Blog title: Bits and pieces of Willowwind's heart and mind
Blog description: ~ >>----> THE WAIT <----<< ~
In the silence of dawn do I hear your voice
ever so gently calling to me
In the winds at night
I hear your voice.
It is always the same,
gentle, searching, patient.
I open my hearts ears
it is the same.
"Cante where are you?"
In the warmness of my dreams
do you touch my cheek
to take away the tears that flow
without me knowing they are there.
with a smiling heart
My blog address: http://MillionaireMatch.com/blog/Willowwind
"Tell me ...", he said, "How is it you can get inside my head?"
Who, me? I replied. The knowing I was there could not be denied.
"Through all our conversations, each thought I wanted to express, you spoke of it first. It can be disconcerting, I must confess."
Why?, I asked. Is it so unusual to feel a possibility of something real? To know someones thoughts so intimately, isn't that how love should be?
"The truth is, I've not felt this before, and, I find myself wanting more. You were not my ideal match. Initially, that is what I thought. But, now I am realizing you are the one I have sought."
I smiled, and although he did not see, the next thing he typed is, "I love it when you smile at me".
It's that mystical connection of minds that only love knows. It finds us when we least expect it. Flowers for the heart ....
FORGOTTEN BLOOMSIn a garden, where Jasmine graces the air, tiny snails of memory traverse green leaves leaving trails of their life like a poet's lament onto pages wet with his blood.Gathered stone from the streams of life are placed along paths of lost love, there for my feet to follow. My senses breathe the dried earth as if it were the sweetest of nectar.My soul casts off it's dress. I walk naked through the thorns adorning Love's rose. My breast is pierced, bleeding, thighs scratched and raped by a poet's pen, dipped in the ink of need. It writes upon me leaving messages of unhealed wounds.Pain sleeps upon fragrant petals that stick to my skin.The scent of rose, a pungent aphrodisiac, assaults my senses.Memory's Lavender rises and falls in the breeze spreading floating blooms before me. Blue Lilies of indifference dance upon water as I lay open my soul to the assault of his poetry upon my body. Exquisite pollination.Like the dew of a new morn, I sleep on the empty pages of his aloneness planting Orchids of hope in this long forgotten garden that once was his heart.
"WHERE THERE IS AN OPEN MIND THERE WILL ALWAYS BE A FRONTIER". CHARLES KETTERING
Last night, while perusing profiles that caught my eye, so to say, I came across a rather consistent phrase in many of the men's written essay sections about themselves, as well as the woman they search for. Most of these men from age 50 (some at age 45-50) had indicated their preferred "age groups" to be from 25 to 50, 40 to 65, 18 to 40, 30 to 55, 18-99, or some other combination of "younger" versus "older" women. Older being as compared to his own age, or in rare instances, older than he.
This phrase was "a woman who has an open mind", or, "a woman who is open minded". I wondered, what does that mean? We all know "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" So, I thought, perhaps a man's meaning would be quite different than mine.
Is it having a mind open to suggestion, adventure; a non stagnant mind, ie, a woman who thinks in a pro-active or progressive way, an explorer, versus limiting her mind to a comfort zone she does not want to venture beyond, a woman who limits change in her life? Is this phrase aimed towards a "sexual" nature of openness? What does "open mind" mean? And, is this particular attribute / personality trait aimed towards women in a definitive age group?
For the most part, the phrase seemed to appear in those men's profiles wherein the man was over the age of 50. By his age preference, he is interested in younger women, but, will also consider an older woman, apparently leaving his options "OPEN" to women of many ages.
But, is this statement meant to distinguish younger minds from older minds of women? Do men see women over 45 as "set in their ways", or, too experienced in life to still have the explorer personality / mindset? Is this personality / personal trait mentioned in his profile to indicate to older women who may be interested in him, that he is open to meeting them IF they still have a 'young' mind. I wondered, is this a comparison he uses between younger women who are still "adventurous" to explore life and an older woman who, through his own experience with some, has lost that desire?
