tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76253516794794490452024-03-26T16:59:44.071-06:00 Shane Windham's blogsShane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-32973650369527880712024-03-26T16:58:00.004-06:002024-03-26T16:58:55.285-06:00POEM - Twilight-Adorned<p>Your love is like residing in a room</p><p>with someone who doesn’t want</p><p>to leave the bed on a Sunday</p><p>—cleaning your way back to dirty</p><p>in a steamy, shared shower</p><p>—hugs so healing that they</p><p>always unravel those unaddressed tears</p><p>—words I’m consistently interested</p><p>in hearing somebody say</p><p> </p><p>Your love is like alleviation</p><p>of chronic pain</p><p>—excited laughter when progress</p><p>suddenly comes easy</p><p>—enough money in the bank</p><p>to start thinking of debt as a memory</p><p>—new meals, and old movies,</p><p>at least once per week</p><p> </p><p>Your love is like going</p><p>from Cracker Jack to Cadillacs</p><p>—foreplay in the form</p><p>of campfires, and hot tubs</p><p>—hiking growlers</p><p>to the nearest brewery</p><p>—forgetting how broken things are</p><p>in order to help a child feel happy</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsS_dLoILdNv6fX3u82WLvBG39msr_Pd-gN5DtSNmb_2gAzl4scxA7f96hBT1LHfQ32nYz52qYoNpQwmDDvF8FVKqhKrhAqRcS4O9OvR9DiYqV0OTylu8zcmPQ_Tl-A8n6fc11BKif4co3tX66IBKcl9lq_py5lCcYc_KGSYtJzDHIR-IPgTyrg2AWlCSK/s643/IMG_4764.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="643" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsS_dLoILdNv6fX3u82WLvBG39msr_Pd-gN5DtSNmb_2gAzl4scxA7f96hBT1LHfQ32nYz52qYoNpQwmDDvF8FVKqhKrhAqRcS4O9OvR9DiYqV0OTylu8zcmPQ_Tl-A8n6fc11BKif4co3tX66IBKcl9lq_py5lCcYc_KGSYtJzDHIR-IPgTyrg2AWlCSK/s320/IMG_4764.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Your love is like uncorrupted politics</p><p>in a society which others</p><p>can truly be proud of</p><p>—a new song by my favorite artist</p><p>—Juliet if she had but woken sooner</p><p>—the ability to freely visit</p><p>with anyone who’s ever lived</p><p> </p><p>And, for me, your love</p><p>will continue to be worth</p><p>the home-sized cross I bear</p><p>in order to feel it at will</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-59403235204872788532024-03-24T08:53:00.003-06:002024-03-24T09:06:41.798-06:00POEM - Mellifera<p>Whenever I think of you</p><p>—a thing which still happens</p><p>entirely too often—</p><p>I see a rebirthed woman</p><p>whose eyes could not open</p><p>for all the mascara and honey</p><p>draining from them as I tasted</p><p>each long-unloved stretch of wilderness</p><p>on her full-flavored frame</p><p> </p><p>That first, hurried moment</p><p>would go on to reoccur in slow motion</p><p>Time and again, I would watch you peak</p><p>ever-more-peacefully upon penetration</p><p>And when it was my turn, you’d whisper</p><p>want, love, and need directly into my ears</p><p>My face wet with your tears,</p><p>my heart bleeding on your breasts,</p><p>I would cum with careless abandon</p><p>in your empty apiary</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQgDBcAefLHce08F_810usjfyWuiR52oeu4P4yaYytstyOJ0JRZBLd9ptRaw_SZEJj9McugsIysy7SwgQCLiYj52aB0Kz8iqeZSgqR-zwRAk_AzB5L7eiRCACh0PGZ5_-atpbOKPqhBE0dFZE8YXRrjFBXhL6qvcI0mZLCU_HgEmgCqiIidNhp02QPKCU/s587/IMG_4650.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="587" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQgDBcAefLHce08F_810usjfyWuiR52oeu4P4yaYytstyOJ0JRZBLd9ptRaw_SZEJj9McugsIysy7SwgQCLiYj52aB0Kz8iqeZSgqR-zwRAk_AzB5L7eiRCACh0PGZ5_-atpbOKPqhBE0dFZE8YXRrjFBXhL6qvcI0mZLCU_HgEmgCqiIidNhp02QPKCU/s320/IMG_4650.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Thanking me, those all-seeing</p><p>eyes of yours would eventually open;</p><p>finding them that satisfied felt</p><p>much like a second plateau</p><p>You were the tenderest moments I’ve known,</p><p>and I still feel no shame in revisiting them</p><p>Seems like all the space between Earth</p><p>and the moon is a utopia</p><p>which you and I explored</p><p> </p><p>The bees never returned,</p><p>not even when I finally failed you</p><p>I know now that I’ve nothing to do with</p><p>their having left in the first place</p><p>You probably regard me as a bear</p><p>who simply sought a safe snack</p><p>But sex only served as a reflection</p><p>of all the depth we were privy to;</p><p>illustrating it is how I stop myself</p><p>from sharing your deep, dark secrets</p><p>And I’m determined to keep promises</p><p>the way you’ve kept my attention;</p><p>in perpetuity</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-6976770572201469762024-03-16T09:00:00.002-06:002024-03-16T09:00:49.813-06:00POEM - To Stumble, yet Fail to Fall<p>It was not nothing</p><p>In a world full of people who</p><p>rarely manage the bare minimum,</p><p>I reached out with passionate abandon</p><p>I said the thing in all the varied ways</p><p>that I knew (or know) to say it</p><p>You live the benefit of having</p><p>exactly what’s inside my mind</p><p>at all times</p><p>You see what our tomorrow holds</p><p>ahead of every other living soul,</p><p>and you fail to take it for granted</p><p>My, what unfathomable folly of luck</p><p>chaperones us both</p><p>The darkness is ever-present, yes,</p><p>but it no longer detracts from</p><p>what I know to be good about</p><p>our shared reality</p><p>That we share at all should be</p><p>hailed as miraculous</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcbMR6cI6OFqpLcZs6y11krTfa8Bx0B5o_iIf35sgd7yUIV4ZaKgHgZNN8vP6pQzXEYXVj7E9Qx_XtEXglHIRT4GmVJk6tRyIHlX9lIYVvvd10IjTPPyz4uqc2m1mV-cSOxda3nd0Z6wi_WB3FtSKB-EyS_I3r2M6maVd7SU7RVE89nNr4i5s3wGEZ_Fc/s1066/IMG_4276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1066" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcbMR6cI6OFqpLcZs6y11krTfa8Bx0B5o_iIf35sgd7yUIV4ZaKgHgZNN8vP6pQzXEYXVj7E9Qx_XtEXglHIRT4GmVJk6tRyIHlX9lIYVvvd10IjTPPyz4uqc2m1mV-cSOxda3nd0Z6wi_WB3FtSKB-EyS_I3r2M6maVd7SU7RVE89nNr4i5s3wGEZ_Fc/s320/IMG_4276.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>You are a saving grace,</p><p>and I rejoice in you above all others</p><p>Even when I sleep, you are a crowned queen</p><p>Goddess, I feel unfit to sit beside you</p><p>Nonetheless, I will stay by your side</p><p>And I will make of myself</p><p>more than I believed I could be</p><p>in hopes (in turn) of making you proud</p><p>of who’s next to you</p><p>Together, we could heal humanity;</p><p>that is the pleasurable rub of what</p><p>secret screams within my heart</p><p>So what say you?</p><p>Is it enough?</p><p>Am I… enough?</p><p>And are you ready for more</p><p>than the bare minimum</p><p>you’ve been awash in?