Daring Honesty – NaPoWriMo – 30

It’s the end of April, the last day of the NaPoWriMo challenge. It is hard to believe that I have been able to stick with this project when my outer life has been so busy with so much of the time spent in planes or on the road. At times I had to use the schedule feature for posting, times when I knew that I would not have any Internet access. In spite of that, I have honoured my pledge to have a poem posted each day. All of my poems posted were written at the moment the post was crafted. I have to admit that in the process, I have deepened my own understanding of what it means to be a naturist, an understanding that goes beneath the naked skin. I want to thank you, my readers here, for stopping by and reading these poems. For me it was surprising to see that each day a good number had come to the blog site. The lack of photos didn’t seem to matter – you came and read and sometimes commented, and sometimes reblogged my poetry for your own readers. Again, thank you.

Exposed and Vulnerable

Stepping out of a hiding spot
daring to be seen and heard
daring to be ignored
daring to become a target
or a scapegoat for
the fears of others
daring to be me
a me that I don’t
even fully know
or accept

Why? Why expose the inner self
expose my body
expose my thoughts
expose my dreams and fears?
What will I gain
other than isolation
rejection, or censure?
Who will I lose as I
take this journey?

Questions without answers
as answers can only emerge
once the journey begins
a journey of self-exposure
of becoming transparent
to self and others
a journey of brutal honesty.

Daring to follow this lonely path
I find answers
I find you
I find myself
I find us bound
even closer
because I dared
because you dared

Naked, Honest Love – NaPoWriMo – 29

When you read this, I will likely be in my vehicle driving for five hours to visit extended family, including the man to whom yesterday’s post and poem was dedicated. Family is important, for family has this tendency to hold together when it seems that the rest of the world is falling apart. I have often wondered about those people who stand by a son, father, mother or daughter, or any other family member as that individual is found guilty of some heinous crime. How could they stand to be near such a monster? I have often wondered about those individuals who give of themselves so much to a family member who can’t care for themselves any longer, giving so much that it seems they lose out in life’s opportunities. But when I think of my own children and my wife and my own brothers and sisters and grandchildren . . . I understand. Love is unconditional. Love doesn’t mean approval. Love simply means that in spite of behaviours, events, politics, philosophies or disease, love remains, connection remains.

Naked, Honest Love

We fell in love
came together long enough
to become as one
and we lost ourselves
in each other

But life had other plans
for us, and we came apart
at the seams and
returned to our separateness
and suffered the loss
that the holy union
had given to us

But we didn’t abandon each other
rather we dared to return into
each other knowing that we would
again fall apart,
over and over again.

A light had been lit
marking out union,
a light that now
serves as a beacon
for when we get lost
calling us back
home to love
to each other,

Connected – NaPoWriMo – 28

Sunday morning. It is cool and cloudy outside and it makes me think of a Kris Kristofferson song called “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” The house is quiet and I am feeling a bit too quiet at the moment, perhaps thinking too much. One of my trains of thought took me to my brother-in-law who now suffers from Alzheimers. I will be visiting him tomorrow after a long absence due to living in Mexico for the winter. I wonder if he will remember me in some small way. Today’s poem in for him.

I See You Beneath Your Skin

Sometimes I walk into the room
without you being aware of my presence
I sit still for a while and watch
you lost in your silence
your eyes seem to have lost
the spirit of life

As others walk by, or role by
in their wheel chairs
you don’t even react
but remain lost in some inner space
perhaps not even there
behind your eyes

I approach and say your name
and you turn and give
such a beautiful smile
with eyes that proclaim
that you are still alive
still there in spite of
this disease that seeks to
claim you to darkness

You can’t find the words
but I know that you see
passed my clothing,
my own aged body
to connect once again
a connection that has
never needed words
never been held back
by appearances

We were more than brothers
and somewhere, still,
we are still more than brothers
connected beneath the skin
connected as more than friends

Intimate Touch – NaPoWriMo – 27

It’s quiet this early morning in the southern Canadian prairies. My grandsons are sleeping but will soon be up in order to get ready to head to the golf course for our first game of a new golf season. Since I am teen-sitting solo, I find myself somewhat in a strange place. Just about everything I do is always in the company of my life companion. We talk on the phone, send messages back and forth, but the physical absence makes a significant difference. The simple act of seeing, touching, smelling, yes and even tasting another person can never be replaced in virtual reality in my mind.

There, enough of that, it’s time to write a poem.

