Tags
Blindfold, Humour, imagination, It's all in the eyes, Once upon a walk . . ., Recrudescence, Restraint, Rhapsody in blindfolded blue, Trusssssssssssstinmeeeeee, What a Carry On
This is the final draft of the following piece, just as it shall appear within The Book With No Name (I shalln’t have people nicking said appellation and then turning it into film, or a hat, or the like, so it’s under wraps for now) that esme intends to present to the world (hopefully within the next year or ten). A small handful of you will have seen an earlier draft version, but it shall be new to most. I’ve been told it is good form to show sneaky peeks of that which is to come, and so shall do just that every now and again. All the artwork shall be held back until I hold a copy of said book in my own small, somewhat ink-stained fist. All and any feedback would be welcomed and appreciated – if it doesn’t work for you tell me why; it is unlikely I shall release the hounds, (unlikely but not impossible), if it does, how so? If you hate it keep shtum, have a sticky bun, and go play in the sewer over there – points down towards Westminster Palace.
So, ladies, gentlemen, sirs, misses (Ooh I say matron), and you in the corner with your face painted as a platypus, I give you . . .
Trust in Me
Come with me,
Blindfolded,
Hands bound,
With only myself there,
The sudden centre of your senses,
Focused intently, entirely,
On where I lead you.
You might be pushed off a cliff,
Descending face first,
Smashed as a bag of bone shards,
The air still holding
The remnants of your scream.
Or led into a field,
Pollen tickling nasal passages,
A red flag tucked neatly
Into the back of your trouser waistband,
Hanging down to knee level,
Flapping merrily in the wind.
Nothing to hear but the hammer of your heartbeat
And the drumming of the bull’s hooves
As they bear down on you.
As you become the china.
A level crossing;
I swiftly duck your head beneath the barrier,
Then stand stock still.
My hands, resting upon your shoulders,
Push down and have you sat on the rails,
Zen-like, legs crossed,
Awaiting the coming express,
Arriving in sixty seconds’ time.
The gritty scent of salty air.
Into Sea World we go,
Through a sneaky side gate.
One sharp shove of the elbow
And off you fly.
Orca has her luncheon provided.
Nothing left of you bar your wounded watch,
Ticking away obediently.
Or into the trees,
The whispering thicket.
Till I halt you in your tracks.
My hands gently holding your face,
Lips brushing your mouth softly,
Knots untied.
Your eyes unmasked
Take in a picnic prepared in the shady glade.
Food to be consumed greedily,
After greedily consuming each other.
Finger-licking nirvana.
Here’s the blindfold.
You’ll do it . . . if you trust in me.
Esme's Cloud 
Love this! A sensory delight
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Thank you! That’s just the effect I was after – beams
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Ginger perv!
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Gingers are fabulous sir.
Kj may well be a perv though. I can’t comment on that.
Thank you for your insightful words Mr Pink.
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I think she’s a Professional Cloud Molester 😀
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Well it is on the invite.
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I like this very much – a definite sense of danger but also of something more sensual. Quite the clever manner in which to convey trust. Bravo, I say!
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Bows – Thank you Lucy! I’m chuffed you enjoyed it – the idea being that at the end you really don’t know if you can trust in she/he, or will end up in concrete overcoat somewhere. It’s a leap of faith! Hahahahaha.
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Well, this one certainly ‘wounded’ my watch, Esme. Highly erotic. You’ve played on the relationship between fear and heightened sexual feeling to magnificent effect, yet with the lightness of touch only a true seductress employs. It’s brilliantly impressionistic in its treading the terrain of lust and desire – suggestion being almost always more alluring than overtness, and quite obviously so in the written word. I think the manner in which you’ve covered the orgasm scene – how she leaves him, post-coital, “Ticking away obediently” with only a metronomic pulse and an empty head – is quite perfectly drawn. All considered, well worth risking being pushed over a cliff when returning for a second encounter, as any man surely would.
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You’ve been through this with a tooth comb sir! The last two lines of ‘Orca’ may, just may, have a wee shade, of a hint of a tint, at the possibility, perhaps, of that which you describe (falls about – well spotted on your part Hariod). I like it when people go digging, whether they are correct regarding the original intent or not, they are always going to be spot on ultimately for they found their own gold nuggets down there as well – nods smiling
“yet with the lightness of touch only a true seductress employs.” – I have no idea what you mean – chucks a sticky bun at him and pegs it laughing
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Well, I figured it was either that or a killer whale mysteriously appearing on the railway tracks; the latter seeming, on balance, the least likelier of the two.