I wondered, do these men feel that the male, after the age of 45-50 are more adventurous, more the explorer of life, more "live life to the fullest" personality as compared to women their own age?
I began to look within myself for answers, but, realized I needed the question answered, the phrase defined, before I was able to search within to see if my mind was "open" as defined by a man.
So, gentlemen, here is your opportunity to share your thoughts on the woman you search for that has "an open mind". Are you willing to share your definition and/or thoughts as to why you desire an "open minded woman" ? And, perhaps, it will give the women here an opportunity to experience your communication skills ..... Another topic for discussion I suppose, communication.
But, let us concentrate on the "open mind" first.
In the quietness of my heart do I hear his thoughts. His remembrances intertwine with mine becoming one memory.The morning breaks in hues of golden pink bringing with it the first dawn of a new beginning.Where the stars of the night fade into the silent watch there is a calmness.Yet, a storm thrives within that reels my senses from one opened dream to another like waves of endless motion cresting and falling.A deep ocean filled with currentson which I ride.Here,where earth meets water is the strength of emotionsdriven by an inner compass that guides them home to be renewed againby pure gentleness.Lingering in the quietness I feel him. In the brightness of a new dawn do I see his soul. My lips whisper to him in words only he hears.As my eyes explore his, he takes me to a depth I have never known. My soul soars in his ocean as he glides on my waves.Here in the quietness of my heart will there always be a new dawn,a place where two halves join, a place where two souls meet. Earth and water, elements,in a world only known by those who Love.
A rose that blooms in winter, with a fragrance so divine, that it permeates your being, Can such a Love be mine?
Like the sad song of a nightingale silenced by the night, is there a possibility of a second chance to make it right?
Rain that does not fall, is a captive of the sky. The same as a time to say I Love you can forever pass you by.
Once in a lifetime then gone the moment may be. Hesitation's knife is sharp. It's wound you don't foresee.Just once does time stop for you and then continues on. Capture the moment, hold it close, or, it's gift will soon be gone.
There is a room inside my heart large and filled with song where Ghosts of past do gather and dance forever long. They glide across my mind dancing memories of my past, familiar doubts, insecurities across my thoughts their image cast. Gentlemen of lost Love dance with ladies of regret. Their steps so perfectly move in time to a dance they can't forget. Dancing shadows, hands entwined glide across the floor. My Ghosts of sadness past do come to haunt my heart once more. Here the memories glide along in steps I've grown to know swaying to melodies of mistake their shadows dancing to and fro. I let the sad songs find me trying to Love again. I feel the rhythm of the dance, my songs of now and then. At times my mind does listen I'm caught up in their dance. As the music invades the present I dare to take a chance. As time the healer comes to call bringing new enchanting melodies a new dancer approaches to take my hand to waltz with wondrous possibilities. Sleep fair dancers of the past I lay to rest your sorrow the ballroom of regret is closed with a sign that says, Tomorrow.
I ventured to the Mall today. A sometimes exasperating journey. I'm one of those women who are on a small mission when I shop at the malls. I suppose, many women feel it is a relaxing time, a time to simply walk around and look, admire, keep in touch with the latest trends, or collect new reusable shopping bags? It seems to be a "thing" to be toting multiple bags from one or more of the shops. Sort of a spoils of war thing ... the more bags, the more successful the shopping? I'm still contemplating that reasoning, or, for that matter, why is it important to be seen with your hands full of shopping bags?
I mention this, the shopping bags, because, on my walk from the car to the awaiting glass doors of shopping heaven, I happened by a man and woman loading bags into the trunk of their car. It appeared he had been golfing while the wife had been shopping. He was dressed in golfing attire and had his glove tucked neatly in the back pocket of his pants. The golf clubs were pushed aside to accommodate her bags. The husband, while expertly arranging the various sized bags, said to his wife, "I'm happy to see you had such a good time shopping, honey. What an assortment of bags. Must have been a great success?" To which she replied, "It was ok. I didn't find exactly what I wanted, but, these will do." He slammed the trunk closed, walked to the passenger door, opened it and helped his wife into the car.
