He raised his visor and stared out across the killing field. It was all there. Not the glory, not the songs of victors, and certainly not the flags in all their rich colours fluttering on warm summer breezes. This is what it all came down to. The reality of battle. The smell of battle is shit and piss and blood. And sweat. And the true reward of battle was being alive to smell that horrible scent, and witness the dead and dying. There was no friend or foe here, only the dead; and the dying.
He said a silent prayer that their deaths would be swift, but then felt guilty at the thought. He raised his sword in both hands and stared at the blood stained steel, and thought of how many now laid there because of this blade. His throat was dry. How long had he swung the blade; swinging and chopping; killing and retreating. Till at last, there was nothing left to retreat from. All that was left was the mass of gore that once was a living thing. Fathers, sons, husbands, all gone. The mighty Destriers, the Men at Arms, rode charging into the front line now laid low, feathered by the mighty English long bow. These were the last moments, before the wailings of widows. Before the scavenging. Before the corpses were laid bare to feed the crows.
Slowly, he raised his head to the skies; seeking benediction for the foul deed that corrupted his soul. And then slowly lowered his eyes to the arrow that stood out from his stomach. The sweat ran down his nose and dropped on the feathers of the arrow and his body twitched involuntarily. He smelled the scent of battle deeply. More deeply than any battle he had ever fought, because, this would be his last. He laid the pommel of his sword into the blood soaked earth, raised his neck to the tip, and smiled. The archer would not win. No one would take his life. His life was his own, to give or to take. He looked out across the killing field, and whispered, “we are one, once more” And Sir Devlin was no more.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Wild
She really hadn’t planned on spending Friday night at some loud bar; getting hit on by every loser asshole looking for some easy conquest. However, the phone call from Vivvy with Mel screeching in the background over the thumping beats of Lady Gaga left her no choice. Vivvy would simply not take no for an answer!
“Wild, you simply must come! There are some really hot guys here! Mel even wore her lucky Friday night panties! And we both know what that means! Get your ass down here girl; pronto!“ Vivvy was always such a forceful bitch; but a lovable one all the same.
So, here she was. Scouting around the bar looking for her two best friends; preparing herself to give Vivvy a piece of her mind for having made her get out of her PJ’s and the vat of Ben & Jerry’s that now remained unfinished in her freezer at home.
“Wild! Over here!” Crap! Vivvy’s voice was way too loud! More than a few heads turned and her cheeks bloomed at the unwanted attention.
Scurrying over to the small table, she hurriedly sat and glared at Vivvy. “You are such a pain in the ass Vivvy! I told you this afternoon that I didn’t want to come here! But noooooooo! You never take no for an answer! Sometimes, I could just…”
“Kiss me?” Vivvy always knew how to make me giggle, and now was no exception as the giggle fits set in.
“I was thinking more about smacking the back of those Calvins, but I guess kissies will work. Hey, what’s up with her?”
Vivvy followed my stare across the table to Mel, who by all appearances was lost in her own world; a wicked glint in her dark eyes and a lascivious half smile on her face. WE both turned our eyes to follow her stare and wham! What a jarring sight to behold! I barely heard Vivvy’s quiet remarks, “that, my drooling little tarts, is the fucking mother lode!”
Six feet of perfection! Tousled black hair; thick eyebrows; a crisp white high collared shirt with the first three buttons undone; expensive designer jeans, tight enough to see the most squeezable ass in the world and expensive leather shoes. My nipples instantly rose to attention and I had to shut my mouth fast to stop any drool from escaping down my chin. The worst part was the woman he was dancing with! My, could she be any more gorgeous? The bitch!
She leaned in close to Mr. Hunk and said something quietly, and he reared his head and laughed. Oooooooooo, my happy place got even happier as I saw his mouth open to show sparkling teeth, the eye teeth slightly longer than the rest. Holy crap! Maybe he’s a vampire! Now that’s hot! My nipples are now bouncing with joy and giving high fives at the thought of the love bites those teeth could inflict. My happy place is getting happier by the moment and I am beginning to think that I should have worn a panty liner tonight.
Abruptly, my reverie ends as the song finishes and Mr. Hunk and the Elfin bitch leave the dance floor. The spell broken, it seems that Vivvy, myself and Mel have not taken a breath in the last three minutes and we all suck in air at the same time as we blink at each other! Vivvy looks at me then to Mel, and states matter of factly “I don’t know about you girls, but I think I just had an orgasm! I feel like a cigarette, and I don’t even smoke!”
Mel breaks out in a fit of giggles and we all start giggling hysterically when I ask if either of them have any panty liners in their purses.
“Excuse me ladies, compliments of Mr. St Clair.” The waiter puts the round of drinks down and discreetly turns and leaves as we all stare at the drinks as though they were hemlock. ”Mr. St Clair? Who the hell is that?” Vivvy doesn’t have to wait long for her answer.
“That would be me. Good evening ladies.” Vivvy grabs Mels hand to try to stop her from going into convulsions! I grab Vivvy’s hand to stop her from jumping onto Mr. St Clairs’ face with her crotch. Unfortunately, no one grabs my hand, so, I simply sit there grinning like an idiot! Crap! Say something wild! I have no spit left in my mouth!
“Hello Mr. St Clair, and thank you for the drinks.” Shit! That came out far too squeaky! My nipples have beaten a hasty retreat with all this embarrassment and my happy place is boarding up the shutters. “Not at all. But please, call me Max.” As he hands is hand out to me, I look into his face and see the most amazing surf green eyes hooded by those delicious full eyebrows. I feel dizzy. I realize that he has not taken his hand away and I still hold it. Holy shit Wild, could you be any more of a dork?
“Um, excuse me. I am Wild, and this is Vivvy and Mel.” He shakes both their sweaty hands as I swear I can see drool escaping from the corner of Mels mouth and Vivvy closing her thighs and rubbing them back and forth, mindlessly. He turns his face back to me. Shit, what now?
“Wild is a strange name. Did your parents really call you wild?” All I can think of is well Mr. St Clair, come back to my apartment and we shall see if I can live up to my name! But I think better of it and decide to tell the truth. “My real name is Rose. I was a Tom boy as a child, so everyone called me wild Rose. I don’t know, but as I got older, everyone just dropped the Rose and started calling me Wild.” Well, that went ok. At least I have my voice back. Max smiles at me and suddenly my happy place is hanging out a white flag!