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What are you on about? They’re all potential separate options – the suggestion isn’t that you’d be blindfolded, chucked off a cliff, taken to a railway line in a field, tied to it, then chased by a bull which has a killer whale on its back whilst you’re being handed sarnies and a scotch egg!* (*vegan). That would be some date I can tell you!
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Hariod, do be humble – she has a pointer in her hand. Ahem. 😉
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I know Carmen, and I think the safest bet is that I continue to assume there to be no killer whale on the tracks. Although it does now appear to have been an option. Quite how it might have conveyed itself there is a mystery to me, I must confess.
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Well hot damn! Tubularsock being on the outer edges of the former English Empire has just a colonial-colloquial knowledge of these things that Esme writes and by George, Tubularsock did assume that the killer whale did appear on the railway tracks for lack of a ticket for the 5:30 express!
It is just logical. If a killer whale is traveling from “sea to shinning sea” it wouldn’t take a local!
Cheers ……….
Excellent work Esme, all kidding aside.
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Hariod isn’t a full shilling Tubular, it’s not nice to poke fun at the afflicted. – falls about laughing and sees H staring at the dots hard
“Excellent work Esme, all kidding aside.” – Mega thanks Tubular, I do so appreciate you travelling to the Cloud to give esme such positive feedback. – smiles happily
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Right, let’s clear this whole matter up, Esme, for the sake of Tubular and myself. Did the killer whale in fact eat the young man, spitting out his watch whilst he masticated – the whale, not the man (who was not masticating at the time) – or did it not? Now, if it did, how was the young man able to attend the picnic; or was it actually the whale who picnicked with the young lady?
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It was a rave, and they were all completely hammered on drugs, so hard to say.
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Love the juxtaposition of beauty and destruction. (she impedes the urge to use the ellipsis) 🙂
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Ha! well restrained Carmen, as indeed you might be on a journey like that. – laughs a lot – thank you with palms meeting for the words, most appreciated.
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Mmm, exCEPTIONAL Lady Esme! ❤
If I may, and if you’d like a soft musical accompaniment to this, along my personal lines of sorcery…
Just a do-what-you-will passing thought. (grin)
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ThANk YoU ProffesSOR!
“Just a do-what-you-will passing thought. (grin)” – Indeed, it fits some elements of the poem very well actually, barring the dogs. I don’t think the dogs fit the song or the poem, but the rest of the imagery is pleasantly hypnotic, (there’s nude bits and bobs a-flashing in there, but I can’t see any of my readers passing out – it’s no racier than Goldfrapp gets) – esme is suddenly knocked over by a stampede of readers trying to nonchalantly watch the video
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Bwahahahaha! Ahh yes, the quite natural primal side of human emotions liberated attracts even the staunchest prude, eh?
(laughs maniacally at the full Moon with both arms raised to the night sky!)
“Come, bring us all your downtrodden conformists! Esme and I will make libertines of them yet!” (wicked wink & grin)
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I don’t think esme attracts prudes. I really don’t. Hahahahaha. It’s just that some of the libertines here are a little more subtle than others Prof – * nods, laughs a lot and watches the howling business going on*
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Ahh, did I over do it a little? (winks with a subtle pucker ready)
Hehehe
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Perhaps a soupçon, nothing noticable.
HAHAHAHAHAHA.
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Well, that was a hand-over-the-mouth guffaw. 🙂
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Hahahahaha! Ahh, I SO ADORE YOU my Lady! (hug)
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I should bloody hope so!
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I imagine amongst the afternoon’s basket’s picnic’s* foodstuff there’s a prickly pear in there—somewhere. Wherein for its succulence it’s to be deftly handled to allow for some canny consumption!
V. Good Mrs!
should one make it to last base of course/due course/ and not go off course
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“there’s a prickly pear in there” – Careful handling called for indeed sir, though there may be less prickles on the pickles (know your onions)
“V. Good Mrs!” – Thank you! – cartwheels without showing fruit (just about)
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‘(HAS ANYONE BESIDES ME EVER NOTICED THIS BLOG SEEMS TO BE ALL ABOUT ESME)’
An open letter from
The President and Founder
Poetry, it’s a tricky business. That is for sure. For darn sure some would say, but you know that. Most do, or some do anyway. Perhaps a few of those who come around here (breathing strangely, looking a little too moist, standing like they’ve pulled a muscle and are hoping you’d massage it) know the extent of the trickiness involved in the art of poetry (and it is an art, believe me, not like that blasted MMA with all its sweating and bleeding and (as if that weren’t enough to send you screaming) lots of cursing as well), though honestly, even if they (those glistening heavy breathers in search of a rub down) know this, they don’t understand it, not really. But, that’s okay, right? Sure, of course it is. There’s stuff (all kinds of stuff) you, I’m guessing, don’t understand. Me as well, although most likely less than most. And, so, as this is the case, I will now generously provide you with a few of my thoughts on your above offering.
