Back in the Land of the Living

I'm alive!
OK, I'd hardly be posting in my blog if the case were otherwise, but after my long break, it is good to be back.

I've missed taking the time to write here. (Truth be told, I've missed making the time to write.) Priming the pump, digging the clay, coloring the page---all the lovely metaphors writers and would-be's use to describe the process of writing. For me, it's getting my butt in a chair and just making myself be disciplined enough to write each day. No days off---no excuses. Something written, every day. However, being ill recently really brought the whole process to a screeching halt. No matter how hard I tried, my brain just would not co-operate. Finally, I was able to edit my novel which will be coming out in January. But as for actually writing, it has been a long hard process back.

So, now to keep digging in, working the clay. All the good stuff. Wanting to want to write. I shrivel up without creating. I've always known this. People close to me know this. So now I'm getting physically better, it's time for working on being kind to myself about the fallow time of not being able to write.

Ah...creative types. Don't we just stick in your teeth sometimes?

Love
Kennedy.

Immunizations

I've been quiet for the last wee while because of a nasty wee virus: the chickenpox virus which has been lurking in my system for a dozen years decided to come calling again in the form of shingles.

For anyone who has never heard of this, it's sooooo much not fun. If you can, get immunized.

Of course, I didn't get the chickenpox until I turned 30. That was horrific in and of itself. So now I managed to get the follow on years earlier than most adults. Happy joy! (Whine, whine)

Oh well, it could be worse, but it's not condusive to writing, thinking or doing much of anything.

A word to the wise: get immunized!

Be good, dear ones.

Love,
Kennedy.

Small Amusements

Recently I was talking to Katie and she reminded me of the rather abortive sex talk Aunt Fern tried to have with us one summer. I think we cousins ranged in age from the bare teens to around nine, so she was taking the bull by the horns, so to speak. But with the local boys running wild, I'm certain she didn't want to send anyone home to their parents at the end of the summer with a hitchhiker on board. That was Uncle Otto's term for an unplanned pregnancy. Uncle Bob just wouldn't say anything. Uncle Ted muttered terms under his breath, but would hush quickly if Aunt Fern was around. I'm certain she wouldn't approve.

However, the day she took us aside, she had no idea what we had already been told by our respective parental units. Isabella was the most worldly, having seen things in her travels, if you believed her, would make an anthropologist have a heart attack. Scarlet's folks believed in telling her everything. She in turn, believed in sharing the wealth. So we more or less knew what Aunt Fern was agonizing over, with her references to Adam and Eve, and agonized grip on the bible in her hands.

We sat, perfect angels, in front of her, poker faced.

"Girls, it's time I think you should know some things. I didn't tell my girls until they married. But these days, the world is a different place."

"How different, Aunt Fern?" We chorused.
"Wicked."
"How wicked?" Again, the chorus.
"Very wicked. Sodom and Gomorrah."
"What's Sodom and Gomorrah?"
"It's in the Bible." Aunt Fern was starting to get a bit flustered by then.
"Should we read about it?" This straight faced from Isabella.
"Perhaps not yet."
"We shouldn't read the Bible?"
"Yes, of course you should, but certain parts aren't suitable for children."
"What parts, Aunt Fern?" This from Scarlet.
"Never you mind."
"But how will we know what parts not to read?" Me.
"Just read the parts your Sunday School teacher tells you to read."

We were stumped there for a moment, but the Katie brighten up.

"So, Aunt Fern, what is the stuff you wanted to tell us?"

Now Aunt Fern was pretty shaken by the exchange. She had thought she could do the birds and the bees talk, but she hadn't planned on the nieces from Hades.
Her courage fled.

"Have you ever heard about..." here she paused,as though she needed to gather her courage for a final onslaught. We girls leaned forward, waiting...
"SEX?"
"Yes Aunt Fern," we chimed.
"Good. Then just DON'T."

The good lady turn on her heel and marched out of the room, Bible in hand. She had finally been defeated by her own sense of propriety. We cousins, sat back, stifling giggles.

Every so often, I'll call one of the Cousins, and in the course of the conversation, I'll be sure to ask her if she's remembering to "Just don't!" Ah! The wonders of a shared shorthand of memory.

Love
Kennedy

PoMo and High Heels

The one good thing about giving birth while relatively young is that you can start to urge your nestling out of the nest while you still have your own teeth and enough mileage on your odometer to enjoy life.

The downside for me is that I sproggled a wunderkind. The type of young person teachers talk about in hushed tones and other parents look sideways at. He's more than a brain. He's more than a nerd. He's turned out well balanced and heaven's forbid, NICE. (How this all worked out is beyond me, really. I blame the milkman.)

However, from time to time, I get to sit through some truly strange events. Forensics tournaments, where hundreds of other bright teenagers have imaginary arguments with the walls. Take this to the National level and you witness a whole new definition of the word "Nerd." Hundreds of teenagers in black power suits. None of whom could crack a genuine smile. Most of them ready to take on Washington and any think-tank you could throw at them.

Now, it's not only Forensics time, it's the wind up to the Winter show-case Single-Act plays. Help me, please. I just read the most dire script. Some theatre teacher is seriously thinking a high-schooler is ready to direct this post-modern piece of depressed crap? ACK! The problem is, he'll do it, and I'll have to sit through it. And listen to all the problems up until the performances. And host rehearsals. (Been there, done that!)

Of course, we're also coasting through college applications and Cross-country, AP classes and college interviews. Not to mention all the fun things life of a typical teen can bring...

What was I thinking? Oh right! I wasn't thinking 17 years ago! But now the countdown is in earnest and Momma is dusting off her high heels. Time is coming around to start getting ready to kick those heels up again. Just hope I don't break a hip doing it!

Lipstick time of year

I noticed the other day I was paying close attention to the new lipstick displays. All at once, I knew what was going on. Fall. Stress. The Blues.
Anytime I start needing to buy lipstick rather than just wanting to wear it, I know I have the blues. Those kind of blues that sneak up on you and kick you in the pants when you're least expecting it. Nasty. Insidious.

A cool young guy I know goes out tie shopping when he has this kind of sneaking blues.

It's not the kind of depression where you don't get out of bed, or you fall into the bottle and don't get out. But a quiet, stomach sinking, feeling. So since you are out and about anyway, you might as well look at the lipstick colors for Fall. Hey! It works for me.

(Makes more sense than a colorful piece of cloth which is nothing more than a noose, when you come down to it.)

Oh well, I can always use more lip gloss.

Love
Kennedy.

Hubris

I was asked today if I didn't consider keeping a blog a "bit of an egotistical thing to do?" My reply was fairly blunt.

"I'm a writer." (I must admit, I nearly fell off my seat from the sheer silliness of the question.)

After all, isn't all writing fairly egotistical when you come down to the bare tacks of it all?

When a writer sits down to write, we make some serious assumptions.
(a)We have something to say and someone else will probably want to read it (even if it is just a teacher, parent, or ourselves at some later date.)
(b)Our observations are unique.
(c)We have a story to tell no-one else can possibly tell (in quite the same way.) Plagiarism aside.

Now, some of us are compelled to write. It's a trick of the old brain and we just can't help ourselves. We've tried not to write, but have a compulsion. When compelled, we blog. Think of it this way: Blogging is saving millions of trees. Those with "The Midnight Disease" as it was once called, are doing the only environmentally sound thing possible: we're committing our outpourings to the electronic medium. It's also the need to share thoughts, the drive, the urge: blame our poor miswired lymbic systems.Again, I repeat, it's a neurological compulsion. At least we're not doing it naked. (Oh well, some of us probably are.) Ahem.

So, Bloggers, Unite and take it from me: it isn't hubris that compels us to blog. It's just our wiring.

Love
Kennedy.