As I strolled to the glass doors that led me to the awaiting clerks at the stores I would visit, I caught myself laughing. Why, you might ask? Well, I, by nature, have one of those comparative minds. You know, that thing when you look at something, take out the mental scales, and see which one weighs more? Oh, well, maybe you don't do that, but, it can be perplexing at times for those who do.
Do you ever have those seemingly fleeting thoughts that, actually last seconds, but seem to last for hours? I had one of those self reflective moments when my mind offered it's retrospective slide show. One of those flash movies in your mind that is probably your intuitive senses trying to get your attention, or, perhaps offer you some insight into a subconscious question/pondering that has been stored for future contemplation. Strange how your mind seems to hold onto things, isn't it?
My movie! Me sitting at the computer perusing profiles; picking up possibilities from phrases, descriptions, funny anecdotes, pictures, likes and dislikes. Each profile like a different store. Shopping!! Think about it. Isn't that what we are doing on the dating/social sites? I know, a strange analogy, but, if you really think on it, searching for that one special person is like shopping.
Some dress in their finest to go shopping, even down to the sporty shoes that are really nice, but, with the full knowledge that if we walk too long in them our feet will begin hurting. Why is that? Because, subconsciously, we know we won't be there long and can rush home and put on our flip-flops? Or, perhaps we are those people who simply want to look good at any cost? Some wear the most comfortable clothing and shoes they have. Perhaps not stylish, but comfortable. Anticipation of a long shopping time? Maybe just a day of window shopping to see if there is anything we might like? I wonder. Then there are those that wear the finest, but, everything they choose is, actually, quite comfortable. A more confident, assured shopper, with a sense of style and comfort, ready for the browsing, or, the extended search for that just perfect purchase? If you look at the varied assortment of people at the malls, you will find these specific ones, or, hybrids.
Consider your profile as your clothing, and the site you post it to the mall.
What kind of shopper are you? Do you wear your finest to appear a serious shopper with the intent to spend money? Do you wear the nice stylish, comfy ensemble to be relaxed while you shop? Do you dress in clothing that is just you, knowing you might leave empty handed, or, might leave with a plethora of bags (possibly contemplating taking some of it back if it doesn't fit), or, if you are really a mission shopper, perhaps you will find and leave with the prize you came to find ? Then, maybe you start thinking you will dress one way, and by the end of your typing presentation, when it is time to go to the mall, you are wearing something different than what you thought you would wear?
Now, consider your profile as one of the shops in the mall. People from all walks of life will pass by. What clientele are you hoping to attract? What kind of shop are you?
There are a multitude of blogs and forums here at MM. Interesting reading on some. Many asking why this, why that. Many offering insights. Some drama, and some hilariously funny. I like to think of the blogs and forums as the wondrous food court of MM's mall. Diversified, tasty, fast food, sit down meals, spicy, bland, salty pretzels, luscious ice-cream, hot and cold selections, just about every cuisine is offered.
Some who read this (and thanks for reading!!) may think it flippant, or silly, or as if I am making fun of serious searchers for that one heart that beats with theirs. Not the intent. None of us are perfect. So, I am simply talking and thinking myself out at the same time. It's good to look inside. Ok, back to looking in my closet. That is, after all, the beginning of any excursion . Well, at least, I think so. Maybe there are nude shoppers out there? Don't know.
You know, when it comes right down to it, the best we can do is to be ourselves. Wear the clothing that is who you are. Choose to be you. As to the store thoughts? Same thing. Be uniquely you. You can't please all the shoppers, but, you may be the one that one unique shopper has been searching to find.
I watched you across the room conversing with someone you knew. Your eyes like mirrors to your soul, She never seemed to see you.
Our eyes met you smiled and I shied away Smiling to myself I wondered what words would I find to say?
Words spoken from one soul to another dreams drifting in silent song crossing between time and space always searching for a place to belong.
