Old 08-21-2010, 12:22 AM   #1
ninianne
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ninianne romance bingo

This looks like fun--and I wouldn't mind having some incentive to work. Let's see what I can do with a card.

Thanks.

my score: 0

my card:

b1i1n1g1o1
b2i2n2g2o2
b3i3n3g3o3
b4i4n4g4o4
b5i5n5g5o5

Last edited by ninianne : 08-31-2014 at 04:50 PM.
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Old 08-21-2010, 01:15 AM   #2
Stella_Omega
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An essay for BDSM Newbies; Top, bottom, dominant, submissive-- and the differences thereof Now rewritten with extra sparkle!
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Old 08-21-2010, 02:34 AM   #3
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N1: afterglow

I live for these moments. When our heart beats slow and our hands still and I lay trembling and dripping beneath you. I ache still. Not with the needy craving of before, but with a deep muscle soreness that reminds me of you.

You touch me then, brushing my hair from my eyes, twining our fingers together. I love those careless touches that speak of intimacy without bearing the intense give and take of passion. I breathe free again as you shift us so that I am tucked into your body. Your arm is heavy on my waist. Your breath surrounds me, hot in my hair, heavy at my back. Without having to think of it, my heart paces with yours.

I’m nearly asleep now. You are already there. But my skin is damp with sweat still. I shiver. You feel it as you drift, and reach down to cover us with the sheet. Under the sheet, you pull me closer. Your leg is heavy and warm on mine. I murmur thanks and bring our hands to my lips to kiss your fingers. I shift so that I’m no longer on your arm.

Warm, comfortable, loved, I close my eyes and dream.
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Old 08-23-2010, 11:07 AM   #4
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G3: sweet nothings

sometimes
as I feel you driving deep within me
and you murmur soft lust words
and pet names
into my ear
I wonder
why you never say my name

it isn’t an especially difficult one
I remember a time
before we gave
over all our nights to passion
and we still talked
about life
and dragons
and all sorts of whys
back when we occasionally
went to lunch together
or a movie
and you gave me roses for my kisses--
you knew my name then

now
we never talk
when we come together
we consume each other
and when the fires are banked
we sleep

but as you murmur
my dearest
my darling
my own
I wonder who you are talking to
who do you see
when you look past my eyes

I haven’t seen them in so long
that I wonder
whether the blue I remember
belongs to you
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Old 09-28-2010, 02:48 AM   #5
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I5: Virgins

They dressed me in white and gold before securing me to the rock. My father would not look at me, standing there with my long black hair falling loose to my knees the way it should have been for my someday husband, my arms stretched above my head, my hands two defiant fists, and my feet spread and bare on the sand.

The priest offered me poison. I refused the cup. He offered again, but I whispered the north wind and the noxious liquid spilled on the sand. “We must not taint the meat.” The gathered onlookers winced, and my father scowled. A week ago, he would have beaten me for disrespect, but now . . .

There was nothing more that he could do to me.

The wind changed, coming from the east over the sea. Its touch made the onlookers anxious. The priest finished the prayers hastily and led them away.

My father was the last to go, looking into my eyes for the first time since he drew my name and my fate was sealed. His eyes are so like mine—green and dark as the sea in a storm, and right now they were dry and cold as he looked at me. Was I so hard to love even now, with my life forfeit for the good of his kingdom? Pride was all I had left. I refused to let him see my fear.

But when he disappeared from view, I let the tears fall and tugged at the chains with all my weight. I squirmed, scraping my back against the rock and my wrists in the chains until I was sure that I had drawn blood, but I was fettered too tightly. The priests were adept at their craft, although the sacrifice only was made every seven years.

A wavelet lapped over my toes. I stilled my panic and blinked away my tears. At least I had no fear of the tide. The dragon would come long before I would drown. At a sudden gust, I searched the sky. There he was at the edge of my sight but coming fast. A shadow in the twilight. I blinked at the wind of his coming, and he was there.

He cocked his head to the side to look at me with one gold eye, and then the other. I stood as still as I could, screaming on the inside. Then he stretched his wings again. The draft kicked up sand and I shut my eyes for a long moment. When I opened them again, the dragon was gone.

