Wild Maria, dancing Maria, my Winter storm..
Wild Maria, dancing Maria, my Winter storm.
The crimson night, the thunder storms of life had brought me to you. I watched you from a distance and I dreamed of moonlight nights, feeling your body against me moving with the music. I knew you were a whirlwind, a untamed wild sea and a free butterfly that could not be owned.
I wrote to notebook. “Maria, Maria, my dearest Maria. Let’s play hide and see, lets play a wicked game where we can win. When you move to and fro with the song, you steal my mind and you make my sleepy world come alive. You have cursed me with the desire to kiss your lips, hold you so close, look into those eyes of magic when the songs are good. I would tell you, I love you. But I know. Love is a melancholy song to you. You want dangerous sea, wild nights and the poet’s song. You would tell me. I told you my love, love is too heavy, joy and happiness is light. Please Johnnie, make me smile and dance with me near the Pacific. I want long night, the Monterey bay and to hold you close. I told her. Wild Maria, dancing Maria, my Winter storm. Please dance with me, please make me feel. I am alive.”
I feel arms wrapping around me. I hear a whisper. Brave poet, are you afraid to dance with me? The song is sweet and I need to feel your body against me. Let’s fall into the music and let’s us find places where we are free to dream, to feel passion and I promise to make you know. Life is song, skin against skin and dancing crazy. Inside you, inside me, we must find the secret places where the wild heart can breathe. Where we can show true face and speak true words. Please make me feel that I am the only one you want and need.
I turn and I faced her. My hands free-falling through her flowing hair and I fell into her majesty eyes. I told her. I had a dream dear Maria. A lovely dream. I was in your eyes and you wanted me. You have besiege my heart and I need you too. Please lovely Maria. Dance with me, hold me close and make this night never ending. You are my first wish and my last wish my wild Maria, my dancing Maria. You are my storm, I need.
Coyote
This is so beautiful my friend ❤️
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Those ladies name Maria, can be dangerous. Thank you for reading and the comment.
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Indeed we can be yet none of us can truly be tamed. Wildly free is our inborn nature 🍃 Always a pleasure to read your work.
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Reblogged this on Commentary, Outrages, Prose and Poetry and commented:
I had every intention of visiting Bruce Clay Jewett6, Laqnce Major General of our shared affliction sometimes not even affectionately called “The Crotch” but fell into John Castellenas’ subtle second trap: Maria. “Juice” will forgive this untemporary dalliance with another fine wordmaster’s excellence. Go I now to pester a pal of near half-a-century suffering through spring early in Mountain View, Socialist Republic of Kalifornia.
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Thank you Rich.
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John, thank you, To, two and too. Both made my day and now I go to pester a pal whose sobriquet “Juice” is more pun than punishment. He taught me chess and haiku, I taught him surviving an 8-foot shore-break surf and figure-eight ground-work drill around a fat banyan to keep always the CID van’s high-beams pointed awry.
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I live in Michigan. I need a warm day Rich.
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In the ‘UP?’ Such a temperate day might be termed “theoretical” if not heretical. Also, on putative “warm” days the nimble buzzards you call mosquitoes might come by checking for the preferred Rhesus Factor. Encountered a B-42-lookalike “skeeter” on its annual Florida Vacation still sporting its upper peninsula championship blood-sucker colors. It turned over my dog-tags and saw B+ and rejected me out-of-hand. We face a wubdcgukk factir if 85 bext few datsL U gkadkt wukk kiab iy bitg, Be wekkm giid oiet,
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Oops: B-52. Dadgummed new camouflage stealth schemes.
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And, instead of going on to visit my other pal a Marine who writes not just haiku but I have evidence he commits other forms of poetry as well, I read on and find Maria before my eyes and again say such thanks as we both know are necessary for this honest diversion making dreams real and really dreaming. Mil gracias, my friend.
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We need the gals like Maria. Bold and brave Rich.
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Amen. John. And often I do confess: “I am allowed – by contract – to lie to any three beautiful women I feet each day…so long as I first confess I am going to lie to them, but never about them. As yet just one lady has cautioned me she would not want to have a lie to her told, nor, she then added, about her as well. Drat! We remain good and sometimes great pals: cotton, lycra or sweet sweat such bestowed, her tea sweet and mine un. When once or five times upon a time I played volunteer fire fighter in a small burg near my hometown I came home raging after a particularly good burn well-fought in need of a shower and a hot woman and a cold beer and found two perfect examples of such awaiting me, one with a quartet of daughters entrained arranged about a comfortable room with my latest rugby-honey in the beanbag not-chair…all chatting and laughing ceased as I sauntered in expecting what I had no idea. The beast bested me. Mayhap I shall ‘grave that tale soonerishly.
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