I like it.
Now, that’s not to say it reminds me of my niece, because it doesn’t, though, truthfully, it would be strange if it did put me in mind of my niece as I have no niece, but, if you can, imagine the power of a poem that could remind you of a relation you don’t have! That would be the kind of thing Governments would want to get their hands on in order to subjugate the people or some other diabolical doing I don’t even want to, for a moment, consider. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your view of humanity), your above offering would not be able to do that. Not to say you’re not capable of aiding a Government in its quest to enslave the people, you probably are (I know I would gladly if I could), but, perhaps this power of yours will remain concealed until the appropriate time (for the enslavement of all mankind) which will assuredly coincide with the release of your book (and then God help humanity!). Anyway, as I was saying, I like it (your above offering that is), and it does not remind me of my niece (who doesn’t exist). Which is fine, and we’ve covered that already, so (for the sake of our sanity and because we’re all extremely busy), on to something else that it (and by ‘it’ I mean, and this is the last time I will explain it, the above offering) does (or did, and, one would hope always would do). And, that would be that it lead me very well (though I did not submit to being blindfolded as reading with my eyes covered (like poetry) is tricky business), and after leading me did make me happy to have been so lead. In fact, it now occurs to me that the experience is reminiscent of something other than my nonexistent niece. That is to say, my initial reaction to and then the subsequent action of allowing myself to be lead through your above offering reminds me of a (lovely) summer’s day long ago when a cousin of mine did ask me to join him for a bike ride around the lake upon which we were staying in a deceptively rustic looking cabin. I say ‘deceptively’ for the interior of the cabin was much more ‘Manhattan’ than ‘Green Acres’, but anyway what matters is the bike ride. The long and short of it is I moaned and whined incessantly against going on the bike ride until, exasperated at my constant sad sack behavior, my Mother (as she often did) offered to really give me something to cry about, and so, I went on the bike ride and had a wonderful time I remember until this day.
However, I’m afraid that there is one negative comment I must make in regards to your above offering. Just a small thing really. A personal thing, the details of which I would rather not go into, but, for the purposes of recovery I must briefly mention here, and that is, the horrifying trauma I experienced upon reading the following words,
“Finger-licking nirvana”
Your best pal,
The President and Founder
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“Perhaps a few of those who come around here (breathing strangely, looking a little too moist, standing like they’ve pulled a muscle and are hoping you’d massage it)” – (esme will be laughing at this for weeks, nay possibly years to come)
“I will now generously provide you with a few of my thoughts on your above offering.
I like it.”
Thank you President and Founder, I am more than a little moved – (esme is at present peddling furiously on a tricycle ’round a blow up paddling pool)
“Now, that’s not to say it reminds me of my niece, because it doesn’t, though, truthfully, it would be strange if it did put me in mind of my niece as I have no niece” – All of the niece parts, and the rest of the writing above, and the words below that you have written have me laughing so much I am, it is safe to say, in actual fits. Sore to the tum fits in fact, so I expect you to pay (not a ‘toupee’ to clarify, though I will consider a fake bun if it’s ridiculously large and ginger) if any medical aids are needed in the near (or far, how about them apples?!!) future.
“And, that would be that it lead me very well (though I did not submit to being blindfolded as reading with my eyes covered (like poetry) is tricky business), and after leading me did make me happy to have been so lead.” – I’m hoping you will help out with the publicity for the book, meting out small sound-bites such as this would be priceless for advertising purposes.
“but, for the purposes of recovery I must briefly mention here, and that is, the horrifying trauma I experienced upon reading the following words,
“Finger-licking nirvana”” – Sorry about that, I’ve heard of the compromising video of course, but never seen it, (though I believe your hat features prominently and was put forward for several awards), and really should have known better than to be so clearly thoughtless.
A stupendous comment (and post) from you President and Founder. When we hit the big time you get 6% of all earnings and all the baked beans you can eat. Imagine that!!
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Hello Esme. I do not have the literary bent of some of your more expressive followers. However if you will permit I do have a few ideas on your wonderful work of word and emotion. Two thoughts actually, but they are related.
