An autumn leaf

Turns from cooling sun

Embracing essence

Hopeful of survival

Against seasonal odds

Brace against the embraceable

Contain the essence of self

Protect against harsh influence

Survive beyond thirst

Beyond potential comfort

Cling to breath

And blessing



Words errant

images stolen from the internet


Wild Rose


My grandmother was named Rose, she lived in the wild and tamed three sons.


“There was something about him that she wanted to learn, grow into, and hide in, where she could turn away from being an adult. There was some little waltz in the way he spoke to her and the way he thought.”

The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje.

Rose 1934

I promised to tell you how one falls in love.

The wild poem is a substitute

For the women one loves

Or ought to love,

One wild rhapsody

A fake for another



“I believe this. When we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant who reminisces or remembers a meeting when the other has passed by innocently… but all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to occur.”
Michael Ondaatje, Author of The English Patient



  1. Featured image ‘Wild Rose’ by ideea on deviantart
  2. Image one: Rose and Eric courtesy of Errant Satiety
  3. Image two: ‘The Weeping Rose’ by KoAn72 on deviantart
  4. Image three: Rose and Eric’s best friend courtesy of Errant Satiety
  5. Image four: ‘Wild Rose’ by vulezvrk on deviantart



Live Art

Well, I have been absent. Making serious changes in my life. More about that later, when I am ready. But it is my WordPress anniversary today and I have one thing, well two things or maybe three, to share. The first is a quote from the talented poet Shane Koyczan:

“If your heart is broken, make art from the pieces.”

Full context can be found here

The second is one of my favourite posts of my own… hey it’s my anniversary I can do what I want…

Stillness while moving

But this does make me think of the existentialist work, much lengthier yet deeply rewarding, of TS Elliot like:

‘Burnt Norton’…

Life is full of change and surprises. Live it.

With love, Errant.

Lost in Motion revisited

Some time ago I posted a clip of Canadian dancer Guillaume Côté dancing. The piece was a part of a series depicting the emotions performers feel when they expose their souls for all to see. This piece performed by Heather Ogden, choreographed by Guillaume Côté with a Leonard Cohen soundtrack, is the second in the series…




An Artist and His muse: Bathed

 The Bath Alfred George Stevens

An Artist and His Muse continued from ‘A Beginning’

I must have dozed as it seemed that suddenly I was lifted by strong arms I was startled until I saw his face, his expression loving and kind. He carried me into the warm bathroom and lowered my pliant body into the deep warm embracing water. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. Several buttons were open and I was captivated by the sight of his chest beneath. There was something alluring about being the naked while he was still clothed. The water was delicious, the porcelain tub warm beneath me. I luxuriated under his gaze. He seated himself on the edge of the bath by my feet and took an aromatic soap in his hands. Soaping his hands with the fragrance of frankincense he took one of my feet massaging and cleaning at the same time. He didn’t mind that his blue jeans were getting wet he was fiercely focused on his task. I sighed and relaxed even more. He rinsed the first foot then took the other lavishing the same attention on this one luring more contented sighs from my slightly tipsy form.

Satisfied that my feet were well washed he moved to the floor leaning into the bath to apply loving massaging hands to each of my legs. He worked each my dancers calves to point of exquisite ecstatic pain. Then he worked to my ticklish thighs not touching my center that craved his touch. He moved around to my hips touching only a little of my bottom then over the soft skin of my belly with circular motions here, both soothing and enticing. Then an arm was lifted and my hand massaged with soapy kisses, up my arm and onto my shoulder. He gently asked me to move sideways so he could wash my shoulders and back, down my other arm finishing at the hand with an experts touch. Now back to my shoulders my hair gathered and bound onto top of my head. Now his hands strayed down my front the collarbones and then the top of my chest. My breath is a little more erratic at this point. There is a pause for more soap and then he is soaping and massaging both of my breasts at once. I moan and lean my head into him arching my back so he can better reach them.

He begins firmly but gently ensuring my nipples are hard then he twists them rubbing the nipples between his knowing artists fingers. Pulling, urging. My legs bent and pulled up to best fit sideways in the bath spread open of their own accord as the heat builds inside me. One hand strays to my stomach again as the other roughly caresses my breasts. I want him again. I want him to fill me and reach the ache deep inside me. His hands disappear for more soap and I whimper. I don’t have to wait long one-hand returns to my breasts the other straight to my aching sex he is washing me but deftly stimulating me at the same time. Satisfied he removes his hands and tells me to lie on my side face down. I eagerly begin to do so aching for his hands to be on me again, ‘slower’ he commands, I stop and more graceful begin the turn and settle into the water. ‘Better’. I feel pleasure at his response. I feel it deep inside me and my ache grows. He washes my lower back pressing his thumbs into the aching parts of my hips and buttocks. I groan with wet pleasure.

Then his hands are roaming down between my cheeks, I tense nervous at this invasion. ‘Be still girl.’ I slowly relax and he continues his gentle exploration washing and probing. He reaches between my legs and strokes me firmly rubbing my clit, nudging my sweet wet entrance and trailing towards my anus I tense again and he gently probes twisting his finger against my sphincter muscle I feel a shock of heat start to warm me and I find myself pushing against his finger. ‘Better’, he says again then pats my ass. He pours water from a vessel he must have had nearby rinsing the soap off me, ‘roll over, gracefully’ he tells me and I do my best. He smiles at me as he pours the warm water all over my front. He offers me his hand and helps me out of the bath to stand on the lush mat. ‘Spread your legs wider’ he asks, ‘lift your arms above your head. Now hold this position while I dry you my sweet muse.’ This is not as easy as I thought. He dries me thoroughly but teasingly. I want to caress him back but he has told me the rules. I must do as he says. Satisfied he kisses me deeply, ‘you may lower your arms’ I do so wrapping them around his shoulders and kissing him passionately back. Our tongues commune for a time chasing, swirling, licking and tasting each other’s mouths. He breaks away the fire between us scorching. He removes the tie from my hair so it cascades around my shoulders again. ‘Now walk to the bed slowly, elegantly. Climb up and place yourself on all fours’.

The studio is open plan the four-poster bed towards the windows and the chaise lounge on the lower level a step down. There is a kitchen in the darker side to the left of the bathroom. The bed is right across the room from the bathroom the longest walk in the studio. I turn my heart thundering in my chest. I close my eyes breathing deeply and thinking, this is a dance, a solo with an audience of one. I walk to the bed as if I were walking to him, one lustful step at a time. I climb the bed as if he were already on it waiting for me his erection displaying his delight in the movement of my form. I am wet and aching as I place myself on all fours with my ass pointing towards him. I settle into this position and it seems an age before I hear his bare feet walking on the floorboards. He presses his hardness still contained within his jeans against my ass and I push into him. He slides a single finger into my glistening wet cunt and out again. Then he is massaging oil into my buttocks and over my sex and anus. He pushes my knees out wider and my feet together, then gathers my hair draping it over one shoulder. He tells me to lower my head and arms towards the bed and turn my head back towards him. Then I hear him moving away. He comes back into view his sketchbook in hand, seats himself on a stool and begins to draw me bathed, oiled, spread open and wet with want.

 Words by Errant Satiety; Painting ‘The Bath’ Alfred George Stevens