Moon Time

She had felt a fullness in her belly for days and while she didn't dare to hope, she couldn't help but not.  And then her moon time came and the stars fell from heaven and washed away on the red river that wound it's way through her valleys.  She wept when the emptiness returned and the moon wept with her.

What is it that is so beautiful about a well loved instrument? 

Is it the rat-a-tat-tat...

           the scent of the resin that floats on each vibrating note which tickles my ears?

Is it the jerk of the s-t-a-c-c-a-t-o notes? The sensual caress of the bow on sweet strings?  

Or the way my body sways to your song?

I have found heaven in your smile, in the light of your eyes that is music.  The magic of your fingers always anticipating that next note.  The scrolls of your violin smile in deep shades of time worn cherry. 

And we undulate in time to the rhythm like human metronomes...the rhythm and spark that is felt when the realization hits you that you are in love. 

You move me with your melodic ways, my heart smiles, my soul opens and takes flight with each delicate strike of your bow. 

Sweet harmony.  Each note sinking me deeper and deeper into the madness until I am drowning in the waves of your sound.  This instrument, which is an extension of yourself, heightens to an even greater beauty when the moon touches your intensity in shades of opal and silver.  

Staccato goes my heart, my pulse races as your notes quicken and rage. 

How do you know what is in my heart?

Mother of pearl and horsehair smooth across the strings.  The pounding of drums in my ears carry me back to that night so long forgotten when you kissed me and loved me and played me like an instrument.  Why do you haunt my revelries in such vivid colors of indigo and moonlight?  Strike my strings and remind me who I was that night.  Kiss me and taste the melody that drips from my lips like blossoming honey, sweeter with each kiss in a mad frenzy of notes. 

Jive baby!

Et Fin!

In a forest, green and cool

In a forest, green and cool

I buried our love deep in the dark earth.

Our story, our words, our love affair

would grow roots there among the giants of sycamore and elm.

And our young hearts would endure

though we were but 15 and had fickle hearts.

In a forest, green and cool.

The Kiss

The warm touch of his hand on her cheek.

Her drowsy anticipation of his lips softly brushing hers.

The exquisite pain of longing; waiting for him to navigate

the dusky, gilded river between them.

He laid her on a bed of poppies;

crowned her with a wreath of violets.

The heady perfume of him washed over her

in waves of scarlet and gold.

Breathless; floating between this world and the next...then the kiss.

From the first kiss to the last...I get drunk on your lips.

L.M. Betit

Untitled poems....

Rosewater tears streaked down her apple blossom cheeks. 

She stood alone at the edge of the lake,

the tall grasses tickling her legs.

Far off in the distance lay her hopes and aspirations

seemingly so far out of reach.

When will her time come she wondered? 

Why did everyday bring more of a mystery?

Misery and mystery measuring the moments of her life.

______________________________________________

Sometimes I dream in shades of blue (green).  I dream of walking into the ocean at night and let the cold slip around my body which soothes and burns.  I dream of slipping beneath the waves and my body so quiet...so still finds peace at last.  Sometimes I dream in shades of blue (green) that will haunt me all my years.

--Laura Betit

My apologies....

There is nothing better on a damp, autumn afternoon than a pot of Earl Grey tea.  I crave it not only for it's flavor but for the dose of aromatherapy I get while it steeps and while I sip on it.  I am painfully aware of how long it has been since I wrote anything in this space.  I have had a few ideas for some stories to develop but I can't seem to get the prose to flow onto paper...or computer screen as it were.  I feel as though I haven't had any real inspiration for anything to write in months and honestly, it has plagued me.  Amid all the changes I have undergone in the last year you'd think I could find some sort of inspiration but alas I am an empty cup.

Perhaps the chill of autumn and the knowledge that winter is not far off will help as I seem to do my best writing this time of year.  The story I have been kicking around in my head is aching to be told but I am afraid...afraid on a few levels.  I know a writer isn't supposed to be afraid to tell a story, isn't supposed to worry so much about what her audience is going to think of the story she has written but I am.... I am afraid that the story may be taken out of context.  Most of my stories are not happy ones.  I am never as fond of the final product when I feel forced to create a "happily ever after" ending.  Sometimes there are no happy endings or sometimes the happy ending isn't what you think it should be.

So I will make you a deal.  I will begin work on my" unhappily ever after" story as long as you do not, as my readers, my friends and my family, read the story as this being a dark time for me...far from it.  So as long as you do not worry for me or have me committed as you read it, I will share it with you.  Sometimes a tortured writer is a good writer.  Stay tuned and thanks for being patient and thanks for reading.

Black holes and Spider webs

Black holes and Spider webs weave their way through my mind.

Sticky, whirling interludes of light and dark;

My spiraling tunnel how I have missed you….

How long I have kept you at bay, but you crept back inside me

Waiting to trap me again in your silken bonds.

How will I ever escape you?