The Hero's Luck

Lawrence Raab

 

When something bad happens
we play it back in our minds,
looking for a place to step in
and change things. We should go outside
right now, you might have said. Or:
Let's not drive anywhere today.

The sea rises, the mountain collapses.
A car swerves toward the crowd
you've just led your family into.
We all look for reasons. Luck
isn't the word you want to hear.
What happened had to,

or it didn't. Maybe
the exceptional man can change direction
in midair, thread the needle's eye,
and come out whole. But even the hero
who stands up to chance has to feel
how far the world will bend

until it breaks him. He can see
that day: the unappeasable ocean,
the cascades of stone. A crowd
gathers around his body. He sees that too.
someone is saying: His luck just ran out.
It happens to us all.

The Fall

Gypsy was a furry, wheat-colored collie, who lived and played on a ranch – several hundred acres of hills and woods, full of good things like rabbit trails and streams. She loved it there. At the ranch house she was given a comfortable bed and good meals. Her Master, who owned the ranch, made no unreasonable demands on her. She knew that her job was to love her Master and to be faithful to him and to obey other commands – to follow, to come, to lie down. And she also knew that she wasn’t supposed to chase the chickens and the rabbits. Actually these were easy for Gypsy, because it was in her nature to obey and to love her master.

But one day when Gypsy was prowling on a hill far away past the spring house and pasture, two things happened at once: the Master called her and a rabbit dashed across the hill. Gypsy turned and raced towards the Master, as she had always done. Then she stopped. It entered her mind that she didn’t have to obey. Perhaps the Master didn’t understand about that rabbit. Anyway, these were her hills. The rabbit was hers, too. Very likely it was all lies – that story of everything, including herself, belonging to the Master. How did she know that the food in her dish came from him? Probably there was some natural explanation. She was a free dog and that was the end of it. These thoughts went through her mind swiftly while she stood irresolute. Again came the Master’s command; the rabbit crossed the hilltop. Gypsy whirled and raced after the rabbit. She had made a choice. She was free to choose.

Hours later she came home. She saw the Master waiting for her, but she did not rush gladly to him, leaping and frisking as she had always done. Something new came into her demeanor: guilt. She crept up to him like a snake on her belly. Undoubtedly she was penitent at the moment. But she had a new knowledge – the knowledge of the possibility of sin – and it was a thrill in her heart and a salt taste in her mouth. Nevertheless she was very obedient the next day and the day after that. Eventually, though, there was another rabbit, and she didn’t even hesitate.

The Master still loved her, but he trusted her no longer. He put Gypsy in a pen and took her for walks with a rope around her neck. All her real freedom was gone. But the Master gave her from time to time, new chances to obey of her own free will. Had she chosen to obey, she would have once again had perfect freedom to roam her hundreds of acres. But she did not. She always chose, if she were out of reach, to run away. The Master, knowing that hunger would eventually bring her back, let her run. He could have stopped her. A rifle shot would have ended her rebellion once and for all. But she was allowed to live. Perhaps she would someday choose the way of obedience and true freedom.

One day, during a journey by car, Gypsy and her young daughter Flurry were taken to the edge of the woods. Always before, Gypsy had limited her disobedience to the ranch. But now, coming back to the car, she suddenly felt the old thrill. She turned and ran away. The Master called with a note of sharp urgency. Flurry, in her innocence, came at once. But Gypsy, her ears dulled to the voice of the Master, continued her rush into the dark forest. After hours of searching and calling, the Master sadly abandoned the lost dog and with Flurry beside him, went home.

Flurry continued to live in freedom, always being obedient to the Master who loved her and took good care of her. She was happy to be in his service and she loved the look on his face when she did something that pleased him. She obeyed gladly of her own free choice.

But lost Gypsy, as long as she still lived, wandered the woods and roads as an outcast. She had lost her way home. She became dirty and matted with foxtails and thorns. Stones were often thrown at her and she was always hungry. She had more puppies who, like her, were lost and inclined to disobedience – as were their puppies for generations to come. The kind and benevolent hand of the Master was unknown to them, except as a tale.

But this is the way Gypsy chose, and continued to choose, until finally there was no more choosing left to do.

 

Leaning In

By Sue Thompson

Sometimes, in the middle of a crowded store on a Saturday
afternoon, my husband will rest his hand
on my neck, or on the soft flesh belted at my waist,
and pull me to him. I understand

his question: Why are we so fortunate
when all around us, friends are falling prey
to divorce and illness? It seems intemperate
to celebrate in a more conspicuous way

so we just stand there, leaning in
to one another, until that moment
of sheer blessedness dissolves and our skin,
which has been touching, cools and relents,

settling back into our separate skeletons
as we head toward Housewares to resume our errands.

So Close

They didn’t know what each wanted, agendas out of synch, one in love, the other just a friend. One made a decision, while the others stayed noncommittal, one wanted something the other just went with the flow.  Allowing himself to be taken away, his ego, so big, tells him, nothings wrong with the ethics of it.  She let him come back into her life.  Her need met, the one she can not survive alone. Time was never reached where she could find herself, always someone had to be part of her agenda.

 It was a matter of time, when it was over, leaving him to wander and wonder how it’s suppose to be. Desire departed leaving him with nothing more than to finish his mission.