I could not keep my eyes from watching something magical drew me. Our eyes locked for a moment in time. A burning seared right through me.
Your table was ready. You turned and walked away. Perhaps the chance meeting was meant to happen another day.
Was it you? The one whose touch turns spark to fire The one to awaken loves desire?
I waited for a while unable to move then found the courage to rise only to walk out through the door and look into your eyes.
An instant of recognition Words spoken with no reply Questions passing instantly Did you speak? Did I?
Have you ever experienced a chance meeting? Some call it Kismet, some chance, some fate/destiny, providence / soulmate comes to mind with others, and, some don't believe in any of these. I'm a "romantic" .... although defined by Websters (and many other word dictionaries and by 'love experts'); romance, like love, defies precise definition ... and is an evolving phenomenon.
My inspiration for this poem, we'll just call him Tim to lend reality to an undisclosed real man, seemed to encompass the epitome of "chance" meeting ..... He was someone I knew when I was 16. At that time, I was totally enthralled with another boy, hence, Tim was a friend. One evening, about 6 years ago, I was waiting for a girl-friend and her husband at a small restaurant. In walks a man, obviously with a woman who was not his sister, that immediately caught my attention. My heart raced, I probably blushed, and, to my mind, seemed as though I was gawking. Later, after dinner, as I was leaving, I literally bumped into this man as I walked out the door. He laughed as he peeled me from his chest, took one look at me and spoke my name. He had been pondering all night as to why I looked so familiar, and, when I spoke my apologies for becoming part of his chest, he recognized my voice. My voice??? After how long?
We talked, exchanged numbers, and, actually met a few days later for a very comfortable and lovely lunch. He told me he had felt the same jolting effect when he briefly locked eyes with me at the restaurant. In the end, we parted ways with a smile. I was, at that time, seeing someone, and he, preparing to return to Sweden.
Being the "hopeless romantic" (another term to be discussed later), I believe love finds it's own way, whether by 'chance', happenstance, or other means. Only WE limit it's possibilities. Now, whether love is fleeting, or, becomes a lifelong celebration of two people, I'm still discovering; some days waiting for it, some days looking for it, but, always knowing it is there, somewhere, waiting for me.
So, what about you? Do you believe in chance (keeping in mind the varied 'definitions' of same) ?
Some days are like cookies. You stroll by the windows of the local establishment, checkered with invitations, suggestions, and the scattered specials. Most pause and peruse the nondescript scribblings on the signs, reading with a mind that is so far from recognizing what they say. Then there is the casual visitor satisfying a curiosity and never able to chose or make a decisive move to order anything. But there is always the cookie hunter. That person with their mouth set for the melting enjoyment of the sweet morsels that are presented for the taking, willing to pay the price for the exquisite taste of that first cookie.
We see them through the polished glass compartments. The scent of mixed aromas fills the air to the open door. Vanilla dances with cinnamon, butter flavors the breeze. Sunlight fills the little shop with it's cold appearing glass cases. The door at the rear, with the clouded little oval windows that hide the secrets, swings as an afterthought behind the cookie bringers as they shuffle through it.
At times there are samples spattered on a plate, bits and pieces, or, whole cookies. A plethora of tantalizing morsels each with their own appeal.
The classic chocolate chip stacked neatly like fallen dominoes, is a common choice. It's safety is comforting, it's taste familiar. There is no expectation, just knowing. Then there are the scrumptious white chocolate and macadamia nut, a perfect blend of erotic with the not so usual; smoothness and crunch complimenting each other with the slightest taste of sweetness,
non obtrusive to the stars of it's show.
In the far corner of the glass are the simple and delicately plain sugar cookies topped with surprising little crystals of sweetness, clear, yet, a welcome taste like a long lost friend.
The oatmeal and raisin cookies lay in individual places, neatly in line as if to give you the impression of solidity; the joining of sweetness with little snippets of grayish oatmeal pieces intended to make your body healthy, as are the raisins; sun-sweet grapes who seem to have lost their moisture somewhere in between the vines and dehydrators. Perhaps they were wrinkled naturally by the sunlight, but, their original shape is lost somewhere in the batter.