Memories and Skinny Dipping

The fresh nip of fall in the air reminded me the other day of the usual wind up of summers with Aunt Fern. The Cousins always dreaded this time, since it meant we would be torn asunder for the school year and would resume our normal, humdrum lives, apart from the best friends we had, each other.
No ordinary school friends could quite live up to the spectacular joy and verve of Katie, Scarlet,Isabella, Raquel or Esmeralda. Even Pilar, on one of her very infrequent visits was one of us. She understood the dynamic, the sheer lunacy it was to belong to this family. The Uncle's with their shared terror of their fearsome, tiny sister. Aunt Fern, ruling with an iron fist, but loving us none-the-less. The escapades, the hidden 'waffle syrup' even Uncle Bob's obsession with Star Trek. Our joy knew no bounds as we hijacked his pickup truck, or ransacked the forbidden hooch. As long as we cleaned up well for Sunday Services and helped Aunt Fern with the chores and never sassed her back, we were as lucky as any kids could be.

We were also holy terrors, and we knew it.

In fact, the whole state of Michigan knew it, and they braced themselves as each summer approached and we made our pilgrimage from where-ever our families had landed that particular year. Isabella always had the farthest to come, but she showed up, usually with something exotic to share with us. It sometimes wasn't necessarily legal, but what the heck?

One of the most famous stunts we tried pulling off was unfortunately one we were soundly caught at. It was two weeks before we were to disband and one of the hottest months on record. We were sweltering and no amount of ice-tea would help. As Katie kept pointing out, at least we had indoor plumbing as the ice-tea made it's way through our systems.

At some point, that particular hot, steamy night, as we lay, stripped down as far as we could go, without Aunt Fern having a canary heart-attack, I groaned for the lack of a close swimming hole. At this, Scarlet suggested 'borrowing' either Uncle Otto's or Uncle Bob's truck. Katie snorted at the suggestion, since the last time we liberated a vehicle, we were all put on gardening duty for a week. However, something must have lit a fuse under Isabella, since she started to wave her hands at us to shush the snorting.
"I've got it, I've got it!"
What she had was a minor stroke of genius. The water tower at the train station, not but a hop step and minor jump down the road.

Well, we had all been raised on re-runs of "Petticoat Junction," so how hard could this be? We grabbed towels and shoes and snuck out the window.

What we were thinking, to this day I have no idea. But we were teenagers and the heat had sunk into our very bones. We were barely clothed and the breeze on our skin just made us plumb crazy. As soon as we got out of ear shot, Scarlet started passing around a bottle of Uncle Bob's 'Waffle Syrup'. Danged if we really needed it, but we all got a little buzzed. Katie was giggling, 'Bella was marching proudly, stripping down even more, and wrapping her PJ top around her boobs like a bikini top. Esmeralda had dispensed with her nightie, and wore it around her head, turban wise.
I had thought to bring my shoulder bag and after a quick application of lipstick I rolled up my pj pants and then unbuttoned my pj top and retied it, so my navel was bared. A very daring thing to do in the woods in Michigan, where the mosquitoes can carry you off.

It wasn't a long hike to the railway station, a very small affair indeed. At night, it seemed very lonely,even spooky, but fortified by more Waffle Syrup, we bravely climbed the rickety ladder up the side of the tower. There before us was the cool water. For once, I didn't want to be the last one in. I dropped my bag on the small platform and shucked out of my pj's faster than you could say "Jack Rabbit." Clambering up and over the side I jumped in. In came Scarlet, Katie, Esmeralda, and 'Bella. None of us were wearing a stitch of clothing and in those few moments, when the water hit out overheated skin, we just didn't give a damn.

Of course, the water was a bit brackish, having been sitting there in the heat of the day, but as we paddled around, it was might as well have been the finest swimming pool money could buy. Scarlet had managed to haul the bottle in (of course!) and we passed it around, floating in the small space, looking up at the stars, giggling, intoxicated not only by the moonshine whiskey, but by the sheer daring of our exploits.
How long this would have gone on, I can't say, but we were rudely brought back to Terra firma when a high powered light was beamed directly on us. Ahem. We'd overlooked the fact there might be security at the station.