First while not into any sort of bondage nor deprivation myself I have often claimed the true power is in being a submissive in a relationship where the dominant party’s only wish is to make the submissive happy. Such is my life. I worry about little, I have no responsibility, and I trust fully. I know not of funds nor do I need to. I have no idea of bills and am not expected to. My wants and needs are taken care of without even my asking. I simply trust my husband of 26 years and he has never let me down. That is not to say I am not capable of such things, it was a decision I made for my own happiness 26 plus years ago. He was dominate and wanted to be in charge. As he was focused on me and always has been, I felt it best to let the situation continue its course. The true test is the few times I have felt a need to assert myself. I found a few tears or a well expressed pout has the disruptive effect of a cruise missile in a wedding party. I find that the truest test is I never have to use it, have used it as I said only a few times over all these years. It has always resulted in apologies and asking for my forgiveness, which I gladly have given. Some have even ventured so far as to say I am a spoiled little brat. What would they know?
The second thought I had was from a friend of mine that was into the type of bondage you suggested. He was never happier than when he was controled by his lover. While I never understood it, I could understand both his happiness and his sense of total commitment to and from his partner.
So your work of heart felt loving emotion works for me on these different levels. As always your cloud is an amazing place full of wonders. Hugs
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You have the perfect set up from either partner’s point of view it seems Scottie, and therefore are one of the luckiest humans on the planet, and bearing in mind the deep darkness and extreme pain you have had, and have, I reckon you should enjoy being treated (with treats) as one at the centre of Ron’s little universe.
“Some have even ventured so far as to say I am a spoiled little brat.” – Hahahahaha, I’m absolutely sure you don’t wear that badge.
Thank you for all those well thought-out words Scottie. I had to go back and read the poem again to find the bondage part (this is true!) but can see that perhaps the blindfolded and being tied up parts, mingling with the apparent dom theme may look that way. – laughs at herself a lot. Also it hadn’t occurred to me the person that must make the decision, to trust or not to trust (*now has Rosie wrapped around her neck all ‘ruff’ style a la Shakespeare ) might be seen as purely submissive. Just showing willing, a bit of faith, however dom and sub within the (studded) brackets of bondage, completely hinges on absolute trust in the partner for it to work, so in that sense yes, I think you’re spot on! – Hahahahahaha.
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You taunting seductress you. Love it 💓💓
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Esme has her moments.
Perhaps.
Hahahahaha. Thank you Val, you’re my kinda Cloudster – beams a large grin out
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Perfectly Kierkegaardian. I like the subtle Esme. An Esme as diaphanous as the clouds.
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I am honoured a writer as fine as yourself would think so sir. Thank you so very much – esme pirrouettes smiling happily, then takes Prospero’s hand and waltzes through the troposphere with him – now you see them – now you dont
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I think you know I enjoy this poem no end. The ‘polish’ has done no great harm and I can only imagine you are pleased with this final version (as am I.)
This is one of my most favored collections of syllables ever encountered upon the cloud. A perfect metaphor for living life and loving unselfishly.
But dear Esme, doesn’t trust only come after the blindfold? 😉
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“This is one of my most favored collections of syllables ever encountered upon the cloud. A perfect metaphor for living life and loving unselfishly.” – You’ve been with me since June 2014 masodo, (and know how reticent I was to have any readers at all for some time— laughs) — you have seen all the Cloud and esme have offered up, pretty much, and therefore I value your words highly, and thank you for them with a great deal of appreciation. (It’s also just nice knowing when something is a particular favourite – beams)
“But dear Esme, doesn’t trust only come after the blindfold?” – Hahahahaha, no, belief comes after, ‘blind’ faith before. Maybe trust resides somewhere in the middle? If ever . . .
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Would you looky what I just hit upon: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/trust
😀
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Yes, that’s it! Just stand on the edge.
Trust. Believe.
And then get pushed off, hahahaha.
Great link, thank you sir – esme shaking his hand upon the Cloud
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Come with me,
Blindfolded,
Hands bound,
This beginning made me think you were designing a “bird call” for The Professor!
I like this poem very much. I see your love of animals and the cruelty they have been subjected to is the subject here. From the chasing them to cliffs so they fall and kill themselves, to imprisonment at sea world, and to running of the bulls in Spain. Letting humanity experience a little of what they’ve subjected animals to. Then in the end the macabre greedily eating of food before the greedily eating of each other…which could be sexual or cannibalistic. Dark, stark, and snark for a picnic in the park. 🙂
I do think the running of buffalo over the cliff stands in contrast to the cruelty to animals solely for entertainment…particularly because of when in history such an activity took place. Nevertheless the result is the same and seeing it from the perspective of the animal is important nonetheless.