The Language of Touch

Your skin shows the passage of years
yet still invites my touch as if
time has stood still over the decades
of a life shared together

Though I have travelled over every
hill and valley and plain of your body
there is always a constant surprise
and fascination as though I am
journeying through an exotic foreign land
a journey that you share with me

As we sit side by side,
reading our separate books
or watching some story
on the screen in front of us
our hands find each other
and breathing relaxes
and we relax into each other

As we lay in bed, back to back
reaching for night to bring dreams
a foot moves to touch the other’s foot
telling us that even in sleep
we are there together

When storm clouds come between us
it is touch that ensures
that we don’t get lost in the storms
in the dark words that lash
our hearts like some hurricane
toppling houses in the wind
it is touch that pulls us both
back into the familiar safety
of us, together.

A Naked Man and Woman – NaPoWriMo – 26

It’s my son’s birthday. He is 33 today but I still remember the day I was at the hospital by my wife’s side as this amazing young man emerged into the world to forever alter my sense of being a man, the father of a son. It is different that being the father of a girl, and in my case, two girls who are now mothers with their own families. My children are adults, all with children of their own to now raise. My children are priceless and loved unconditionally by both my wife and myself – and we are loved unconditionally in return. Each of our children are unique in our eyes, each one taking and giving love and life according to their individuality. I am a fortunate man having been in their lives from the moment of their birth while I watched them arrive in the delivery room, moments forever seared into my mind, moments that created a bond with each one that is timeless.

As I write today’s post, I am in the home of our first child, on teen-sitting duty. At the moment my two oldest grandchildren are off to classes. They will return later bringing a number of friends with whom they will share a pizza supper and activities before heading off for an evening at youth group. With their absence, I get time to come here and be with you. And so, taking advantage of this time, I bring the next poem.

We Have Done This Together

“It’s official, I am a teacher
we have a future and security.”
And like others, we celebrated
we made love unencumbered by clothing
the purity and honest of our beings
joined together in love
we conceived a child

As the months passed
we celebrated this child’s growth
within your womb
recording her growth within you
recording your vitality
your uncovered beauty
your pure joy
for the miracle

I stood beside you
holding your hand
feeding you ice chips
breathing with you
through contractions
recording the moment of
our daughter’s birth
with my eyes and heart

She emerged naked and pure
attached to you by a thread
that pulsed

Today, we are grandparents
and the thread that ties
us to our children and grandchildren
is still pulsing with life
an invisible thread.

Daring to be Bare – NaPoWriMo – 25


Standing along a barbed wire fence

Another sunny day and a life that is asking me to be present. It is strange how being present doesn’t necessarily mean being physically present any more. Virtual presence now is part of what we can define as being truly present. A good example is in the realm of employment, one can and indeed many people do show up for work and virtally punch their time-clocks without ever leaving their homes. Virtual offices are everywhere with people working from home, and curiously working from home naked because their is no perceived need to cover up as would be expected at work. Given the opportunity, given the freedom of choice, nudity emerges.

With that bit of observation noted, it is time for today’s poem.

Bare Naked and Barbed Wire

Standing in a field of prairie grass
leaning against a fencepost that tells
me that I am at the edge of possibility
beyond this point
access is denied

I look out onto the grassland beyond
land in which only animals and birds
are to be seen readily
land on which human traffic is limited
to a privileged few
a right rarely used

Standing there, bare naked, I wonder
do I dare pass through the boundary
which is more symbolic than
actual barrier?
What is the penalty?
What is the risk?

I consider the impact of my footsteps
on the fenced off prairie
I consider the intent of the fence’s owner
Is this fence meant to keep me out?
Or, is it to keep the occasional herd of
free-range cattle in?

Knowing the answer, I dare crossing
and meet a Mule deer doe who stares at
my nakedness as if it belongs here
I meet a magpie who sits patiently
as I take its photo
and then I sit there with them
on the slope of a prairie hill
drinking in the sunshine
feeling whole and
feeling at home.

Nude Now, Waiting No More – NaPoWriMo – 24

I have to admit that I am getting more and more used to the colder weather of the Canadian prairie. With temperatures yet to make into double digits, I am spending more and more time outside wearing less and less clothing. The hunt for a camping tent trailer is on in anticipation of summer and the opportunities of spending time at naturist locations and the very private and empty spaces easily found on the prairies and neighbouring forests, rivers and lakes.

But it isn’t all about waiting impatiently for the future. Day to day life is proving to be full enough with time enough for me to be skyclad indoors, writing, doing odd chores, and spending quality time with my wife. Enough said for now. It’s time for today’s poem.

Waiting No More

In past times it was difficult to be present
when the mind wanted something different
when the body wanted to escape
when the spirit felt imprisoned

Waiting was the action plan
with everything put on hold
while a thin sliver of awareness
stayed present in outer life
pretending that all was good enough
pretending to be satisfied
hidden behind smiles that
never made it to the eyes

I hid behind strained eyes
behind a busyness that filled
hours of contact
behind meeting the needs of others
that washed like a tidal wave
over my own needs

But now?

I hide no more
I wait no more