Gay Writer needs your love (I swear to God it’s not what you think)

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unsplash-logoDmitry Bayer

Hey Everyone.

I am really excited to bring to your attention something that I think I should have been doing for a while now.

As most (all three of you) know that I post my poetry online for free, I have decided (my husband has decided) that I should post them as well as my fiction online through Patreon.

I know this whole system is somewhat controversial but I try (at least on my Patreon page) not to be. The access is broken down into levels that I think are pretty cool and would allow me more writing time and more focus on content creating instead of running around Hell’s Half Acre (Hi Sam and Dean).

Besides being a poet, I write fiction. Mostly gay fiction in the paranormal genre and if you’re an author like me you know that when you type ‘The End’ the real work is just beginning even if you are traditionally published.

I would like to deliver the best product I can to the people who spend their hard earned dollars on the stories and poetry that I create and I just need some backup ( Marvel or DC doesn’t matter) to help me do that.

So, without further ado – here’s my site www.patreon.com/fefeeleyjr

Come by and visit.  I hope you like the place.

Thank you

You loved my fire….

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unsplash-logoMohamed Nohassi

You said you were attracted to my fire, passion
you saw me burning from ten thousand miles away
We were born on the same date
two children of the God Mars
and I was enchanted by your kindness toward me

It was an easy thing
Fire and fire burns brighter, higher,
illuminating the night
You pointed out the familiar
and I could taste the same poison
on your skin, I was familiar with

With ease, our sex, the weight around our neck
bound to who we are by social chains
I found a friend that I needed
a doppelganger, an echo, perhaps vanity
seductively talking to my own ego

You’d crossed the bridge and created love
without the complications of the flesh
a pure thing, this little inferno
which promised the potential of a future
a friendship to span the ages

Yet something went wrong
a cold east wind blew in through the night
and before I had known you crossed back
across the gulf leaving me holding
the little inferno in my hands
making excuses for yourself the entire way

But one thing you weren’t expecting
was the actions I would take
as I cast the friendship down and watched the bridge burn
I realized fifteen years prior when I didn’t burn so sure
I would have acquiesced to the idea of time and place and purpose

Yet, that isn’t my truth now
I rage equally in love and in hate
in fear and in pain
I burn in the night the same for all who needs me
but I do have one question,
now that your choices have been made
and the bridge between us has been destroyed

“How do you like my fire now?”

 

Empty Threats (poem)

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unsplash-logoChristian Sterk

It started with a statement on the television
from the leader of the free world
‘He want’s to hang all of em’
he said with a smile and a hand gesture
as they talked about men, like me

My chest tightened
the floor fell away and suddenly
I was falling without moving
Shaking, sweating,
the rope tightened around my neck
“You are dying,” my mind screamed

Empty threats
from an exhausted mind,
fear of murder of my own kind,
where can I run?
Now that liberty’s run dry

I am not on my own anymore
my vagabond existence
two trash bags of clothes in the trunk
fleeing my past as soon as it
catches up with me

No more no-name face
no more hooking up
with cigarette smiles
trying to remember what’s his name
some random fuck, in some random place

there’s another, now
a family, now
I’m a husband, now
trapped by my vows
my marriage license now
a potential death warrant

Two pills a day
significant weight gain
gasping for breath at the edge of sleep
empty threats from my
tired brain
God, how do I deal with this?

I feel like there’s a storm coming
and I’m naked and standing in a field
with mud up to my knees
how long before it crawls up to my chest
and down my throat?
How long before the empty threat,
becomes too real?