In his place was a man, tall and well muscled, with red hair loose down his back and the same gold dragon eyes set in his human face. I did not want to catch his eyes, but I wasn’t sure where else to look. One swift glance told me he was naked and ready for a woman. I blushed. I had expected the dragon to eat me and be done with it. But maybe he desired to play with his food? I shot another quick glance down at him. This was the first time I’d ever been alone with a man and while I had some ideas on the subject, I did not think I was made to accommodate such heroic proportions.

I looked everywhere else. The sea, the sand, the first stars blinking in the distance, but finally there was nowhere else to look but his eyes. He smiled. His teeth were only a little sharper than human. “Do you like what you see?” His deep voice sang the words so that their sound made me tremble and dampen.

I swallowed. “I am a maiden as stipulated by the compact.” I tried to keep the tremor out of my voice, but could not. “I am yours. Do what you will.” Some years, the dragon did not accept the sacrifice. Such a maiden was promised to the priesthood and would remain cloistered for the rest of her days. Yesterday, I had not been sure which fate was the worse, but now I knew. I wanted to live.

He smiled again, and I stared at his teeth. Were they longer, or was it just my imagination? He glided closer to me and touched my cheek. His hand was so warm that it made me feel how very chilled the air was. I shivered. He closed his eyes and breathed in. “An acceptable offering.” I bowed my head, my last hope gone.

His hands were at my shoulders, undoing the pins that held my sacrificial gown. He slid it down, revealing my naked form slowly until he was kneeling and the gown was a pile of white and gold at my feet. He looked up and caught my eyes. “I must taste you.”

I was cold and afraid, but there was no way I could run. His hands were heavy and hot on my hips, his head burrowed between my thighs and he tasted me with broad strokes and short licks, now leaning back to blow on my overheated body, now latching on to suckle. I writhed, wanting to get away from his mouth and tongue, wanting to get closer, to feel more. I could not feel cold or afraid anymore because I was too hot and tight and wet. My muscles clenched, as I reached for him—wanting him, needing him until the world shattered and fell and I screamed pleasure into the night. It was too much. I lost track of the world for a while.

When I awoke, the chains were gone and I was kneeling under him in the wet sand. At first I couldn’t remember who he is or why I was there. But the heat of his body and the hot length ready to drive into me brought my memory back. He waited until I looked behind me with clear eyes and then he was there. Inside me. I did not have time to be afraid or tense my body, but it hurt less than the maids had warned.

“Mine.” He felt so strange, hot and thick. I wanted a moment to explore the sensation, but when I clamped down on him, he moved like he was going to leave me. I didn’t want him to go—not yet. If I was going to die tonight, I wanted this. But he came back, and set up a rhythm that I learned and met. His hands reached around finding places that made me feel wild—as though I was strong enough to match his passion.

And as the world shattered yet again, I felt his heat flood me and I collapsed under him.

He rolled us over, his arms holding me almost too close to him. I could feel him breathe, hear his heart beat and I could feel mine slowing to match his. When he spoke, his voice surrounded me. “You are mine, forever. Say it.”

Forever? Even nearly asleep, I latched onto that. Maybe the world did not end tonight after all. And better my dragon than the cloistered hell that would be my life here.

“Yours.” The word was a whisper. I could feel his arms lengthening and suddenly the dragon was back and we were flying over the sea. As I drifted off in the cradle of his arms, I had a last thought. “And you’re mine.”
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Old 10-04-2010, 03:30 AM   #6
ninianne
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O4: slick

Driving home was white knuckled and breathless. I clenched at the door, heart racing and palms damp enough to freeze to the handle. His shoulders were tense and his eyes never left the road. We were going to die and it was all my fault.

Even though it was past midnight, we were not the only ones racing home with all cautious speed, which made the whole situation more problematic. No one in Memphis can drive on the ice. Only the fact that the defroster was going full blast kept the windshield clear and the streetlamps blurred with icy rain.