Well, long story short: Aunt Fern could hardly look at her Church lady friends for a few weeks once the story of her naked nieces made the rounds. It was lucky Scarlet managed to let the bottle of hooch fill up with water and sink to the bottom of the tower, or poor Aunt Fern would have been even more mortified.

The Sheriff didn't press charges, we got off with a warning about trespassing. But, Oh lordy, what heady stuff it is to be so young on a hot summer night and you can just about feel as though you own the stars.

With love
Kennedy.

Ponderings....

"The search for truth is more precious than its possession." Albert Einstein

I have to stop my rather eclectic reading habits, I know I do. I've been put into a bit of a tailspin by this quotation, trying to puzzle out just what ole Albert was trying to say.

One the face of things, its a lovely sentiment. The enquiring mind, man's eternal search for meaning, the thinker's quest and hunger for more.....this I do understand.

But the possession of truth, isn't this what we strive for? To hold fast in our hands whatever knowledge we have worked for hard to gain is especially precious.
I cradle the knowledge and life truths I have gleaned and winnowed from experience and hold them dear. Perhaps the chase for the Universal Truths, the big unknowns was what Albert grocked to....and I'm to puny, too small an intellect. But I'm still going to hold precious the truths I've discovered along the way.

Love
Kennedy.

Pursuing Beauty

"The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives." Albert Einstein

Another wonderful thought to come across my desk today, just when I needed it. It is a wonderful thing to be reminded that we can remain in a childlike state as we look for the beauty and truth in our lives. As soon as we forget about those two states of being, things become confused and we stumble and lose our way.

Childlike doesn't mean naive or simple. It means without guile or pretense. Who needs to be other than who they really are? As soon as we put on the mantle of 'otherness' on, it is a mask, so we may hide who we truly are from the world, and soon we are caught up in the whole dance of deception and the movement away from the concept of truth and beauty.

So to stop and learn to slow down. Take off the masks and remove the veneers of adulthood and relearn the pace of childhood. Relearn the appreciation of beauty, of movement and the intricacy and simplicity of truth. In this, we find that which makes us absolutely human.

I think I'm learning how to breathe again.

Love
Kennedy.

Small Thoughts

"Out of intense complexities intense simplicities emerge."
-Winston Churchill, English statesman

I came across this quote today as I was trying to get my head around some thoughts that have been plaguing me. Then came the "Aha" moment. Yup. Winnie was quite right. If there weren't moments of absolute mess and muck, of stress and angst in my life I wouldn't have the times of complete serenity and contemplation.

Now, I don't recommend the horrors of madness and mayhem of my life in the past several years in order to find some semblance of peace and enjoyment in the here and now. Nor would I trade one moment of the clarity and happiness I've eked out in there here and now for anything you could offer me. Simple is good. Peace is good. Being happy writing, drawing, listening to music is good. Being with loved ones is superb. Understanding and appreciating sometimes that bad stuff happens despite all our best intentions and learning to live through it with grace, well, that is what life if about.

That is the rub.

It is what life is about. Not giving in. Not giving up. Waiting for the complex intensity to pass and knowing the reward is the beauty of the intense simplicity.

Yup, Winnie was one smart dude indeed.

Love
Kennedy.

Deep....Thoughts. Ahem.....

All work and no play makes Kennedy a very...frustrated woman. But, on the other hand, I'm managing to get quite a bit of work done. But on the other hand, I seem to be running low on batteries these days. (Ahem...)

I really shouldn't be reading any of Shea's raunchy, steamy, sexy writing. Or Kate's absolutely delicious tidbits she sends this way, every so often. Just have a look at her drool worthy fan-fic with Spike and Tara and wonder why I'm climbing the walls. I feel as though I'm a lust bunny in heat. Dang.

(Probably just as well few people ever read this blog!)

