Featured Post: Curious Wine – M.A. Morris

Originally published on Braveandreckless.com

Brave & Reckless

I drink this curious wine
Amidst this dying battle
In the early morning hours
When sleep is a dream
Chased no longer.

A bruised oppressive rawness
Settles over all.
No joy to find
Amidst such wreckage.
I am siege wearied
By a bombardment of words.

Thus, I lay down the sword,
Offer up my neck to you.

And though I should win
The gold and gems,
It is bitter truth to swallow
In this curious wine
You’ve given me to drink.

I begin a day with no respite.
Stones piled
One upon the other,
Weighing on the chest.
I feel the crunch now of bones
Pressed by the tonnage.
Death by stones of grief.


I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my…

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Featured Post: The Color Purple – M.A. Morris

Originally published on Braveandrclessblog.com

Brave & Reckless

I dug and planted,
Watered and tended,
Replanted and pruned.

I planted what should be.
I checked the labels
At the nursery.
Yet,
Nothing here blooms
That is the color purple.

I have other colors in abundance,
But not the lilacs or the lavender
Will bloom that shade of purple sky
Seen in the sunrise.

Nothing I do
Can make that
Mythic color true.


I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

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Featured Post: Orlando – M.A. Morris

Originally published on Braveandrecklessblog.com

Brave & Reckless

All is melded together in a tide of fluidity
In the giving and receiving.
Effortless is the trading off of places
And ways of touch.
From the warmth within skin to skin,
There is no question.
Lacking need for definitive definitions,
The passion found in the changing of tides
Is such a joy filled revelation.
In roles not static.
The fluidity found
Wields ecstasy profound.

Image Courtesy of Pinterest


I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

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Featured Post: The Gravity Between Us – M.A. Morris

originally published on braceandrecklessblog.com

Brave & Reckless

In my final days,
I will soar into the sun
And wait for you.
Or should it be
Find you there
Waiting for me.
Then we will fly beyond,
Mingling and joining
With the elements
Of air
Of earth
Of water
Of fire,
Merging and separating,
And merging again.
For an eternity,
Playing in the gravity
Between us.

Then should we
Fall to earth once again,
No matter where,
No matter the time,
We will find
Each other
Again.


I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

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Featured Post: Stone Butch Blues – M.A. Morris

Originally published on braveandwrecklessblog.com

Brave & Reckless

(paying for your butch ego)

The fragility of the butch ego
To which we are slave,
Must be soothed by us,
Whispered to and petted,
In private,
As well as public,
So they can strut,
Cock of the walk.

Should their ego be slightly scratched,
A minor scratch that should be paid for by
Lips and tongue and sweet words,
Yet such currency is deemed unacceptable, rejected.
And so we must pay the price.
Have our own selves bound and lashed
By that stone butch cruelty,
Containing not a thing we crave.
Our every flaw memorized, learned by rote,
Recited daily,
As if a lamentation and a prayer
Were needed
To remind us of the
Imperfections of hip and thigh,
Of eye, nose, lips, and face,
Of breast and belly.
And before long, even of mind and soul.
Soon we become,
Not enough.
Our totality,
Added up
And blessed
Within…

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Reading You

 I read 
 Every word, every sentence 
 of you;
 I memorized paragraphs 
 Of you.
 I found warmth
 In the chapters
 Of you;
 My lips whispered the words
 Of you 
 As if they read sacred incantations.
 My fingers tenderly turned each page
 Of you,
 Missing you upon turning to your last.
 But finding joy 
 Upon turning once more
 To your first page,
 Reading you,
 Discovering you,
 All over and over again.
   

Broken Bits

  
 Pain,
 A squeezing down
 Into nothingness,
 Into blackness,
 Into broken bits
 In the chest.
  
 Pain,
 A soreness remains after
 The squeezing fist
 Grinds down 
 These shards of glass,
 The broken bits,
 This blackness
 Into nothingness
 That began long ago. 
 A damage
 Left of childhood
 Whimpers.
  
 Pain,
 The squeezing down
 Of a nightmare
 And 
 The leaking valve
 Of this hole 
 In my chest.