Dragonfly: Any of various large insects of the order Odonata or suborder Anisoptera, having a long slender body and two pairs of narrow, net-veined wings that are usually held outstretched while the insect is at rest. Also called regionally darner, darning needle, mosquito fly, mosquito hawk, needle, skeeter hawk.
Poetry: The art or work of a poet.
Prolixity: Excessive wordiness in speech or writing; longwindedness
let me touch you with my words for my hands lie limp as empty gloves let my words stroke your hair slide down your back and tickle your belly for my hands, light and free flying as bricks ignore my wishes and stubbornly refuse to carry out my quietest desires let my words enter your mind bearing torches admit them willingly into your being so they may caress you gently within
This movie is about the poet, Mark O'Brien, who lived most of his life in an iron lung after contracting polio at the age of 6. It's based on an article he wrote for "The Sun" magazine about sex and the disabled and about his experiences with a sex surrogate.
I laughed and cried through most of the movie. It's the most touching, beautiful movie I've seen in a very long time. It'll change your life...for the better.
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"For women the best aphrodisiacs are words. The G-spot is in the ears. He who
looks for it below there is wasting his time." ~Isabel Allende
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"A chicken and an egg are lying in bed. The chicken is smoking a cigarette with
a satisfied smile on its face and the egg is frowning and looking put out. The
egg mutters to no one in particular, "I guess we answered that
question." ~Author Unknown
I miss the rumpled corners of correspondence,
the ink blots and crossouts that show
someone lives on the other end, a person
whose hands make errors, leave traces.
I miss fine stationary, its raised elegant
lettering prominent on creamy shades of ivory
or pearl grey. I even miss hasty notes
dashed off on notebook paper, edges
ragged as their scribbled messages— can't much write now—thinking of you.
When letters come now, they are formatted
by some distant computer, addressed
to Occupant or To the family living at—
meager greetings at best,
salutations made by committee.
Among the glossy catalogs
and one time only offers
the bills and invoices,
letters arrive so rarely now that I drop
all other mail to the floor when
an envelope arrives and the handwriting
is actual handwriting, the return address
somewhere I can locate on any map.
So seldom is it that letters come
That I stop everything else
to identify the scrawl that has come this far—
the twist and the whirl of the letters,
the loops of the numerals. I open
those envelopes first, forgetting
the claim of any other mail,
hoping for news I could not read
in any other way but this.
from My Father's Kites.
Oh, how I love letters! I try to write them often, but I've slacked off. Nobody seems to write by hand anymore. I mourn future generations who will have no letters to read from their lovers or loved ones. I remember as a child writing to my cousin and we'd write SWAK (sealed with a kiss) on the back of the envelope and then kiss it wearing some of our mothers' red lipstick. I wish I still had those letters, but sadly, they're gone. Who could have imagined that people would stop writing letters? I have a notebook full of missives & cards from friends. They're treasures. My favorite is a postcard from Renee with the sweetest note on back...I still find it hard to believe she's gone. But I have her letter with a photo of her to look at and remember her precious, giving soul.
Write someone a letter today.
P.S. Been busy gardening, reading and photographing flowers. I have huge tomatoe plants in pots and some cucumbers, too. I laugh with delight every time a seed sprouts and makes a plant. It's a miracle I'll never get tired of watching every Spring. I have several families of Bluebirds in our yard. One is sitting on 5 little blue eggs. Another miracle of Spring.