Category: Blogging 101

Of Summers Passed

Ah, I see. You must leave again, my love

to pave the way for your older sister,

the one who colors before the whitening kill.

I shall miss you.

Will you miss me?

We dance this dance

year by year,

and the music,

while ever as sweet,

slows down to the rhythm

of our ending.

I do love the touch of

your sun

upon my skin,

and the way your breath of song

makes the branches dance.

The brightness of your eyes

makes me don that which

tames their radiance,

and the weight of your stare

warms me.

The touch of your hot kiss

on my face

makes me close my eyes

and offer up my cheeks.

My heart takes sanctuary

in your

ethereal greenery,

as even now

you start to fade.

Summer,

I will miss you,

resting in the surety

of your

perennial return.

Sleep well, my love,

and know

my heart

is ever

yours.

The Value of Things

Indrissa hated the market, until he made her see it through new eyes.

Indrissa hated everything about the market: the noise, the smell of animals, the smell of people, the squalling of reckless running children that always resulted in something breaking, fighting off the feral animals that roamed and the endless vermin that stayed, the constant haggling, the heat of the sun, and the leering of men.

Resigned, she lamented her lot, until the day he came.

He bought a small, cheap necklace from her with a fake green gem and asked her to try it on so he could see how it looked. “I’m buying it for a special lady.”

Humoring him as well as herself, she put it on. “I’m sure she’ll be happy with it,” she fastened the clasp and looked up at him with a fake smile, “and pleased with you.”

He smiled back. “And are you?”

She tilted her head and looked at him, questioning his meaning. “What?”

“Are you happy with it, and pleased with me?”

She began to unfasten it and hand it back to him. “I don’t understand…”

He held up his hand to stop her. “I bought it for you, Indrissa.”

“Sir, I don’t think—“

“I’ve watched you for a long time. You always look distant and unhappy; you don’t like the market, do you?”

She felt her face heat, realized her hands were still poised to take the necklace off, but she didn’t.

“No, I don’t. I inherited this business from my parents so I wouldn’t fall prey to the scavengers here.”

Not far away was a stage with half naked men and women, and the grim, silent men below them who’d as soon cut a throat as shake a hand. Gold and silver coins flashed through fingers faster than the eye could follow, and the stage began to gradually empty.

He nodded. “I’ve watched them, too.”

She assessed him, trying to place him, but couldn’t; he said he’d been watching her.

Either it had been in plain sight, or he was stalking her.

Still, he’d bought her a gift, albeit from her own stall, and made himself known; if he’d wanted her dead, or harmed, he had more than his share of opportunities.

“So what are you going to do?” she asked, surprised to find herself a bit shy, “Take me away from all this?”

He shuffled a bit, now nervous himself. “Not right away. I could make coming here better for you, though.”

“And how’s that?”

“It’s what you’re selling. No one wants that. It’s for children…”

He stayed at the booth, talking business in between flirting.
He bought lunch for two, and sat beside her as they ate.

She could see some of the other merchants begin to cast furtive glances in their direction.

If he noticed, he didn’t seem to care; he was all business, offering to increase the value of her wares, and if she wanted, she could take him on as a partner. They’d do well together, and ….

The hours went quickly, and he helped her pack and walked her to the gate.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.

He smiled. “Would you like to?”

She actually giggled, and nodded. “Yes, I would.”

“Then I will be here.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake, and she did.

At home that night, bathed and pleasantly exhausted, she had a sip of something strong, and stared out the window at the rising moon.

She thought of him, and her hand went to her throat. With a small smile, she felt the gem and chain beneath her fingertips.

She’d forgotten to take it off, and now she didn’t want to.

Sea Belles

They ring the sea bells in the harbor

for the sailors there.

Now come the dancing village girls

with flowers in their hair.

They look so lovely in the sun,

in gowns of green and blue,

to match the mighty ocean’s blush,

and fetch a husband too.

The people clap and cry and cheer

as toward the waves they go,

A sacrifice of maidens come

to join the men below.

