New Age for Age!!!

New Age for Age!!!　　

He threw the question out there. How can I, a man of thirty-one be interested in someone over fifty?

A woman who makes quilts for crying out loud.


Her comment back or maybe her lack of attention hung in the air. It certainly stood out in my mind.

"What's Your Point?" After talking to her for an hour and a half and finally finding out her age, it didn't really matter... I was intrigued.



I could feel her feminine confidence through the phone. I felt uneasy and yes very shaken by her.

She was fun to talk to. She was a great communicator and she was interesting. She was witty, she was down right sexy and

she made me blush with her womanly flirtation.


I didn't know if it was her presentation or her realness. The latter I think and her willingness to share. My gut feeling was,

here is a woman in full feminine attire reaching throught the phone and hypnotizing me.


She is a woman; willing to teach, willing to learn, willing to take me to new heights that I didn't even know possible and

yet, still remaining just a voice on the phone. How can that be?



Her laughter rings out and I truly believe she is twenty-two. Her seductive voice caresses me and I swear she

is touching me.


"Close your eyes, don't be afraid and travel with me," she says.



She takes me to a waterfall in our journey. She describes the scene in such detail I truly believe for a moment I

am sitting beside her and experiencing it. I'm sure at one point I even experienced the moisture carried by the wind, she describes,

touching my face.



We go to a meadow and run together and take on the age of children. It is so exciting and so new.

I cannot seem to believe that I am actually being taken on a guided tour of her childlike fantasies.


We travel by space machines, time machines, hydroplanes and limousines. We go to resorts, oceans and forests and we visit geysers.

She takes me for a trip to the moon and to the stars. She takes me back in time and forward in time. She manipulates my age, my gender and

my soul. How can this be?


I have been sadistic, masochistic and simply befuddled. I have been in a war, in a jail, on a pirates ship, a lion's den

and to heaven and back.



She tells me to let my spirit take over and we travel through the cosmos hand in hand. I've actually

traveled inside of her body and witnessed her heart organ beat. I've traveled in her blood stream

and walked through the different sections of her brain

I've been on a guided tour of her bone structure and seen her multiple personalities running around in the little

cubicles of her mind.


I've viewed a cartoon version of her when she's cycling. She relates it to a roller coaster mixed with the element similar to 'The

Fast Forwarding' feature on a VCR. The speed of her mind is amazing but very hard to keep in perspective.


One might think on occasion that she is a flake but when you get to know her you realize her brain is much the same as a computer.

It recognizes the subject, identifies it and either stores it, moves on, or deletes it and all data has been compartmentalized for future

reference.


　

The Words That Aren't Spoken



I often spoke of my illness

And I often spoke of the pain.



I　wish　I’d　told　him　my　feelings　　
It’s　too　late　now,　the　tears　fall　like　rain.　　



I wish I'd told him my feelings

It's too late now, the tears fall like rain.


I couldn't say the words I flet

I never could before.

Why is it that the hurt inside

Knaws at my ver core?



I ran from it and built the wall

It always was my way.　

Now how can I ask for him to hear

The words that I cannot say?　　　

Does he read my thoughts

And know inside that this poem is meant for him?



Or does he think it's for another

My friend that I call Jim?　

I remember the time when the phone didn't ring

I unplugged it from the wall.

The silence at least was my doing

I didn't hear when he didn't call.　　

We haven't talked for a long long time

And now the words are here.　




The knowledge that I had to run

To get away from the fear.　　

I thought for sure he'd talk to me

But now I know it's past.　


Why had I thought that maybe

It was something good at last?　

I know in my heart I am broken

It shows in the things that I do.

If I could go back and do it again

I'd try harder to get through.


I heard the same thing in his voice

That I hold inside of me.　

No woman will hold him close to her

He chooses to be free.

I write the stories for another

But I write the poems for him.

Will he read what is on my mind

The chances I guess are slim.