Day 146: Erotic Lentils

“Do not seek enlightenment unless you seek it as a man whose hair is on fire seeks a pond.” – Sri Ramakrishna

“I will not tiptoe through life only to arrive safely at death’s door.” – author unknown

I have like 4 or 5 water signs in my astrological chart…hmmmm.

I am just beginning to be amazed by the many facets of Samantha Craft. One day deep philosopher writing words she doesn’t quite grasp, the next soulful author pouring out healing truths from the roads of childhood, later a poet easing an over-flowing heart, and then back to the unyielding sex goddess emerging from used up prude-nun from past life. The loins! The loins!

Wow! My husband is a patient man. Of course, he does get that sex goddess… Did I mention he is doing a lot more chores around the house without a whisper of remorse?

I keep thinking I am going to wake up and magically transform back into the person I was five months ago. Though I don’t think her vessel would fit this wild blossoming spirit. I’d surely burst out within minutes, leaving the old shell scattered and forever broken.

The world seems to be getting even more passionate, appealing, and ravenous by the day. If I have any challenge at all, in the spiritual sense, it’s the intensity of not wanting to run out of time on this glorious playground of planet earth. Just today, after walking in the sunshine, yes sunshine, while at the farmer’s market sipping lentil soup and listening to a flute player, I was just so gosh-dang giddy about living. And it’s not because things are going “well” in the humanistic sense. Really, if I got down to it, I could play you a sad song about my life to make you weep out yesterday’s coffee from your eyes. Seriously. I’ve got a laundry list of grievances I could lay down right now at your feet.

So my overwhelming sensation of joy isn’t because all is well. Not that type of sensation at all. Quite the opposite. I know all is not well; but I’m well in this knowing.

Sipping my lentils from a cup was purely divine erotica. The swirls of liquid brown, the small melted beans, the little onions—I took twenty minutes to sip my small cup of soup!!! I didn’t want the experience to end. It was so sexy and sensual.

Today was one of those days I would have danced in a water fountain, or pierced my bellybutton, or gotten a tongue stud, or kissed a stranger. It was one of those days that felt like Christmas morning.

You know what? I am very much amazed by how many people take walks and complain about life. I honestly don’t know what I would talk about, if I had a walking partner. I suppose I could say: “Look how that leaf is so very green. Look how it dances!” or “Look at that duck. Watch him dunk. See the ripples on the water. Oh the water!” And then stop myself from screaming in ecstasy…Oh, the water! Oh, the water! Not really…but close.

Perhaps I could talk to a walking mate like I talk to my little dog, that I now tie with her red leash to my pant loop so she can stride along my side and I can swing my hands high in the air. We are quite the pair. Her with her Groucho Marx eyebrows and me with my radiating smile. People don’t quite know what to make of us. I imagine they think we’re a bit too cheery to be real. But we are. We are real. And cheery.

I talk to her about things, my little dog. And she listens with a cock of her head, looking up like she knows she is special. And I look down, like I know I am special. And she moves her little legs super fast, and I move my bigger legs super slow, and we walk and walk in the beauty of the world.

I say things to her like: “Look at the water! Isn’t it lovely?” And I lift her so she can see. And then later I wait as she sniffs a butt or two. And I wonder why humans don’t run up to each other so happily, like pups. And then I think maybe that’s my next step. Maybe I’m going to be one of those ladies running up to random people and offering hugs!!!!  Not butt sniffs….not there, yet. But maybe next month.

I can’t wait to see how I will be tomorrow. I truly am a surprise a minute. So entertaining and full of life, and sometimes other stuff too, but nonetheless full and unpredictable. My husband seems to be falling in love with me, perhaps for the first time, as I am actually me for the first time, at least in my adult years. I think for him he’s woken up to a new partner all together. And I’ve woken up to a new me all together. Not improved or better or different, more so rebirthed. And in no way perfect, just entirely unpredictable in nature, mood, and words, and no longer willing to ever, ever tiptoe through life again.

If I am insane, I’m even cool with that. If I am awakened, I won’t say that, seems so silly to say such a thing. We’re all awake! Just some of us keep hitting the snooze button and falling back to sleep for a spell.

