“The Inn Of The Small Comforts” – a new poem

I am “The Inn Of The Small Comforts”.

No one comes to me to stay.

They linger for a tiny spell,

and I send them on their way.

They continue on their journey.

They come to me only to rest.

To quench their dry and thirsty mouths

with milk pouring from my breast.

They lay their burdens on my shoulders.

Their worries, cares, and fears.

Releasing their most tightly held emotions

with loud screaming, and with tears.

They lay their heads down in my softness,

and take shelter from the storm.

They regain their strength within my caring

‘til they’re no  longer weak and worn.

I am “The Inn Of The Small Comforts”.

My tables overflow with food

that is fresh and well prepared

and nourishing and good.

My bath is a luxurious scented dream

of soapy, watery, bubbly bliss.

I massage their heads and backs and feet.

I send them to sleep with a soft kiss.

But I always remind them,

“This place with me is not your home.”

Yes I will let you rest awhile,

but then you must go on. Alone.”

I am “The Inn Of The Small Comforts”.

But all comfort does pass with time.

And then I remind them that it’s time to leave.

Staying too long is a crime.

“You cannot stay here with me” I say.

“This is not your domain.

This place will never be your own;

must never bear your name.”

“You cannot stay too long within my walls.

You are too weak to keep them strong.

So leave when it is time to go.

This is not where you belong.”

Once a wounded, wandering soul

thought he should not leave.

“I could stay here the rest of my days.

The air is so sweet and here I can breathe.”

He admired how well I ran my inn.

I do it with what seems to be ease and grace.

With pleasure dripping from my curves,

and a smile upon my face.

But it took me years to learn to run my inn

and while I don’t ask others to assist,

this man said he wanted to help me.

He asks and then insists.

He chops wood, gets water from the well.

He fishes and hunts and brings me game.

I serve him juicy fruits fresh out my garden,

and his words are always the same.

“I want to be in this place with you

and I want to earn my keep.

I want you to take a break sometimes.

To relax and get some sleep.”

But there are more chores than he imagined,

and I bear many heavy loads.

He had no idea this was the life

behind the gates of this abode.

Now he resents the work he asked to do,

but now I’m used to his helping hand.

He wasn’t strong enough yet to work so hard,

and yes, I guess I understand

that his wounds were still fresh, though healing.

And now he’s angry at me too.

For I just let him stay there knowing

there was too much he could not do.

I am “The Inn Of The Small Comforts”.

Or I was, but not anymore.

Too much damage done to my sanctuary,

and so I’ve finally closed my door.

But one day I do plan to reopen,

that I do guarantee.

But when I do, I’ll have a new name,

“This Is The Place Called Me”

–Petula Caesar


Free story Thursday! – www.tulalove.com/freestory

Today’s post is going to be short and sweet, because I actually want to TRY to spend some of my day off relaxing for a change.

Today, I’m asking for a small favor. I’m going to call it a small favor, but you may consider it a big one. Either way, I’m asking.

I’m asking you to listen to one of my erotic short stories. Now, before you just say “no”, bear with me for a bit longer and read on.

I write erotica (among other things), for those of you who do not know. A lot of people turn up their noses when I say that, and I understand why they do to some extent. But at this stage of my life I have created a body of work, both erotic and non-erotic, that clearly demonstrates that I am an excellent writer. Period. Yes at times I choose to use my talents to write erotica. And when I do I’m very good at it. I don’t write about sex to titillate necessarily, but I do write about it because it intrigues me. Its power intrigues me. How it is viewed and framed by men, by women, by religious leaders, by political leaders, by the old and the young intrigues me. How it is used, for good and evil, intrigues me. Its beauty, and ugliness and everything about it is just fascinating to me. How people respond to it intrigues me. How it makes some people introverted and secretive and other people extroverted and exhibitionary intrigues me. How it really messes some people’s heads up intrigues me.

What does bother me is that a person might actually enjoy my work, but don’t or won’t give it a chance because it is erotica.

I write very frankly and openly about sexuality and sensuality from lots of perspectives. That I won’t deny. But because I am good at what I do, the stories I tell are excellently crafted and constructed. I take care to capture and convey emotions honestly. I really do consider my choices in language carefully, even if I do at times select “bad words”  as the best way to express something. I don’t just write about sex, I don’t just take a bunch of sexual things and put them on paper (or wherever I put them). I don’t write pornography – writing about sex with total focus on the sex acts. I write about sex in the context of life in general, and relationships specifically.

Today, and today only, you can go to www.tulalove.com/freestory and download one story from my erotic audiobook “Unusual Positions: Volume 1” for free. The story I’ve selected to give away is “Footsie”. You can just listen to it in the audio player on the page, OR you can download it for FREE and listen to it whenever. It’s yours to keep. Trust me, you’ll like it, and more importantly, you’ll feel it. And while you’re visiting www.tulalove.com, take a look around, read the poetry, listen to the music, sign the email list, etc. And feel free to give me feedback once you’ve listened.

Thanks for your time, and I hope to see you on my website soon.


A New Poem…

The clouds remind me of him.
Thick, full, and
slightly foreboding.
Rolling in over me.
Hanging just above my head.
Darkening my sky.
I close my eyes
and await
his final decision.
With a loud shout
he chooses rain.
The droplets
splash upon my face,
upon my body;
cooling my skin
and washing away
all my unanswered

I eagerly anticipate
the return of his thunder;
His heavens tightly
and stingily holding
the power to soothe me
when the heat
starts to consume
my core once again.