Tuesday, March 19for those who wander, wonder & define life on their own terms
Shadow

Women in Numbers at a Downtown Brewery

Photo c/o Maya Group Jaipur.

Some men sneak surreptitious gazes at lean

bodies and tight roundness as they pass. Sex

and youthful beauty less-than-half caught up

in their own words, more than aware

they gather attention as they laugh.

 

Some men are more obvious; boldly, unapologetically,

approvingly they stare, half-hoping they’ll get caught

in their reverie, maybe get a smile from the full-lipped,

soft-skinned vixens of their desires, a repository for

their masculinity.

 

And these spring goddesses? Led by the leash of naiveté or

time avoidance. I watch the preen, fidget, pretend-not-to-

notice blanketed within conviction and strength. A dichotomy.

Adored for the moment, the carnal, the physical. Seeking to

be seen in a sea of different but sames. The attention the joy.

The sameness the pain.

 

What of fall and winter goddesses? I surmise. There is another place

where beauty resides. I wonder how men can miss it as it passes by,

the amazing turning of the tides when the lovely face and shape

are replaced by laugh lines, mental scars, death, life.

Sex and maturity not caught up in their own words, laughing

just to laugh. Beauty, with character and grace.

Some men miss the greying of the hair, the resoluteness of drive.

Some men avoid the stare – catching an eye and smile, look elsewere.

The full-hips, soft-spirit sorceresses, a repulsion to

their masculinity. A sign of the inevitable march of time.

 

I know that calm, take-it-all-in conviction and strength, blanketed

within insecurity and nostalgia. A dichotomy. Past adoration,

the surreal, the metaphysical. Unseen, in a sea of different but

sames. The sameness the joy. The indifference the pain.

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1 Comment

  • Leslie L Baltadonis

    Absolutely brilliant!!!! I have myself observed some of these things, but when put together like this so that you are in the middle of the poem, I can only marvel at this poem as an older grandmother this poem will be my mantra.

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