</p><p>I do so wonder,</p><p>but (something tells me)</p><p>not for much longer</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-66118659346783446442024-03-14T14:51:00.000-06:002024-03-14T14:51:42.925-06:00POEM - The Nocturnal Need<p>Will this sun of theirs never set?</p><p>Won’t their buzzing ever quiet?</p><p>What value is there to be found in daylight</p><p>now that you and I have discovered</p><p>a safe place to land in each other</p><p>beneath the unseeing eyes</p><p>of a night sky</p><p> </p><p>There is frankly too much</p><p>potential in your nearness</p><p>(your eager voice, the wicked</p><p>glint in your eyes)</p><p>for me to manage napping my way</p><p>through this dragging eternity;</p><p>it blinds me with desperate desire</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZJwA4gWER5Nr3vHB1Omrt2cxwRa1l8R57QTbESy8xI0VEWi23NbwG3f_HQ867goVCfPmzjard-PSosENu6PkDtlvtWADULL3sD6FGuBA2N-XYJDf1gNb2WoEgWOjNQwRtBuQWjN2_k_pGeCATWr8eABcbtGiAZQpx14oQuVe_o-ydFKDcGG0rCBpSOvJ/s648/IMG_4219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="648" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZJwA4gWER5Nr3vHB1Omrt2cxwRa1l8R57QTbESy8xI0VEWi23NbwG3f_HQ867goVCfPmzjard-PSosENu6PkDtlvtWADULL3sD6FGuBA2N-XYJDf1gNb2WoEgWOjNQwRtBuQWjN2_k_pGeCATWr8eABcbtGiAZQpx14oQuVe_o-ydFKDcGG0rCBpSOvJ/s320/IMG_4219.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I long to taste your sugar-spice tongue,</p><p>and every necessitous word it knows</p><p>I would immediately stop</p><p>believing in tomorrow</p><p>if you promised me tonight</p><p>So read aloud that unwritten</p><p>novel in your mind, line by line,</p><p>and trust that I will dream about it</p><p>—about you</p><p> </p><p>Even if the sun never wakes us again,</p><p>visions of you will dance on for me,</p><p>like infinite pages which my</p><p>spirit’s flame must subsist on</p><p>Your name, in any alien language,</p><p>will prove cause for pause</p><p>And no matter how many moons</p><p>can be crammed into the cosmos,</p><p>none will ever matter more</p><p>than the one I experience you under;</p><p>the one for which our wait is almost over</p><p> </p><p>So let us steady this</p><p>thinning patience, pale blossom,</p><p>for eventide is soon to bloom</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-51819606649460487012024-03-08T08:02:00.002-06:002024-03-08T08:02:41.547-06:00POEM - Shall We?<p>I don’t know how to not be in love with you</p><p>After all, what kind of fool discovers the moon,</p><p>and concludes he’s better off without it?</p><p>A dead fool, undoubtedly</p><p>And if you can’t hear my heart race to life</p><p>when we speak, then perhaps it’s time</p><p>we sit words aside;</p><p>put our mouths to better use</p><p> </p><p>I’m not strong enough to avoid your eyes</p><p>Surely you remember the way you felt</p><p>the first time you saw an eclipse;</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCL3cV-VJTHulOfY9PDlJTN8jf9o9ParEsxA1MFXsd_FvMaWH5bHkOdGdGarZM8Ib0_dg1ZXqmV6U3-9gVsZWRdipiHhq9srdbSMDutcu-AWGoZu-LptPOrEWCE9zKB_RdxmUX_nJWe20WNCRjm-zhDRlNyjhPzvu_XJtD9RVTdQ9tusLyQ71u5DuobuFT/s705/IMG_3979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="705" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCL3cV-VJTHulOfY9PDlJTN8jf9o9ParEsxA1MFXsd_FvMaWH5bHkOdGdGarZM8Ib0_dg1ZXqmV6U3-9gVsZWRdipiHhq9srdbSMDutcu-AWGoZu-LptPOrEWCE9zKB_RdxmUX_nJWe20WNCRjm-zhDRlNyjhPzvu_XJtD9RVTdQ9tusLyQ71u5DuobuFT/s320/IMG_3979.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I feel that same sense of wonder</p><p>every time those alternate universes of yours</p><p>peer into my cognition, and inaudibly whisper</p><p>of what pleasurable chaos awaits us</p><p>if ever we do more than look at each other</p><p> </p><p>I’ll never be afraid of your worst</p><p>All I sense in your unfairly-labeled spiraling</p><p>are the deep woes of a woman</p><p>who continues to feel unappreciated,</p><p>unwanted, unnecessary, and unknown</p><p>Such circumstance is no mirror of truth;</p><p>I know, because you’ve been</p><p>like a rollercoaster of rehabilitation</p><p>for the most neglected of men I once was</p><p> </p><p>There is so much passion inside of you</p><p>that even your body never stops expressing</p><p>And I don’t want to live in a world</p><p>which takes that sort of fire for granted</p><p>So please don’t ask what I want with you</p><p>as if you don’t already know</p><p>I want to hold your free hand,</p><p>and follow you into a better now</p><p>I want to get lost with you,</p><p>but never lose you</p><p> </p><p>Now, unless you’ve something better in mind…</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-65486048659445666442024-03-07T07:49:00.003-06:002024-03-07T07:49:50.152-06:00POEM - Annie Morgan<p>Come into the dying light</p><p>Show me every healthy imperfection</p><p>Let my bipolar eyes judge you</p><p>for all the women you’re incapable of being,</p><p>only to cry over the ideal thrust</p><p>of the impeccable one you actually are</p><p>For we were not made in God’s image</p><p>You are the lone flower of winter,</p><p>and I am a conscious cocktail</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1tCWq3INPGnk6LncJ7mkXt6njjlXFE5bQ8gYjTtSgJM7xo6EATR7PnQzBbPFwQvlVQdA60g781MDDLGLjg6v6fqEWtvsepHtpuXB0YGfjIt3F9bZ2nwsWv0ibFDstNbbSxnSUGIOXQHwSYMqMSp7r-HVN71Fjpny2NOWTvgeuB49tgM5qEtgn_Ihz5cE/s417/IMG_3909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="417" data-original-width="417" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1tCWq3INPGnk6LncJ7mkXt6njjlXFE5bQ8gYjTtSgJM7xo6EATR7PnQzBbPFwQvlVQdA60g781MDDLGLjg6v6fqEWtvsepHtpuXB0YGfjIt3F9bZ2nwsWv0ibFDstNbbSxnSUGIOXQHwSYMqMSp7r-HVN71Fjpny2NOWTvgeuB49tgM5qEtgn_Ihz5cE/s320/IMG_3909.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I will talk until you’re okay;</p><p>I will listen until you’re not</p><p>I will find you nightly, no matter where</p><p>the old habit of wet fingers</p><p>tries pulling you into that</p><p>forever-willing undertow of sadness</p><p>And I will die harder than said habit,</p><p>within your aged petals;</p><p>a promise you can blemish</p><p>without it breaking</p><p> </p><p>So come into the dying light,</p><p>and know that I will always take care of you</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-86780238169085887942024-03-05T08:04:00.000-06:002024-03-05T08:04:22.695-06:00POEM - Didactic Equations<p>For the longest time now,</p><p>I’ve felt like an angry stranger</p><p>when facing most of the world</p><p>which exists outside of my head</p><p>I have lived lives apart from reality</p><p>while within the sanctity</p><p>of my hopeful imagination</p><p>And I’ve considered killing myself</p><p>when the pathetic fact of what I’d become</p><p>was no longer deniable;</p><p>that the most