My heart skipped as we slid sideways into the complex, but the tires gripped again before I could distract him with some startled noise. A moment later, he turned the car off. We stared into the night for a moment while we tried to remember how to breathe.

He turned to look at me. “That was fun.”

I was shivering—more with reaction than with the cold that was drifting into the car. “Thanks again for coming with me. I’m sorry. I should have canceled when I heard the weather. It’s just that I’ve had the tickets for months . . .”

“It was supposed to wait a bit before it got this bad.” He shrugged. “And I told you. I had fun.”

I stared out the window thinking about logistics. I wondered about towels and toothbrushes, and where I would put him.

He cleared his throat. “You’d better get going if I’m going to drive home before it gets really bad.”

My eyes were wide, horrified. “You are not driving home in this. My place is a bit cramped, but I think I can figure something out.”

“It’s all right.”

“Come in.” I opened my door and stepped out into the weather. He wasn’t moving, so I leaned back into the car and unfastened his seatbelt. “I am not having a tragic car accident on my conscience.”

He laughed and got out of the car.

Getting to the apartment was an exercise in codependency. I clung to his arm, taking small steps so that I didn’t land on my face. At least once he slipped and would have fallen if he hadn’t clutched my shoulder. The stairs were the worst, but at least there we could grip the rail.

At the top, I took too confident a hobble and my feet slid out from under me. He reached a hand to help, and ended up on his rear on the top step. We looked at each other, both clinging to the rail with both hands, feet sliding and helpless. I started giggling and he joined in with a deeper chortle.

“I’m not sure I can stand up again.”

“Me neither.” I stared over at my door, a long, icy, two yards away. Slowly, carefully, I got my feet under me and took the last hobbling steps. Behind me he was moving again. The warm hit our faces as we stepped inside my tiny apartment.

I made a quick dirty clothes check—good it was all in the hamper. It might not have been. This was a first date (if it was a date—was inviting a friend to a show because my just barely ex didn’t deserve the ticket a date), and I hadn’t thought my mess would be an issue tonight.

I turned around. He was staring at the futon that was the biggest furniture in the apartment. It was my couch in the daytime and my bed at night.

“There’s an air mattress.” I walked over to the closet to fetch it down. He took off his coat and put it on the kitchen chair. It was still in the box with the pump and the instructions so that I could figure out how to inflate it without having to store the procedure in my memory. He watched me fiddle with the intake valve for a moment and then wordlessly took over.

I grabbed a pair of red sweats to sleep in (no expectations) as he got the electric pump going behind me. I slipped into the bathroom and quickly hid any potential embarrassments. I took another five minutes getting ready for bed and padded back into the room.

“It’s all yours.”

He nodded, turning off the pump. It was a queen size mattress, which meant it was impossible to move without tripping over it. I grabbed the sheets and started making it up. He came back out at an awkward time, while I was stretching across the slippery satin to get the last corner.

“Here, let me get that.”

I let him, and together we made the bed up. It felt strange—like something a married couple would do (my ex had been a total slob) and much too intimate a chore to share between two people who hadn’t ever kissed.

I tried not to notice that he had stripped down to an undershirt and boxers. Blue boxers. They looked smooth and touchable in those moments when I lost focus. When we were done, I converted the futon for me in a few practiced motions.

“You’ll have to get the light.” I told him as I crawled into bed.

The light went out and I heard him moving around in the dark and then the mattress bumped into my bed as he settled in. I looked up at the ceiling. I could hear breathing in the dark.

He was my friend. And tonight I had coerced him into seeing a show (it counted as coercion when I asked at 5 pm if he would like to go to something at 7:30), nearly gotten him killed taking me home, risked his neck on my stairs, made him sleep on the floor, and now I couldn’t get the image of his boxer shorts out of my head. It had only been a week. If this was what sex deprivation was going to do to me, I needed a new man. Fast.

But what if I made a move. Then things would be weird. And maybe we wouldn’t talk anymore and I’d turn into an old lady who wore granny shoes and kept cats, and I didn’t even like cats. Better to just sleep.

I could hear breathing in the dark.

