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The rain washed all sides of my sadness
within the gentle sands of time
I was daydreaming about the dasies
growing wild alongside
the cobblestones of my heart
and I witnessed passion flows so freely
within the breeze's nightly breath ,
you hold in the palm of your hand
the fragile life of a love so true
as the first light of the dawn of men
who's sky went silent
as the morning clouds
save their falling stars
and put them in a golden basket
colored with the shades of deep blue
brought to you on the gentle wings of doves ,
until you cry no more.
I can hardly breath now
as the wind dances in your embrace
the reflection of heaven in your eyes
with tenderness of a dream
give you the share of the skies
and will erase all the walls
plant a rose in front of every hope
to a make beliefe crowd.
Only you can save me ,
only you have the power within.
I'm tired of nights without stars
soul caught up in high cliff walls
waiting to descend ,
earth paved by Gullivers's ropes
waking with wide eyes ,
sun dried landscapes of yesterday
quickly turned ,
true beauty silences you
and ask for its true meaning.
I am tired of painting
angry branches
through troubled thoughts
on a glass sky ,
and watching garden ants
moving grains of sand
into the dark of their world.
And blowing in the breeze
throwing me randomized thoughts
gripped with crazy delirium
that will only turn to dust.
Take my hand
and briefly touch
the core of my existence.
Stay with me
and help me with this confusion
that crosses my pathway
periodically.
I would like to share an excerpt from my paranormal romance, Wolfe's Lady
Her mouth refused to work so she nodded, trailing in his wake into the library, tucked behind the foot of the stairs. This too was a marvelous room, cozy with a granite fireplace, each block carved with intricate designs, and the walls lined with books. Most appeared to be antique volumes but among them Stella recognized a few more modern works. A small bar stood opposite the hearth and after he pointed her to the black leather loveseat, he brought out two fragile flutes and filled them with Dom Perignon. Darien handed her a flute and raised his glass to touch hers with a soft, ringing sound.
“To what the future and the stars may hold,” he intoned in a voice as serious as a prayer, soft as a blessing.
“To the future,” Stella repeated and sipped.
The sweet, crisp wine was a good vintage and her surprise was evident as the smooth taste burst into her mouth.
“This is 1975 v Dom Perignon,” Darien said. “It is one of the best modern vintages available. Will it do??”
“It’s awesome,” Stella said, draining her glass. The wine must have gone to her head, she thought, for without hesitation, she mimicked a child’s British accent and quoted Oliver Twist, “Please, sir, may I have some more?”
Darien’s face shifted, his lips twitched and his eyes rolled until he burst out laughing. He sat down on the loveseat, wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, and drank his champagne.
“You are the most remarkable woman I have met in years.” Darien said, shaking his head. “Stella, I find myself quite smitten with you. Dare I hope that it might be reciprocated?”
She made a quick translation of his old school language and replied in her own vernacular,
“I think you’re totally hot, Darien, so yes.” Champagne evaporated her polite façade so that she said what she felt, without restraint or embarrassment. The sweet , sparkling wine swept through her veins like liquid wildfire and she could feel not just the heat but the giddy spin it always gave her head. He tossed back his head and chortled with such gusto it almost became a howl.
“Good. Then let me pour you another glass and we shall see where the evening takes us.”
“Let’s do that,” Stella said, surprising herself with her boldness. She was not usually so outgoing, so outspoken, or so easily aroused but Darien and champagne brought out her latent qualities.
They ended up in the garden, finishing off the Dom Perignon and talking until the longer shadows of dusk fell. With so many tall trees and vegetation, the night seemed to move in on fleeter feet and there were no street lamps or yard lights to mar the darkness.
“It is.” He agreed and rose from the black wrought iron bench with grace. “Shall we go inside or would you prefer that I deliver you home? The night is young but your wish is my service.”
“Could we stay outside and watch the stars come out?” Stella asked. She loved the stars, perhaps because of her name, chosen by her star-gazing parents in honor of their favorite hobby. “The moon isn’t quite full but it’s waxing enough that the moonlight should be very pretty. Doesn’t all of this look spectacular by moonlight?”
A strange expression flitted across Darien’s face, a look of dismay, she thought, or something more. Whatever it was, it vanished in seconds, leaving her to doubt that he had ever looked anything but serene.
this is rather long, and spur of the moment poem.
i wrote this for someone.
it's nameless as of now.
Evening light cast,
the milk of the moon washed down
and filled the salted valleys.
Against your skin as a bath,
The song of breath flowed from your lungs like honey.
Sweet melting honey.
Gentle harps of lips.
As strips of silver amongst the ocean
and sky
mirrored against the skin of angels
on your path.
As crickets snivel awaiting the day you
will again be among them.
In wind you move,
in the eve of dawn you live.
In the bath of milk,
you are alive,
like the wind and it's sisters
playing in your hair,
just as cupid in season.
Amidst the dew of morning,
weaving of silk on your bed of leaves.
Oh you,
under the layers of your clothes,
so soft and white,
against the field of gold.
The river swept your clothes,
and dressed it with it's mud.
Floating with grace,
so slowly,
so light.
With the song of mid day
my chest swells with breath,
your lips pressed on the fruit.
Like bees on the flowers at your feet.
Blowing the spore of the dandelion,
twirling and dancing towards the sky.
The funnel of dust,
winding past your angled features.
Oh yes, your features.
Your lips like petals of lilies,
white but often pink.
The light freckles upon your nose,
to the blue and green of your eyes,
a mirror of the river floor.
