Treasures..

Some people
  never learn
how to appreciate
 what they have....
    what they hold.
            They are so busy
      trying to grab for more
            they allow what was once theirs
                ( so beautiful and fragile)
       to slip through their fingers
    Unheeded
 broken pieces scattered
    like wishes
         ( or kisses)
 Blown on the wind.
  And there are some
                  ( like me)
     who see the treasure
   amid the debris.
  They dust off the pieces,
 to fit them back into a whole.
    And hold on to what they have found
with gentle hands and loving hearts
 For they know
   Treasures
           ( like love)
            only come
  once in a lifetime
and once a treasure is gone
   it cannot be replaced
      (like you).
    

Unexpected phone call...

 Your voice still
drives the butterflies
 into a frenzy
bouncing off the walls
  of a plunging stomach
like the first step off a cliff
  with no tether.
  Your words
spoken in those soft whispers
  still make my heart melt
into shivering puddles of sin
   recalling to mind
 the softest touch
  of your tongue
      to mine...

(Stock Photo )

Façade

  

However often we speak secrets,
 there are things I do not
 even care to whisper.
  You know I am broken.
but all you see is surface damage
    I do not remember
 how to turn the key
 and let you see inside
 this battered chamber.
   where all these shattered pieces
   are waiting for someone
  to put them back together.    

  ©Vivid X Photography ( facade)

Monologue..

There are all of these...
    ... words...
  and there is no one
 to say them to,
no one to make them
         real.
 so I say them to myself.
   I pull them around
 my body
    like a cloak
  ( like a shield)
 trying to keep warm
  in this
cold room
of despair


 Artwork by Liz Lemon Swindle

*sigh*

What I wouldnt give for some sand and surf time.

Me

I am a contradiction.
  I fit no molds
    no labels.
no preset ideas
of what society expects
 I wear scuffed up shoes
   and holey jeans
Concert tshirts
  with collars ripped at the seams
But my toes are always precisely painted
     and my bra and panties match
even if no one will ever see
   the ones I wear.
Im likely to climb trees
    without notice
or wear a ballgown to grocery shop.
   I'll put purple streaks in my hair
 or shave it all off
       if I get bored.
I love to be silly,
             and refuse to act my age
But Im probably one of the smartest people
   you will ever meet..unless you
want to discuss politics.
     I have befriended kings and rock stars
and the bum on the corner
   who always asks for a dollar, and then
gives me back a dime.
   I prefer my socks to be white
and brand new
 My clothes to be black.
and worn out
   My friends to be colorblind
and ageless.
Peace is what i aspire to,
But I will kiss danger
        straight on the lips
and leave smears of my lipgloss behind.
I love my music loud
   when I'm happy
soft and meaningful
    when I am sad
Pulsing, and throbbing
       when I dance
...and stuff.
But silence has a beauty
that cannot be described.
    Just like me.
Yes, I am a contradiction.
I fit no molds
   no labels.
I am not ever
    what society expects
I am unique,
       priceless.
and I am
very happily
me.

©personal property of Vivid X Photography ( me circa 2007)

damages...

The bruises
  the cuts
     the scars
 we bear
on the outside,
are fleeting.
( almost relief)
compared to the pain
carried
inside the heart.
And it is always
the hands
that 'love' us
that cause the
greatest
damage
to the soul.
©Personal Property of Vivid X Photography ( Damages)

For my friend..

This is all a journey,
and neither of us knows
    the destination.
 Let us just enjoy
whatever road we travel together,
 for however long fate allows,
no matter where it all ends.
Hold my hand, sweet friend
and walk beside me
 for there are places
 I do not wish
  to go without you.

© Photograph courtesy of Damian Wild (Footsteps in the Snow)

Because the night belongs to us..

talk to me..

Hi Christine..

Thanks for dropping by...AGAIN.

  
   I feel like I could
reach out and touch you.
   Right now.
   as if there is only
 a sliver of air
   in between our worlds,
and this distance
  is not real at all.

I have a stalker

Her name is Christine.
I think she wants a poem about her.
But I don't write poems
about crazy women.

Not Beautiful.

  I have never been the woman
Society would call "beautiful"
  I am far too plain for that word,
with my imperfect skin
   and my crooked smile.
   my breasts,
            (or my body,)
will never grace
       a magazine cover
  but they served a much higher purpose.
    They have fed my children
  comforted their tears,
     and many a weary heart.
  My stomach bears the scars
  and the war wounds of birth
    and my hips are testament
 to late night dinners and not
   enough time for a gym.
 My thighs betray me
    and refuse to comply
with the standards of the jean industry.
  but they are warm, and soft
 And safe enough for a nap,
   and nimble enough to wrap
   around a lover's waist.
  No, society would never
call me "beautiful"
   But their definition is far
too limited  to encompass
 everything I am... 

©Natalie Simmons for Vivid X Photography  (Say Cheese)

Is it raining with you..?

Words are elusive today. My soul needs the rain and the waves.
Would anyone care to dance?

A question..

 Does the beauty of desire
lie simply in unattainment?
 Is it in the need to aquire
that which we do not have?
 would the sadness dissipate
if we were to hold our dreams?
 or, as I  anticipate,
when desire is fullfilled...
   are we evermore sad ?

©Vivid X Photography ( Desire)

Haunted...

Do you feel it,
when we occupy the same place
  in the same moment?
Does your pulse
 suddenly race,
  your breath
come a little faster;
  Do you feel my
presence in your soul?
  Reach out. Touch me.
Make real this ghost
  that drifts through your heart.

©Vivid X Photography ( Haunted)

Heaven isn't too far away...

