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[thebarefootcajun]

[thebarefootcajun]

Bringing Erotica

🦶Cajun

Loving is a unique undertaking

Inspired by the act of two men

Not at all premeditated

Yet, it’s a glance

Eyes connect space between the two

A space that becomes spirit filled

A longing to be near

A hunch that meant two

One clean cut

The other an outdated

hippie

Strong magnetism find two as one

A life of love ahead bringing erotica

[thebarefootcajun]

Commitment of Steel

🦶 Cajun

His lips upon mine, a powerful infusion

Feeling the creases of those full, luscious, sensual kisses intensifies the power of love

It’s been this way for many years

Two men living their lives together, unmarried, because they couldn’t in the day, but bonded and sealed in free love within a commitment of steel

[thebarefootcajun]

Loving a hale baler

He loved me that was for sure

As he crushed back into the mattress of their bed

His lover smelled like hay from lifting bales in the fields

That musky earthy feels always made him wild in bed

[thebarefootcajun]

this, too, shall pass

🦶 Cajun

Appreciation for cold is hard to hard to muster

Yet, I do enjoy the symbolism that a freeze has on the prairie

Pesky mosquitoes die away releasing their oppressive sting of robbing blood

Colors and greenery morph into brown, dead, lifeless vegetation sculptures

As I look across the prairie that was once green and lush, I smile

Effects of the freeze, lifeless, ghostly remembrance

A memory of what once was

I remember that this too shall pass emerging into a land of glorious colors and greenery, a virtual Garden of Eden

[thebarefootcajun]

the good fight

🦶 Cajun

Sunny disposition brings on brutally cold weather on the prairie

Frigid winds circulate substantial northern icy air, unexpectedly

Sunny warmth and icy chill upon the flatlands battle, oxymoronic

Mother Nature’s symbolism for days to come ushering in a new era of anxiety where nothing seems right

YET love will remain firm as a veil of protest and protection

Seeking redemption as one who has always fought the good fight of the oppressed who live honest in their authentic selves

[thebarefootcajun]

A snake and a bird find common ground

🦶 Cajun

Alight on my weary shoulders, oh love, healer of all bruises

If you only do it, I’m going to be healed of choking oppression

For love is the beautiful power of understanding

It feels like the transparent silken wings of a butterfly

Mobile in that it moves to those with the ability to love

Oh, universe, we’ve lost our power of love through discourse in religion and politics, neither are important enough to tear us apart

Find your love power

It’s not religion

And politics has tried to become a religion, note below

Vitriol runs rampant over vocal cords and fall upon deaf ears

Each day we step further and further into the pit of no return, spiraling out of control

Is there no way to have a voice in loving discourse

We might find more in common than hateful speech and righteous indignation

I watch the bird and the snake live in harmony as the bird flies above the snake moving upon the earth

They’ve found common ground in space, yet somewhat togetherness in the open perimeter as they move in tandem

If a snake and a bird can find similitude, can’t we as humans who claim civility?

NOTE: The separation of church and state is a legal doctrine in the United States that limits the government's involvement in religion. It's based on the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment, which prevents the government from establishing a religion or favoring one religion over another. Note is taken from AI created material I borrowed from the internet.

[thebarefootcajun]

Enlightened by the sun shining through gauze curtains

the warmth envelops me gently,  massaging my pores with vitamin D

The sun is a change maker; it makes me giddy, alive with a passion for getting outdoors

Light warms my thinning skin, highlights age spots tattooed on top of my hands, sporting pronounced veins

It’s a delight to age, to now myself in the winter of my life 🦶

[thebarefootcajun]

🦶

12/14/24

Hibernation

Camouflage colors hold on as they might

Winter’s breathing cold air upon my neck

A time of letting go, no holding back, hibernation

Adjusting to winter’s cold darkness is restful and therapeutic

[thebarefootcajun]

Evolution of character is always on track. I am evolving in the natural flow of my seventy-one years. Experience has changed me. How? That’s quite the conundrum! Change happens each day, mostly the big changes are surprises. The small ones happen in the course of daily life. Aware of them, though hardly noticed, they matter.

I write each day for the sake of writing thoughts knowing more of whom I am. Writing stretches cognition. Editing is like a puzzle, I can read my writing multiple times without catching a small error. In editing elusiveness is not a good characteristic. Also in reading for clarity often what I’ll comprehend others might not. Having an editor is quite the luxury.

Seeing words looking back at me on a page recreate in my mind thoughts or scenes that might be changeable when the collective of the piece materializes as an edited summation for sharing. Add ons, takeaways, and rewrites are all possible before the finished work.