Stacked in piles, the wedding cookies, covered in their layer of sweet powder, speak to your mouth, whispering how easy it is to eat several at a time, filling your mouth with multiple tastes of the same flavor infused with crushed little bits of pecan. Then, you lick your lips to savor the sweet lingering white powder that clings to them.
Meticulously lined up tea cookies, with their semi-sweet sticky jam centers, offer you the ease of savoring a particularly bland outer layer, and mixing the flavored jams on your palette like an
Then the door opens again. Carried on slightly dulled silver trays are still warm and soft circles
of anticipation. Their scent distinctive. Their appearance defined, like no other cookie.
A smooth even surface, gentle sloping edges, not too large, not small, individual temptations to
every breath. Yes, these cookies are not for everyone; they are an acquired taste. Barely displayed, exquisitely and purposefully made to savor and tantalize; the mating of cultures; the simplistic ingredient is only used in these ancient morsels. As individual as each flavor magically blended in a love affair of sensory pleasures, the smell, touch, taste, offer you a pleasure with an exotically intoxicating after taste that beckons you like a drug, to partake of another and another. Ahhhh, the timeless ginger cookie. Sexual, sensuous, like Eastern silk, or a emotion you crave to explore as the texture and flavor entice your mind and tease your tongue. You like them, treasure their individual perfect taste, or, you dislike them completely.
Cookies, many shapes, many tastes, displayed as if they were the only one on the shelf. We shuffle through life, darting into the cookie store for a quick bite; walk in with purpose to find one particular one; choose the standard cookie you have always eaten. Sometimes you wish you had time to check out something new, but usually look around unable to choose from the endless choices and settle for the ole standard. Or, you realize you can walk in slowly, close your eyes, and take a deep breath; become lost in the aromas, allowing your senses to lead you, to fill your mind with the anticipation of which pleasure you will sample first, which flavor you will cherish first, then, you find yourself asking for a go bag to enjoy one particularly exceptional cookie over and over.
I see in your eyes
a passion that consumes
my every thought
my every breath.
as I look into the depths
of the eyes of my Love
where a thousand thoughts
dance with fire.
I burn from within.
Wild fires, like ocean waves,
move across my mind.
Spiraling cones of flame
dip, and plunge into my depths,
coarsing through my blood
a tsunami of need
within it's own power.
Two people, one heart
thundering across untouched skin.
Seconds of time
close around us
as we unleash
a Love so great,
held spell bound,
in the instant
our first embrace.
Can there be anything more exquisite
than the scent of you upon my hands?
A perfume that entwines it's allure
as a wandering vine of roses,
a mist that blankets the sea of my thoughts,
the sweet sigh of pleasure on my lips.
I inhale the essense of you
filling my soul
with an endless bounty of euphoria
that strips all sensabilities of propriety,
plunging me into the depths of desire.
I am consumed by your presense
within the perfume of your passion
that adorns my skin.
Graceful dancers your fingers hold stories, softly spoken secrets, whispers of love echoes from the hills, laughter, tears.
I lay on your blanket my lashes laden with hues. Dreams in color bright sway with wind as my eyes behold the magical movement perfectly in time with the melody in my mind.
Waves of color flowing gracefully. Love's blazen red painted with the designs of life, images of hope the green of newness, memories of sadness the color of the earth, a tapestry woven with desire's threads of gold.
The sky is your partner leading the dance like shadow and light, like moon and sun, lovers embracing moving as one.
I watch in wonder as my eyes behold grace in motion. Here in the Fall of seasons, I watch your fingers telling stories, remembering Spring, feeling the passion of Summer. Oh, glorious row of trees you are perfection dancing in the ballroom of God's house.
The days drift one into the other. Quiet walks along the garden path give my feet a place to be. Such beauty hidden within silent barriers who's only purpose is to protect, these stones of many shapes and color. They are warmed by the sun. They are cooled by night. They are rained upon. Yet, they remain the same.