After five minutes I heard him shift. His voice rumbled out of the dark. “Is it just me, or is this incredibly awkward.”

I laughed, relaxing. “No, I’d say incredibly awkward just about covers it.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “So, technically, you paid. But I walked you to your door.”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t let me kiss you goodnight.”

He thought it was a date. I was grinning, an enormous, cheek hurting grin. “You didn’t ask.” I shifted so that my weight was balanced as I leaned precariously over the edge. He was right there.

I put my hands on his shoulders to hold myself steady. He reached up to meet me. I brushed my mouth against his head first, smelling shampoo. Then his nose (technically, that was an accident), before finally reaching his mouth. His lips were firm and sure on mine. I opened my mouth to deepen the kiss, and he matched my movements.

His hands were in my hair, taking it out of the braid and fanning it over my shoulders. It fell down across my arm and brushed him. I could feel my arms trembling. I wasn’t going to be able to hold the position much longer, and when I did, I’d fall into him. Worst case scenario, we’d both get bloody noses.

Reluctantly, I pushed away before disaster could strike. I drew away, letting my hands run up his arms to catch his hands from behind my head. I brushed them across my face and then relaxed back into my bed.

He was breathing faster now. He let go of one of my hands, but kept the other so that we were connected across the gap between beds. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. I’m sorry it was such an adventure.” My voice sounded deeper to me.

He laughed. “Don’t be sorry. I think this is the first first date I’ve had that ended overnight. I’ve had fun.”

“Thanks for being such a good sport about it.” I yawned.

“I’m going to have to do some serious planning to come up with something as good for next time.”

Next time. I smiled and stared up at the dark. He wanted a next time.

He shifted a bit and I heard his breathing deepen. My eyes drifted shut and I settled into hot, slick dreams of next time.
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Old 10-07-2010, 02:27 AM   #7
ninianne
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B2: enemies

The hunter stalked her prey through a confusion of strobes and laughter. They had separated the minute the buzzer sounded, and now he was a faceless part of the giggling, screaming crowd. She made hit after hit, using what cover there was to minimize her own danger, knowing all the while that no hit mattered unless it was against him.

A shadow separated from a fake rock ahead of her—a shadow with his build, his walk. She ducked further into her cover, wondering if he had spotted her, or if she was free to make a clean kill. He was facing the other way. Perfect.

She lined up her shot and took it—and the kill light shown red on his armor. As soon as it faded, she hit him again, over and over. As long as he was dead, his weapon would not be effective.

He noticed almost immediately, and started running for her. But even if he found her, she had the firepower. He was toast.

Just then there was a red glow from her chest. She was distracted and looked around for the lucky shot. Some punk kid was racing past, yelling a war cry. The kid probably hadn’t even aimed at her. But her cycle was broken.

Her prey was upon her, and his weapon was live. She rolled onto her back and fired up at him as soon as she could, but he had started a kill cycle of his own.

She swore, and held her weapon on him, hoping for another punk kid. But the end buzzer was sounding and the lights came up and the game was over.

He reached a hand to help her up. She kept it as they headed out of the arena and over to the scoreboard. Neither of them were the high scorers, but she had beaten him.

“That makes five in a row.”

“I’m getting better though.” He laughed and gave her a hug. “You have to admit that.”

“I don’t get it. You always break cover and run at me.” She looked up at him and shrugged. They were a study in opposites—she was barely five feet tall. He was sixteen inches taller and proportionately heavier. “In laser tag, the sniper beats the tank.”

He just smiled. “But all my instincts tell me wrestling you to the ground would be exactly the right move.”

The buzzer sounded and the lights went out. He ran for cover, but it took her a moment to get back into the game. She was distracted. Imagining.
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Old 10-27-2010, 03:47 AM   #8
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B1: spring

Once a decade at the edge of springtime when the fountain dies and the water flows more slowly and my pulse heats and quickens, I pull myself up to the edge of the spring. Skyclad under the moon, I sing through the edge of the world, longing, calling, lonely and needing.