A funny thing happened about 18 months ago. Someone I know slightly offered to read my astrology chart for me. We arranged to meet. However, the poor guy took one look at my chart and managed to yelp something about my 'kundalini power' being too over powering and he took off running. I never did get that damn reading!

Oh well, I should go and have a bath and think non-steamy thoughts. I hope Aunt Fern is praying for me. I think I need it.

Love
Kennedy.

The One, the Only...Shea McMaster

My kissing Cousin Shea is getting ready to unleash another of her wildly sexy books soon onto an unsuspecting market. I am among the lucky few who gets to read the pre-published versions of her novels before they are launched and need I say, I need a few days to cool down? Whew. I'm so lucky to have known her when. I can also say we have so much blackmail and gossip about each other, we had better die on the same day!

When she and I lived in Colordao, we once had this hare brained scheme we could just drive over to Palisades and get some peaches, it being a beautiful summer day and we having nothint urgent to attend to that day. Neither of us really looked at the map or calculated just how long a drive it would really be. We planned to stop off in Glenwood springs for a soak in the Hot Springs on the way back.

At some point, driving along the I-70, it dawned on both of us, that we had underestimated our outing, just a weeeee little bit. Since we were living close to Boulder at the time, and Palisades is clear over the other side of the Mountains, close to Grand Junction, this was starting to look like an expedition of the S.S. Minnow.

Never ones to be daunted, we chugged on, happy to find Palisades in time for lunch and a leisurely stroll among the fruit vendors. But what's this? Wine! Lots and lots of wineries in Colorado! Who knew? Hiccupping our way from one tasting room to another. Fruit, wine, mead...we loaded up and turned around back toward Boulder.

At Glenwood Springs we stopped long enough to take a deep soak in the hot springs. Although it was already going to be an extremely long day, our poor butts needed the relief. We laughed ourselves siller, probably horrifying small children and scaring any animal life in the vacinity.

When we finally got back on the road, we were horrified by the time. At Vail, we called the Spousal Units, to tell them we would be a bit later than anticipated. (Just a little bit. Ahem) Neither of them had any idea of where Palisades was either, so ignorance was bliss!

When we finally rolled in, it was pitch dark. We were so exhausted from laughing so hard, and singing our fool heads off, I'm sure people thought we were a couple of escaped lunatics. But to this day, all it takes is one of us to say the words "Palisade trip,' and we're both back there, laughing and hooting, speeding along, shouting and being irreverant as all get out, and as honest as any two women can be, on a girl's adventure.

Capture the Bitch

I had a long chat with one of the cousins today. Oh, about this and that and the other thing. But one thing really stood out to me. Somewhere along the line, women have given up the right to the word "Bitch" and it's about time women reclaim it.

(I am definitely not talking about female dogs here.)

If a man wants to call a woman a bitch, he generally has some problems. He's not an Alpha male. He feels threatened. And he's waiting for her to piss all over him.

Now, somehow, this has been turned around to be seen as a bad thing. When, where, and why, I have no idea. Now, I don't believe in men being allowed to cuss women out and being allowed to walk away with body parts intact. All those nasty names, they're just words, once glorious and not harm filled, that have been turned on their head and made ugly.

But what I'm talking about is being able to claim the inner Alpha female, the inner bitch inside you. The strong, powerful part of womanhood that really is scary, with teeth and claws and knows that she has the will to survive.

So, when the dust settles, and the heat comes down, it's better to know you have an inner Bitch to call on. Sometimes she's all you have left at the end of the day.

Working Hard.....

Head down, bum up, working on re-working a manuscript for what must be the umteenth time. At least, thanks to a good fairy in the shape of a kind Editor in Chief, there is light at the end of the tunnel for this danged MS. I'd almost given up hope for this little romp of Vampires and Witches, Zombies and Mafia hit men. There is even some sexual tension between a younger NBA player and the Necromancer heroine.

Of course, my two other books are languishing on the back burner at the present...and their characters are pissed at being ignored. Then again, there are the partial riffs from song lyrics running through the dread sub-conscious.