Erotic Lentils

I am entangled in your simmering sweetness

Diving into you speck by speck

The heat savored by tongue

Morsels licked up like lollipops

Pick me a flavor

More divinely set for my taste

Pick me a lover

More satisfying

Than the empty bowl from which I drank

The sprinkles left inside me now

A curried-sunset within ocean’s shimmer

To nibble fondly in every direction

Into the inner depths

Through which

You have so easily crept

Sam Craft

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“Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.” ~ Groucho Marx

Day 143: The Raven Bride in White

Take me to the green in you

The secret valley beneath the sun

Hidden behind the whispering ghosts

Of whom you pretend to be

Open up your mossy arms

So I may open mine

And wrap all limbs round your spirit wide

To exist as half no more

Bring me to your mossy floor

Beyond the shadows of your fear

A raven bride in white

A ladder to your soul

Fold down your branches

Peel open your chocolate bark

So I may pour

As liquid amber

Through your very veins

************************************

The Raven Bride in White

Take me to the green in you

The secret valley beneath the sun

Hidden behind the whispering ghosts

Of whom you pretend to be

Open up your mossy arms

So I may open mine

And wrap all limbs round your spirit wide

To exist as half no more

Bring me to your mossy floor

Beneath the shadows of your fear

A raven bride in white

A ladder to your soul

Fold down your branches

Peel open your chocolate bark

So I may pour

As liquid amber

Through your very veins

Words and Photographs by Samantha Craft June 2012

Day 138: Fishy in the Blue

Maui 2012



This is a banjo song that I just wrote to play on my first guitar. Yes, I know. “Banjo song to play on my guitar”—sums up my life, fairly well. 

Fishy in the Blue

I’m living in a dreamland

The water’s ocean blue

Swimming to the outskirts

Of what I thought was you

But seeing only hard glass

That’s staring back at me

Sad eyes of the morning

Drenched in misery

Aquarium of aqua, and slowly merging green

Aquarium of absence, where you were meant to be

I’m living in a dreamland

Your face is all I know

Staring through the ripples

And watching as you go

Hunting through this glass cage

A sliver through a rock

Waiting for my sweet love

To give my home a knock

You’re shaking up my water

You’re shimmering my world

With all your fancy sparkles

And all your hidden jewels

A cauldron where a prince breathes

A castle undersea

You’re everything this fish needs

To live in luxury

I’m living in a dreamland

Your face is all I know

Staring through the ripples

And watching as you go

Hunting through this glass cage

A sliver through a rock

Waiting for my sweet love

To give my home a knock

There’s seahorses and urchins

And plenitude of schools

There’s suitors at my doorstep

Reciting gratitude

But I ain’t got no interest

Not even ‘nough to look

Too busy staring outward

A mermaid to a hook

I round the laps familiar

Still circling this place

Keep staring through that window

Keep giving love a chase

I’m living in a dreamland

Your face is all I know

Staring through the ripples

And watching as you go

Hunting through this glass cage

A sliver through a rock

Waiting for my sweet love

To give my home a knock

The bubbles they keep floating

Atop this prison cell

Serenading sadness

As far as I can tell

But I can’t stop my twanging

My fins to banjo string

You’re everything I wished for

You give this goldie wings

So sweetie  if you’re out there

Beyond this world of mine

Why don’t you come forward

So I can watch you shine

‘Cause I am just a fishy

In everything I do

A little fancy heartache

That’s swimming in the blue

~ Sam of the Blue

Post dedicated to my Irish Grandpa Mac. Rest in Peace.

June 2012

His Call

The new theme for my life, I have decided, is breaking free. Breaking free of rigid restrictions I set upon myself. Breaking free of old tapes that replay messages that no longer serve a purpose in my growth. Breaking free of the box I put myself into in order to avoid living and feeling. Breaking free of fear. And breaking free of secrets.

Today I decided to break free of this idea that I can only post once a day. I notice that us poets sometimes need to post more. It’s our hearts, I gather, exploding with passion and angst, and this surging creativity that seemingly is rebirthed daily.

Sometimes I wait until the magic hour of midnight to post; just so I can post twice in a day, but I don’t really count that as posting twice. Turns out I’m about twelve days ahead of myself…my blog is living in the future.  And I kind of wonder how I will catch up. Wonder what Sam is doing ahead of me.

I’m quite tired of living by structure and rules, especially my own. Tired of routine, expectations, and people-pleasing. Realizing I want to please myself—to honor my desires, wants, and dreams. And thusly, I’m posting again. And breaking free.

His Call

Mountain morning dove

Set upon the pearly staircase

Wrapped within the valley blue

Draped in lace and contemplation

The white of one split two

Hears echoing

From peak

The nightingale’s beckon

Stronger than the cry of river falls

Lighter than the foe of painter’s black

The vibration of symphony devoured

Within the deepest depths

Phoenix-fire ignited

Rebirthed as starlit sky

Beyond the endless cage

Scooped longingly within engulfing embrace

Merging feathers

Churned milky-honey

 A blended sweetness

To soar within

© Everyday Aspergers, 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

My ten-year-old son just handed me this sweet story he wrote.