A man comes as I end my song. In this time, he is tall and awkward, stinking of unbelief and logic. But when he sees me sitting there with my toes in the water and my fingers combing the moonlight into my long, pale hair, he blinks and rubs his eyes under wired lenses. I smile at him and beckon him to come to me.

And he knows (in the logic of unbelief) that he must be dreaming, so he sets his shoes aside and rolls up his pants. I laugh, tossing my hair back so that he can see me. My breasts are high and firm, my sex is tight and wet, and my skin shines pale green under the moon.

His eyes widen and he smiles, for he thinks he knows what is needful in this dream. His hands make quick work of his clothes. His hair is short and his shoulders narrower than the warriors of old, but his fingers are long and his cock is beautiful, rising to greet me.

And I reach my hand to him, willing him to take it, to come to me, for I cannot go beyond the edge of the spring. He stumbles, his eyes locked on mine so that he cannot see the ground or the water’s edge. I sneeze as he comes closer because of the thick scent he wears. But the water will wash it away. Eventually.

We are silent. He is ready. I touch him, gliding my pointed nails gently over his shaft. His balls are heavy with seed. I need him now. I lower my mouth to him, licking the end of his cock. I can taste the salt and the life. I take him into my mouth. He plunges his hands into my hair and throws his head back. In the midst of the heat, I wonder if he can tell that my mouth is as cool as the water lapping at our feet.

But I do not have the words to ask. Instead, I pleasure him with my tongue, twisting it around in a way that no woman could. His hips are moving and I can feel him getting close. Slowly, I release him. He shudders but obediently releases my hair. I stand beside him and push so that he lies on the rock. Then I kneel over him and lower myself onto his cock.

His eyes close as I take him into my body. And then I ride. We move together. I raise my hands above my head to catch the moonlight. He holds my hips as I ride—now almost losing him, now feeling him fill me up. And then, as the moon fills me to overflowing, he shouts and life fills me, over and over. I clench him hard as the moonlight meets him inside me and the water rushes forth, renewed.

He opens his eyes, but his attention has turned to the spring where the fountain leaps into the air. It is stronger than it has been in nearly a century—a tribute to his seed.

The call of the water is loud now, drowning out the sound of my blood—and his. But there is one more thing that is needful. He is already trying to move again, to sit up. But his body is weary and spent. He opens his mouth, his brow furrowed. I smile at him and glide my finger down the side of his face. He tries to lean into it, but is too weary even for that. I lean down and kiss him.

It is a deep kiss. A long kiss. And when it is over, I breathe in his last breath. And then I take his bones into the spring to polish them gem bright over the next ten years.
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Old 06-20-2011, 03:25 AM   #9
ninianne
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G2: voyeur

I like to pretend that you don’t know I’m paying attention, in those late nights when you get home after the lights have gone out. But you must know that I wait up for you, even when I wish that I could sleep. You never turn on the light—that would make the show too obvious. Instead, you leave the hall light on and open the door for me.

I am lying with my arm over my eyes preserving the illusion of sleep when you peek in and smile at the bed. You take off your coat first and hang it neatly away. Then you sit down on the edge of the bed to remove your shoes and socks. I murmur and shift behind you--as though I were waking--and you freeze until I sigh and relax back into audience mode. But you are considerate, and move away from the bed for the rest of the show.

In the backlight of the hall, you are mostly a silhouette, removing your tie and unbuttoning your shirt from the top down. You toss the tie onto the dresser, and the shirt onto your chair with the rest of your laundry. The light shines through your hair and I pull my hand to my lips, wanting to touch it. But not yet.

Now you leave me alone for a moment. From behind the bathroom door, I hear the sounds of running water and brushing teeth. I do a quick breath check of my own--still good. You take off your pants in there. I wish you wouldn’t, but it is true that it would be an awkward process standing in the dark.

Soon the bathroom door quietly shuts again, and you are looking at me. I wonder, sometimes, why you stand there every night, just looking at me. I appreciate whatever reason you have. It gives me the opportunity to look back, your shoulders and arms. The lean muscles at your waist. Your hands—I love the strength of them. The sound of your breath. The length of your cock waiting for my touch. It is always a struggle to keep my breathing steady and my fingers still.

