Next Best Thing

 

It was perpetual summer, richly fragrant with potent mary jane and pungent patchouli.

I was sixteen.

She was two years older – so far out of my league that she should never have even noticed me.  And yet somehow I was there, amazed at my good fortune, hopelessly in love with her, and in complete awe of her friends. They were ultra hip, achingly cool and comfortably rich.

Whereas I owned the Levi’s I stood up in, a couple of faded shirts, a borrowed guitar, and my notebook of spidery poems.

There was a gentle candle-lit dinner party in one of daddy’s spare houses.  The room was beamed and flagged and full of style and music. I was a pretty boy – an amusing novelty to wear like a trinket on her arm.  Although I never realised that at the time.

The conversation turned to views of what a perfect partner might be.  She waxed lyrical about what would excite her.  Intelligence, a sense of humour, a slim, slender physique, a writer, a revolutionary, a mass of golden curls, eyes that could both command and romance.  I swear she was looking at me. I thought she was talking about me.  I was young, proud and special.  I had smoked perhaps a little too much dope.

‘Thank you.’ I said, when she had finished.

There was moment of stunned silence before the table erupted with mocking laughter.  She reached across and patted my hand.

‘Oh, darling boy.  Did you think I meant you?’

I lowered my eyes, blushing fiercely, almost tearful at my own stupidity.

‘Don’t worry,’ she consoled me. ‘you are the next best thing.’  There was more laughter.

It was an instructive and humbling moment that I promised myself I would never forget.

It still lives on, all these years later, in my e-mail address:

nextthing@_________

.

.

As I continue to go through pieces of my past, I found this. I first posted it in 2012 writing about a memory of my teens that never faded. I suspect we have all had moments like these in our formative years.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph by Matt Eaton

 

Black dresses

 

I am not fond of Christmas

especially when it begins

so early

tacky and commercial

a festival of bad taste.

.

And yet it is a season of parties

mistletoe kisses

flirtation and assignation

and lovely women

in sexy black dresses

and seriously seductive heels.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

I wrote and posted this about the same time two years ago and also last year. It amused me so I have reposted it now.

 

Drawn to beauty

 

I cannot help

but be drawn to beauty

in literature

in art

in music.

 

In pure mountains

in endless deserts

in still lakes

in dark forests

in perfect silence.

 

In the ever-changing skies

and in the wild seas.

 

And in you

sweet angel.

So much in you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Posted a couple of years ago – repeated because my love for beauty grows ever deeper.

Art by Andre Kohn

 

Minor Tragedy

 

On a human scale

it was a very

minor tragedy.

 

After all

no one was maimed

or tortured

or raped

or killed.

 

No one was

made homeless

without food

or shelter

or country.

 

No one was lost

forever

at sea.

 

On a human scale

it was a very

minor tragedy.

 

Just two lovers

two hearts

two minds

two bodies

two souls

once joined

coming adrift.

 

But it still

hurt like fuck.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Diego Dayer

 

 

 

Carry Fire

 

You probably won’t have heard this one – I only discovered it yesterday – it is off a brand new album released a couple of days ago.

It is by the legendary Led Zeppelin frontman Robert Plant who has being making great music all his life – he is now 70. If you like music of quality, depth and variety you should listen to his solo work.

“Carry Fire’ is the title track off his latest album. The song (one of longing, pain and perhaps regret) is an intoxicating mix of rock and Middle Eastern influences (which I adore). His extremely talented band – which includes fiddle player extraordinare Seth Lakeman – produce a track of considerable musical beauty and intense, restrained energy.

I am currently playing this on repeat and becoming more intoxicated by its hyponotic power on every listen.

Oh, and the video is a delight too.

(This is another of my irregular posts about songs I like that you might not know)

.

.

‘Carry Fire’ written by © Plant, Adams, Baggot, Fuller, Smith, Tyson and performed by Robert Plant and the Sensational Shape Shifters

This post © the author writing as Romantic Dominant

 

CARRY FIRE

I sit and wait for you
Like so many others do
Just like they do for me
Well so I do for you

I’d carry fire for you
Here in my naked hands
I’d bare my heart to you
If you will understand

I was a stranger there
Inside your promised land
That turned me inside out
And turned me upside down

I’d carry fire for you
Here in my naked hands
I’d bare my heart to you
If you will understand

Just like
Just like
Just like I scarred you
Just like
Just like
Just like I scarred you

I’m reaching out for you
Across the broken gate
I feel the gathering years
Beyond these lonely wastes

I’d carry fire for you
Here in my naked hands
I’d bare my heart to you
If you will understand

Just like
Just like
Just like I scarred you
Just like
Just like
Just like I scarred you

 

She has it

 

He adores women.

Their curves, their elegance, the softness of their silky skin. The way their bodies sway when they walk, Their sense of humour, their warmth, their generosity, their clear, incisive intelligence.

He adores their hair, their eloquent eyes, the hallowed velvet of their throat, the aching sensuality of their thighs.

He adores their femininity, their courage, their balance, their insanity. The way they talk so intimately amongst themselves.

He adores their resilience, their vulnerability. their anger, their passion, their truth and their lies.

He adores their motherhood, their sisterhood, their sainthood, He adores their independence, their sociability, their ability to survive.

He adores the fact that he finds them all so desperately, outrageously fucking sexy.

And yet there is something. Something that turns adoration into hungry desire.

Something intangible, wild, expressive, beautiful, endearing, submissive, strong and utterly mesmerizing that compels him. Something that captivates him completely.

She has it.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Francine van Hove

I originally posted this four years ago.  It is my hymn to women in general. Although when it was written it may well have been for one in particular. And who knows, it might even be for one now.

 

as Woman

If I was a grand architect of design.

If I was the master of texture, colour, shape, style and beauty.

If I could mould and fashion and forge personality, intelligence, sensitivity, sensuality, generosity and strength.

If I possessed the perfect, potent power of pure magic

If I was a wild-eyed cosmic genius with a boundless, endless, limitless imagination.

If my creativity dwarfed and humbled every artist, scientist, writer, sculptor and mathematician who had ever graced the planet.

Even if I had dominion over all things

I still could never create a creature

as unique

and as extraordinary

as Woman.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marcos Beccari

I first wrote and posted this a few years ago – and as every year passes, I believe it more.

 

The wonder of it

 

 

You can turn me round

whichever way

I am facing.

You can lift me up

to be high

when I am down.

You can make me see

and sense

and feel

the wonder

of it all.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Max Gasparini

 

 

Mine

 

You know

you have

been mine

in a hundred

hidden pasts.

.

You will

be mine

in countless futures

to come.

.

You are mine

now.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Vicente Romero

 

 

 

Upon your throat

 

I adore

your neck

and shoulders

elegant

exquisite

eloquent

completely bare

save for the cascade

of your hair

and my kiss

upon your throat.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Pasquale Picazio