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“Dark, stark, and snark for a picnic in the park.” – Fun too, especially for the person who isn’t blindfolded – laughs
“I like this poem very much. I see your love of animals and the cruelty they have been subjected to is the subject here.” – Very kind of you to say so, and you’ve picked up on an interesting element that not many would methinks. “Nevertheless the result is the same and seeing it from the perspective of the animal is important nonetheless.” – Indeed, and many want nothing to do with that perspective as they find it too uncomfortable a prospect. An excellent and insightful comment Swarn, thank you!
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Hello Esme,
I enjoyed this piece very much, and felt the tone came fully alive with just the title and the first lines. They work together beautifully for me, and I felt immediately the calling of the narrator’s heart–as well as the response–as this narrator had become the center of the other’s senses.
What stood out for me in the ensuing paragraphs was the vulnerability of the blindfolded one, and the sense of the narrator’s ability to lead this one into calamities of every sort. It was the sense of power, but in this setting it came across as a genuine exchange–an intimacy at once playful and profound. For these are matters of life and death are they not? The trust we place in one another? Get it wrong and we end up broken upon the rails…
And for me that feeling of tragic possibility was displaced in the gentle taking of a face into the narrator’s hands, that lovely brushing of lips. For me that communicated everything; it was the answer to the opening call; come with me, and I will give you life…
My only suggestion as a reader was that I felt the notion of greedy consumption in the closing stanza came a little out of the flow I had personally developed as a reader. I felt up in the Cloud until that point, and the brushing of lips carried not only a sweetness, but a tenderness that occupied the whole of my senses, yet could not be defined quite. As with any beauty, it presents itself but can never be held or caught. So for me I think the piece may be stronger if the climax to which you build is left out in the overt sense, and allowed to linger in the air, in the whole of it, somehow.
Overall I am smitten with your use of language to evoke feeling and image, as ever, and I cannot wait to read this to-be-named collection of beauty.
Michael
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I know where you’re coming from there Michael and am honoured at the time taken over this small poem. It could be subtler, the last stanza, but there’s a reason it isn’t; trust is a core element for humans and one they struggle with for (sometimes) quite feasible reasons, and to hand oneself over completely, ending up at the mercy of anothers emotions, whims, appetites and passions, all vulnerability either cast aside, or cautiously folded and popped into one’s pocket, results in a feeling of freedom that sets in motion a soaring thrill or release, of happiness. My last stanza had to pack a small (and friendly laughs) punch that would light the touch paper and provide a frisson that might give the reader a swift intake of breath, thrilled themselves, just a wee bit. I’m very aware that esme is not terribly subtle at times in this particular area, (though compared to H she’s almost a closeted nun), and I welcome every possible consideration and suggestions from my readers, not purely on that particular subject, but on any thing the words emote. I really am pleased you’ve said all the above, been so kind and certainly flattering curtsies, bobbing up and down several times smiling, yet also put in your two penneth’s worth as to what doesn’t quite flow for you. Thank you! I’m not changing the poem at all, because I’m really happy with the ending, (makes no extra reference to happy endings there – sorry- its an affliction in many ways), but it’s this kind of feedback that writers need, whether they implement the suggestions or not. (I say all that, but do not want any of my readers to feel they have to find something wrong with esme’s work when they comment, because that will only end on a punch in the chops, praise fuels it’s own fires so far as writing goes.)
“Overall I am smitten with your use of language to evoke feeling and image, as ever, and I cannot wait to read this to-be-named collection of beauty.”
– esme cartwheels with happiness, hugs Michael, then serves tea and sticky buns for them both upon the Cloud
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No need for your blindfold, I always keep one handy. Lead away.
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Finally someone takes me up on my offer! Sheesh!
Thank you George – shakes his hand smiling
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Hah!
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I absolutely LOVED it! In fact, it gave me chills. GREAT job, Esme. clapping to you!
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By the Gods and medium-sized dogs thank you! Caps too, the emphasis is not lost on me appreciation-wise Lonestar; chills, thrills and spills were the aim here and therefore you’re reaction is a perfect measure of my success, to esme at least, and that’s very important as the words tend to spring her. – big smiles with lots of teeth and everything (mostly teeth, nothing dodgy barring tongue)
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The imagery is fantastic!
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You’re too kind! But don’t stop. Hahahaha. You’ve made my day/evening/month dear – smiles
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[ !!! ] Oh the cloud is a glorious place to be – – – – wonderful to have met you today esme… good night then.
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You too Chris, and thank you in spades for taking such an interest in the many pages of The Cloud, I’m highly chuffed you found it interesting enough to do so.
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