Filos (Poem)

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the clouds drift
in blue skies above my head
pirate ships in silent sailing masts filled
golden sunlight
kisses my body 
in midst of wildflowers and tall grasses
buzzing sounds
as sweet as a lullaby

lay next to me
interpret with me
the holy writ in the stars we can’t see
and let us disagree
and laugh
romance isn’t just for sex
nor for lovers
be my friend first
and be willing to stay here

Water, air
let me breathe
inhale who you are, feed me
and I’ll roar when you need inspiration
protection
I’ll burn away perceived imperfections
be the mother, brother, spouse
to my soul
friend and I’ll return to you

Let us ponder the spider’s silk
inches away from our faces
suspended between blades of grass
and wonder at it
let us write poetry dedicated
to Gaia – mother – the dust
from where we’ll return
there’s no war here
to contest
let us keep each other close
without complications

passion can be pure
no sin
no hurt feelings in golden shafts
of God’s presence
am I selfish?
not when the crickets sing, friend
not when clouds have angels wings
can we map this out?
and laugh at the babbling brook
laying head to head
watching the world pass us by?

the clouds pass by
sunsets come and burn the sky
lightning bugs rise from the ground
and spirits walk
love me – filos
and like the stone, or the tree planted
by the water
I shall not be moved

What Contentment tastes like (poem)

 

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I can hear a dove sing
in the tree outside my window
with sore muscles and tired eyes
I listen to the sound of my husband
shuffling through books he’d brought from home
muttering to himself about the wisdom of they
who’d left part of themselves for the world
to learn from.
My belly is full of lunch that I made
with no thoughts other than to fill a hungry space
happy to listen to the world outside my window
Last night, a storm blew through our town
with thunder the sound of cannon fire
and flashes of white, dangerous, and angry lightning
that illuminated the shadows of the witching hour
The rain sloshed heavy against the windows
and I – knowing he loved it – woke him to listen
and listen he did; grabbing a pillow and a blanket
he turned from my bed and laid down on the couch before two living room windows with the blinds drawn back
and I on the floor beneath him
Happily- he watched until his breath slowed
warm and protected in the midst of the gale
I waited
until at last the reigns were pulled back and the tempest
eased and shifted – I returned to my bed
Now, today, the sun warm once again I sit in the quiet
with the leftover taste of coffee on my tongue
my husband thumbing through tomes muttering to himself
I smile, knowing this is what contentment tastes like.

The man by the river (poem)

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(Photo by Farrel Noble)
Three a.m and the wind blows heavy across the night
I’ve been writing about a man I once was
A love story about a man I once knew
Who loved me years ago
In that city by a river
He was a good man
Deserving of so much better than I
But I was selfish and in pain
When I sang karaoke at ‘Somewhere
Bar and no Grill.’
I was a refugee – an Anne Frank
Hiding above in a little apartment
For the world below was frightful and filled with teeth
And by that point, i too had learned to bite
And some nights I would leave
My lovers bed and drive to that city on the river
Let myself in only to fall asleep on a mattress
On the floor
When I would wake in the morning
His head rested on the mattress
And he hugged himself
To keep off the chill
All in an effort to be close to me
I didn’t know it then
But that was what love looked like
And I didn’t know it then
But that was a safe house
And while I didn’t know it then
I knew a man loved me in his little apartment in the city by the river
And now that I know what love is
To him, I say thank you
You were my Memphis in that tiny little apartment in that city by the river

What makes a man, a man? (poem)

 

 

What is it about my sex?
exuding strength, agility, power
is it the energy?
potential and kinetic?
that makes a man a man?

Is it the muscle, the scent
virility?
is it the potential to create life
from my loins
or take it away with my hands?
what makes a man, a man?

is it the crossroads of hard and tender
hungry and horny and needing to be needed?
is it the testosterone that rages in my body
making my blood boil
or is the feathery kisses and tender words spoken
when the sun peeks through the window in the morning?
What makes a man, a man?

and to what do we say to those
men who seek the same things they themselves possess?
that desire the same intersection of power and submissiveness?
that need equal to them or greater
someone with whom to share their life with
what makes a man, want men?

I revel in my desire, my body, my mind
Yet, I feel the pinpricks of love pierce
the beating heart in my chest
and have come to some conclusion, a truth of what
and who I am

that man made male in gender is one thing
but to be a man one must decide what to do with one’s power
so being a man isn’t male, your sex and orientation is an assignment
what makes a man, a man
is a choice.