exciting moments</p><p>of my most average days</p><p>were all fiction —</p><p>nothing but stories I’d read aloud</p><p>in the silence of my thoughts</p><p>to keep myself engaged</p><p>in the unenviable monotony</p><p>of this ordinary which I allowed myself</p><p>to be reduced to</p><p> </p><p>But the unexpected happens,</p><p>as we should expect it to</p><p>Hardship left me seeking ease</p><p>The discomfort could no longer</p><p>be comforted by make-believe</p><p>I took a chance on myself,</p><p>and found those dice were</p><p>still loaded in my favor</p><p>Now I’m looking at old dreams anew;</p><p>not counting them like puppeted corpses —</p><p>finding the only thing wrong with me</p><p>is how afraid I’ve been of loving myself,</p><p>or how blind I was to everyone else</p><p> </p><p>You come home from your hard lives,</p><p>and get lost in a book, or a movie;</p><p>a video game, a song, or a glass of wine</p><p>You seek most any room there is,</p><p>or could be, so long as it’s not</p><p>the one you’re actually in</p><p>What you look forward to in life</p><p>is an escape from the one you’re living</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn07GwU4XrnBpbxfaWYqLsw2hYmVOKT9gJKB61W-pNipPGBpFVItmun0OZL9Ln0RErRSJjcDeOhhZGRQm40GMBOc-xkGpR2aTZsf6tRLqtDrZLujH1nNp_Bi11HYZbD-DR8Q1ijHE1g9M3ZLAk4varBxOaOhQr9sgRX9UTPmOBiW2fhg8UYx_vxBR3DjUl/s585/IMG_3532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="585" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn07GwU4XrnBpbxfaWYqLsw2hYmVOKT9gJKB61W-pNipPGBpFVItmun0OZL9Ln0RErRSJjcDeOhhZGRQm40GMBOc-xkGpR2aTZsf6tRLqtDrZLujH1nNp_Bi11HYZbD-DR8Q1ijHE1g9M3ZLAk4varBxOaOhQr9sgRX9UTPmOBiW2fhg8UYx_vxBR3DjUl/s320/IMG_3532.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>As the entertainment opiates strengthen,</p><p>the chasm of unbodied brains</p><p>(as well as the desire for such a thing)</p><p>grows beyond our ability</p><p>to reach each other</p><p>I know because I am one of you</p><p>I know because I am now seeking</p><p>the joys of experiencing</p><p>both your brains and bodies,</p><p>yet finding that city</p><p>built of walking, talking flesh and blood</p><p>is a ghost town</p><p> </p><p>Still, I am not ready to forget you</p><p>in favor of that next, virtual high</p><p>For I’ve come out of my meager matrix</p><p>with every intention of never denying</p><p>our tangible potential</p><p>And this is the part where you join me</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-11526069940628113182024-02-29T14:14:00.004-06:002024-02-29T14:14:46.753-06:00POEM - Inculcation<p>In a world where</p><p>not everyone dies young,</p><p>I plainly see that you might not</p><p>be so lucky</p><p> </p><p>In a world where many</p><p>get away with untold taking,</p><p>it often seems like all you give</p><p>will go largely unnoticed</p><p> </p><p>In a world where passions</p><p>routinely collide out in the open,</p><p>I fear yours go untouched;</p><p>even behind closed doors</p><p> </p><p>In a world where it’s impossible</p><p>to know the full extent</p><p>of what anyone else is thinking,</p><p>would that my eyes betray</p><p>as much of their secrecy as yours</p><p> </p><p>In a world where everyone wastes</p><p>a degree of themselves on bottled pain,</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tcnlh8qO7MkQHLUl7FRgKcX22VhbasG0gIBRZ6a47KXmxPG87oEajGUbIjxjJa-TVXzVxu3qnUWbmXm5i4upIv02yffhdHygNiBFkBXl-FTembzY2DzREmBlGrcF__ZQDvM1yEOgryNFg46pmsuv23RoyxtOrIYsTp-MrosMFzPCku-sU10bKrGbJkxN/s526/IMG_3744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tcnlh8qO7MkQHLUl7FRgKcX22VhbasG0gIBRZ6a47KXmxPG87oEajGUbIjxjJa-TVXzVxu3qnUWbmXm5i4upIv02yffhdHygNiBFkBXl-FTembzY2DzREmBlGrcF__ZQDvM1yEOgryNFg46pmsuv23RoyxtOrIYsTp-MrosMFzPCku-sU10bKrGbJkxN/s320/IMG_3744.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I long to help you cry less,</p><p>and never alone</p><p> </p><p>In a world where gratitude</p><p>is so rarely considered,</p><p>my head has been flooded for years</p><p>with the joy of knowing you at all</p><p> </p><p>In a world where small things</p><p>are thought to remain small,</p><p>you are a half dollar which</p><p>makes me richer by the hour</p><p> </p><p>In a world where beauty,</p><p>we’re told, will fade,</p><p>it’s the ghost in you</p><p>I’m most attracted to</p><p> </p><p>And in a world where</p><p>momentarily-happy endings abound,</p><p>I believe we’ll find</p><p>there is room for one more</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-77809787665902218242024-02-23T07:45:00.001-06:002024-02-23T07:53:12.167-06:00POEM - Meant for a Mortal Eternity<p>I belong to no one;</p><p>that is the brick of love I’ve</p><p>afforded myself</p><p>I belong to no one,</p><p>and neither should you</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA3bW6eAElACqdCiz6DG94RWcNRVZHndMngAs3A4f5SM3wlHrgK0peEkFIlUmK0Ve9IO1qMFc2rnydG45AI-EYejoYjswGLkRo-kXN4wRepObZ1XR5WUEYF8oHDjQ9OfIZy7lVyPPvB5s3yuZwZ2yozHYUA5LzopdLXSy43hEnPyT-ogsk-_a3Z8uO2gP/s350/IMG_3566.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="350" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlA3bW6eAElACqdCiz6DG94RWcNRVZHndMngAs3A4f5SM3wlHrgK0peEkFIlUmK0Ve9IO1qMFc2rnydG45AI-EYejoYjswGLkRo-kXN4wRepObZ1XR5WUEYF8oHDjQ9OfIZy7lVyPPvB5s3yuZwZ2yozHYUA5LzopdLXSy43hEnPyT-ogsk-_a3Z8uO2gP/s320/IMG_3566.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>For you want too much</div><p>She needs too little</p><p>Between her rock,</p><p>and your hard place,</p><p>I sense we’d all be happiest</p><p> </p><p>You’ll talk with your eyes</p><p>I’ll whisper with my fingers</p><p>And, pretty soon, every move</p><p>you’d considered a contingency</p><p>will have given up the game</p><p> </p><p>As I slide down your throat,</p><p>you will drip from my chin</p><p>It will seem like the limit,</p><p>but Heaven forbid that we should</p><p>begin speaking as well</p><p> </p><p>Because the lies bring no honey;</p><p>they are but desperate bees</p><p>And the sticky truth</p><p>on sweet offer is this:</p><p>I can love you better</p><p>I can love you both</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-91252991673982184222024-02-14T12:03:00.000-06:002024-02-14T12:03:02.129-06:00POEM - Our Skyless Year<p>Some people hope for longer lives,</p><p>or another lifetime;</p><p>such people do so because they don’t</p><p>demand enough of their today</p><p>But you and I found out the hard way</p><p>that tomorrow cannot be</p><p>depended upon</p><p>We have now lived that other life,</p><p>and know well to take care</p><p>with what we wish for</p><p> </p><p>We went from watching fireworks</p><p>as we made intentional love</p><p>to choking on emotional ash</p><p>beneath a blindingly-black hole</p><p>We took a trip around the sun</p><p>in which we could but feel</p><p>the seasons shifting;</p><p>uncertain of the hour,</p><p>and unclear if this was the end</p><p>The only familiarity left to me</p><p>was holding your hand</p><p> </p><p>“This could be goodbye.”