The time seems to be kind to all the cousins: perhaps it's because the Harvest moon is coming soon and the days will be cooling down. The darkening of the days, the bright orange of the Hunter's moon....oh, these are things of inspiration.

Long Time and Lots of thinking....

It's been a while since I posted anything of substance. A lot has been going on in Real Life and now I find writing has had to take a back seat.

My novel has been suffering for that. However, it too, has taken a life of it's own and decided to add a new character. Steven Rand is the Voice of Reason and will provide a nice counter-point to the emo-driven Vincent, who is turning out to be such a toad. Joy for me, to have such strongly emotive characters to write about, but it does make me wonder what is sneaking it's way into my Kashi cereal!

(BTW: Steven Rand is based loosely on a friend and neighbor who begged to be in this book. Whatever oddities I bestow upon him are figments of a disturbed imagination!)

I am waiting for Isabella to tell Pilar's story, since we were both there when our cousin, once removed, was a little naughty on a Girl's Night Out. Oh La! It was a fun night, but I've seldom had to resort to actually dumping water on an over-eager 'gentleman.' Aunt Fern would NOT have approved....
Of course, Aunt Fern would not have approved of her neices dancing the night away either. Oh la! *Naughty giggle!*

Anyway, back to the slave mine. Be wicked and salacious. Dance.
Love
Kennedy.

Fringe Times

Well Darlings,

Cousin Isabella and I went to the Opening of the Fringe Festival last night. Sadly to say, the fringeiest thing tended to be the shortness of people's bangs. It seems if you are to be considered "artistic" around here you have to have a really bad hair cut and chop your bangs up to your hairline.

However, I did put in many plugs for the Divas (take THAT as you may!!!) so look for us at the Festival next year. I even plugged away on television with an Eskimo name Eddie. Never mind. Dirty minds do rock.

Oh la!

And here you may have thought that Scarlet was the naughiest cousin....(she is, but I try, I try. I just have a naughty way of saying things aloud....)

I did get into one little bitch session with a Clown about footwear. Really, his shoes were so...ordinary. Brown oxfords are not funny. They're just brown. He slandered my black high heeled designer pumps. I told him he needed to be wearing them. Really, some clowns just can't take a joke.

So, onward and forever.....onward. Aunt Fern would have been thoroughly scandalized by the soiree last evening. I envoked her name several times, since she is my guiding light in all things.

Love
Kennedy.

Song Sung low at Twilight

Sail Away.
From so distant place
Aquamarine
Sail this ship
As far as it will go.

Sail Away, Haul Away.

The hands explore
Galaxies un-named
Sail this ship
With Careful Stewardship.

Sail Away, Haul Away.

Land Locked Sailor
Take this Tribal Canoe
Steer by Stars unfamiliar,
Salt Encrusted bones, Haul Away.

Sail Away, Haul Away, And Haul Away.

Night Tears

Like a fool my ears listened to words of
Common Sense (sense of common rule)
When my heart said “No, No!”

And I broke my soul in two.
Walking away, dying to the core of me.

Leaving you behind. Making excuses that
It wasn’t the Right Thing, It wasn’t the Right Time,
You couldn’t be the Right One, I couldn’t be feeling the
Real Feelings.

Hurting me, Hurting You.
Never to know how you felt,
Not giving you the chance to ever feel,
To ever express:
I walked away, being the one to use you
So inexcusably.

Listening to the words of Common Sense,
Given to me by the Voice of Common Rule.

(Why the Fuck did I ever listen?)

Deep thoughts and small tears

Who knew that I would be posting so much poetry, but this has been a busy week for it. A woman's inate ability to cry for joy or for sorrow is so widely misunderstood and in these days of Paxil and Prozac, too often we are denied the sheer natural ability to sheed tears genuinely.

So, I don't know if anyone else will read this, or even understand, but I need to cry when I am sad. It is an honest reaction. So, to me is writing about loss and sorrow and joy and lust. Writing is an outlet.

