Trilogy of War

Part I

"The Poetry of War"

We all lie still
In the poetry of war
We all lay slumped or draped
And do not move anymore
Strike a pose macabre
A pose more resolute
Than lines drawn in shifting sands
The fields our lives pollute
The eyes that cloud
In an opaque glassy stare
Do not see the dogs that feed
Upon our carcass' bare
Of life. That spark is gone
Robbed by the poetry of war
Humbled, frail, broken, torn,
We do not move anymore


Part II

"Long Corridors"

Hard won the closing of my eyes
pillow my head upon dreams
Weeping the loss of one too many
and each day lost
in the hard won war
Sheets muslin and opaque
diseased with ochre 'd age, and torn
rough spun upon my cheek
Eyes closed with slumber unchecked
and rough dreams of gore
of pain
and loss
Hard won it is
each second of mindless rest
night and day
heat or cold
frigid and burning, both
beneath similar skies
The clamor of war about
yet i lay a’ sleeping
still and undisturbed
calloused hand clenching
the spasm of dreams translated
into moments brief and unconscious
preternatural, perhaps,
to one set above such things ~
Eyes gummed in sleep
delicate
and fragile
beneath twin veneers of flesh
covering tumultuous wells
from whose depths
dreams are stirred…
Breath shallow
stirring molecules
and shaping the next moment
in eddies and currents...
a grace under pressure
and soon forgotten
on pillowed dreams
And subconscious i
kneading the id
in preparation for i's rising…
Yet for now i sleep
and hard won it is
each measure of time
wound like thread upon the Sisters skein
Fates chasing with shears at ready
and i
blissfully oblivious
chasing sleep down long corridors


Part III

"Euphrates"

We claimed her soil and changed her name
Euphrates now
Not merely a river
But the whole of the land
Euphrates… west of the Tigris and
East of our homes
But it was the space between rivers-
Ribbons of life amid desolate wastes,
Green palms and empty palaces,
Where we slept ‘neath vaulted ceilings
Pillowed our heads on marbled floors…
And where kings once bathed
Washed the war from our skins

And the souvenirs, toppled like dictators
Cached in our packs
For reminders down the long years
Of where we had stood…
Where friends of old found sleep unwanted
Sent home with taps ringing
Like the staccato sound of weapons fire…
Ringing…

Not unlike the clink of Turkish teapots
Upon saucers and cups
The sound of boots scraping cross roadways
Not unlike the propagandas rolled like posters
For souvenirs…
Photo stills of camaraderie and bravura…
Pieces of statue
Like lucky rocks in our pocket
And the memory of lives taken
And lost.
Was it really so easy?
Despite the toll in lives lost
Did we gain all this
Only to lose more, much more
In the Honor esteemed us
In the Eyes of the World?
Is Honor lost
In the fires of Vitriol,
Or is Honor burnished bright
And proud?
Despite the blood we've shed... and bloodshed?

Now I find I’m caught, weeping
Upon the precipice
We were not made to kill
Yet neither was the world meant for peace
And I remember Yeats who aptly penned
“The world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand”



ELAshley


Part I

December 17, 1995
Between 2 and 3am


Part II

122000.020645.1
"...chasing sleep down long corridors"
Revised: 122100.112407.1
[deemed perfect with but one revision]
but how wrong I was…revised again on:
051501.024817.1
and again on:
052001.054625.6
and again on:
061401.013611.1
and again on:
091201.113924.6
and again on:
042602.012741.1
and finally on:
092905.021644.6


Part III

040903.123920.1
Revised on:
092105.092331.1


..::Original Comments::..