The tree your shelter,
swaying and dipping into the water.
Your hair sticking to your skin like glue.
Freely,
open.
it was that last hour of crispness before twilight
time enough where the nactambulist must wait before he comes from the shadows of the east
with the dying winds of early evening behind me, the trance of familiarity was whispered in my ear
the metronomic spell of the side walk cracks went thump, thump...thump, thump, cold grey slates like parts of fallen dreary sky
the hills seemed to swell and relax with the weakening breath of evening as I pressed on,
wearing the accumulated jewels of fog on every fabric
like the eye of the croc disappears in its dark pool at every glance
too late, I had entered the tunnel
the carpet on the low maw of a monster was rolled before me
when I reached the crossing, I was ill prepared for the fat fog kracken
...
twas it with the eye?
...
twas
a large loathsome creature of corpulence was bestride a mechanical behemoth hungry for my path
I first heard the dead from the heavens to hades scream horrors at the desecration of their fossil remains
then I saw the smoke of her breath that was like from two ruined cities of the air
as she drank from the cup of lung's blood, lashed to pleasure the beast that was bestride the machine
it was not apt to notice me..., without a fueled machine
a cold ill colored cathode spewed waves of nausea causing me to recoil
every nerve hastily exited its tent and encampment to spare what it could,
willing to forgo non vital flesh and flailing limbs to the collosuss
my spine became the instrument of a demon that plucked upon it with its searing fingers until its became pieces of fallen parapet
twas a place where hatred may enter now....but...
nearly dead as I stood, I heard...I heard an...,... apology....to me, a thini-ling merely about...machine-less
with infernal creatures of hate surrounding me, I felt myself hurling back in my soul until I reached the back of a defending angel
Gabriel himself had come with her apologetic prayer
but what of the box and its contents within?
what is the hollowness of my rib?
tis there, my heart in the box... thump,thump...thump, thump
the want of an infernal pyroballogist
so many things mingle in war but I and the angle fought until blood become cake, back to back
...
I know not which his tears
they were not for glory; I know
but I had crossed my way with a heart in a box looking back at angel's blood
I bid the angle my goodbye and peace to rest... that perhaps he would not die
perhaps there is a soul that wishes it did not drink from a barrel from which it cannot leave
I have seen many a downing thing in the rain barrels...
a thirst it did not ask for
but near its edge, I cannot whisper gently
Where am I?
Made a left then a right and then a burnout back around
Motel's around here somewhere,
behind the hills and the brush,
so far from home,
like I know where home is after two decades of running
running away or running around, not sure,
could be either.
So far from home,
sweating and pounding the floor
in the mad rush for something better,
the verve of reality flickers out like typhoid flares
and in the cold embrace of the Oregon soil
we find our heroine in repose in a laugh-tracked memorial
can you assuage the fact that an inscription means nothing
to the memories of someone four generations away?
It's not a lack of respect, it's just
a lack of communion here at the banks of Grave Creek.
I'm lost.
I've got enough gas to get there but
I can feel my heart in my temples and
my stomach in my throat
halfway between my own private hell and the deliverance of St. Francis,
where the city of my birth is dead and you won't beg with the beggars for your life
but because it's much easier than admitting fault
I can feel my heartbeat, it's creeping further
My eyes circumscribe the end of a girl we'll never know
And as I drive into Grave Creek,
the planks of the covered bridge make a sleepy cacophony under rubber tires
The engine routs the silence and the headlights rout the night
I've never been here and I'll never come back
So sorry you never made it to your destination
So sorry, Martha, that you had to see these wars that we don't like to talk about anymore
So sorry that I'll be on my way as soon as I get my bearings
In the night, I can be cold
In the night, I can be alone
In the night, I can be isolated
In the night, I can be here, with you, at your grave
I promise I'll say goodbye
I promise I'll say goodnight
I will pull up to the motel and pay thirty bucks for a room with a TV from the 70's
Shower, munch some chips, have some water, climb into bed
Dreams churn in a molten sea of red and black,
where we're really just walking around a burnt crust that's suspended over a smelted core
and at the end of the road there's something other than a grave next to a creek
I don't stay but four hours,
just long enough to close my eyes and diverge myself,
a fork in the road where I bear left and convince myself that the sun will be there around the time I hit the California border,
so that I may end one journey here, and from the same locus be born again
So happy that I made it to my destination
So happy, Martha, that I could be here with you on this night of divergence,
So happy that I stayed but one night in Grave Creek.
Somewhere within another universe
I hold her hand securely in my own.
In that dimension I have been the first
To whom affection she has clearly shown.
Within that realm she is my loving wife
No longer far beyond my mortal reach.
Rejection cuts no longer like a knife
Into my heart whenever I beseech
With groaning words. There she belongs to me!
Just like the sky belongs to soaring birds
And to the fish belongs the surging seas,
So too the essence of her cherished words
Within that universe my prized possession
And I, yes only I, her glorious obsession.
The distant past....I hear an anguished call.
Persistent questing of a love sublime.
A boy beguiled forevermore enthralled.
Eternally desiring she be mine..
Cruel destinies palavered as they laughed
Foul fates once blithered with their constant snides
Vile crowds once mocked my senseless useless wraths
Contrived against my unrellenting pride.
No longer do I grovel at her feet
So gloriously ablaze with childich pride.
No longer do I hoplessly repeat
The love that she had never once implied.
True love ? Ha! Ha! She grimaced once at me.
And I the fool was caught eternally!
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from Wolfe's Lady