I just learned a few minutes ago that an old friend passed away. I wasn't given the details of his death, though I have my suspicions on what they were. He has long been known as a drug addict; trying many, many times to clean himself up. He was a talented man, who drifted into the abyss of what had been, and no longer was.
  He was kind hearted, if a little selfish at times, and his intentions were good even if he couldn't follow through. He was human, but forced to live up to a standard of which even the best would fall short.  It is the human, not the image, I mourn.

 I am so sorry, J. This wasn't the right ending. I wish it was written quite differently. We will miss you.

Jani Lane 2/1/64 -8/11/11

 ©Personal Property of Vivid X Photography ( Jani )

Hope is a Razor..

Im drifting deeper into this abyss
And it is hope lighting the path
all the way into the depths
from which I will never return.
It is hope that fills my lungs
 with its suffocating dreams
keeping me walking when
I would have long given up
 this treacherous  road.
It is hope feeding my hunger
with morsels of faintest truth
fueling my faith to believe
in what may not be real.
 It is hope,
and its beautiful lies
leading me into
the very darkness
I am longing to escape

Hi Christine

Thanks for dropping by.

Poetry in Song

It leads you here, despite your destination...

This says everything I need to say...

Undivided.

I walk the middle ground
I will not choose sides.
I am not a bringer of tales
or a gossip of lies
a word given in trust
 I would keep to my grave
my loyalties, undivided
  for that is my way.
I only stand on the beach
and witness the change of the tides.
I walk the middle ground
 I will not choose sides

To You, and New Beginnings..

Unpacking a box tonight,
     memories
from a different life
 I caught your scent.
My heart stilled.
  For a brief moment
I breathed you in
and remembered...
 a hotel room
pelted by freezing rain and wind
 and being warm and naked with you...
 a cool spring night
 sitting on a front porch
that didnt belong to either of us...
  laughing about nothing...
  talking about everything...
  Holding hands just to be touching..
Calling twice a day
 just to hear the voice on the other end.
         and sometimes
 just to listen to the closeness...
   and for the first time
 in a long time
I smiled with the memories,
  and set the pain aside.
I poured myself a glass of wine
 ( unpacking is thirsty work)
 and though I was alone
 I drank a toast to you
         and to new beginnings.
   And put the empty box away...

 ©Vivid X Photography ( New Morning)

Connected..

There is this.. thing.. between you and me
and what it is defies explanation
some kind of strange connection
and its the only thing
between us that was real.

So we hold on to the last ties that bind us
all the laughter and the conversation
seems to be all thats left worth saving.
and its the only thing
between us you didnt steal.

now we walk this path together,
 to figure out our expectations
each step a careful consideration
and its the only thing
between us to help us heal.

©Vivid X Photography ( Connected)

The Moon and I

The moon and I
we talk sometimes
   And in our walks
on star strung paths
  the midnight skies
 call out to me
 and memories
  go rushing past

 The moon and I
we take no notice
when the plans of fate
 are rearranged 
 though sands of time
 shift around us
we alone
are left unchanged.

The moon and I

We talk sometimes

 We spill our secrets

     as sisters do

  And when we speak

of great loves we've known
  the moon I
We speak of you...

©Vivid X Photography ( Missing You) 

If only it were so simple...

If only it were so simple
to reach beyond this distance
I would be there, right now
with you.

And if it were so simple
to ease your mind
and mend your soul
I would know exactly what to do.

If it were just so simple
to make a life
outside these words
We could build it with only our dreams

If only it were so simple
we would already share our love,
and our lives
but nothing is ever as simple as it seems.

This poem was inspired by a simple,and eloquent one line poem by Laena. Thank you, Laena, for allowing me to use your words.


©Vivid X Photography(Simplicity)

Happiness...

"It is clear that feelings of love, affection, closeness and compassion bring happiness. I believe that every one of us has the means to be happy, to access the warm and compassionate states of mind that bring happiness. In fact, it is one of my fundamental beliefs that not only do we inherently possess the potential for compassion, but I believe that the basic or underlying nature of human beings is gentleness."
~Dalai Lama

I hope this is true, Teacher. So far, I have found gentleness to be a rare quality among human beings.

Namaste, Teacher. Thank you for the lesson.

A Note To My Readers...

I will be splitting "The M Xperience" into three separate blogs. I will be using this blog address solely for poetry. The short stories, flash fiction, and erotica will be moved to different blogs: www.themxperienceshorts.blogspot.com for the stories and flash fiction ; and www.themxperiencex3.blogspot.com for the erotica.

Some pieces will be cross posted as necessary, however, ALL erotica poetry will be confined to the x3 blog page.

Thank you all for reading, commenting and supporting my work through your interest.

~ Max Xavier

I am...

I am the scent of rain in the air
Before a single drop splashes

I am the prickle of static on your skin
before the strike of lightning flashes

I am the insistent gentle breeze
Before the hurricane forms

I am the calm of the ocean
and I am the rage of the storm...

©Vivid X Photography (Summer Storm)

Burnt Offerings...

My heart was a barren landscape
only ruins of what was real,
and the charred hollows
of what might have been.

even the memories of us
were scattered to the wind
like ashes from a pyre;
burnt offerings to the god of despair.

Your apologies echoed here
but could find no ground for roots
Seeds of remorse cannot thrive
in such a hostile environment.

And then came the snow.
Cold,bitter and clean
like the hardest of truths.
It numbed my soul

But even the deepest snow melts
and the scorched earth was washed clean again
and the ashes of what was
were all swept away.

So here we are my friend
blank slates and willing souls.
the landscape is still barren..
yet waits for new beginnings

©Vivid X Photography ( Burnt Offerings)