“She will not be a part of my ego need, like a nice car in the driveway.” he says.

 
How can two exist after all the need is gone?  No one wants to fall into more of the same, it didn't work before, why would it work now, just more of the same, with the same outcome.
 
Then the ego desire for her body, the unity of two, surfaced. Knowing he can give things she’s not had, things she doesn’t even know she needs.  Leaving it go, this place will occur that produces a new. Just head toward this place, be there when the genius, jumps aboard, taking you to Olay, Olay.
 
A flowered walking path, transition pieces all in place so he stops going from a predetermine conclusion to euphoria. Her feminine essence needs to be the driving force; other ways will just not work. She leads and he follows.

Find the energy; redirect it, to a place that will bring everything in line with what is needed. Keep your focus on the conscious world around you; each others proximity is amazingly close. Each must capture in a true moment of realization, what is suppose to be.  Why did these two come together at this particular moment. They passed so close neither could avoid. Alignment occurred, results happened. Search and it will happen.

 

Details

Silk stocking he wore ran over the polished leather of the sleekly designed shoes. Only dots puncturing the suppleness, highlight the decent from the bow to the toe. Nothing protruded, obstructing the slide of his foot on the outside.

Taking her shoe off, running her stocking over the well tanned periphery, losing herself in shape and fit of his foot inside. She loved this texture of him, one of many he possessed.
 
If you're going to wrap your foot up for any length, why not put it in a place like this.

Others design for the masses, why not caress yourself in luxury on the inside and out.

There is no rule about, what's in.  It's all about how you see and feel the piece you wear on your foot.
 
Women do feet, men forget the fringe.
 
Does a six pack eliminate the thing you put on your foot?
 
It's just on the threshold of what you can do for her. 
Every little detail, a reflection of the items within. Once you find one that knows these things that can make a difference, don't let her go.

Men and woman must know all the differences, its the beginning of all the other details you possess.

Do you want a man to take care of all your details?

Just a part of you

You've got all these hurdles, these sets of criteria, you must have, to get to this point. The point a man gets the ownership of a piece of you. A claim of the curve of you, from your waist over your hip, cascading down your bottom to the smile at the crease at the top of  your leg.

Deep down, after all the other parts have been meet, the ultimate, the essence is this spot. There is nothing that has to be, it has no lead up or climax. Just the feel of your skin,  fingertips playing your notes, tingle with the terrain of softness, dragging them over you, gently, the surface clear and expansive. No angle, just slopes, like fresh snow on a mountain top, the powder of you is skied by this touch over your slope.

Whipped cream over angel food sponge cake, the best.

 

Improved by only a kiss.  To go to this place, blaze a trail to the summit or heavenly valley, where all pleasure  is real, the destination where you never wish to leave. Garden of Eden for the two.  Don't ask me to take a bite of apple, it will lift me away from the place I wish to be, with you.

 

Could you let me in if I asked?

 

Would letting me in, be temporary?

 

Nothing's permanent! How long could you ever let this place be a possession of another? You hold me in your spell, a gentle grip, by this traversing of you.

 

I can't go to that place unless your willing.

 

I don't want the remnants of what is left after you leave, the deepness of the curve, strength of your muscle, crease of a step taken. Those smiles like the top of a heart, they roll up and over, inverted from behind.

 

In an embrace, my hands would go down, cupping you in each hand, like goblets full of fine wine. Your bunch of grapes held in each hand , never letting any fall off the vine.

I imagine plucking your fruit, with a kiss, the juice bursting in my mouth, quenching the thirst for you.

 

I must have this part of you, nothing else matters.

I would never wish to have this, than forever.

Just a touch in a night of bliss would be a dream. Dreams don't last, a day interrupts the world that's chosen for this moment. Day or night, conscious or not, I would wish your goddess be within my life.

Do not come if you are not ready to allow yourself in.  No longer tease me.  I don't want to live a memory of you.

I no longer wish to ask for this part of you. Please let me know the point it occurs so I will not have to lift my hand, only to take you in. No word must cross your lips other than yes.

 

Softness of warm butter will spread over your luscious muffin, so I can savior you well past the time it takes to move my knife over you. After the moment passes you glow from within, repeating over and over until the glass full of you, empties into nothing. Each sip of you as lovely as the first.

 

All those that have another, can miss this insight, blinded by the having rather than the desire. Be there for me, this feminine essence. Don't keep me from the other side. All that is you, is what any man desires. Prove to me how masculine you can be but keep from destroying your essence while being present in the world, men run. Know your place is all about you. Appreciate the goddess in you, find a way to maintain it forever. Get ahead living in a mans world, but keep the her in you. There are parts, no man can change, don't be talked into being anything that you are not. Turmoil erupts each time you must find your way on his side. For you to have a life, you have to find a man who doesn't want the border crossed. The edge, meets without crossing. Keep the feminine that he desires.

 

Long hair, soft fixtures, terrain with undulating texture, can't help but catch my attention. If you are going to do that, then be aware that I'm going to do what I do when you walk into my sight.

Paper Worth

Sunshines lights the table surface.

On the right a $20 sits,

like the table it refracts the light,

seeing only the texture,

not what's printed.

It could be any amount,

representing a little work or a lot.

You're worth more

With each pieces of paper

On the table next to you.

My worth adds up to

More than pieces of paper

on a table.