</p><p>A steady drum in my head</p><p>“It’s okay. I’m okay.”</p><p>The words I heard</p><p>while forever checking that you</p><p>were still breathing</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcsCPAyF42zAUM9VgzijWQMDuqmVLxwdpBELtsSxrWp6wjpCeuy5FA81MUa6rMfvBxhomaI19hkhgny5I0Xam9jEavdEd_pojw5cYgwEzAX6kHa1VRe3LoaN_ssrm9gb-sMYg9DKddpceNkdu4niHigkK42FXuIl2i4ZB2vm0yYU9E_sPpg1YvdPmGCWvn/s563/IMG_3272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="563" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcsCPAyF42zAUM9VgzijWQMDuqmVLxwdpBELtsSxrWp6wjpCeuy5FA81MUa6rMfvBxhomaI19hkhgny5I0Xam9jEavdEd_pojw5cYgwEzAX6kHa1VRe3LoaN_ssrm9gb-sMYg9DKddpceNkdu4niHigkK42FXuIl2i4ZB2vm0yYU9E_sPpg1YvdPmGCWvn/s320/IMG_3272.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>“It doesn’t have to be what it was.”</p><p>A necessary reminder for us,</p><p>now that the worst is over</p><p>“Love doesn’t die, but we will.”</p><p>The staunch fact</p><p> </p><p>You once talked about</p><p>a certain picture from our wedding day</p><p>being what you’d turn to</p><p>(for proof of a well-lived life)</p><p>when we were too old</p><p>to still remember it clearly;</p><p>when rocking on a porch became</p><p>the highlight of our daylight hours</p><p>But, on the other side of our skyless year,</p><p>I find that we are old ahead of age;</p><p>worn in the new shoes we wear</p><p>So maybe I should get busy building</p><p>those rocking chairs</p><p> </p><p>For we hit that robbing wall</p><p>of dark water as one</p><p>We held our breath as it fed</p><p>on our remaining complacence</p><p>And now that it’s spit us back out</p><p>in the near-alien space</p><p>where it initially found us,</p><p>I feel more ready than ever</p><p>to remain by your side</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-8571624782713122142024-01-08T23:32:00.000-06:002024-01-08T23:32:06.687-06:00POEM - Little Else Matters<p>There is someone in the world</p><p>who fights an urge to send you</p><p>relatable songs meant to</p><p>bridge the distance;</p><p>only he doesn’t do it, because</p><p>he doesn’t want to wake you</p><p> </p><p>There is someone out there</p><p>who has purposely quieted</p><p>the world around him</p><p>on the off chance that you</p><p>find yourself lost,</p><p>and no one else knows to listen</p><p>for your exhausted screams</p><p> </p><p>There is someone</p><p>who insists on opening</p><p>the front door at random,</p><p>though he knows he’ll only</p><p>be disappointed when he doesn’t</p><p>find you standing there;</p><p>never-mind that you don’t know</p><p>his home address</p><p> </p><p>There is someone</p><p>routinely stopped,</p><p>alive in his tracks;</p><p>paralyzed by the notion</p><p>that he’ll always be a shadow</p><p>of the man he could have been</p><p>if he’d just had the courage</p><p>to follow his heart into your arms</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQoWjNn2ItX2K2SS78TtiC5x5Pa1iwJpYcyOS2PHra-iyXR2DfSLmsnnk57L58cH5uKUI4BjSdoZAMiTb17mLGrv1-8_kFBirpssDFDei456IJQpChBIk9VC90UERUAAFgkSUx1pJ1VF7scowmCzMlx-g1P1PWu3RT00QJ3GTCnefSaC_30wTZ4hIOVUhH/s720/IMG_1860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQoWjNn2ItX2K2SS78TtiC5x5Pa1iwJpYcyOS2PHra-iyXR2DfSLmsnnk57L58cH5uKUI4BjSdoZAMiTb17mLGrv1-8_kFBirpssDFDei456IJQpChBIk9VC90UERUAAFgkSUx1pJ1VF7scowmCzMlx-g1P1PWu3RT00QJ3GTCnefSaC_30wTZ4hIOVUhH/s320/IMG_1860.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>There is someone</p><p>who sometimes imagines</p><p>what it will feel like to die</p><p>without you nearby,</p><p>or (worse) be forced</p><p>to carry on in a world</p><p>where the wilderness of your spirit</p><p>is no longer one he can explore</p><p> </p><p>There is someone on this planet</p><p>who loves you so inexplicably</p><p>that it scares his</p><p>forever-rationalizing mind</p><p>to the point that he cannot talk about it</p><p>to anyone</p><p> </p><p>There is someone</p><p>who ceased being capable</p><p>of being himself without you</p><p>from the very moment</p><p>the two of you met</p><p> </p><p>Yes, there is someone</p><p>who always considers you</p><p> </p><p>…he’s me</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-60452371073168833932023-11-22T06:38:00.006-06:002023-11-22T09:21:50.760-06:00POEM - Retro Nexus<p>Two kids, standing together</p><p>at the Fort Worth Zoo</p><p>with their faces awe-pressed</p><p>against the glass;</p><p>complete strangers outside</p><p>of that moment</p><p> </p><p>The same kids, accidentally brushing hands</p><p>as they reached for rain-sticks</p><p>inside a Natural Wonders store;</p><p>foreign for not remembering</p><p>where they’d seen each other before</p><p> </p><p>Sitting next to each other in a ‘90s theater,</p><p>seeking escapism from what our fathers</p><p>had done to our mothers;</p><p>not yet brave enough to so much as</p><p>steal a glance at one another’s</p><p>choice in snack food</p><p> </p><p>Taking turns, falling into Lake Ray</p><p>after flying over that sketchy ledge;</p><p>genuinely unaware of our separate selves</p><p>beyond the subconscious notation</p><p>of how our combined voices complimented</p><p>those memorable seconds spent</p><p>in splendid free-fall</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEIvcf6wYhFv8TAyGd0Dj1iJ3juX8A49VIfh6rmNuuZrqm7yUZ2McpfMX1LX0eMt0ahIGh1RQS1jvMRhygO3wREUfCBAMcfTDb1bBifWi1a13vBoFdn-LLW_B0awxAoBACykSGGxcp6HDHMfZ-5h2AxA0bGmiIvogX8bnJeBolcoIJBAbZNlCbYSL9Fmic/s375/IMG_0724.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="375" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEIvcf6wYhFv8TAyGd0Dj1iJ3juX8A49VIfh6rmNuuZrqm7yUZ2McpfMX1LX0eMt0ahIGh1RQS1jvMRhygO3wREUfCBAMcfTDb1bBifWi1a13vBoFdn-LLW_B0awxAoBACykSGGxcp6HDHMfZ-5h2AxA0bGmiIvogX8bnJeBolcoIJBAbZNlCbYSL9Fmic/s320/IMG_0724.