Bunny

Turtle loved to play with his buddy fish. But one day a stranger came up to them while they were playing splash. “Hi. My name is Bunny can I play, too?”

“Yea. You can play.”

They were all playing but when they started to play under the water hide-and-go-seek, Bunny couldn’t breathe. Bunny asked if he could play another game.

“Can we play a different game?” he asked.

“No. We can’t. We like to play this game.”

Bunny came home that day very sad. His mom asked what was the matter. “Well, I was playing with some kids and they were playing a game I can’t play. So I asked it we could play a different game and they said, ‘no.'”

“Well, that wasn’t the nice thing to do,” his mom said.

“What’s nice, Mommy?”

“Well nice is being kind and caring and being polite.”

“Oh. Okay, But what do I do about it?”

“Find new friends that are nice to you. Okay?”

The next morning the bunny was hopping around and found the squirrel. “Hi. Want to play?”

“Yes. Let’s play!”

And they did, all day long.

When bunny got home, he was so happy.

His mom asked him, “Where were you?”

“Playing with squirrel!”

“Great. You found a new friend.”

“Yes. And he’s cool. Thank you, Mom.”

~ Robert C 2012

Thanks for being my new friend and being so flippin cool ~ Sam 🙂

Day 135: Riding the Wave

Maui Photo 2012
Riding the Wave

I’ve stuffed my emotions for so many years. The fire in me is now burning, and I’m loving the independence, and new found freedom. I feel like I’m thirteen again. Only much more wise, mature, confident, and damn sexy!

I love songs, like I did back then. I am dancing. I can’t get enough of the outdoors. I am enjoying my friends, as we giggle a lot over girl talk.

I am so excited for life and all life has to offer. I am very satisfied with who I am, where I have traveled, and what I have overcome. I feel like the Cat’s Pajamas. I am the Cat’s Pajamas! I’m great, incredible, and special. Just like YOU! And I’m moving towards my own style and own innovation.

I’m chuckling over the silliest things, like this definition of bee’s knees:

Coined circa, in the 1920’s, bee’s knees means something along the lines of very good, excellent, great, amazing. A bee’s baskets for pollen are located near its knees, so when the bee’s baskets are full of pollen, they are filled with the good stuff.

That just cracks me up! Filled with the good stuff!

I feel filled with good stuff. I truly do.

And of course this stuff turns into the sweetness of honey! Yummy honey….

I also laughed aloud at the less popular terms of endearment that never quite made it through the years—words like: the flea’s eyebrows and the canary’s tusks. I so want to call someone the flea’s eyebrows. Just once. “Hey, you sexy!” “Yea, YOU.” “You, MY MAN, are the flea’s eyebrows!” I’d like to say that to a biker dude with a bunch of awesome tattoos or a twenty-year old kid, just to freak him out. Old lady diving off the deep end.

I am truly enjoying this rush, whatever it is. I don’t really care anymore. I am happy. Balanced. Loving. Focused. And for the most part feel sane…just constantly aching. But hey, an ache in the loins makes for marvelous poetry….

Here’s a poem I wrote in a matter of seconds yesterday, posted, then deleted. I fretted the words would seem silly and non-sensical to the onlooker. But after reflection, I really dig this poem. It makes sense to me. It moves me. It makes me feel alive. And that’s what I am aiming for during this phase of my life. What moves me. No one is stopping me this time. I’m me. And I love me.

Whatever transitions are happening in 2012, I seem to be surfing the wave of the collective unconscious. Or, like my bud Lisa said, maybe it’s early menopause.

Like I said. Makes no difference. Bring it on!

Maui 2012

Ocean to Moon

Butterflies at bedtime

Tuck wings into sleep

Dream of when we last touched

And emptiness moved in rhythm

The ocean to the moon

Coming from the twilight

Of heart’s intention

The summer wakening

Whispering sweet surrender

We dance

As lovers last remembered

When wisdom paid her toll

We dance

As enchanted lairs

Where lioness is held

Kissing tender

Beneath the nape of desire

Spin me round the eagle’s call

Inching in as rivers to sand

Play me

This tired swooning captain

Into the darkened state

Where silence beckons

And aches divide

Nothing

But ever merging ecstasy

giggles….”Do you want to have a slumber party in my basement”….giggles