You have the gift. Etienne! You have the gift!
Posted by romantica on 09/30/2005 05:51:39 PM

Resonance

Some things resonate in the soul
A firefly's dance over flower strewn meadows
Cicada’s emerging from transparent shells
The sound of rain falling through trees
All these resonate
As does my love for you
A warm sensation touching the senses
Like an ancient voice calling,

        “Soul remembers
        What Body has forgotten…”

And a smile of recognition
Steals cross my mask

And I remember the song that oceans sing
In pounding rhythms upon the shore…
The feel of my lover’s hand in mine
And the sight of wet Atlantic winds
Combing her hair…
Making love with its scent on her skin…
The scent of restlessness...
Salt and turbulence…
All these resonate
As does my love for you…

Can you feel me?
Can you sense me lying close,
The softness of my breath upon your skin?
How my heart beats ~ pressed to your back?
Can you feel my body's heat
Radiating, penetrating through you?
Can you feel my hand at your thigh
Smooth, burning, moistening…?
Your flesh singing at my touch?
All these resonate,
Tells us there is life within reach,
Tells us there is something of beauty
Within sight, within sound, within scent, and touch

My soft whisper in your ear,

        “I love you…”

This too resonates
It is knowing what you will say
Before it is said
Catching your eye
From across a crowded room…
Reading your thought hidden in a smile…
Even my dreams of you resonate
They stir my soul upon waking...
Make me yearn for night again
And the closing of my eyes
That I might turn once more to dreaming…

And the dream of us…
Pledged to one another
Our lives happily shared
With the little ones we've made
The resonance of words
~ An offering of your lips
Telling me you carry our child…
The resonance of hearing,
With passions spent and in each others arms,
We did conceive…
The resonance of knowing
There will be life beyond our own…
All these resonate, true
But this is life at its purist
Wherein we choose, simply
To open our senses,
Our spirits, and our souls…
Where others dare not

You ask now if I shall run,
Having bravely shared your dreams,
And I reply,

        “I cannot…”

For your dreams they resonate in my soul
They are the stars by which I steer my heart
You are the firefly’s dance
I am the cicada in the throes of resurrection
We are the sound of rain falling through trees…

Together we resonate...
Become a holy delight
For that Ancient voice,
Who loves us, and
Reminds us in His love
Of what our souls now can never forget...
That we are one.

We are one



ELAshley
080101.121126.1
Revised:
092805.120311.1


..::Original Comments::..

firefly's dance...rain falling through trees...salt and turbulence... I am breaking all my pencils and throwing them away. I am burning my pages.
Posted by romantica on 09/30/2005 05:57:16 PM

You humble me, Dear Nicholas, but please do not throw away your pencils. Beauty is subjective; what I find mundane you have found beautiful.
Posted by MuslinOpaque on 09/30/2005 07:57:08 PM

Softly

Her eyes slid closed
Emeralds. Slowly and softly
And her form unclothed
T'was bathed with light. Softly
She smiled and posed
Her lids easing softly
Open. Then shut and dozed
Dreaming slowly. Softly
Her legs, lithe and hosed
My hands caressing softly
With desire prosed
In tender words. Softly
With moistened lips I trothed
Kissing her throat softly
Thighs parting she glowed
Mystery and pleasure. Softly
Her scented petals flowed
My tongue did taste her softly
And she to me bestowed
The jewel of her love. Softly

Her lips. Her scent. Her taste. Her touch. Softly
On this deepest of nights proposed. Softly
The union of lips, scent, taste and touch. Softly
Her warm embrace held me enclosed. Softly
And I gave to her my soul,
Completely


ELAshley
060199

Cobalt

There is a cloud in the sky
A smudge of gray in a cobalt sea
It wasn’t there yesterday
But there it is
Evidence of hard times ahead
Rains will fall and feed the fields
Look up with regret and cover our heads
“Where is the sun?” We will ask
Where is the bright clear day,
The unsullied skies of cobalt blue?

The smudge grows deep ~ heavy
Rains fall to mask our tears;
Tears we’d just as soon not hide
Now Cobalt blue our hearts…
“Where is the sun?” We still ask
Where is the bright smiling day
Unsullied
And taken from us?
What of the work she left undone?
Who now shall tend her fields
Beneath unblemished cobalt skies?


For the Friend of a Friend, Who Died Suddenly... Unexpectedly... Leaving Work Undone, and Fields to Tend.