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Grocery shopping at Wal-Mart, long after dark,</p><p>and believing ourselves to be adulting;</p><p>eyes finally locking as we quietly</p><p>passed by in the piles of aisles,</p><p>week upon foretasted week</p><p> </p><p>Staring at a MySpace screen, and wondering</p><p>how we ever got so lucky as to be</p><p>reading the other’s responses;</p><p>barely cutting into the crust</p><p>of how entangled our rooted timelines</p><p>understand themselves to be</p><p> </p><p>I have known you my entire life,</p><p>yet I hardly know you at all</p><p>I love you as if you were my childhood,</p><p>though I can no longer tell the difference</p><p>I do not have 'to have and to hold' you,</p><p>but experiencing you is a must</p><p> </p><p>And if I could go back to the beginning,</p><p>I’d ask that you tell me all about</p><p>your favorite animal</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-3092116444506993322023-11-08T08:43:00.005-06:002023-11-08T08:43:53.692-06:00POEM - Rent Free<p>The dead of night offered a dream,</p><p>and I accepted</p><p>There were dismembered bodies</p><p>beneath us;</p><p>and, covered in their pulp,</p><p>we fucked as if possessed</p><p>by jet-fuel flames</p><p>Ignoring the sounds of young children</p><p>being eaten alive,</p><p>your continual demand of ‘don’t stop’</p><p>held my empty heart at full attention</p><p>There was nothing I wouldn’t do</p><p>for you</p><p> </p><p>But then I woke up,</p><p>and the shame of daylight was crushing</p><p>I cried when I eventually told you</p><p>about the depravity of my subconscious</p><p>You laughed as if you had been the one</p><p>chewing raw flesh off those babies</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6mYjOjaENtOlkDcicDdRUEmC6iv9iCDPqO_ipLd5cyMc6f9tdn5uhJWO2Nge3wbF4ZkQLnwMEd69ukShBZFgiWCqV9-vTP1wv7qaXCEQsfWJmLKoEIBT5VHTnEayhamMR5aRXFGThtaQeLD4nkctPdNwzGPipPp10dp8UWQU9pvQqHhor3jBNT38X0aj/s733/IMG_0131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="733" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6mYjOjaENtOlkDcicDdRUEmC6iv9iCDPqO_ipLd5cyMc6f9tdn5uhJWO2Nge3wbF4ZkQLnwMEd69ukShBZFgiWCqV9-vTP1wv7qaXCEQsfWJmLKoEIBT5VHTnEayhamMR5aRXFGThtaQeLD4nkctPdNwzGPipPp10dp8UWQU9pvQqHhor3jBNT38X0aj/s320/IMG_0131.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>When you spoke, however, I understood</p><p>that you were no monster</p><p>“Dreams and nightmares are just</p><p>our imaginations rolling dice.”</p><p>Then it took an hour of us arguing</p><p>before I felt somewhat sane again</p><p> </p><p>On your recommendation, I am now</p><p>writing about the experience</p><p>And, though I meant to say no more,</p><p>this prose refuses to look complete</p><p>without a few fingers caught in the door</p><p>So, dear reader, do not forgive me just yet;</p><p>instead, consider the vile views</p><p>which I’ve placed in your brain</p><p>And know I firmly believe that art</p><p>which doesn’t disturb you on occasion</p><p>may as well be a lover</p><p>who never cums </p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-82332516346058534262023-11-01T08:17:00.007-06:002023-11-01T08:17:57.575-06:00POEM - Plato's Diner<p>Quiet kid in the corner;</p><p>ears open, nose in her phone</p><p>Midday, and you’re there,</p><p>as the babies smoke their vape-sticks;</p><p>lazily trying to appear more pensive</p><p>than they’ve yet become</p><p>And, shaking off the whispered mumbles</p><p>in their radio heads, their waning ignorance</p><p>is proudly loud</p><p> </p><p>Is it ever okay to slaughter civilians?</p><p>Must we be part of a society?</p><p>Does the testable reality matter more</p><p>than strings of words in an old book?</p><p>These aren’t questions you find</p><p>particularly hard to answer,</p><p>but the smirk behind your coffee cup</p><p>says you still love knowing that young people</p><p>aspire to grow their minds;</p><p>and rightly so</p><p> </p><p>You’ll be here till after dark,</p><p>then back to your booth before dawn</p><p>In your favored speck of the galaxy,</p><p>I have never been more than a poor cook</p><p>who knows how to hear your silence</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBi_8Gqq9tubN_tyncMoESgba1vgZcLKAPbEr4Y3JKxhS_AyxqCZtsIsbfQfRGd2ytNL_Nn1reqEitLZSMDtVzB0lvJU50yO91-PI7k9mtOjy_r6H92Re8SVZ7wO4v6LvSJ8A7WD67jJj9mJ4kfUCfhH7bYPB3enMr282ztvpzVFeCh8xZlti4STzczsBl/s1976/IMG_9857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1976" data-original-width="1976" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBi_8Gqq9tubN_tyncMoESgba1vgZcLKAPbEr4Y3JKxhS_AyxqCZtsIsbfQfRGd2ytNL_Nn1reqEitLZSMDtVzB0lvJU50yO91-PI7k9mtOjy_r6H92Re8SVZ7wO4v6LvSJ8A7WD67jJj9mJ4kfUCfhH7bYPB3enMr282ztvpzVFeCh8xZlti4STzczsBl/s320/IMG_9857.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>What an absolute shame upon</p><p>this sick world (which we’ll never heal)</p><p>that you found your greatest comfort,</p><p>taking a whore like me home</p><p>And how I wish the entirety of me</p><p>deserved you</p><p> </p><p>Still, ever more aged, and ever less relevant,</p><p>we lie in nearness throughout the nights;</p><p>such as our bodies will be made to do</p><p>once we’ve left this life behind</p><p>We laugh at ancient customs,</p><p>while honoring the happiest of them;</p><p>choking, slowly, on the odd fact</p><p>that morality and mortality are but</p><p>one, little letter apart</p><p> </p><p>You love me with the constancy of a pulse</p><p>And to ask why would be to venture a question</p><p>which your talkative mind would have</p><p>some genuine difficulty answering;</p><p>but therein one finds the unspoken understanding</p><p>of why you and I are we</p><p>Thus, as those infants leave without tipping,</p><p>I trust your rolling eyes to find me</p><p>And, in this way, we will continue</p><p>until the diner doesn’t reopen</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-39124409212570473132023-10-29T22:11:00.000-06:002023-10-29T22:11:01.297-06:00POEM - Jason Kills Crystal<p>You threw up on my shoes,</p><p>and hissed at the cat</p><p>I drove you into the dirt,</p><p>and held your slit at knifepoint</p><p> </p><p>You spit at my mask,</p><p>and rolled us into the lake</p><p>I wrapped my chain around your throat,</p><p>and drug you onto the beach</p><p> </p><p>You clawed at my arms,</p><p>and kicked rocks with bare feet</p><p>I pinned you to a tree,</p><p>and roughly stroked your remaining warmth</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSnEgNkLLjzJPP4wlQdL56qa_f5fmZZR-0EE3mbpxh7Popu7Ik3fnaRhGHnQ0kcLY8yroIQH4Ob2I3CmyzTAkpw-wVtz-aT73Nfnl-xZeD5b-lmF3uBnAoEljV-WhYK_dQED6SEta1f5h2Xx_k1CqVVFpXkFaYuyZRZ1Qb4Eu4lt1O3YcwpjK9nNduJ9N/s750/IMG_9700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSnEgNkLLjzJPP4wlQdL56qa_f5fmZZR-0EE3mbpxh7Popu7Ik3fnaRhGHnQ0kcLY8yroIQH4Ob2I3CmyzTAkpw-wVtz-aT73Nfnl-xZeD5b-lmF3uBnAoEljV-WhYK_dQED6SEta1f5h2Xx_k1CqVVFpXkFaYuyZRZ1Qb4Eu4lt1O3YcwpjK9nNduJ9N/s320/IMG_9700.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>You screamed for me to stop,</p><p>and your debaucherous body argued</p><p>I cut away your clothing,</p><p>and watched the nicks on you leak</p><p> </p><p>You whimpered, “Do it already.”</p><p>and unearthed my root</p><p>I came hard upon entry,</p><p>and dared death to stop me</p><p> </p><p>You clung to my false face,</p><p>and passed out once you peaked</p><p>I whispered, “Get some sleep, love.”