Old Love.

Standard

old love

I reach to touch your cheek. It is withered like mine, for it has travelled many journeys, walked beneath many suns, loved beneath many moons. It has no more the outer blossom it once had, but “outer blossom” no longer concerns me. I know within lies a fountain of youth. I glimpse it in your gaze. I want to bathe in those eyes, to let the love I find there wash away the hurts, the compromises of this world. I’m drawn deep within. I feel you enter into me. Not as in youth a mere uniting of bodies. We need not undress, for we see each other’s naked beauty through the eyes. Though fingers trace remembered patterns it is in the spirit we touch, embrace, the physical a mere extension of what flows between us.

No longer the “young stud” your hands elicit joy from me as the virtuoso upon a beloved  old violin. You draw music from my soul with your touch. I do not see the flesh that sags, the wriggles at the brow. My eyes are drawn by something deep within. Like matured wine I taste you, no longer in rapid gulps but in small sips, savouring the flavour. We are one, tasting exquisite pleasure through eye, and touch and soul. With you the flower of youth blossoms once more. For we do not love as others but together enter in to another world. We close the door behind us as we lay aside our aging bodies and, cleansed by love, become young, unwrapping that secret kernel that lays beneath.

Old Friends.

Standard

From December 2014. Wishing you all great joy in your pre Christmas parties and merry making.

Song Bird Songs

old folks

(Of far flung friends I seldom see – photo from bing).

It’s oh so good to see them when parted oh so long,
The hugs and friendly greetings that lend the heart a song.
The smile that bares a tremble, the tear that dims the eye,
The subtle, soft, remembrance of days that have gone by.

It seems too much to soak it in when love floats all around,
Another, yet another, of times voices coming round.
The smiles now bare more wrinkles than when you knew them first,
But time and tide can not erase; the spirit from them bursts.

And all are in remembrance of sweet times so long gone by
The times when we were young and free and we had fun, oh my!
I hear now in the echoes of vintages grown old
The hearts refined in times harsh hand have turned at last to gold.

View original post

Life’s exchange.

Standard

from July 2014

Song Bird Songs

gold

Youth is not lost which was spent in earnest coinage, the days exchanged for experience, for life! A day is not wasted if drained in a deep draught till the last drop. Not lost, rather stored away, their transitory substance exchanged for solid coinage of the realm of life, time transmuted into lasting substance, those things in the heart and mind which can never be erased. Youth is not lost but transformed, a thing of wafting beauty refined to solid gold.

View original post

A Man in the Making.

Standard

from July 2014

Song Bird Songs

don

Two big puppy dog eyes, too innocent for a nine year old, shine out above an over sized smile, topping arms and legs like a gangling colt. He seems all eyes and smile balanced precariously on winnowy stilts, never still for a moment. He’s growing up now, character forming, his questions get deeper as he gets longer.
I asked him why he pays such exaggerated compliments to the middle aged crossing lady, saying she looks more beautiful every day etc. He pondered seriously for a moment then said he likes to make people happy, it made him feel good.
The lolly-pop lady is not the only one, every day he leaves a trail of smiles behind as we wend our way to school and back, every dog must be complimented, every baby admired, every child waved to. He sees the whole world as friends or potential friends. He sees things…

View original post 117 more words

Learning to fly.

Standard

Flash fiction from July 2014

Song Bird Songs

unreal

Looking down from dizzy heights he trembled feeling his inadequacy, unable to launch off. Home had become uncomfortable, no longer the cosy nest of childhood. He felt prodded, wounded even, father reluctant to feed him, insisting he was old enough to forage for himself. His siblings had already gone soaring to dizzy heights, looking down on him he feared.
A sudden upsurge of inspiration seized upon him. He opened his wings feeling its soothing caress. Then suddenly he was airborne, the wind lifting him in its arms like a lover.
First there was a slight panic as he lost altitude. Then, as by instinct he tilted his wings catching the updraft, joy coursed through his being. He was at one with the elements, finding total freedom soaring on the wings of the wind. He knew then in his heart, he was born to be an eagle!

View original post