You sigh and walk out into the hall to get the light. I think I love that part of the show best of all, when you walk back into the light and the shadow of your body finds its color again. Your ass is a work of art. And then the light blinks off and you slip into bed beside me.

And I snuggle close, ready for the next act.
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Old 08-27-2014, 12:35 AM   #10
ninianne
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O3: Relationships

as we lay together
entangled
I breathe your air
your pulse makes
my heart beat

when first
you and I became we
our edges were
unpolished
each touch a new thrill
reaching higher
into combustion

we’re calmer now
our fires banked
the thrill now not
in the novelty
but in the way you finish
my thoughts
and in the surprising
bright facets
I still find
deep within you

and I find comfort
in the thought
that even when my heart stills
our breath will linger
in your living lungs
tangled forever

(sorry--went to a really odd place there. Also, I'm sorry to resurrect this--I lost track for a while because of school. Now, I'm instead of doing my thesis, so I (sort of) have time for this again)
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Old 08-30-2014, 02:46 AM   #11
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I4- Best friends

(the morning after slick)

When I woke up, he was watching me. In fact, that was what woke me up, the feeling of his eyes staring at me. I blinked away the dirt. “Hi.” My voice was raspy with sleep. And I could taste how bad my breath smelled. I rolled over. “Go away.”

I could hear the air mattress settle as he shifted back away from me. “I can’t.”

I turned around and leaned up onto an elbow. “Can’t what?”

“Go away. We’re completely iced in.” He was dressed again. I had a pang for those boxers—they really had been good enough to touch. Stop it. I told myself. Bad hormones.

Then I registered what he had said. “What!” I bolted up out of bed, my feet wincing at the cold of the floor. I danced around the air mattress, which must have looked funny as anything because he started laughing. I thought about it—the legs of my sweats had bunched up around mid-thigh in the night, my hair was probably in a rats nest because I never bothered to re-braid after that kiss thing that happened. I was enough to scare off anyone.

The laughing and sudden attack of self consciousness were enough to make me lose my footing. I bounced down on the air mattress, across his body, hard enough that my head collided with his chest and my elbow collided with another random body part and now I was out of breath and he was gasping and the air mattress had probably sprung a leak and we’d end up on the cold floor. It was that kind of day.

I thought about banging my head against something, but he was the only thing available, so I just moaned my distress into his chest. That was it. I was going to keep absolutely still for the rest of the day. Well, maybe not, as I took in our position.

I needed a toothbrush, a hairbrush, and some dignity, in that order.

He smoothed my hair, just letting me lay there for the moment. “It’s pretty—ice everywhere. It’s about an inch thick on the mat—I’m didn’t even try the stairs.” I could feel his voice all the way through me. “You’re stuck with me.”

I stayed where I was for a long moment. He really was cuddleable. No expectations, I reminded myself. I was not going to suggest getting naked—at least not before I fed him. And took care of my morning hideousness.

At the reminder, I made as if to get up. What I hadn’t noticed was that his arms were now holding me down. I was arching my back, which was digging my pelvis into . . . hello, good morning to you, too.

I met his eyes, feeling my face flush. “I need the toilet.”

He stroked his hand down my back to rest on my ass. Lovely, warm—he really had great hands. “You haven’t said good morning.” He shook his head. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”

I rolled my eyes. “Good morning.” I tried to get up again, wiggling my butt just a bit, then stilling when I felt his excessive and opposite reaction. “What?”

He sighed and shook his head. “There’s protocol when a date lasts overnight, and it doesn’t include telling your date to go away before he can kiss you awake.”

“Sleeping Beauty didn’t have morning breath.”

He rolled us over. He felt even better on top of me. “How do you know? She slept for a hundred years.” He was in a playful mood—before last night, this would have ended in an all out tickle war.

Huh. Maybe we’d been leading up to sex for longer than I thought. I stared up at him, my mouth glued closed. He wasn’t going to trick me into anything.