“Would you care to dance with me Wild?” What? Who? Me? Mel and Vivvy snap their heads to glare at me with venom in their eyes as my nipples start doing their happy dance and my happy place pulls out a squeegee from somewhere! “What about your girlfriend? The girl you were just dancing with?” Shit! Did I really just say that? My happy place is getting ready to hit me with the handle of the squeegee and my nipples are looking around for rocks to throw. His laugh nearly makes me faint! I could get so totally lost in that laugh. Oh and his eyes. Did I mention those eyes? I am picturing love bites. Gads! Focus Wild! This is too fucking hot for words!
“She isn’t my girlfriend. Her name is Janey and she is my cousin visiting with my Uncle and Aunt from the Hamptons for a few days”. Did he really just say the Hamptons? Before I can respond; or swallow for that matter; I am dragged out onto the dance floor where Max smiles, turns his head and nods at the DJ. Procol Harem’s, A Whiter Shade Of Pale begins to play as I melt into his arms, feeling his jeans pressed hard against my happy place. My face buried in his chest. If this is all that really happens tonight; this moment; with my face buried in Max’s chest with his designer jeans grinding into my happy place; I will die happy! But it won’t end here…
Inspired by Wild at Theme Thursday
“Wild, you simply must come! There are some really hot guys here! Mel even wore her lucky Friday night panties! And we both know what that means! Get your ass down here girl; pronto!“ Vivvy was always such a forceful bitch; but a lovable one all the same.
So, here she was. Scouting around the bar looking for her two best friends; preparing herself to give Vivvy a piece of her mind for having made her get out of her PJ’s and the vat of Ben & Jerry’s that now remained unfinished in her freezer at home.
“Wild! Over here!” Crap! Vivvy’s voice was way too loud! More than a few heads turned and her cheeks bloomed at the unwanted attention.
Scurrying over to the small table, she hurriedly sat and glared at Vivvy. “You are such a pain in the ass Vivvy! I told you this afternoon that I didn’t want to come here! But noooooooo! You never take no for an answer! Sometimes, I could just…”
“Kiss me?” Vivvy always knew how to make me giggle, and now was no exception as the giggle fits set in.
“I was thinking more about smacking the back of those Calvins, but I guess kissies will work. Hey, what’s up with her?”
Vivvy followed my stare across the table to Mel, who by all appearances was lost in her own world; a wicked glint in her dark eyes and a lascivious half smile on her face. WE both turned our eyes to follow her stare and wham! What a jarring sight to behold! I barely heard Vivvy’s quiet remarks, “that, my drooling little tarts, is the fucking mother lode!”
Six feet of perfection! Tousled black hair; thick eyebrows; a crisp white high collared shirt with the first three buttons undone; expensive designer jeans, tight enough to see the most squeezable ass in the world and expensive leather shoes. My nipples instantly rose to attention and I had to shut my mouth fast to stop any drool from escaping down my chin. The worst part was the woman he was dancing with! My, could she be any more gorgeous? The bitch!
She leaned in close to Mr. Hunk and said something quietly, and he reared his head and laughed. Oooooooooo, my happy place got even happier as I saw his mouth open to show sparkling teeth, the eye teeth slightly longer than the rest. Holy crap! Maybe he’s a vampire! Now that’s hot! My nipples are now bouncing with joy and giving high fives at the thought of the love bites those teeth could inflict. My happy place is getting happier by the moment and I am beginning to think that I should have worn a panty liner tonight.
Abruptly, my reverie ends as the song finishes and Mr. Hunk and the Elfin bitch leave the dance floor. The spell broken, it seems that Vivvy, myself and Mel have not taken a breath in the last three minutes and we all suck in air at the same time as we blink at each other! Vivvy looks at me then to Mel, and states matter of factly “I don’t know about you girls, but I think I just had an orgasm! I feel like a cigarette, and I don’t even smoke!”
Mel breaks out in a fit of giggles and we all start giggling hysterically when I ask if either of them have any panty liners in their purses.
“Excuse me ladies, compliments of Mr. St Clair.” The waiter puts the round of drinks down and discreetly turns and leaves as we all stare at the drinks as though they were hemlock. ”Mr. St Clair? Who the hell is that?” Vivvy doesn’t have to wait long for her answer.
“That would be me. Good evening ladies.” Vivvy grabs Mels hand to try to stop her from going into convulsions! I grab Vivvy’s hand to stop her from jumping onto Mr. St Clairs’ face with her crotch. Unfortunately, no one grabs my hand, so, I simply sit there grinning like an idiot! Crap! Say something wild! I have no spit left in my mouth!
“Hello Mr. St Clair, and thank you for the drinks.” Shit! That came out far too squeaky! My nipples have beaten a hasty retreat with all this embarrassment and my happy place is boarding up the shutters. “Not at all. But please, call me Max.” As he hands is hand out to me, I look into his face and see the most amazing surf green eyes hooded by those delicious full eyebrows. I feel dizzy. I realize that he has not taken his hand away and I still hold it. Holy shit Wild, could you be any more of a dork?
“Um, excuse me. I am Wild, and this is Vivvy and Mel.” He shakes both their sweaty hands as I swear I can see drool escaping from the corner of Mels mouth and Vivvy closing her thighs and rubbing them back and forth, mindlessly. He turns his face back to me. Shit, what now?
“Wild is a strange name. Did your parents really call you wild?” All I can think of is well Mr. St Clair, come back to my apartment and we shall see if I can live up to my name! But I think better of it and decide to tell the truth. “My real name is Rose. I was a Tom boy as a child, so everyone called me wild Rose. I don’t know, but as I got older, everyone just dropped the Rose and started calling me Wild.” Well, that went ok. At least I have my voice back. Max smiles at me and suddenly my happy place is hanging out a white flag!
“Would you care to dance with me Wild?” What? Who? Me? Mel and Vivvy snap their heads to glare at me with venom in their eyes as my nipples start doing their happy dance and my happy place pulls out a squeegee from somewhere! “What about your girlfriend? The girl you were just dancing with?” Shit! Did I really just say that? My happy place is getting ready to hit me with the handle of the squeegee and my nipples are looking around for rocks to throw. His laugh nearly makes me faint! I could get so totally lost in that laugh. Oh and his eyes. Did I mention those eyes? I am picturing love bites. Gads! Focus Wild! This is too fucking hot for words!
“She isn’t my girlfriend. Her name is Janey and she is my cousin visiting with my Uncle and Aunt from the Hamptons for a few days”. Did he really just say the Hamptons? Before I can respond; or swallow for that matter; I am dragged out onto the dance floor where Max smiles, turns his head and nods at the DJ. Procol Harem’s, A Whiter Shade Of Pale begins to play as I melt into his arms, feeling his jeans pressed hard against my happy place. My face buried in his chest. If this is all that really happens tonight; this moment; with my face buried in Max’s chest with his designer jeans grinding into my happy place; I will die happy! But it won’t end here…
Inspired by Wild at Theme Thursday
Friday, February 24, 2012
Winter begone
February draws us into her cold embrace,
and wraps us in winters snows, and in her haste,
denies that, upon which we are based,
our abilities for the wild, unto nature, we brace.
Oh cold cruel winter, whilst thou not loosen thine grip,
remove your ice from the foxglove, winter lily and rosehip,
the warm spring winds, thru the forests silently slip,
March beckons, and springs sweet juice, she quietly sips.
and wraps us in winters snows, and in her haste,
denies that, upon which we are based,
our abilities for the wild, unto nature, we brace.
Oh cold cruel winter, whilst thou not loosen thine grip,
remove your ice from the foxglove, winter lily and rosehip,
the warm spring winds, thru the forests silently slip,
March beckons, and springs sweet juice, she quietly sips.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Windchimes
I stared as the music tumbled and fell
through my fingers, sticky and wet
warm honey.
And where the notes hit the ground
great choral overtures rose savage and sweet.
Lifted high into the summer skies
on gossamer wings.
enfolding the morning in its magical embrace.
Unicorns danced, snow white
in a field of emerald green grasses and ferns
to a long lost tune of the last zephyr
the wind and music embraced me
holding me close to her breast
smiling, knowing.
In my hand, one single note
the name of the wind.
Opening my hand, I blew softly
and the silver seed swirled, kissed my cheek
then gently danced off into a world of discovery.
And, I smiled.
Inspired by Bradley Deans The Windchimes.
Listen for yourself and dream.
through my fingers, sticky and wet
warm honey.
And where the notes hit the ground
great choral overtures rose savage and sweet.
Lifted high into the summer skies
on gossamer wings.
enfolding the morning in its magical embrace.
Unicorns danced, snow white
in a field of emerald green grasses and ferns
to a long lost tune of the last zephyr
the wind and music embraced me
holding me close to her breast
smiling, knowing.
In my hand, one single note
the name of the wind.
Opening my hand, I blew softly
and the silver seed swirled, kissed my cheek
then gently danced off into a world of discovery.
And, I smiled.
Inspired by Bradley Deans The Windchimes.
Listen for yourself and dream.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Secret Garden
I watched the moon, slowly stealing into the sky
The first glitter of stars splashing twilights’ last breath
Looking through the wine glass, the candlelight danced
To an unheard tune; in waves of gold and reds
I watched as you caressed the tiny flowers
Snow white droplets, embraced with forest greens
They responded to your loving touch
And gave up their floral scents to your gentle feel
Ferns swayed to the music of the night
Mystical and magic, ancient, without age
Carried on the damp evening breezes
Chasing away the remnants of the day
Night falls, embrace, dark and sweet
Throw secret shadows in wild abandon
And the flowers know, the dance begins,
In this, the secret garden
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Moon
Oh great silvery celestial orb. Wilst thou not be my witness? Hear my confession, for I have naught but lust and desire and a love for one who knows not that I exist.
You, who doth chase the sun from the very heavens, wilst thou now forsake me and leave me the tormented dreams of unrequited love?
Oh cruel moon, absolve me. Bathe me in your glow and wash away the ache. Food turns to ash in my mouth; wine to water; color to dust. You smile. Can it be my foolishness that so amuses thee?
You seek to anger me? Best be aware oh great heralder of the stars, my plight is also thine! You beguile young lovers; add shimmer to fields of oats and barley and lull the peasants into a false sense wonder and adoration.
You are a deceiver! Witches and Warlocks dance naked in your light; unashamed. Satyrs and nymphs perform their pagan rituals; their sex enflamed and engorged.
Hath thou no shame? And still you smile at my anguish? Thine light shines bright but leaves me cold.
Old fool, be gone! Away!
I call on the golden orb of day to smite thee with its golden rays.
Rise no more in the black skies! I call on the stars to devour you and spit you out!
Shine no more! False promises of love art thine black legacy!
Smile no more!
No more!
No more I say!
Read more of the effects of the moon at Theme Thursday.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The Book
He watched her as she slowly let one exquisitely gloved hand brush lovingly over the ancient leather bindings, sending a small swirl of dust into the air. She seemed to be breathing in some exotic perfume. Well born as could be noted from her expensive attire. As she stood transfixed before the books, she said without turning “how much will you take for these three?”
He had been gazing so intently at her that he started at her question.
“You can have the first two for one hundred apiece. But the third, the one with the ivory snake is not for sale.”
She turned and stared at him; a small pout that appeared almost playful and sensual.
“But that’s silly! The three would look divine in my collection, and I am willing to pay handsomely for it. You are a seller of books and I am a buyer. Now name your price!”
Though said quietly, her demeanor and tone made her last statement sound more like a command then a request. He would not be treated as one of her low born house servants. All trace of politeness withdrew from his features as he matter of fact stated once more, ”the third book is NOT for sale!”
Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened as if to speak then just as fast her face returned to normal and a smile crept across her mouth. “Can you tell me your reason for not wanting to sell the third?”
He stood silent for a moment, content to just stare at her. She was remarkably beautiful with an ageless face. Her eyes so dark that he was sure the pupils had swallowed up their colour. Her very being exuded defiance. He suddenly realized he was being quite rude and blurted out “because I have not done the proper research on that one yet!”
Her smile broadened. “Oh, I can tell you all about it. It was written by Sarah Price of Plymouth in 1649. Sarah was a good woman who preferred the company of the forest to village folk. She was a healer and an herbalist. She had helped many of the sick villagers when the local butcher of a physician had said ‘it’s now in the hands of the Lord’. One day, the local Prior, who was known to partake far too freely of the sacramental wine, came across her in the woods as she was gathering roots and herbs. He abandoned all holiness and fell upon her in a most disgusting and vile manner. When she went to lay a formal complaint to the Bishop, she was advised that the disgrace would be too great to the church and she should return immediately home and say no more of this. As she returned home, there were two men at arms from the Sheriff waiting for her. She was arrested immediately; tried and found guilty of witchcraft. While awaiting her execution she wrote these spells and incantations. On November 16th, 1649, she was led from her cell to the village square where a pyre had been erected. As the flames engulfed her, she swore a curse that she would return and have her revenge.”
He fell back in his chair and gulped air. “How can you know all this?”
She leaned forward and produced an antique dagger from her bag and in one swift motion, thrust it deep into his chest. He gasped and looked down to where a red spot was growing quickly across his chest. The handle of the dagger was an ivory snake. She looked deep into his eyes and smiled. “I know all this because I am Sarah Price! This is MY book! And you; my soon to be dead fellow are the descendant of the Prior.”
She turned on her heels; took the book from the shelf and strode out of the store wiping the dagger with an embroidered hanky. He took one last breath and stared at the empty spot in the bookcase as all went black.
Penned for Books at Theme Thursday.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Beacon
Your love is my beaconthe crashing waves, your song of love
siren of the harbor
soaring lullaby off cliff and cove
Bring me home again
to your wild green isle
where once we loved and were loved
besot, bemused, beguiled
Bring me safely to your shores
my wanderlust is quenched
raise up your soul in song
from the black velvet ocean, my vessel wretched
I will travel no more
my adventure is at its end
my treasure is found
as darkness descends
Your love is my beacon
to light my way
the stars pale in comparison
home, home again, never to stray
Let your beacon shine bright
in the dark autumn night
turn darkness to light
blindness to sight
Your love is my beacon
More beacons may be found at Theme Thursday
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Painters Block
I was born of evil
Born in a cauldron of hate
Suckled on mistrust
My hunger so great,
Satiated in lust
Loins afire
Turning colour to dust
Turn cold the artists’ desire
Lay the canvas bare
Raped and torn
Break brushes and palettes
Leave them broken and forlorn
I am the destroyer
I am that which you dread
In your life, in your love,
In the dreams in your head
Embrace me now
It was never your calling
I have shown you the way
Its beauty enthralling
Will you love me now
And renew your vow
I have taken it all
And yet you question “how”
It was you that sacrificed it
As on a pagan alter
It was you that saw excellence
It was you that faltered
I was the instrument
But you were the crime
Your self loathing
Disgusting and sublime
Will you love me now
Only this I ask
I have always loved you
Does that sound sad, forlorn and crass?
Return to your art
Its beauty enrapture
Its gaunt still life
Forever captured
Forgive my insolence, my unknowing eye
Absolution, your tender heart
The expanse of your love
The expanse of your art
Born to hurt, it pains me
Your colours must live
I block your creativity
Idle your art, without reprieve;
Till at last
You push past me.
Take up the brush,
At last you see
Tho an anarchist I am,
I do so affectionately.
For more colourful prose please visit Theme Thursday.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Stairs
Unto this world am I born, naked and hungry. My only thought; my next meal. Wealth, love, power are but strangers to me. They are but steps on the stairs that life now presents me. Neither pauper nor king, I have no need for solicitous and salacious council. Mothers’ milk is all I crave.
The years pass. I stand on the stair that has presented me with my eighteenth year. Well schooled and surrounded by accomplices, I look back on what has brought me to this point in my climb; and indeed, what must surely lie ahead. Elizabeth. She has seen me fall and has help bind the bleeding wounds. Is what I feel love? Or in fact, familiarity. Time and life’s stairs seem to have blurred my vision of the two.
I am on my thirty second stair. The rigors of life have left their mark. Elizabeth, the ever faithful wife, has managed to somehow raise our children well; in spite of my absence due to a war I embraced too dearly. My cost was too dear. But my holdings are great and will see my seed well. And though my dreams are filled with horrors, there is much I am thankful for.
My fiftieth stair. I am surrounded by much jubilation and love. Although I have tried to dissuade my sons and through my mind’s eye, show them that in war, honour and valour are in general dispensed amongst the dead, they have never the less followed a young mans folly. There can be no joy in the outcome.
I teeter at the top of the seventieth stair. Looking back, time has not diminished the sorrow of the loss of my youngest son in the war. Elizabeth became distant, those so many years ago, and came to blame me for my sons wanting to follow in the footsteps of their father. I no longer have any words with which to comfort her. She bears my existence and lavishes her love on the grandchildren. My bed has grown cold; my soul has grown numb; and my accounts have grown large.
I lie on the eightieth stair of my life. Surrounded by loved ones, I lie dying; alone. I am afraid, but refuse to show it. There will be no more stairs for me. My climb is done. Looking back on all those stairs, I realize that each and everyone has been a blessing. My stairs now to be turned to golden ones leading to a higher place, I take my leave. I arrived in the world cold and hungry, but I now leave satiated and warm with love.
These are the stairs we must all climb.
For the prompt at Theme Thursday.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
One with the World
The night clings to me,
her embrace, loving and dark
I am a child at her breast
suckling her splendor, startling and stark.
Filled with the knowledge of ages,
lulled into sleep
cooing songs of dying stars
bathed in the universes undying heat
Mother and child
one with all time
I reach out and grab one moment
forever, this will be mine
I close my eyes
as blackness prevails
to sleep dreamless nights
as the universe unveils
the course she has taken
left only to poets tales
billowy and lofty
as pirate sails
and all is well, glasses raised in hail!
We are nourished
We are well
without fault
We cannot fail
into dreams I fall
as November winds swirl
I am one with the universe
One, with the world
her embrace, loving and dark
I am a child at her breast
suckling her splendor, startling and stark.
Filled with the knowledge of ages,
lulled into sleep
cooing songs of dying stars
bathed in the universes undying heat
Mother and child
one with all time
I reach out and grab one moment
forever, this will be mine
I close my eyes
as blackness prevails
to sleep dreamless nights
as the universe unveils
the course she has taken
left only to poets tales
billowy and lofty
as pirate sails
and all is well, glasses raised in hail!
We are nourished
We are well
without fault
We cannot fail
into dreams I fall
as November winds swirl
I am one with the universe
One, with the world
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Amulet of the High Priestess
Transfixed, I watched her approach; my breath caught in my throat. Undulating as she walked, her hips swayed as to some unknown music playing in her mind. Raven black hair cascading down to below her waist caught the light that filtered through the canopy of this ancient forest, to give it sheen. Large azure blue eyes stared through me; unblinking and wicked. Her tan skin, almost bronze like glistened with the thick humidity that condensed upon touch.
Exotic smells of oils and balms and richly scented flowers mingled with the heady aroma of damp earth and burning wood. Her breasts were large and firm. Free of all encumbrances, they gently embraced the large golden amulet suspended from a string of fresh water pearls, almost translucent. Guards in tribal headdress and carrying lances menaced my slightest movement. As she neared, they bowed in reverence. She raised one bejeweled hand.
“Why have you come to our land?”
I felt the sharp point of a lance at the back of my neck nudging my immediate response.
“Forgive me. I am a doctor and conducting research into remedies found naturally in the plants that surround us. I was unaware I was intruding.”
She smiled and with a small wave of her hand, the guards retreated a few paces.
“Stand and face me doctor.”
Though said in a soft and musical tone, I felt compelled and commanded to obey instantly.
“I am curious doctor; do all the people where you come from have green eyes and pale skin like yours?”
Our eyes were locked in a searching stare; a tiny polite smile curling her lips deliciously.
“O your Majesty. Some are brown and some are blue; though, not many would have a blue so lovely as yours.”
Her mouth grew wide and she started to giggle.
“Why do you call me Majesty? I am not the Queen. I am the High Priestess! You stare at my amulet. Does this interest you? Have you lied to me? Are you here to steal it? Answer me! Now!”
Her smile had turned instantly from a smile to snarl, and contorted her beautiful features as the guards once again raised their lances and drew near.
“No, no, no, High Priestess! I am as I say. Please, you must believe me. I do, in fact find the amulet quite beautiful, but I would never consider stealing it. Please…”
Her face returned to calmness as she waved the guards once again to retreat.
“Our lands have always protected us. From Mother Earth we receive our food; our medicine when we are sick; her wood for burning when we are cold. We are bound to serve her, and she, in return allows us to live and die in her gentle arms. I will summon our medicine woman. She will show our medicines, and then you will leave this place doctor and never return. Our guards will escort you safely out of our land.”
A great sadness overcame me as I uttered my acceptance to her terms. I knew that though I would keep my promise, others would not. My appearance here would only be the beginning of the end of paradise for the High Priestess and her people. I watched as she removed the amulet and gently removed one of the pearls and held it out to me.
“Take this with you doctor; to remember me and my people. Never forget.”
She smiled and gave a gentle nod, then turned and walked slowly back to where the villagers waited for her to recount what had just transpired.
That was 41 years ago. And today, as I look at the pearl in my hand, I wonder. But, I will never know. Did she survive? Did her people survive? Is their land being raped by godless and heartless machinery till nothing remains but gaping muddy holes where once paradise on earth stood? Are this pearl and my memories all that remain of that paradise? The amulet of the High Priestess is lost, for all time and Mother Earth weeps and spills her bitter tears on the muddy ground.
Inspired by the photo prompt at Magpie Tales
Thursday, October 28, 2010
My Dearest Julia
My Dearest Julia,
November 29th, 1858 was a cruel day. The first snows heralding a long and lonely winter danced across the landscape, unencumbered by patches of blue sky that dared to push through the gray. The landscape, while pastoral most of the year, was now colourless. Winters icy grip tightened on the fields; choking the life out of even the heartiest gourds. Abandonment.
The whiteness of December would bring the preparations of that most festive of celebrations; Christmas! But not this year. The very best of woods piled high for yuletide logs would be cut for a very different purpose this year. Oh, how I detest the drone of death prayers and lamentations. But this day shall see naught but sorrow. My begging of God, and subsequent cursing have brought me only sorrow. For Julia, my beloved Julia is no more.
To forsake my eternal soul, for just one loving last embrace would be a pittance. I am lost. Will time remember our great love? Or shall we fall; forgotten lovers in a forgotten world. It’s too much for one heart to bear. Forgive me darling Julia, but the pistol lies loaded and charged before me. Soon my love, we will be together once more. When I am gone and winters grasp gives way to green pastures, only memories will remain, and the broken dreams of lives once lived.
Julia’s gravestone and other haunting stories lay at Magpie Tales
Monday, October 11, 2010
A beautiful day
A beautiful day here! Blue skies and temperatures around 11C ( that’s around 50ish in Americanese ). The fall colours are breathtaking, but I will have to pull out the rake sooner or later. Preferably later. I came home from work, ( yes, I am an A type workaholic ) and rushed out to the garden. I slashed back everything! I was dressed for the weather, but suddenly realized that I was NOT dressed for the work! Got a tad sweaty, so I thought I would take a run to the wine store to find a naughty lil bottle of Merlot for some later scribblings in the sun. Well what do you know! I found some Rogue beer! Honestly! Well, I couldn’t resist. Oh,, I also bought a little bottle of the naughtiess Merlot you can buy.
People are out walking babies and dogs. Didn’t see many walking cats though. Go figure. Lots of overweight people in Spandex doing the “speedwalkies” thing. Spandex should be outlawed for anyone over the age of 21.
The back yard now looks kinda barren and forlorn. I may have been a tad zealous there. The squirrels have quizzical looks on their faces as though asking me, “ what the hell ya do man???” Screw them, they only drive Queen Daisy nuts! Did I mention our Daisy? A Maltese, all of maybe 5 pounds and the attitude of a Rottweiler. She rules Castle Rogue with an iron fist.
I have been marinating a pork roast in the fridge since this morning. I think Daisy can smell it. She constantly looks at the fridge with an orgasmic expression. I have the weirdest dog on the planet. I should get back to that Louise Penny novel I have been trying hard to read. Where does the time go? Ok, time to get the roast in. I cut all the herb garden back today, so no shortage of fresh herbs here. Toodles kids, see you all soon!
People are out walking babies and dogs. Didn’t see many walking cats though. Go figure. Lots of overweight people in Spandex doing the “speedwalkies” thing. Spandex should be outlawed for anyone over the age of 21.
The back yard now looks kinda barren and forlorn. I may have been a tad zealous there. The squirrels have quizzical looks on their faces as though asking me, “ what the hell ya do man???” Screw them, they only drive Queen Daisy nuts! Did I mention our Daisy? A Maltese, all of maybe 5 pounds and the attitude of a Rottweiler. She rules Castle Rogue with an iron fist.
I have been marinating a pork roast in the fridge since this morning. I think Daisy can smell it. She constantly looks at the fridge with an orgasmic expression. I have the weirdest dog on the planet. I should get back to that Louise Penny novel I have been trying hard to read. Where does the time go? Ok, time to get the roast in. I cut all the herb garden back today, so no shortage of fresh herbs here. Toodles kids, see you all soon!
Saturday, October 9, 2010
October
The river runs coldon these autumnal morns,
majestic Maples
leaves stripped and torn;
bear witness to November,
the sleety scorn
winters icy dribble,
the carcass of the fuschia,
laid bare and forlorn.
Scarlet and gold
reign in the wood.
the world in hushed silence,
watch nature unfold;
as surely it should,
and while the forest folk forage,
Mother Natures’ brood,
the dens are prepared,
laden with pine cones and ferns,
all manner of food.
And into dreams
once again shall they dwell,
till the cruel winters winds,
have left hillside and dell,
and return them once more,
forever to dwell,
the cycle of life,
having drunk deep from the well.
Unto every season,
the poets say;
Unto every reason,
Unto every way.
Unto every new field,
Unto every new foray,
Unto every life,
Unto every day,
the only constant is, in fact, change.
My submission for Magpie Tales resting here
Sunday, October 3, 2010
The Lantern, A Magpie Tale
Allison? Oh Allison, I’m so sorry. I remember my promise to keep myself safe. And I remember your promise to keep a light burning till I returned. Oh God Allison, what has become of us?
France was a dreadful place. I sat for days in mud and bloated bodies with not a thought but the flame that burned, and would herald my return home. I watched the vermin devour my fallen comrades with wild abandon, unable to move, as the shells fell and remembering my promise to stay safe. Hell on earth. Our only orders, “dig in”. Forgive me Allison. My thoughts were only of you and baby McCalister. The smell of blood and earth and sulphur smoke cloud my senses and dispose me in a sea of despair. Forgive me Allison. We were huddled in a mud filled hole. A blinding light, soundless.
And I find myself here, before your window. Oh God Allison, I will not return. Can you forgive me? I will love you always, but I will never be able to be your lover. Please tell McCalister about his father. In Him, I live. Can you hear me Allison? Allison? I see the glass and the brass, but my love, where is the flame?
Written for Magpie Tales #34 which is found here
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Vertigo
I dared to dream the dreams of Icaras and Daedalus. The folly of youth and the brilliance of the times ordained us as Gods. To soar on warm summer winds and caress the heavens; to seek out the face of the almighty; this was our anointed task. To this end, we became relentless in our studies. The hours spent observing the hawk and falcon; grace and speedy death. We studied the master. The great Leonardo. I was enraptured by his works. I sought to build on this brilliance. And through diligence and intense scrutiny to the smallest detail, I was utterly convinced of my success where all else had failed.
July had been kind to the farmers in allowing the crops to grow in wondrous abandon. On that day, as I climbed the tower, the burden of my contraption weighing heavy on my shoulders, my exuberation lifting me unworldly plains, I gazed upward. Higher and higher still. I must touch the clouds, for only in touching them, will they receive me and give me their benediction.
Higher still, till at once I stood at the precipice. My gaze drifted downward and dizziness overtook me. I steadied myself against the braces of willow and oak that formed this fortress that reached high into the heavens and braced myself against the rush of a hot July wind. Below me, farmers tilled the fields of lavender, blue and mauve; unknown crops tilled in unknown fields by unknown farmers, unaware of what was about to transpire high above them.
My exhilaration knew no bounds as I quickly attached the straps and moved toward the edge. In me, the dreams of Icarus, Daedalus and Leonardo would come to fruition. I fell forward and felt the pull of the wind beneath my wings and I soared! Tears flooded my eyes as the beauty overtook my senses and I became one with the summer sky; as surely as the majestic eagle. Downward I soared. In my vanity, as Icaras had tried to soar to high to touch the sun, I soared low so to as impress those nameless famers in nameless fields.
Lower, faster, lower still. I could not lift without ripping the very wings that had brought me to this. I was done! And into a field of lavender my body smashed. Its sweet perfume mingling with my blood. I lay there dazed till an unknown farmer, tilling an unknown field came upon me and brought me to an unknown farmhouse. The smell of lavender lingers in my senses and shall ever be I fear. But the dream of Icaras remains.
And now, in this painting you view, it is I, and my dog Leonardo that stands to the left on the road and stares up to the spire to witness challenge of the brave and the fool hearty. And the nameless farmers, tilling nameless fields of lavender, blue and mauve go about their business…
This was written for The Inferno’s Coxswain “Vertigo” theme where an artist from The Artist Challenge is asked to choose one of their pieces of art and the writers interpret it in words. You may find Ray Shuells painting here as well as the entire Vertigo collection.
July had been kind to the farmers in allowing the crops to grow in wondrous abandon. On that day, as I climbed the tower, the burden of my contraption weighing heavy on my shoulders, my exuberation lifting me unworldly plains, I gazed upward. Higher and higher still. I must touch the clouds, for only in touching them, will they receive me and give me their benediction.
Higher still, till at once I stood at the precipice. My gaze drifted downward and dizziness overtook me. I steadied myself against the braces of willow and oak that formed this fortress that reached high into the heavens and braced myself against the rush of a hot July wind. Below me, farmers tilled the fields of lavender, blue and mauve; unknown crops tilled in unknown fields by unknown farmers, unaware of what was about to transpire high above them.
My exhilaration knew no bounds as I quickly attached the straps and moved toward the edge. In me, the dreams of Icarus, Daedalus and Leonardo would come to fruition. I fell forward and felt the pull of the wind beneath my wings and I soared! Tears flooded my eyes as the beauty overtook my senses and I became one with the summer sky; as surely as the majestic eagle. Downward I soared. In my vanity, as Icaras had tried to soar to high to touch the sun, I soared low so to as impress those nameless famers in nameless fields.
Lower, faster, lower still. I could not lift without ripping the very wings that had brought me to this. I was done! And into a field of lavender my body smashed. Its sweet perfume mingling with my blood. I lay there dazed till an unknown farmer, tilling an unknown field came upon me and brought me to an unknown farmhouse. The smell of lavender lingers in my senses and shall ever be I fear. But the dream of Icaras remains.
And now, in this painting you view, it is I, and my dog Leonardo that stands to the left on the road and stares up to the spire to witness challenge of the brave and the fool hearty. And the nameless farmers, tilling nameless fields of lavender, blue and mauve go about their business…
This was written for The Inferno’s Coxswain “Vertigo” theme where an artist from The Artist Challenge is asked to choose one of their pieces of art and the writers interpret it in words. You may find Ray Shuells painting here as well as the entire Vertigo collection.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Deja vu (or the ongoing saga of Fred and Doris)
Fred looked resplendent as he lovingly gazed at his reflection in the hallway mirror. “Yessiree, today is the day I luck out and snag that new fishing lure down at Walmart!”
His red and yellow Argyle socks seductively clung to his hairy calves. The toes were a tad thread bare as was obvious from the sandals he wore. His hunter green shorts, with the gazillion utility pockets, cinched quite nicely with a faux alligator belt, and topped with fire engine red suspenders managed to magically transplant his waist so that it now lay somewhere just below his man-boobies. His John Deere tee shirt felt a little snug around his ham sized biceps and those damned shorts were starting to ride high again! Oh well, just a small tug, and it will be fine.
“Hey Doris, you coming or what?”
“For goodness sakes Fred, hold your horses! I am just putting on my face!”
Fred frowned as he thought maybe it would be easier for Doris if he got her a spatula to put on her make up. But he had once said that to her a few years back with rather dire results, and the memory of the swollen eye returned to haunt him, so he let it slide.
Fred grabbed his lucky cap; the one that was embossed with “Old Fart” on the front, and slapped it on his thigh to remove the dust. Then he gingerly placed it over his magnificently coiffed comb-over with great care so as not to disturb his “do”. There! The ensemble complete, he was ready to hit Walmart with all the vim and vigor of a kid at Toys R Us!
Doris exited the bathroom with a gasp! “Fred! Did you forget something?”
Fred looked at Doris quizzically.
“What do you mean? I got all my lucky clothes on, and you know Doris, if I do say so myself you might have to watch them ladies there at Walmart. They may be wanting to steal your man away from you!”
Fred gave a broad, toothless smile.
“There!” said Doris, “that’s exactly what I mean! Where the hell are your teeth Fred?”
“Oh, right here in my pocket. No worries, I will put them in before we hit the MacDonalds at Walmart.”
“You will do nothing of the sort Fred! Put em in NOW!”.
Fred frowned.
“You know Doris, I don’t appreciate your tone here. I will put them in when we get there, and that’s that!”
Fred watched as Doris trudged dishearteningly off towards the kitchen and disappeared out of sight. Fred returned to the mirror for another admiring glance.
Doris called out from the kitchen, “Fred, can I see you for a sec honey?”
The last thing remembered as he entered the kitchen was a dark spherical object approaching his face at lightning speed, then total darkness. As the light slowly returned, he saw Doris sitting at the kitchen table.
“Now Fred, about your teeth.”
Fred clawed his way to the bathroom and slowly looked into the mirror as he withdrew his dentures from his pocket. Across his forehead was emblazoned “laF-T” As he stared into the mirror, an eerie feeling surrounded him.
“God lord! I have seen that mark before, I swear! This here must be one of them deejer voodoo things ya always hear about! Wait till Oprah hears about this!”
For The Inferno's theme of Deja vu or as Fred sees it Deejer Voodoo
His red and yellow Argyle socks seductively clung to his hairy calves. The toes were a tad thread bare as was obvious from the sandals he wore. His hunter green shorts, with the gazillion utility pockets, cinched quite nicely with a faux alligator belt, and topped with fire engine red suspenders managed to magically transplant his waist so that it now lay somewhere just below his man-boobies. His John Deere tee shirt felt a little snug around his ham sized biceps and those damned shorts were starting to ride high again! Oh well, just a small tug, and it will be fine.
“Hey Doris, you coming or what?”
“For goodness sakes Fred, hold your horses! I am just putting on my face!”
Fred frowned as he thought maybe it would be easier for Doris if he got her a spatula to put on her make up. But he had once said that to her a few years back with rather dire results, and the memory of the swollen eye returned to haunt him, so he let it slide.
Fred grabbed his lucky cap; the one that was embossed with “Old Fart” on the front, and slapped it on his thigh to remove the dust. Then he gingerly placed it over his magnificently coiffed comb-over with great care so as not to disturb his “do”. There! The ensemble complete, he was ready to hit Walmart with all the vim and vigor of a kid at Toys R Us!
Doris exited the bathroom with a gasp! “Fred! Did you forget something?”
Fred looked at Doris quizzically.
“What do you mean? I got all my lucky clothes on, and you know Doris, if I do say so myself you might have to watch them ladies there at Walmart. They may be wanting to steal your man away from you!”
Fred gave a broad, toothless smile.
“There!” said Doris, “that’s exactly what I mean! Where the hell are your teeth Fred?”
“Oh, right here in my pocket. No worries, I will put them in before we hit the MacDonalds at Walmart.”
“You will do nothing of the sort Fred! Put em in NOW!”.
Fred frowned.
“You know Doris, I don’t appreciate your tone here. I will put them in when we get there, and that’s that!”
Fred watched as Doris trudged dishearteningly off towards the kitchen and disappeared out of sight. Fred returned to the mirror for another admiring glance.
Doris called out from the kitchen, “Fred, can I see you for a sec honey?”
The last thing remembered as he entered the kitchen was a dark spherical object approaching his face at lightning speed, then total darkness. As the light slowly returned, he saw Doris sitting at the kitchen table.
“Now Fred, about your teeth.”
Fred clawed his way to the bathroom and slowly looked into the mirror as he withdrew his dentures from his pocket. Across his forehead was emblazoned “laF-T” As he stared into the mirror, an eerie feeling surrounded him.
“God lord! I have seen that mark before, I swear! This here must be one of them deejer voodoo things ya always hear about! Wait till Oprah hears about this!”
For The Inferno's theme of Deja vu or as Fred sees it Deejer Voodoo
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Affectionate Anarchy - Painters Block
I was born of evil
Born in a cauldron of hate
Suckled on mistrust
My hunger so great,
Satiated in lust
Loins afire
Turning colour to dust
Turn cold the artists’ desire
Lay the canvas bare
Raped and torn
Break brushes and palettes
Leave them broken and forlorn
I am the destroyer
I am that which you dread
In your life, in your love,
In the dreams in your head
Embrace me now
It was never your calling
I have shown you the way
Its beauty enthralling
Will you love me now
And renew your vow
I have taken it all
And yet you question “how”
It was you that sacrificed it
As on a pagan alter
It was you that saw excellence
It was you that faltered
I was the instrument
But you were the crime
Your self loathing
Disgusting and sublime
Will you love me now
Only this I ask
I have always loved you
Does that sound sad, forlorn and crass?
Return to your art
Its beauty enrapture
Its gaunt still life
Forever captured
Forgive my insolence, my unknowing eye
Absolution, your tender heart
The expanse of your love
The expanse of your art
Born to hurt, it pains me
Your colours must live
I block your creativity
Idle your art, without reprieve;
Till at last
You push past me.
Take up the brush,
At last you see
Tho an anarchist I am,
I do so affectionately.
I originally wrote this piece with the concept of artists block. As writers have writers block; then so must artists from time to time. The greatest anarchist we face daily is our own minds that control our creativity. But generally, I have found that after the drought, come the floods. Ergo, the anarchist becomes the giver. My submission for The Inferno.
Born in a cauldron of hate
Suckled on mistrust
My hunger so great,
Satiated in lust
Loins afire
Turning colour to dust
Turn cold the artists’ desire
Lay the canvas bare
Raped and torn
Break brushes and palettes
Leave them broken and forlorn
I am the destroyer
I am that which you dread
In your life, in your love,
In the dreams in your head
Embrace me now
It was never your calling
I have shown you the way
Its beauty enthralling
Will you love me now
And renew your vow
I have taken it all
And yet you question “how”
It was you that sacrificed it
As on a pagan alter
It was you that saw excellence
It was you that faltered
I was the instrument
But you were the crime
Your self loathing
Disgusting and sublime
Will you love me now
Only this I ask
I have always loved you
Does that sound sad, forlorn and crass?
Return to your art
Its beauty enrapture
Its gaunt still life
Forever captured
Forgive my insolence, my unknowing eye
Absolution, your tender heart
The expanse of your love
The expanse of your art
Born to hurt, it pains me
Your colours must live
I block your creativity
Idle your art, without reprieve;
Till at last
You push past me.
Take up the brush,
At last you see
Tho an anarchist I am,
I do so affectionately.
I originally wrote this piece with the concept of artists block. As writers have writers block; then so must artists from time to time. The greatest anarchist we face daily is our own minds that control our creativity. But generally, I have found that after the drought, come the floods. Ergo, the anarchist becomes the giver. My submission for The Inferno.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Lucky Charm
He came to with a sputter. The memory of the preceding moments rushed back as his heart beat wildly; blood gushing from the gaping wound to his head. Having avoided running over the raccoon, he now found himself lying sideways in a ditch on a godforsaken country road. He slowly reached out to the St Christopher medal, now hanging to the side of his rear view mirror.
“Please God, don’t let me die.”
“Do you really believe that will help?”
His eyes widened in fear at the sound of a voice in the car with him.
“Who’s there? Who are you?”
“I am known by many names. But it’s enough that I know yours and your situation. Are you afraid? Does holding that medallion and praying to your God help?”
Through blood blurred eyes he strained to see the face of the voice that taunted him from the back. He reeled in shock at the sight!
“Oh, do stop staring. It’s rude! You know perfectly well who I am. Did you believe that I would appear with horns and carrying a pitchfork? And you believe that angels have wings and play harps, right? I know all about angels. I am one myself. But then, you must have known that. Would you like me to remove all your pain? I can if you wish. But then, I think you would accept nothing from me. You clutch that medallion and believe in metal and forgotten saints.”
His mind reeled. This must be some sort of hallucination from the head injury.
“Of course it’s not an hallucination! Don’t think such silly thoughts. I simply enjoy dropping in at opportune moments to see how little mankind has progressed. I really have no idea why God spared you at all. You are small and insignificant. Oh well, I suppose that he enjoys the praise. Quite vain; don’t you think?”
He watched as a smile filled the face of absolute evil.
“Nothing to say then? Oh very well. To be honest, you are rather boring. There is a young famer and his wife approaching. They will find you and take you to the hospital where you will be mended. But remember this it had nothing to do with that silly medallion you hold so tightly in your hand! God did not answer your prayers! It is simply fate that you face now. Lucky charms do not exist! If they did, I would not exist! And I do, don’t I…………”
“Please God, don’t let me die.”
“Do you really believe that will help?”
His eyes widened in fear at the sound of a voice in the car with him.
“Who’s there? Who are you?”
“I am known by many names. But it’s enough that I know yours and your situation. Are you afraid? Does holding that medallion and praying to your God help?”
Through blood blurred eyes he strained to see the face of the voice that taunted him from the back. He reeled in shock at the sight!
“Oh, do stop staring. It’s rude! You know perfectly well who I am. Did you believe that I would appear with horns and carrying a pitchfork? And you believe that angels have wings and play harps, right? I know all about angels. I am one myself. But then, you must have known that. Would you like me to remove all your pain? I can if you wish. But then, I think you would accept nothing from me. You clutch that medallion and believe in metal and forgotten saints.”
His mind reeled. This must be some sort of hallucination from the head injury.
“Of course it’s not an hallucination! Don’t think such silly thoughts. I simply enjoy dropping in at opportune moments to see how little mankind has progressed. I really have no idea why God spared you at all. You are small and insignificant. Oh well, I suppose that he enjoys the praise. Quite vain; don’t you think?”
He watched as a smile filled the face of absolute evil.
“Nothing to say then? Oh very well. To be honest, you are rather boring. There is a young famer and his wife approaching. They will find you and take you to the hospital where you will be mended. But remember this it had nothing to do with that silly medallion you hold so tightly in your hand! God did not answer your prayers! It is simply fate that you face now. Lucky charms do not exist! If they did, I would not exist! And I do, don’t I…………”
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