I challenge everyone to write and let their emotions out. Even the scary ones. It's healthier than loading up on prescriptions or reaching for the wine bottle.

Love
Kennedy.

How can a Heart?

How can a heart so broken keep beating?
I watch the shards of a life, scattered around me
As a mosaic, none matching, none fitting,
Broken beyond an artist’s hand to assemble
Into order, into a kindness of pretense.

How can a heart so pierced have structure?
I ache for the fullness once believed to be
Belief in more, belief in Self.
Emptied now, drained away in futility on the altar
Of the Others’ Ego.

How can a heart so empty keep on beating?

Loss of a Dream

Walking Blues Man


Walking Blues Man
Walk on through my dreams
Whisper your secrets
Sing me your blues
Touch me in Secret…
And walk on through my dreams.

I found the real walking Blues man
He seared me to my Soul,
He smiled at me from miles away
Took away my breath
Now has walked away for good.

Walking Blues Man
Walk on through my dreams
Whisper to me your secrets
Sing to me your blues….
Promise me no magic
And walk on through my dreams.






August, 11th 2007.

Kennedy Calls to her Love

Shifting Sands

What movement of hand or eye
Can pull the pendulum of my lust
That my tongue, my mouth
Hungers for taste
Of your brine?
I long to feel the heft
Of your weight
Nestled in my hand;
Breathe the heated musk
That is your scent, alone.
Throbbing, I sit, as though
In perfumed seraglio,
Awaiting you pleasure,
Craving to feel you against
My lips, my face.
Echoes of Lunar events
And Earthquakes break
Across my skin,
As desire shudders through me,
Anew.

More Poertry of Eros from Kennedy

Glenn Gould playing
As lips explore outlines of body
And taste salt
Of tears and sweat.
Bodies arching together
As communication, ancient, primal
renew heat.
Fingers trace on skin, patterns the
Runes of the sorcery of Eve.

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

Pearl

Born of grit and salt water,
Pain, irritant covered over,
Becoming object of lustrous beauty
Held against my skin,
Shimmering in this candlelight,
Nippled flesh,
Pearl to pearl
Treasured.

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

The Lovers

Lips brush, then follow the contours
Of the much loved face.
Differences of texture are savored,
The rough and smooth.
Planes of cheekbones, jaws and forehead,
This wondrous symmetry:
The song of flesh made joy.

The beauty of form is discovered,
Arms, hands become objects of desire.
Fingers trace patterns on skin-
Mystical runes of flesh and sinew;
Time is held back,
As lovers explore the universe of being
One with another.

Kennedy Sings Erotic

Summation (working title)

Thrill of joy as I am
Pulled into your arms;
Surrounded by your
Delight
Discovery;
Kisses raining gentle
Across my face
My eyes,
My lips,
Oh tenderness!
As reverence becomes passion
Becomes Exultation
Becomes breathed
Worship.

Bloody and Proud

Knocked back
Knocked around
Better try and hold me down,
‘coz this Bitch,
She’s come back around.

Cover your ears if you
Don’t like my words.
Hide your eyes if my style
Burns your world.
Don’t think you’ll change me
Don’t you think others haven’t tried?

This Bitch is still standing,
Yeah, I’m still standing,
Bloody and proud.

Cousin Scarlet

My beautiful Cousin Scarlet has her Blog site up and running and she looks so damned glamorous, as always. Always the beauty, the wild child, the one to entice and entreat. We all wished we could be Scarlet, even for a day.

I have some more poetry coming your way. Some is a bit erotic. So children, if you don't like my words of poetic desire, cover those little eyes of yours.

Kisses,
Kennedy.

Kissin' Cousins

Katie!

Oh do I 'member playing those kissing games. I 'specially loved getting tied up to the kissing tree down by the creek.

Aunt Fern near had a conniption every time she'd call us for supper and we'd be late 'cause someone had tied those danged knots so tight. (I'd never complain, somehow!)