The air is filled with gentle scent. The occupants of the enclosures releasing their hearts wishes, perfume tendrils, unseen, unfelt, yet, perfect in their seeking. The urge to lay amongst them is great, just for a moment in time to feel their life giving energy, but, to lay with them would render them still. They are playmates of my senses, not meant to become a part of, yet, their beckoning is that of a lover tantalizing me.
For now, I will just walk moving in and out of the pathways layed before me, one step at a time, sharing my thoughts, dreams, desires. Along my way perhaps another will discover this hidden garden where I wander quietly waiting like the flowers here, protected by silent barriers.
Silent is the night. The moon's irridescense casts shadow and light upon darkened walls. Whispering white, like silver wings float through open doors.
Capturing your fragrance still upon my lips I sigh as a nightengale drowned in rememberance.
A wine long aged deepest red. The petals of desire but a blush of passions rose cast about me now.
Trembling hands reach out grasping but the wind where once my heart sang in Loves embrace.
Gliding fingers upon my face traversing each curve lingering upon my entreating lips that beg your touch.
Lost in the valley of pillows upon the coolness of stone that once echoed your footsteps remains my need of you.
Will you return Oh Prince of my heart that I may once again curl about your ankles with warm waters to bathe your feet draping my silk as clouds upon your skin my lips adorning your fingers my eyes inviting your passions.
When the world relents in it's pursuit of you When footsteps of life echo like thunder When night and day have no division. When vision is but noise When your heart yearns for the quietness When you thirst for the sweetness in a desert of need When my touch becomes the breeze upon your face,
In my years, now, having the strength to look back, remembering and smiling with the remembernce is a part of me that only came with time. Time, the healer, who's lessons in life are often birthed of tradgedy, sorrow, pain, lonliness, or other experiences wherein our heart and mind are forever changed.
We cannot forget that which, unmistakably, alters our lives, but, we can allow time to heal the wound, to provide for acceptance, to help us confront it, recognize it, and move on with the knowing it has taught us in a good way.
The human psyche will admonish, deny, or preserve that which causes pain, whether physical or mental. When we can over come it, the suffering, whether physical or mental, then can we begin to heal, to regain the sureness, the strength of our being and move forward in life.
It was my first step, moving into the abyss of recognation, clinging to time's gentle hand, following without question, building strength as the solidity of my own psyche became empowered to surge from the depths....into the air...to breathe.
In the sea of life he glides
graceful and caring
with a light of guidance.
Quiet is his song to those who are lost.
Guiding them, he glides
through waves of sadness
to a place of brightness.
Always aware of storms,
his voice in signal calls.
Safety and comfort he brings.
Within the sea so vast
I find the place he has shown others.
A place of hope where many may come,
no matter their sorrows.
The light of the sun beckons them
and in the sun the Dolphin swims.
His soundings bouncing from the depths.
A beacon to me.
And he tells me "swim through the waves"
I follow him into the endless blue.
To the depths we glide, dancing shadows.
He turns like silken thread in the winds.
Serging to the surface for air
he speaks to me, "breathe".
I see the blue skies above me
just above the waters.
I break the surface to breathe.
The depths of the sea are mine to know,
for the Dolphin has shown me
and I am not afraid.
Graceful movements of bow
dancing in the afternoon breeze
feeding on the sun's warmth,
you are the forever one
amoung the family of trees.
I have seen the seasons change
from the green newness of spring
to summer heat and fall ablaze
yet, you do not change a thing.
Your branches still full and alive
your color a vibrant green
even in the cold of winter
there is no inbetween.
Within, you feed on lifes waters
just as the others do,
growing in life, stretching to the sky,
but they are different than you.
You are spring in summer.
You are summer in fall.
You are fall in winter.
You, my evergreen, are all.
You do not need the colors
to reveal your worth to me,
for you are always new
in every season
as love should always be.