</p><p>and continued to touch you</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-224976526922544622023-10-29T10:43:00.002-06:002023-10-29T10:43:42.493-06:00POEM - Ill-Lit Imprint<p> A cold breeze, full of misty rain,</p><p>caresses me like a sorrowful lover</p><p>I stare into the foggy abyss,</p><p>and imagine you doing the same:</p><p>both of us thinking of each other</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhgLCM5DJMaWPWI_ThTuplXh1820wVMVS9NbDG6x_qLE5mERQ0YtKuyu_ggQnrrv1lZiaf1f40wZGQ5XSgEvntK09fsRcqpWvypx-B-BW4_ktCd5Ln_dfZEWi9ZLYdrJTV4qS6oA3_aq7b5GqDaFdEpGh6GNOk3OfDRIg1n_6N4KAS2NoNQrkIBDLil1I/s450/IMG_9721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhgLCM5DJMaWPWI_ThTuplXh1820wVMVS9NbDG6x_qLE5mERQ0YtKuyu_ggQnrrv1lZiaf1f40wZGQ5XSgEvntK09fsRcqpWvypx-B-BW4_ktCd5Ln_dfZEWi9ZLYdrJTV4qS6oA3_aq7b5GqDaFdEpGh6GNOk3OfDRIg1n_6N4KAS2NoNQrkIBDLil1I/s320/IMG_9721.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>But, deep down, I know that</p><p>the receiving end of my line</p><p>is no more or less than</p><p>an empty eternity</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-65239434843784927442023-10-27T06:15:00.002-06:002023-10-27T06:15:50.983-06:00POEM - Sordid Sinew<p>When you ghosted, I buried my own bones</p><p>in another woman’s spirited mouth</p><p>And she sucked every ounce</p><p>of love I felt for you</p><p>from this heart of mine…</p><p>for a time</p><p> </p><p>I likely could have moaned your full name</p><p>while drowning out whatever response</p><p>might have come into her throat,</p><p>and she’d still have been happy</p><p>to hold me afterward</p><p>How strange, then,</p><p>that all I ever wanted her to be…</p><p>was you</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not going to fuck the two of you,</p><p>if that’s what you’re thinking.”</p><p>The thought never even crossed my mind</p><p>I was saying goodnight to my soulmate</p><p>You were secretly saying goodbye</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99UaxGZfUlLR7XkfcsjAlENnyCHMOba-pPxVQxt9OBXrDwjYsBEcx_7WvrAE6XA9ROXoVtfsWOtXJ-Eo5x1nR3PgNcQmBdcZn4cNdtgeBNw7ckftYSRFnFbzUQhAUBkm3Dui06b7WKqtboMInT3C6CMKufNzitG1srsqOYhpnH35EqHAFRgs_tuLOdSUG/s267/IMG_9611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="267" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99UaxGZfUlLR7XkfcsjAlENnyCHMOba-pPxVQxt9OBXrDwjYsBEcx_7WvrAE6XA9ROXoVtfsWOtXJ-Eo5x1nR3PgNcQmBdcZn4cNdtgeBNw7ckftYSRFnFbzUQhAUBkm3Dui06b7WKqtboMInT3C6CMKufNzitG1srsqOYhpnH35EqHAFRgs_tuLOdSUG/s1600/IMG_9611.jpg" width="267" /></a></div><p>And compared to all the poor decisions</p><p>I’d made, while only half-considering</p><p>that you wouldn’t wait forever,</p><p>your choice was essentially perfect…</p><p>perfectly painful</p><p> </p><p>The only thing you could have done</p><p>to hurt me more would be to die</p><p>So, as we spin our feeble flames</p><p>nearer again to the other</p><p>on this same old collision course</p><p>with the sun</p><p>—surrounded by death and disease—</p><p>thanks are what I owe you…</p><p>for not yet being dead</p><p> </p><p>When she ghosted, I buried our blood,</p><p>then lay what was left of my flesh</p><p>on the tissuey topsoil</p><p>But nothing ended as a result</p><p>Instead, you slowly came back to me;</p><p>first, in the form of inimitable flowers,</p><p>and eventually as a voice</p><p>outside of my head</p><p>It all sounds so ugly when put on paper,</p><p>but I hope it makes you beam,</p><p>knowing all I can do is listen…</p><p>for now</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-34737690991762828322023-10-25T06:49:00.002-06:002023-10-25T06:49:17.854-06:00POEM - Armagnac 88<p>The body often wants</p><p>what the heart can’t have</p><p>So take the entire, existential day off,</p><p>and see if we may make peace</p><p>with that fact</p><p>But know that I don’t mean</p><p>the kind of peace which holds hands</p><p>through a hymn;</p><p>I’m talking about two satisfied figures,</p><p>lying nude beneath the private light</p><p>of steamy stained-glass</p><p>You probably suspect I’m not afraid</p><p>of sampling all your spices,</p><p>but I doubt you accurately estimate</p><p>just how deep my hunger for you runs</p><p> </p><p>The hourglass is spilling our chances</p><p>with every silent breath we take</p><p>And I, for one, am not interested</p><p>in being emptied of legs to stand on,</p><p>never having felt my toes in your sand</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8K4QXeJvt7PLoLXhJsc6Ml6fiBUnU7PJ-NS9ocJE3k753L5oauvFjj-Xc_ag58WJwvvFCkC8NprvpsH60oaxGic0sa-E3hhry-fQVJdqPaQIFwDvgkwLrUiZx6ovyuAzC55je2-hanKeXObcPjzJK40TPaAdUVg-zuhNUDgjxHNvayaolj5wORHAX3Nve/s306/IMG_9550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="306" data-original-width="306" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8K4QXeJvt7PLoLXhJsc6Ml6fiBUnU7PJ-NS9ocJE3k753L5oauvFjj-Xc_ag58WJwvvFCkC8NprvpsH60oaxGic0sa-E3hhry-fQVJdqPaQIFwDvgkwLrUiZx6ovyuAzC55je2-hanKeXObcPjzJK40TPaAdUVg-zuhNUDgjxHNvayaolj5wORHAX3Nve/s1600/IMG_9550.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><p>That doesn’t make me Frankenstein;</p><p>doesn’t make you his monster</p><p>We’re simply something akin to vampires,</p><p>and it isn’t blood we dream of sucking</p><p> </p><p>I understand how much you sacrifice</p><p>for the tame stability of love</p><p>However, there’s a powerful piece</p><p>of passion, which we’ve both forsaken,</p><p>and I would offer that neglected vein</p><p>an intoxicating pulse, and fresh flesh;</p><p>free of charge</p><p>There is nothing that I would rob you of,</p><p>save the suicide of your sensuality</p><p>So keep your world</p><p>the way you fought to have it,</p><p>but kindly risk more</p><p>than the thought of me</p><p>within that pair of wet panties</p><p>you’re always wearing</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-42514462274476096752023-10-18T07:56:00.003-06:002023-10-18T07:56:49.370-06:00POEM - Sad Bastard<p>Is it pretending if I claim</p><p>that my love for you is nothing more</p><p>than potential’s protection;</p><p>a vicarious projection?</p><p>Perhaps, if we keep on like this</p><p>for long enough, I’ll be able to</p><p>convince myself of said lie</p><p>And I like to think I’d welcome a change</p><p>Our entanglement has, after all,</p><p>turned me into naught but</p><p>one of your connotations</p><p>People dig into my soil,</p><p>only to toss their shovels aside;</p><p>quickly admitting, “Wow, that girl</p><p>really did a number on him.”