The work can be dubious. And sometimes a writer just has to let go when he has done all he can to make it less suspect as an unsustainable read . The writing can be short lived serving its purpose in the spirit of the author. He claims it as it is for what it is and to speak for what it speaks. Readers will determine its worth. Writing is in effect rather personal and reading is the same.

This author knows writing as a life source. It must happen so that he knows he’s alive. It’s a longing to carve a place for himself as one who was honest, long suffering in transparency and clear as the bluest clearest ocean water washing up to the shoreline, a reflection of the intensity of the bluest sky mirroring itself in vast distance from the waters of the ocean.

A writer must take a step back in in evaluation. Leaving the work lessens the burden of the writer, upon return he’s either rejuvenated or unattached to the work. It’s at this point the piece is at its make or break cornerstone. Either pieces live on or die, wedding or funeral; it’s the writer’s choice.

In living life a thought might stop me, deeming itself embryonic. The thought will manifest itself through notes and formation of sentences into paragraphs. The writer must sit with the raw resources available to him. It’s in his power to create identifiable juxtapositions, idioms, provocative writing as his mind churns and grapples with the material.

Writing activates the frontal lobes of the brain setting in motion thinking, planning and reasoning. A great exercise of the mind rumbling the epicenter of your mind.

🦶

12/14/24

Saturday

[thebarefootcajun]

A tenacious spirit is characteristic of one with a voice used for those can’t speak for themselves

Tenacity is silenced because leaders in high positions can’t bear to come face to face with their own atrocious doings

We must be the voices of change

Barefoot 🦶 Cajun

December 9, 2024

Monday

[thebarefootcajun]

Alight my soul upon the misty burden of the veil of precipitation

Laden with humidity my soul feels weighted

Taking on my tonnage with renewed fortitude

Quite possibly the veil will dry up eclipsing today’s heaviness of embodiment

[thebarefootcajun]

Three Rules To Write By

“Write naked. That means to write what you would never say.

Write in blood. As if ink is so precious you can’t waste it.

Write in exile, as if you are never going to get home again, and you have to call back every detail.”

Denis Johnson

[thebarefootcajun]

“It’s important to know the creator’s awareness that I’m living my life as a seeker of the truth in Him.” Barefoot 🦶 Cajun

An excerpt from an essay that I’ve just completed writing entitled, ‘Seeking God Is Synonymous With Living Life, thoughts on Tolstoy’

[thebarefootcajun]

“To know God and to live is one and the same thing. God is life. Live seeking God, and then you will not live without God.”

From A Confession by Leo

Tolstoy

[thebarefootcajun]

Hope is defined as: optimism, expectation, expectancy; confidence, faith, trust, belief, conviction, assurance in one dictionary

This morning in church we lit a candle of hope and read scripture from Luke. Immediately my brain gripped onto hope, a word heard and used often in my word stock.

There is meaning attached to words that we default to, a definition of a word as we’ve known it, quite possibly steering its meaning in sundry ways.

Truly delighted with words, their origins and meanings, a reading, writing strategy I frequently employ is lexicology. It’s important for this old barefoot Cajun to work his brain.

Navigating toward Hope I’m reminded of the raw innocence I meet on the prairie in the lives of all the animals I see from the tiniest ant to the largest coyote. Both hoping to have their basic needs met while remaining alive as they fill their bellies and nap on the grassy soil of the prairie floor. Not so different from ours right. We hope to have enough subsistence to care for ourselves. We hope to lay our heads on a pillow in a place considered safe for a restful night with a satisfied tummy.

During this season I hope that we all can achieve our own basic needs for survival, asking for nothing greater; it’s the simple things that matter and bring satisfactory joy.

Barefoot 🦶 Cajun

12/1/24

Sunday

[thebarefootcajun]

Ruminating while reading excerpts of Tolstoy’s “Confessions”. Chewing the cud is something I relish.

Being an old farm boy living on the South Louisiana Cajun prairie seems the ideal place for contemplation, especially barefoot. Naked feet have always served me well. If you’ve not tried bare-footing, you must!

There’s an absolute freedom that comes with allowing your feet to breathe nakedly. Barefoot is healing salve for the soul.

Making contact with my DNA on soil of my spirit relatives releases me to my authentic self, a home for the winter of my life, a satisfactory place of aging gracefully by embracing the season’s culmination of an inquiring spring, heated summer, colorful fall and now a meager, melancholy winter.

I have a friend who’s an eloquent preacher. I always remember his sermon heard during the summer of my life that he preached using the seasons of our lives. Winter is promising to be the most robust yet, as I revel in the memories of a rocky, uneven life, stayed on course by the tenacity of a life line that would not release me.

Barefoot 🦶 Cajun

12/1/24

Sunday