The echoes of the knells ring out

across the dancing waves.

The sailors wait impatiently

beside their silted graves.

The singing of the maidens now goes silent

in the surf,

The curse is spared again for those who stand

on muddy turf.

The only note that’s ringing now,

a lonely seagull’s call.

That binds the briny couples to the stones

beneath the squall.

They ring the seabells in the harbor

for the sailors there.

Now come the drifting village maids

with seaweed in their hair.

The Secrets in the Wall 2

Chapter 2:  Secret Games

The last brick was laid in for the tombs, and the people came to fill it as they years passed, some with solemn ritual and whispered grieving punctuated by muted sobs, others with mirth and raucous celebration of a life violently lived, and still others seething with quiet anger and not so secret relief that the departed would trouble them no more.
   But he’d been the first.
   The girls were playing hide and seek with the boys, and the forbidden territory of the tombs was too tempting a place to be ignored.
   Karlyn and Essyna had broken away from the rest of the group, going into the shadowed end where the torches wrestled with the perpetual draft that came down the chutes into brackish water.
   There they waited and tittered behind their hands, confident no one would venture this far to find them.
   Essyna said to Karlyn, “I heard Prince Broderic is not the true son of the king.”
   Karlyn gasped. “Then whose son is he? Who’s brother?”
   “I don’t know, but if the king finds out, and it’s true, the Queen will die.”
   As Karlyn turned to look for seekers, Essyna’s braced herself on the wall; she snatched her hand away suddenly, as if something had stuck her.
   Karlyn turned to her. “What happened? Are you all right? Did you hurt your hand?”
   Essyna looked at it, curious. “No. It’s not even cut, but something stuck me.”
   Karlyn ran her hand over the brick, rubbed it with her fingertips, but nothing happened.
   The Secret could see them from inside the wall, their gowns bright but stained at the hems with a slimy wetness that would earn them punishments, and their just-so hair beginning to unravel, Essyna’s red-gold ringlets like a beaded cowl across her shoulders, Karlyn’s the bright yellow of a late morning summer sun.
   Footsteps echoed, and an older boy’s voice called their names.
   Their eyes widened in fright, and they scrambled from their hiding place to make themselves seen.
  “We’re here, Broderic!”
   They stood before him, eyes down.
   He laughed, not kindly. “Your mothers will have your hides for those dresses, and your fathers for coming down here when you knew you were forbidden.”
   “You could not tell them,” Essyna pleaded.
   “No way to explain away those stains.”
   Karlyn swept her right arm downward, and the stains disappeared; her smile held only a veneer of sweetness. “What stains?”
   Broderic swallowed.
   Another Secret joined the first, and the wall visibly shimmered.
  Broderic cried out and turned white.
   The girls turned to look over their shoulders, seeing nothing, and turned back to Broderic, questions and worry replacing their fear.
   “Let’s g-go,” he said. “I-I-I’ll tell them I f-found you in the garden.” The torchlight and the sounds of their footsteps receded, leaving only abject blackness.
   “Wise choice,” Karlyn said, and the dire echo of her veiled threat carried back as the Secrets settled into the stones.

When Do You Need Me?

 

When do you need me?

“When I’m doing well.

Standing victorious,

riding the swell.”

 

When do you need me?

“When I’m feeling low,

walking with sadness,

with no place to go.”

 

When do you need me?

“In thunderous rain,

in heat waves and blizzards,

in heartache and pain.”

 

When do you need me?

“When others don’t care.

They stop and they laugh

and they point and they stare.

 

“When do you need me?”

When loneliness calls,

and deafening silence

fills dim, darkened halls.

 

“When do you need me?”

In mornings so bright,

I just can’t stop smiling

and everything’s right.

 

“When do you need me?”

Right here and right now.

I need you to love me

the best you know how.

 

When do you need me?

Each day and each night,

for you are my weakness

with all of my might.

Hymn of the Exiled

The rusty, russet soil of the shoreline

shrinks more quickly than I’d like.

The sandbar and the harbor release their hold

all too eagerly.

The current snatches at the hull

like an orphan seizing the last scrap.

And I find my heart adrift.

 

My thoughts try to swim back with all their strength.

My memories fade, weeping as they stand on the banks.

The luteous sun strikes me with a smalt melancholy,

so much deeper than the waves that skip us like a hollow stone

across the meandering ocean’s surface.

 

My love unties the knots of the bonding kerchiefs

of our Handfast Day, and I no longer care how high

the restless waves fling themselves at us to pluck us

from the deck and wash our bones to brine.

 

The kingdom crown, once so desired, so soon set aside,

besieges my brow with a phantom weight,

and the royal scepter

is now but a common oar.

 

There are no words to balm this sadness,

to bind this slow and leaking death.

And so I drown it in tears and rage,

never to be home again.

 

Never to be,

at all.

The Summit of Self

 

You’ve traveled far to see me, child,

and never told me why.

Am I supposed to love you, hate you,

live with you, or die?

 

You’ve traveled far to see me, child,

but I don’t know your name.

Am I to solve a riddle or to

play a guessing game?

 

You’ve traveled far to see me

following some long dead star.

And now you stand before me here,

so I’ll know who you are.

 

No longer sentient, my child.

Not able to inquire.

I can no longer see or hear

your circumstances dire.

 

I’ve no advice or wisdom.

You must learn them on your own.

The maggots feasted long ago,

and sharp fangs cracked the bone.

 

I’ll say your name to you, my child,

and I will speak it true.

The skeleton you gaze at on this mountaintop

is you.

 

Descend now from this mountain, child.

There’s nothing for you here.

Death’s but a silent, endless dream

and so you mustn’t fear.

 

You weep, my child, but foolishly.

The fate of all is this:

the gods who see us war and play

betray us with a kiss.

 

 

Shadow Love

I see it standing there

at the

bottom

of my life

like a

snarling wolf

at the

base of a ladder

 

This amorphous shadow,

Shifting, shining stars

contained in

incorporeal limbs.

 

I remember when

they reached for me

and held me close,

One hand on my eyes,

the other on my throat

so I would not see it

was killing me,

as it sang

death’s lullaby

so sweetly

in my ear

so I couldn’t feel

my life ebbing.

 

But I grew too heavy

with sorrow

to carry,

and it set me down.

 

Gorged on my misery,

it could not pursue.

And when I returned

to the sunlight

it fled.

 

I remember it,

not fondly.

And these days,

not long.

 

But I can still

feel its eyes

boring into me,

And it waits,

black and coiled

round the cold scraps

of what it once prized.

 

Wanting me back

even as it moves on

to claim

new souls

to suck.

Fare Well

Farewell,

my love.

It seems I knew you not.

The sound of the closing door

was a whispered sob

that only served to

amplify the tearing of

separation.

 

Farewell,

my love.

It seems we both forgot.

The days of laughter and love,

at once torrid and tender.

Our words of fealty

and the promises in stone

eroding with time

and the day to day

decay of fantasy.

 

Farewell,

my love.

We gave it our best shot.

The letdown felt like chains

and the arguments were

thorns in the side

that never healed,

and mortal grace

was insufficient.

 

Farewell, my love.

We didn’t love a lot.

Our curses even now ring like

minor key bells

in my memory.

 

Farewell, my love.

In beauty there is rot.

And in the sun’s persimmon rays

we say farewell to better days

in the land of loving thought.

 

Fare well, my love.

 

Clear as Dark Glass

In the window

at dawn

you used the light

to wink at me.

I came to the window

to admire you

and assess what it would mean

to possess you.

And now inside,

I hold you,

and see that you are etched

with life’s hieroglyphs.

They are a riddle,

and you are a puzzle.

‘I know you,’ I say,

holding your dusky essence,

turning you in my hands.

I hold you up to the light

and look through dark glass,

seeing clearly where I would come to rest

in tortured love sublime.