Wednesday, July 22, 2009

creative pyre

Jun 22, 2009
is only good at fleeting.
She is only strong in brief.

Duration is not a game she likes to play.
It's not a match in which she has true belief.

Flash floods of emotion and passionate exchange
offer temporary inspiration which she cannot sustain.

So she seeks the next moment of un-tethered desire
fueling and feeding an emotional pyre.

rhyming couplets of patterned heat beats
each passionate partner is a temporary release.

sustained quite briefly is her creative flame within
before seeking the fuel to compose yet again.

Thursday, July 9, 2009


Jul 9, 2009
i laugh at myself for the idolatry i practice
faces of opportunity are only idols of romance
in this simple and circular dance

i perch upon my wobbly seat
seeking romantic eyes to meet
knowing without question
that what's meaningful now
may soon be just a forgotten session

a pitter of heart patter
i talk of what to you shall matter
catching drift on your tailspin wind
my laughter of idolatry does bend

this dance is a familiar one
a little revelry that's just for fun
but throw myself wholeheartedly I must
with a heated laugh and a sparkling lust

collecting puppies has always brought great joy
i laugh and love to dance with each sweet boy.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

A Night Painted by Matisse

A Night Painted by Matisse,  Summers McKay

Turning left instead of right we wandered across the park outside the Matisse museum toward the Mediterranean Sea. The true rich darkness of expression had fallen and we found ourselves as friends reuniting after a brief and unsettled separation.

You, an artist with strong hands and a clear passion for adventure followed me, the fleeting muse, as I danced my way to the water’s edge. In our descent to the ocean we held our breath, both sensing a familiar hunger hoping it might soon pass. Like brushstrokes of monochromatic color, the red studio of creation blended into one deep sigh. Paintings of forms arching in playful directions hung on the walls of our moment. In the air there was certainty that perhaps a new form of oil on canvas was evolving. Working together in a new medium was of course forbidden, so instead we walked and talked as we had so many times before. Playfully testing the waters to determine their temperature and depth. Both ignoring the pounding of our hearts, we strode alongside the moonlit sea.

You said surreal, I sighed Matisse. There was something more classic about the night than a Dali, and more happily passionate than a Van Gogh. You took my hand, or I took yours, and we could have wandered for hours with interlaced palms and winding steps in the cool ocean night - but a silent clock ticked and we knew our evening would eventually end. For that moment, there was not yet anguish. Like the rhythmic arrangement of lines and colors on a flat plane, we were entirely 2D with no shadows of repercussion.

Then as we stepped into the darkness of a palm, bright moments of color amidst a rich background of greens and blacks burst forth. You could resist no longer. Your kiss fell hard like a powerful attack, like Donatello in a cage of wild beasts. Bruising my hungry mouth, you left a sensual memory I would be able to recall for days by running my lower lip between my teeth.

I can even now feel your kiss as I toy with my jade necklace, playing it on my tongue. It’s cool at first like the water that licked my calves and with each moment of memory, my temperature rises and so does the jade between my fingers and around my neck.

The caress of your strong hands painted the curves of my classic form and you felt the roundness of my soul with each fevered brush stroke. We tried to contain a moment of very public passion yet with each stride drew closer. Bodies wrapped in classic poses wanting not to abandon a moment so long in creating, we explored. When the paint’s fumes grew too strong and the benches of the park overlooking the Mediterranean were insufficient to complete any masterpiece, we parted ways as gently as our night began. You walked forward. I turned back.

But who was the artist that night and who was the muse? Were we simply ecstatic colors in the palette of a more powerful creator? Did Aphrodite, Eros, Apollo, Dioynsus, and Poseidon conspire to create such a yearning masterpiece?

I returned to my bed and spent days dreaming of your kiss, inspired by your hands. Would we ever elect to paint together in such a clandestine way again?  As perhaps it was our only moment of artistic embrace, I have memorized the sequence of colors so I might remain warmed by your touch. We were two souls painting in tandem a surreal night of fever and expression.

unanswered prayers

Jul 7, 2009
I spoke with a man today who was perhaps my first love. I remembered our first kiss at the tender age of 14 that literally made it feel like my earth was cracked open. We spoke for over an hour about the last 18 years, but mostly about the time we spent as careful friends after a youthful romance with a cautious history.

I realized that the view of history was different in both our eyes. Our lives like winding roads had crossed over the years through high school, into college. A romance started almost the day we met and remained precious, adventurous, and relatively innocent all through high school. While we always had a dynamic chemistry through college, we never actually made love because he was waiting for the right woman. I could not in my soul understand how I, a woman he'd been enchanted by when I was only a girl, and now found in his arms again wasn't in fact the right woman. 

Imagine my surprise to learn that now after 18 years he still was waiting for the right woman and that all along it was in fact religious reasons why he declined. His holy commitment was strong enough to overcome desire, but in his youth he was too shy to admit why. He wanted all of the intimate moments that preceded sex but admittedly sheepishly, “It’s not like Jesus comes up much when you are trying to take of a girl’s clothes.” I was devastated as a girl to have been turned down by someone I thought I wanted so much. I am happy as the woman I am today to know that I was not successful in changing his course. While it was not my choice, it was his.

It was certainly a moment to think back on unanswered prayers.

Monday, July 6, 2009

five minutes

Jul 6, 2009
sun peering through venetian blinds
a morning much regretted
i twist and turn in satin sheets
and hope the day has not yet started

my dreams were sweet adventures
i could only hope to live
a chance at naked immortality
and no reason to forgive

the alarm bell will surely soon ring
i beg just five minutes more

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Lyrics of a Catalyst

Jul 2, 2009

you are a catalyst of change and I know this
like others before you only exist to propel emotion
like some divine offering you simply exist
to test each moment, every stolen breath
every fighting kiss

I see my reflection in the eyes of others
and yours shine brightly blue
so opposite of the darkness i know
so familiar how I see myself in you

So simple is the way that you make me feel
not different from other loves gone by
a creative adventure testing both sides of my being
a good and a bad woman finding her stride

A cold rock of reality will certainly strike
the chords of emotion when this incendiary ignites
my existing world, a life that will change
because of you, a simple catalyst of change


how I wish you were different and your agitating change
further emotion and not simply pain
had I the strength of a thousand pounds
I could quiet the yearning of my heart beat sounds

but unlike the others you came crashing from within
and destroyed the dull pattern that I've fallen in
I regret you, while want you, wishing you felt the same
an incentive of difference, a catalyst of change