</p><p>I have to wonder if that was the point;</p><p>your intended desire</p><p>Even if it was, you’re not to blame</p><p>I did this to me</p><p>This is who I let myself become;</p><p>too terrified of viewing time’s line</p><p>without narrowing in on</p><p>the handful of movie-worthy moments</p><p>we wound up amounting to</p><p>before the abrupt and confusing conclusion</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdEOAn56DPOMCpz6-BLr9I8ZrBjAHe4oilkTc-h1T-20b0vm18BEG7c8fkfN9nkS97dzBEDjQjpxK75KcHMvhKCXS7_EkPxbRThHWmpF2-fYjMju4_ocsrpFzoUgeCizw3ctBvyRraufT7NROZu6cBqSTWUkU5hRWSUiUNX1nI2JPnuhwcAbFTh3pZhOG/s1024/IMG_9397.WEBP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQdEOAn56DPOMCpz6-BLr9I8ZrBjAHe4oilkTc-h1T-20b0vm18BEG7c8fkfN9nkS97dzBEDjQjpxK75KcHMvhKCXS7_EkPxbRThHWmpF2-fYjMju4_ocsrpFzoUgeCizw3ctBvyRraufT7NROZu6cBqSTWUkU5hRWSUiUNX1nI2JPnuhwcAbFTh3pZhOG/s320/IMG_9397.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><p>Jolting from a theater before the previews end</p><p>Disappointing you on your birthday</p><p>A home-cooked meal in your kitchen</p><p>Smoking outside the bar</p><p>Touching you in full view of the mob</p><p>A simple statement, and complex kiss</p><p>Blackout confessions to combat the quiet</p><p>Coincidences we dare not acknowledge</p><p>A barrage of ‘how it should be’ dreams</p><p>Reconciliation when the sky started falling</p><p>Finally, whatever the hell is happening now;</p><p>both dreading and wanting what happens next</p><p>I look at you, and see Andromeda</p><p>I look at myself, and see Pluto’s moons</p><p>What notice will you take of me</p><p>as the Milky Way is mingled?</p><p>Will I even exist by the time you arrive?</p><p>While some piece of me knows</p><p>that you secretly suffer as well,</p><p>the vast majority of my self can’t deny</p><p>that you seem happier not holding</p><p>my hand</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-82840778437556361722023-10-17T11:24:00.000-06:002023-10-17T11:24:49.399-06:00POEM - Ungracious & Unheard<p>The hours are beset with daylight,</p><p>but I am besieged by design</p><p>Someday, the sadness will catch me</p><p>like quicksand,</p><p>and I will kill my happy self</p><p>For what am I at my deepest?</p><p>A shadow, hid amongst the sunbeams</p><p>An echo of my long-lost lungs</p><p>A machine which is always waiting</p><p>to be back in the ghostly throes of solitude,</p><p>where no one stops me</p><p>from imagining myself beside you;</p><p>whether by force, or by dream</p><p> </p><p>My now-quiet heart waits in vain</p><p>for the clean-slate sound of you</p><p>ringing that lonely doorbell;</p><p>a noise which will never come</p><p>Instead, I find myself falling asleep</p><p>in an over-bright room, where no one</p><p>thinks to hold me;</p><p>mask on, even while I’m unconscious</p><p>And the only hope I have any faith in</p><p>is that this big brain might accidentally</p><p>find you while my eyes are closed</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OW4glzRLTO6ozFvS7BiEG2kPgA_o2KwV2lsz92XWXAxkiJY_UzMSRy9rWKmvitItOhclbK0bxfveEb0DEjACrlWsN893vTywUPFvz75wJamPQEdEnWEZCzY0uaaQ6QxIot-AlpTb0tWG3u6I1qDbqMJ7NFf6qO61q5bKQuRMt6VCmfiITBr2D5hktifM/s701/IMG_9364.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="701" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OW4glzRLTO6ozFvS7BiEG2kPgA_o2KwV2lsz92XWXAxkiJY_UzMSRy9rWKmvitItOhclbK0bxfveEb0DEjACrlWsN893vTywUPFvz75wJamPQEdEnWEZCzY0uaaQ6QxIot-AlpTb0tWG3u6I1qDbqMJ7NFf6qO61q5bKQuRMt6VCmfiITBr2D5hktifM/s320/IMG_9364.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Even here, however, clarity stalls</p><p>I’m often in paradise, obscuring agony;</p><p>hearing my children sing songs</p><p>which remind me of you, for example</p><p>Suddenly, something like the wind whispers,</p><p>“She wants to see you.”</p><p>I follow the sound into a new room</p><p>You’re topless on the floor,</p><p>forming letter shapes with your frame</p><p>There’s a game being played,</p><p>and a crowd of encouraging onlookers</p><p>You don’t even seem to notice my presence</p><p> </p><p>Then again, I observe that your wide smile</p><p>does not match the distant look</p><p>in your eyes</p><p>The screen beneath you demands</p><p>letters which I’ve not seen you create</p><p>And there’s the nagging wonder</p><p>of why you’d ask me here</p><p>if you didn’t mean for me to see</p><p>what everyone else is failing to</p><p>Unfortunately, I’m awake before able</p><p>to make out any of what you’re spelling</p><p>And even my selfish mind cannot</p><p>will belief in some sort of dreamer’s communiqué</p><p> </p><p>The truth is: you’re better off without me,</p><p>and I’m a time-bomb of denial</p><p>for the plain reading of reality;</p><p>that I’m better off without me too</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-71995594909067587622023-10-13T09:17:00.002-06:002023-10-13T09:40:10.255-06:00POEM - The Echoing Knell<p>My eyes were distant secrets,</p><p>watching you cry beside</p><p>that empty riverbed</p><p>My thoughts imagined you, comforted</p><p>by the unexpected company</p><p>of safe arms;</p><p>and surely you’d fall into them</p><p>with the immediacy of a loveless ghost,</p><p>ready to take form,</p><p>and offer comfort in return</p><p>with the shapely heartbeat beneath</p><p>a needful negligee</p><p> </p><p>So busy, was my eager mind,</p><p>projecting thick desire upon you,</p><p>that I failed to notice</p><p>the mirror-glass in your hand</p><p>The sky momentarily darkened</p><p>as you began to slit your wrists</p><p>And when that little cloud</p><p>gave way, again, to moonlight,</p><p>it looked like your fingers were feeding</p><p>strawberry milk to the topsoil</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gAHKhDNmL4Qp9Sp9XS0jopPu3wRdZx5VNOAJO-Q24oJrcFhRdAs2qRNAno-pJy3iANTjGNYO2e5G2JOAzzt77EVhMWVNDN8wncw9kcf3ISAiwMX0Tr2EsXMD55wzkSghCdU6qMZmSNqpJYips_IT-kJ7Z5_0sHYrY_-C2qhimKbwCWHBdYUoNsmldofQ/s505/IMG_9213.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="505" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gAHKhDNmL4Qp9Sp9XS0jopPu3wRdZx5VNOAJO-Q24oJrcFhRdAs2qRNAno-pJy3iANTjGNYO2e5G2JOAzzt77EVhMWVNDN8wncw9kcf3ISAiwMX0Tr2EsXMD55wzkSghCdU6qMZmSNqpJYips_IT-kJ7Z5_0sHYrY_-C2qhimKbwCWHBdYUoNsmldofQ/s320/IMG_9213.