He didn’t appear to notice. Instead, he went into his lecture voice. “Morning after rule one: kissing is required.” He feathered a kiss on the end of my nose, on my chin, on my cheek. I turned my head. He started nibbling on my ear. I squirmed. He had morning beard, and it was tickling my neck. Which made the toilet an imperative instead of an excuse.

I wiggled my hands free and pushed at his shoulders. “No tickling. Toilet.” I wiggled free, doing my best not to be distracted by his shoulders and his lips which were kissing the inside of my wrist. I grabbed some acceptably warm clothes and headed to the bathroom.

Once there, I glared at the mirror. It was worse than I thought. I made the necessary repairs to my person and went back out to the main room. He was staring out the window.

I came up behind him and stared out. The world glowed—shone even. Everything was coated in ice from the trees to the roof of the apartment across the street to the shimmering road. The sun was out, but I could see clouds in the distance, looming. “It’s beautiful.”

He pulled me in front of him, tucking me under his chin. “We’re stuck. We’re lucky to have power—I bet it’s out all over town.”

“I should call work.” I leaned back into his chest. We were so easy together—easier than I ever had been with my ex-the-jerk. And then, there was this lovely latent sexual tension. His hands had crept below my sweater to rest on my abdomen. His breath brushed my hair.

We should have moved out of the best friend zone and into wherever we were a long time ago.
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Old 08-31-2014, 04:50 PM   #12
ninianne
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N5-Twilight

I am the love child of day and night. I linger in the shadow world, waiting for my time—as night stretches her hand over the world, there’s a moment when she clasps hands with day, their lover’s greeting held in the instant when both hold sway. That is when I live. I am too fragile for the sun’s fire, too easily lost in the depths of midnight. I must dance alone.

As the portal opens, I dance through. This is my time, before darker shades walk. My shadows are golden tinted and shine with day’s last moments, his warmth touching all that I am.

As I pass I think of my reward.

The man is my last stop. As the light fades and I’m pulled back into the shadow, I see him. He’s older than I first knew, grey and worn on his sunset porch, looking over the lake. I first saw him, young and strong, swimming in the red gold fire that shown from the east. He doesn’t swim anymore, but his eyes still hold fire and life.

I wonder sometimes, if he sees me, dancing close as evening fades into night. I kiss his brow with a feather touch of wind, and leave him, as I have every night since I first saw him.

I’ve asked for him. Someday soon, when his fire finally burns his body away, he will come and dance with me, will show me new dances. And twilight will be alone, no more.
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Old 09-01-2014, 04:22 AM   #13
Koba
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Originally Posted by ninianne View Post
I am the love child of day and night. I linger in the shadow world, waiting for my time—as night stretches her hand over the world, there’s a moment when she clasps hands with day, their lover’s greeting held in the instant when both hold sway. That is when I live. I am too fragile for the sun’s fire, too easily lost in the depths of midnight. I must dance alone.

As the portal opens, I dance through. This is my time, before darker shades walk. My shadows are golden tinted and shine with day’s last moments, his warmth touching all that I am.

As I pass I think of my reward.

The man is my last stop. As the light fades and I’m pulled back into the shadow, I see him. He’s older than I first knew, grey and worn on his sunset porch, looking over the lake. I first saw him, young and strong, swimming in the red gold fire that shown from the east. He doesn’t swim anymore, but his eyes still hold fire and life.

I wonder sometimes, if he sees me, dancing close as evening fades into night. I kiss his brow with a feather touch of wind, and leave him, as I have every night since I first saw him.