Probably goes a looooong way to explaining a thing or two these day.

Love and kisses,
Kennedy

Kissing Cousins

Dear Cousin Kennedy,

Thank you for the warm welcome home from the dude ranch. Do you remember playing "the marriage game" out under the apple tree with me and Scarlet? This trip brought that experience pleasantly to mind.

Love,

Cousin Kate

Mad Girl Poem

Don't ever write poetry when you are white hot in rage. Wait a week and then write.

Please note: I never name names. Anyone reading out there: this is a work of fiction.

The Retreat where there are no Amenities

Cunt Energy to the Maximum
The fairy and the woodchopper,
Ready to sell our brand of righteous
Mindfulness.

(We can make you believe it’s only your bad habits holding you back. Hold my calls!)

Don’t hesitate, if you are blocked as Creatrix!
Buy our line of Brand X
Cognitive Behaviour Modification
With Added New Age terms and potions.

(Sprinkle some of your fairy dust on that one, Babe. She needs some ‘Special Time” with you in the Pagoda.)

We will
Encourage the sycophants,
Clear out the rebels, and cut down those damn
Nonconformists.

(All that’s blocking you is your clinging to un-natural fiber clothing. Here’s a line of bamboo fiber clothing that will unblock that dreadful knot in your chakra.)

Cunt Energy to the Max. Rev up the engine Babe, it’s gonna be a long night.

The Debut of the Divas

The Darling Divas, as we came to be known, are the four fabulous neices of the one and only, Aunt Fern. Separated by family, location, and circumstance, we four would be shipped off to our Aunt's care each summer for a dose of 'good clean living and Godliness' as only this kindly, upright, God-fearing Lady could dish out.

Needless to say, we ran rampant as only four girls could. Aunt Fern's lectures sank in only skin deep and we scrubbed up only well enough to pass her inspection to attend Church with her on Sundays.

Her views on the world, life, sexuality were deeply rooted in her Southern Baptist upbringing and a particular view her own Victorian mother had instilled in her.

We cousins survived and to this day have our own world views, oddly shaped and honed as they are, no doubt thanks in part to this little old lady, who had never to this day has met a lesbian, even though one of her neices has been openly gay for more than two decades.
"Isn't it nice dear, that she has someone to live with, since she is a spinster?" has the cousins roaring with laughter until we are ready to pee our pants.

My 'Home' is a place for my writing. Later, you'll find links to the Cousins, the other Diva's and Aunt Fern has absolutely PROMISED to share with us some of the advice she has dished out over the years. (She has her own Dear Aunt Fern column in her small town newspaper. I kid you not, it is a gem. We Divas subscribe to the four page weekly, just to read our Aunt's eye-popping, jaw-dropping wisdom.)

Love to all,
Kennedy.

Kennedy sings the blues...

So yeah...I'm a frustrated song writer. Not so frustrated in other areas, but sometimes a lick will just stick in my head and won't let me go.

Ahah! So this here is a Blog. And y'all know what happens in Blogs. Frustrated writers, songwriters, photograhers and the like get to rank to cyber space.

And this is one of those times.

Kisses....

When the once upon a times don’t happen
We learn to save ourselves.

No knight in shining armor is going to appear
On his white stead,
Once you get a few grey hairs
And a few miles on your odometer, Baby.

Wake up, look around and take a deep breath.
Take out your own trash, straighten up those shoulders and smile.
If this is the hand that is dealt you, let’s take the house down with it.

Gonna roar, gonna dance, gonna go down swinging if I have to.

Brick by brick, I am taking apart the wall put around me.
Placed by well meaning, well intentioned people,
Frightened people, who thought that they could contain what they couldn't understand.

But this woman won’t be held down by bricks and mortar, by chains of guilt.
Steel, gold or silver rings won’t stop me now, and knowledge is the sword that will cut through
Such mundane metals.

Gonna roar, gonna dance, gonna go down swinging if I have to.