Title blurb




"From one LIGHT come many colors." ~GJ Dürrschmidt

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Morning Would




I’m awake at
five forty seven,
feeling perky,
and a
little bit lewd;
drinking a
vodka-orange,
eating leftover
Chinese food.

Think I’ll go
sit outdoors
in my undies,
and welcome in
the new morn;
perhaps it’ll
inspire poetry,
perhaps with a
slight hint of porn.

~gj duerrschmidt



For more by this writer, visit:

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Taboo (a poem): In the quiet stillness I would lay...




In the quiet stillness
I would lay,
dreaming about how
we might play;

if I weren’t as timid
as a mouse,
and got you to come
to my house;

we’d run our fingers
here and there,
tickle our bodies so
young and fair;

clothed in darkness
in my room,
under the blankets
I’d assume;

touching new places
we’d not been,
doing what’s natural,
far from sin.

How sweet the tho’t
of me ‘n you,
fucking back then, if
it weren’t taboo.

~gj duerrschmidt



For more by this writer, visit:

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Shades of Gray




Cast
aside
your
need
for
black
and
white,
and
play
with
me
amid
the
shades
of
gray.

~g
  j

 d
 u
 e
 r
 r
 s
 c
 h
 m
 i
 d
 t





For more by this writer, visit: 
 

Sunday, May 13, 2012

The French Fry Lady




In a busy, crowded
diner,
sits a white woman,
middle-aged,
and
middle class;

Having lunch with
her lady
friends, sharing
gossip,
and
talking crass.

While at another
table,
sits a black woman,
poorly dressed,
with
a young son;

Leaning to tell
the boy
they’ve enough
for one small soda,
and a
burger on a bun.

The three women
soon
get their lunches:
deluxe everything
with
tons of fries.

The young mother
tries to
dissuade her son,
not to stare
with
hungry eyes.

 Calling the waitress
over,
the white woman
quietly asks
another
plate of fries,

To be added to her
order,
but taken to the
mother and son,
free,
as a surprise.

The young boy
smiles
with eyes so big,
when the fries
are
first set down.

Knowing there’s
no such
thing as free lunch,
his mother turns
and
looks around.

In a busy, crowded
diner,
sits a white woman,
middle-aged
and
middle class;

Having lunch with
her lady
friends, sharing
gossip,
and
talking crass.

~gj duerrschmidt




For more by this writer, visit:




Saturday, May 12, 2012

Diversery Rhyme: Three Men in a Tub




Let’s take a little time
with  a nursery rhyme,
about these three
guys bathing.

It’s innocent enough.
They’re in the buff.
But, to some it might
seem scathing.

Rub a dub, dub,
three men in the tub?
What was that author
thinking?

Three strapping studs
playing in suds,
grabbing for soap
that’s sinking!

“Ooooh, that’s not it,
you silly twit!
Here, let us both reach
in and help you.”

Rub and tug, tug,
three men in the tub,.
oh what big fun in
such a small venue!

~gj duerrschmidt

For more by this writer, visit:


Thursday, May 10, 2012

Same Sex Marriage: You May Now Hide the Bride




I’m covertly in love with someone,
who prefers that no one else know.
When I call him on his cell phone,
a faceless icon appears, yes, it’s so.

I’m forbidden to be on his Facebook,
for all his friends and family to see;
how could he explain my comments,
he says, and justify what he is to me.

We’ve lived two lives for years now,
outside, we are simply good friends;
but in private we morph into lovers,
burning with passion that never ends.

Now he’s talking rings and marriage,
but demands that I must first agree,
to keep the news that we’re husband 
and husband, between us for eternity.

~gj duerrschmidt


For more by this writer, visit:

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Florida Keys: Paradise Interrupted (or, an old man's lament)




So, I sit and wonder
     laughing at my inability
     to surf the Internet
as I scratch my gut
     reminding me that
     I’ve lost my desirability
to the young and beautiful
     and, ask myself why
     why, damn it!? Why?
How has it gotten this way?
     and here I am again
     another weekend alone
clutching my remote control
     eating macaroni and cheese
     in my luxury Florida beach home
an old guy and a hundred houseplants
     tropical fish and a dozen wind chimes
     given up on material dreams
watching my sons become alcoholics
     and my cock
     go unused

~gj duerrschmidt


More from this writer at: