worry, even if you are old and wrinkly and fat

You are of value

Beautiful inside

I know just what to say

Having been told that

Back when.




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Getting Old

img_0032I like getting old

Just not the dying part

I don’t mind veined skin as long as

My eyes are  blue

As long as my heart beats

Just don’t tell me I’m dying

I don’t mind my white hair

If I squint it looks blonde

And I am sixteen.


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Unvanilla Collection, Pt. 5

The last of my BDSM poems.

All the wild fuckwhores are foaming and stamping,

Humping and bucking and rearing and vamping,

We’ll need some bum breakers to tame all them bitches,

So polish your boots, men, and lower your britches.


He smiled at her and said “You slattern,

I made you in my ideal pattern,

My whore, my slut, my crawling creature”,

There is no dark where his words reach her.


Let me define just who you are,

I know the secret key,

A slave or switch, a top or dom, a fucking wannabe,

If you don’t fit yourself within my perfect paradigm,

You cannot play my D/s game and waste my precious time.

To make a perfect dominant,

His cock must be most prominent,

He needs to stomp and stamp his feet,

A mambo master rules the beat,

The whores are all his special meat:

Such traits are thus concomitant.


Paradise is right at hand

And whip and cane and rope and brand,

Heaven in his touch and taste,

A league of angels, fucked unchaste.


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