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>As the lightning began thundering,</p><p>I was a harmless bolt, struck by your side</p><p>— anything to be beside you —</p><p>There I found conflicted tears</p><p>in the widest eyes I’d ever seen</p><p>Your dirty palms shook as they firmly felt</p><p>for the reality of my panicking frame</p><p>Yet no attempt at salvation was made</p><p>by either of us</p><p>Dying, you pulled my lips</p><p>down on your own</p><p>A welcoming moan was as close</p><p>as you came to any spoken word,</p><p>while I touched you to my shallow</p><p>and breaking heart’s content</p><p> </p><p>I kissed and caressed until you were gone;</p><p>something which took no longer than</p><p>for that first drop of rain to become</p><p>a river, falling from the night sky</p><p>You’d been more than fantasy;</p><p>you’d been lovable, and very much alive</p><p>But I had come too late, having waited</p><p>for an unnecessary invitation</p><p>…</p><p>I slid your unsavable remains</p><p>into the now-flowing stream,</p><p>shattered that shard which once</p><p>loathed your reflection,</p><p>and hoped this lesson</p><p>would never need relearned</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-91624804173551355612023-09-04T19:25:00.000-06:002023-09-04T19:25:32.570-06:00POEM - 4<p>Smokey eyes, routinely staring up at me</p><p>Secretive lips, romancing a bottle</p><p>And even when it was your turn to bowl,</p><p>I could barely manage breathing</p><p>for the weight of you, pressing</p><p>upon my central nervous system</p><p> </p><p>Slender fingers, but a few feet away</p><p>Sable locks, partly veiling a smile</p><p>And even though it wasn’t you at the counter,</p><p>I still wish I’d talked past my friend,</p><p>so your memory would always know that I</p><p>wasn’t there that day for coffee</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgscU7-8LCe2R-sb40PR-30zoJg4blQJh0pYSxlcoVrptJsOSz7KD7IQzT1ouXChLSUZVLUZnAS3R15gmn2c6STSm-z4-HlgDdbkn4h778QcqpLjcwYIS5uvMIrVKJbE6SDd0AXA5qPG0u3CovntRzkcBRTxSej4AEHbn_cI3j1Ca-aVMu0pEvlRwDEXe-c/s750/IMG_6558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgscU7-8LCe2R-sb40PR-30zoJg4blQJh0pYSxlcoVrptJsOSz7KD7IQzT1ouXChLSUZVLUZnAS3R15gmn2c6STSm-z4-HlgDdbkn4h778QcqpLjcwYIS5uvMIrVKJbE6SDd0AXA5qPG0u3CovntRzkcBRTxSej4AEHbn_cI3j1Ca-aVMu0pEvlRwDEXe-c/s320/IMG_6558.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>Steady feet, keeping pace beside me</p><p>Silent heart, speaking up too late</p><p>And even if we were brave enough</p><p>to make the perfect mistake,</p><p>could it ever outshine the sea of tears</p><p>we’ve cried for one another?</p><p> </p><p>Sober woe, plainly posed in our photos</p><p>Sweetened words, how kindness kills</p><p>And even as the wheel of time</p><p>sees our wishing stars exhausted,</p><p>you continue to be the ridiculous creeper</p><p>who haunts ALL of my dreaming</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-41303801245193144102023-08-29T08:19:00.000-06:002023-08-29T08:19:56.245-06:00POEM - Waking Ugly<p>I would that my last word was your name,</p><p>for all the music left in me is about us</p><p>Surely, we were part of some other timeline;</p><p>not this one, where I watch kids grow</p><p>without you</p><p> </p><p>Your kiss is something I once imagined;</p><p>now all that’s left to me is imagining it</p><p>The memory of it grows but further</p><p>from the reality, I’m aware,</p><p>though I take such great pains</p><p>to prevent that happening</p><p> </p><p>And for what?</p><p>To hold a pillow in place of you?</p><p>To swallow the past like medicine?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjg_cdMT_28Hk6X_d3ZX6S1SJv0gku-weuuI_ohT3zH0s2oLr-FKpztfq4POBfD9iYqHXXcS_hm-hLN8OB2ojvud1kMeMUFVCICYBOBqzviRcdSUG-Y1c4f5HxRMuerfDIV7nf7ynwWpPeGQOYXRX9DHzdAHYc0sJMuJed4N1Dtsm-a6Xyo71uGRpz5F34/s749/WakingUgly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="496" data-original-width="749" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjg_cdMT_28Hk6X_d3ZX6S1SJv0gku-weuuI_ohT3zH0s2oLr-FKpztfq4POBfD9iYqHXXcS_hm-hLN8OB2ojvud1kMeMUFVCICYBOBqzviRcdSUG-Y1c4f5HxRMuerfDIV7nf7ynwWpPeGQOYXRX9DHzdAHYc0sJMuJed4N1Dtsm-a6Xyo71uGRpz5F34/s320/WakingUgly.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>To hold my breath in the half-light</p><p>of this half-life?</p><p>What good does that do anyone?</p><p> </p><p>Sleep, my sweet, wherever you are</p><p>Please dream that I might wake you</p><p>And if ever I get that improbable chance,</p><p>I’ll afford you more than an ending</p><p> </p><p>I’ll restore what time has taken from us;</p><p>every word leading up to the last</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-41783457606913032462023-07-13T07:39:00.001-06:002023-07-13T07:39:31.901-06:00POEM - Gray Laces<p>They all move to New York,</p><p>unaware that New York won’t compare</p><p>to the drunken two-stepping</p><p>your young hearts did</p><p>along the sweltering</p><p>midsummer night streets</p><p>of northeast Texas</p><p> </p><p>Darling, may I have this dance?</p><p>“No, thank you.” the reply,</p><p>in spite of a lifetime of oncoming dreams</p><p>about how much like home it felt</p><p>to place her head against your chest</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjsxy3R4NcyvvzO3CJezAK5czkHWEvXjL32cv3VrYSy5-jhySWumnBDAhvhkMJcaFV6Y3NM33VMuLg7xPKMGdZvml0Fk_gN3xyqWoZqiNLG3UhkbxIuQ-e6QhYMrUWmvsPSWDLcClsJFKqkpQJQs1EbJQvKCbPIuRbQTeuvOp_X5Sz5kaAdYpx_5gDgfg_/s400/GrayLaces.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjsxy3R4NcyvvzO3CJezAK5czkHWEvXjL32cv3VrYSy5-jhySWumnBDAhvhkMJcaFV6Y3NM33VMuLg7xPKMGdZvml0Fk_gN3xyqWoZqiNLG3UhkbxIuQ-e6QhYMrUWmvsPSWDLcClsJFKqkpQJQs1EbJQvKCbPIuRbQTeuvOp_X5Sz5kaAdYpx_5gDgfg_/s320/GrayLaces.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p>…</p><p>This bullshit has never fooled me</p><p>You may as well be Shakespeare 2.0;</p><p>writing tragedies, when the world</p><p>is already too full of them</p><p>Juliet died, but <i>you</i> are alive</p><p>And that fact will not age like wine</p><p>Love, or lose, and become</p><p>another victim of NYC’s distraction</p><p> </p><p>You could be kissing me in Times Square</p><p>Alas, that dance doesn’t do more</p><p>than cross your forgotten heart</p><p>—gray laces which haven’t</p><p>touched your flesh since we</p><p>parted ways</p><p>And so life goes; wave upon wave</p><p>of sweaty, heated dusk</p><p>But no love to make it memorable</p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7625351679479449045.post-46208785918176353932023-05-19T06:37:00.002-06:002023-05-19T06:37:48.527-06:00POEM - Haiku<p>Distant as daydreams</p><p>Colder than you’ve imagined</p><p>My need for you breathes</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnyh4iMZmfQDb9VaFj21RjlUmfmZ4jp2HrX-G3lS8uJI6Xl59h71pMOo3GT9oyI6qqQV4Ke-BhG9dQCSZg_e79ZpDO_PpV6A6xwPty4OJZ7LbOceggWrxfWgrQy1lnM_1Wqa8OdXhZqnfxGbEwHWilx4gKbwRvAvp1C1B4s7Ht2C3GLb5wICW6-jg5-w/s1080/Haiku.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnyh4iMZmfQDb9VaFj21RjlUmfmZ4jp2HrX-G3lS8uJI6Xl59h71pMOo3GT9oyI6qqQV4Ke-BhG9dQCSZg_e79ZpDO_PpV6A6xwPty4OJZ7LbOceggWrxfWgrQy1lnM_1Wqa8OdXhZqnfxGbEwHWilx4gKbwRvAvp1C1B4s7Ht2C3GLb5wICW6-jg5-w/s320/Haiku.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Shane Windhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07372861097880441031noreply@blogger.com0