I’ve asked for him. Someday soon, when his fire finally burns his body away, he will come and dance with me, will show me new dances. And twilight will be alone, no more.
Wow, I'm sorry but I can't help but do this. If one was to interpret your writing literally one might see a child lingering in the shadow world waiting for an older man to kiss so that he may show her new dances and not be alone. Isn't that a bit on the borderline if interpreted literally? There is a similarity in many ways to what I wrote in my poem. Don't you think that this could possibly be misread by some people? And if it was, would it be your fault?
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Old 09-01-2014, 05:17 PM   #14
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Wow, I'm sorry but I can't help but do this. If one was to interpret your writing literally one might see a child lingering in the shadow world waiting for an older man to kiss so that he may show her new dances and not be alone. Isn't that a bit on the borderline if interpreted literally? There is a similarity in many ways to what I wrote in my poem. Don't you think that this could possibly be misread by some people? And if it was, would it be your fault?
Huh. I wouldn't have seen it that way--the set up is in that first line: "I am the love child of day and night" which could mean she (or he--non specific) is a child but could mean that she's more in a mythic realm. The rest of the piece reinforces the mythic interpretation--she has known the man since he was young, implying an agelessness to it. Personally, I thought there was something a bit stalker-ish about this personification of twilight and her fixation on this man, but I didn't want to go the sparkling vampire route as I responded to the word.

But I've left it open to interpretation. Do you honestly think that's where you would go? Okay, fine. If it can be interpreted in that way, given what I wrote, yes, it is my fault. However, do I feel that it's an invalid interpretation? No--as long as it comes out of what's written and can be backed up by more than a single word.

I am surprised that it can be interpreted this way, and if I was going to rewrite this into something longer, I would possibly clarify things so that the reader was guided more clearly into where I think the piece is going, but if the reader isn't guided into the world I thought he was going to be, that is my fault in the writing before anything in the reading.
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Old 09-01-2014, 05:23 PM   #15
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No, really that is probably not where I would go and I would probably not interpret it that way but if I took it very literally, I could. But can you see now why I reacted to the way I did to the interpretations I received for my poem. There was no intent of anything dark or sinister but the reader put the evil into it, not the writer. Do you feel how that works now?
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Old 09-01-2014, 05:34 PM   #16
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O1: Wrong

To be an acceptable princess, you must remember that the first rule is: The dragon is always right.

That means, even when he leaves a mess of sheep bones and soot to clean out of the cave before dinner time, which must be ready precisely at 7:30 pm, when the dragon returns with six of his closest friends that he forgot to mention were dining together that evening, and they expect something nice for dessert, not just the afore mentioned sheep served as a roast and you’ve been slaving over the hot fire for hours in your second best tiara (because one does not use one’s best tiara for cooking) and there were a least seven different interruptions at various times during the day by people desiring to rescue you, the dragon is still not wrong.

And that night, when you discuss how your day went, and he offers his sincere sympathy to you in the form of dragon tongue in all your right places, you’ll remember how right he always is, and scream it until it echoes around the cave.
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Old 09-01-2014, 05:37 PM   #17
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Yes, that's what I thought.
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Old 09-01-2014, 06:05 PM   #18
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No, really that is probably not where I would go and I would probably not interpret it that way but if I took it very literally, I could. But can you see now why I reacted to the way I did to the interpretations I received for my poem. There was no intent of anything dark or sinister but the reader put the evil into it, not the writer. Do you feel how that works now?
Koba, if you choose to interpret me in a way that I didn't mean, it's fine. If my words give you the latitude to do so, than it is my fault.

A writer has the responsibility to say things clearly. If they are not interpreted the way the writer intends, than she should have used different words.

Most poetry lends itself to multiple interpretations. A writer has no ability to veto one of those interpretations because she doesn't like it--the interpretations are where the reader lives.

Theodore Roethke has a poem called "My Papa's Waltz" which can be interpreted in different ways the most obvious of which are that either Papa was having fun with the child or drunken, abusive Papa was slamming the child around the room.

Does it matter what Roethke meant? No, he can't veto what we think about the poem because he's left both interpretations open. It's his fault we can interpret this both ways. And I personally believe that he wanted to leave both interpretations open, that he wanted the poem to operate on multiple levels.

Last edited by ninianne : 09-01-2014 at 06:07 PM.
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Old 10-07-2016, 01:37 PM   #19
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Beauty is in the eye...

I know you'll probably never read this ninianne since the thread is so old, but I just had to say I love your beautiful takes on old fantasy themes.
You have a lovely pen, a lively mind, a līflīċ style.

You inspire me, can I play bingo too?
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