h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

This is an experiment not meant to offend you; it isn't really for a poem on the board; although anyone can read it here.

Reading you,is like watching someone dribble a ball all alone
just hitched to it just concentrating

reading you is like trying to follow on limbs above when you walk in winter

there's something lickety split and young

and tender and casual (or was that causal)
like a juggler
I bet you play theme music when you make love lol

I do

grapes, shredded coconut, shrimp, lemon juice, garlic, pine nuts, (toasted very lightly in butter) little pepper olive oil

a silver shoe with straps across the base of the toes
and one thin line leading to a gray flounce of feathers at the ankle
attaching to the back and a please be merciful two inch heel
of titanium, also silver colored

palms on feet

pacing around a house with a big picture window into the east on a
pewter-gray day with the beginning of a snow storm. And waiting for someone to arrive.

a shot of tequila, a lick of salt, and a spritz of lemon on the hand

Orpheus and Eurydice swinging in separate rooms in separate hammocks just tuned into each other

You don't know nothin
(this is also an American euphamistic term, meant affectionately)

You remembered the shoe fetish. Not offended in the least. This absolutely floored me. Beautiful. Very sensual and personal. Listen I've got to step out for a couple of hours, be back. And I want to respond to this proper. Enjoy your coffee .....

I do know a great deal more now. Very stylish indeed. I've read this more than a few times and can't remember reading anything quite like it - very provocative and personal. I can't help but read this through my camera's eye. I was able to see and taste every tender detail from head to toe, pan to melted butter. A bit of voyeurism. Orpheus and Eurydice - not Greek to me - and it's what sealed this boy's envelope. Everything or nothing at all please.

ps By dribbling, you probably mean basketball which I can manage. But, you should really see me dribbling a football .

I canna give you everything, for my heart is spoken for. However, a spoken for heart is not a dead one (lol) What is it I want to do. Sitting here thinking about it it becomes clear.
I want to
explore your mind through writing
not possess it, not mess it, if you were able to disable doubt and keep writing and find out
what is it makes all these memories and scenes and stories bring you together. Just exploring Falls. Mmm, voyeurism isn't bad, but it works for me in words, and I would like to see what I can see in yours. And vice versa, sans vice. So dribble your football over here and tell me where you want to go; most possibly back and write a poem which I will welcome with open eyes.
Fondly, in a civilized
nah, seeking outrageous bliss
Lynda

Ah, even the football!
Strives for attention on this summer day, like our hearts.

Well, I have goblets in my cupboards, and brie with a sour crust in the frigidaire, and my black Docs could use a new shine.

All right Lynda, let's crack that Waterford crystal bowl, - that's collecting far too much dust - upon on our knees (come closer) and let's discover the blood wwe bleed!

brie (passed due) goblets (only three left from a set of four) crystal (belonged to my Aunt). I inherited it beacause it used to be filled with candy and my sister and I would empty it as quick as you like.

are you stuttering?

Hmmm
is it the still still stillness of that snow fall; soft and cold and a darker white against the pewter sky
little wind
a tattered pattern of the scritchering tree twigs against that big window;
that calligraphic staccato of a cloud of birds sheening up and out and away from where you stand with ah
merlot maybe lookin out
the pearly grey light imposing itself then disappearing all together leaving you facing your own reflection with the fire behind you magically burning and leaping outside now too
trick of window makes you turn back
I'm bringing something for you but it takes a while to make
it
up

stut tut tuttering - fecking bowl, didn't cut just bruised.

I'm envious of your Vermotian window world, sort of Martian to me. Mine is concrete and I miss that old holly tree. Do your branches bow in winter, or do they find enough strength to hold the snow?

My branches bow, the pine ones, they stall black green all winter and bear the snow in great serious arcs of impossible beauty. Everything else deciduous just twinkles it's ice earrings in the sun.
Can you describe your concrete views please?
BTW good morning.

Heard you were hungry .
Got back a few hours ago. In Rhayader. Thanks for that Vermotian snapshot .. beautifully described ...
Now to the concrete ...
mmmmmmmm (not sung to to the tune of "A few of my favourite things, by Julie Andrews" .

the city centre, trash,
cross-eyed smiles, drugs for those willing to travel,
the air smells (not all the time though),
opportunities for sex,
architecture like exclamation marks,
eye contact with pavement maidens,
alleys,
Indian take-aways (Raja's my favourite),
museums,
sexy bookshops,
smoke rolling over a passing bus,
a dead bird lying face down,
walking distance to football matches,
cigarettes burned down to the butt,
sun surrendering to buildings,
laptops, cell phones,
and walking with the dead.

off to catch up and see what you've been up to ...

never mind it. It's
it's all. Oh yes that's the city you described but you also described your watchfulness and open ness and memory just fine. So you are so impressive, erm, I mean impressionable, (drops earring down grate)you'll go on and be a poem (I mean poet) then. Gotta go.

Ne'er mind? There are no grates in Vermont, right?