The French Probably Have a Name for It

A song, something in the air, maybe a piece of conversation that I have overheard at a restaurant reminds of the longing.  Times I know that I have been with someone and been so connected on a level of communication so deep and unfathomable…diving down to the bottoms of things to surface for one more gulp of air and then dive again…both of us sharing and connecting in powerful surges and waves.

It is a different level of joining each other…the eyes dilate as you both stare at each other and speak of whatever you have in common earnestly…passionately.  You speak as if the whole world depended on just the two of you talking, touching, reaching out in so many ways other than physical.

You hear the music…the beats and rhythm…not necessarily the lyrics in the noisy cafe.   Endless cups of coffee or herb tea come around and you drink them without even noticing or let them grow cold by the crumbling pastry, pissing the waiter/ress off.

Necks extend, heads reach toward one another as you engage in this sharing of minds that is so much more than small talk.  Unconsciously, hands touch, grasp, flail to make a point and then settle down like birds in the park to grasp again; noticed, but yet barely noticed.

But I don’t know you, you think.  How? And the answer comes quickly, quietly: your spirits did…they noticed before you did as two human lump sitting in a cafe beating the cold winds from the the ocean or the mountains.  You recognized each other in a way so primal as to be invisible to the brain.

You want more, drinking each other in, trying to satisfy this thirst that you can’t quench.  The doorbell tinkles, snapping both of you out of the spell.  You see each other again, there is a knowing now.  A smile, then a laugh.


©2017 Louise Ann Stowell  All Rights Reserved


All I Want


Right now, I want arms around me and holding me so tight I can barely breathe.  Right now, I want to be sitting out at Aquatic Park with hot chocolate and watching the ships coming in and out of the bay….feeling your rough coat next to me and you commenting on the gulls and fog and the changes.  Feeling you beard scratch against the side of my face as I lay my head on your shoulders and thinking it’s the sexiest, homiest place in the world.

Right now I want to be kissed breathless and told its all going to be alright,  Believing it.  Knowing that I can be there for someone else and knowing there for me, too.

Right now I want to feel gratitude for this space alone, but I can’t.

The silence is deafening.  Crafts mean nothing.  Words are a struggle to search for and put down…so much inside of me and that needs expressing to another who longs to hear it as well… and it sits, waits, wonders if it will go to rot without every having the chance to be shared.

Right now I feel empty and dry; a bowl put out for the cats that have long since eaten the contents and left dry, crusty bits hanging to the bowl.

Right now…


LAS Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

Photo by Pixaby

The Relish Bakery



Hot and crispy

light as an the autumn leaves

the fresh croissant

pulls apart into tiny



melting away in my mouth

mixing with

thick hot chocolate warming my hands

the memory of the Relish Bakery

that I still prefer to dream of

on these frosty Saturday mornings.

LAS Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixaby


Land’s End (For Jeffrey)

lands-end-1000x666Following sand and bracken

the stones placed carefully

as the gulls call in the morning wind

surf crashes

pulling out

rushing in

all in an natural orchestra

rounded out by natures rhythm

I walk the revolving labyrinth

to ease my mind from it’s constant circle

Knowing it is life’s pattern

that all things must pass

replaced by a new pattern

born anew

following to the center

and the hope that lies within.


LAS Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

Photo Courtesy of California Beaches




Through This Dark Earth




and I

will follow


my trust is


but this is

my truth

hurdling blindly

Learning as I fall

watching you

mapping new country

a bold change

courage in stepping

where comfort is

rare and chaos

is the coin of choice

Dear God

Lead Me

frightened as I am

that I may grow

struggling through this earth

a seed newly born

seeking the Son

that will nourish me

Copyright 8-19-2017 All Rights Reserved Including Angel Photo 2008 Copyright

The Space In Between


(for Anton Kabonic)

I am learning to love

the spaces in between



letting go

quieting assumptions

and fears

the space between the wick

and the flame

I am learning to embrace

the silence

watching droplets of rain

tick off my days

on a rosary of


getting to know who I am

questions I want to ask

of you

touching your wild

hoping you’ll trust me

can there be an “us”

I am learning to trust myself

allowing my wild

to howl

calling to the moon

for my lover

no longer apologizing

for my words

my crys

my passion

depending on myself

to run alone if you won’t

run with me

knowing I am strong enough

to love you unconditionally

even from a distance

and still love myself

as well

LAS copyright 2017  all rights reserved

photo courtesy of Pixabay



You asked me to wait

for you

but I don’t think I can

the silence

no calls

but I know you are home

and I am

unnecessary to you

but when you need me

necessary to me

but you’re not there

not at all

familiar souls

connecting for a moment

I made the mistake

fell in love

became vulnerable

and now broken

Know it wasn’t me

Know it is with you

at least I learned the lesson

that I can still feel

still love

and my heart

with time

will heal

while it’s your turn

and you can wait

LAS copyright 2017  All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixabay


I Don’t Want to Write Anymore

So beautifully touching. For all of us that have the empathic gift, I thought this summed up how many of us feel. Enjoy Sumiyana’s poetry!

Sumyanna Writes

FontCandy (11)

I don’t want to write


I don’t want the words

rushing through my veins,

the surge with which

leaves me unsettled

raw and open…

It is much

too much to ask of me –

to bleed the twisting sentences

to feel the verbs

tracing down my spine

and the world becomes

unburdened of her sin

yet I am left to feel

each pang of remembrance.

A child cries

and I feel her tears

added to my sorrows.

I watch a hungry man

stooped over an open trashcan

and I cannot escape

his need.

I hear the sirens

of yet another disaster

and I cannot pull away.

I feel the loss that others

cannot bear to breathe.

My eyes

were never meant

to look away.

My heart

was never meant

to go to sleep

and I feel

and I feel

and I feel as if it is too much


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