ELAshley
Began: August 31, 2001
Worked on:
090201.071535.6
Finished on:
091501.124900.6

in Memorium

What is coming?
I asked of the sky
No thought that blue
Could ever reply
But countless birds
Away did fly
"Something comes"

What is coming?
I asked again
And felt the brush
Of Insistent wind
Pursuing a path
That Avians winged
"Something Comes"

What is coming?
I asked of the sun
The air grown hot
To blister my tongue
Flesh to ash, and
In a flash, done
Something has come

Yet I remain
My ghost, my bone
Remembered this day
In memorial stone
Etched in apology
I've no right to own

Something has come
...and gone
May it not be forgotten


ELAshley
080605.102501.6

Of course, factually, birds were incinerated in flight,
and no wind rushed save those winds atomic,
and those that held Enola above the fray.

A Bit of Lullabye

Settle deep
Into sleep
Do not wake
Should storm winds weep
Naught will harm thee
In thy rest
Cradled here
At mother's breast

Let the moon
Fail to shine
If Stars should die
Know you are mine
Naught can harm thee
In thy rest
Cradled here
At mother's breast

There's no way that you could fall
Or that I'd not hear you cry
Though shadows dance upon the wall
I am ever by

Close your eyes
My little one
Soon will come
The rising sun
Naught can harm thee
In thy rest
Cradled here
At mother's breast

Cradled here
At mama's breast

----
ELAshley
091605.061632.6

Hmmmm... perhaps a little melody is in order

The Dance

..::In Four Parts::..

Part I

I had come to dance, to feel alive once more
Isn’t that why we all come? To find life again?
To dance and feel the swirl and sway of synchronous movement
The play of emotion written on every face
Love, adoration, even desire glazed in every eye
And the magic of sharing one's soul
That most solitary of creatures, with another butterfly in waiting
A lady or gentleman in wanting
Desiring but to merge with another singular soul
And with the world at play; at dance within this Grandest of Halls

I had come here before, to watch and dream
To study the dancers, their graceful fluidity...
Ah, the dancers...
I sketched and drew each ruffle and bodice, jacket and pleat
My sketches filled pages, and pages filled tomes of line and movement
Imagination consumed me and a fire burned to capture it all
I was driven to know what drew them to this ballet of souls
And it was as though I too were swept away
In the beautiful dance I sought impossibly to capture in static lines
Rigid curves unbending, unchanging, unwilling to fully be the dance

I had tried a hand at dance; once or twice...
My feet seemed not to understand the language
I was clumsy and three footed, or so I deemed, and was
Unlearned and unready for beauty,
And the currents of the Great Dance
My partners were few, saintly with patience
Yet, not unkindly, left one and all
To find grace in the arms of another
Yet I thanked them all for the lessons offered
And I've sat on the edge since...
The edge of dance, the edge of life, and for long years waited
Patient and shy ~ for what I could not say
But I had glorious dreams beneath the dome of the Grand Hall

It was vast, the Great Hall,
The dancers a sea, and I a lighthouse
Casting a light across the undulant deep, wild and flowing
A warning to those who might think to stop…
     Dance on, I prayed, beware these shores; hard, merciless, unmoving
Dance as long as Fate allows
For it is assured one day the thread will break, the sword fall
And the dance cut short, as are all things mortal
     Oh, short of breadth, Dance on!
So beneath golden Dome, across gleaming marble
The multitude danced,
Cadenced and true to a music that shone about them all
Bathing them in rhythm and sound
They lived my desire
My dreams, my hopes, of beauty and rhythm, light and shadow
In step, in tune, and my arms about a Ladylove...
The music had always sought to sweep me away;
I have ever been powerless in its thrall
When she sang I became Odysseus
Lashed and straining, bound by fear and filled with lust
Wishing only to leap from the mast and plunge to my death

The sketch too inspired me; the motion of the dance
Like the rise and fall of ocean swells, it inspired me
But the music… Ah, the music!
It seemed the binding force that held the dancers to their course
That sparked the magic I felt at watching this magnificent spectacle
And I was surprised to see that none who danced
Seemed to realize the mystery and beauty in which they took part

Is it then difficult to see the dance while in its throes? I wondered
Could it be when one is dancing, the light of its magic cannot be seen?
Are they perhaps blinded by the light in their partner’s eye?
I have seen some beautiful eyes
But none as beautiful as hers…

I remember, as well I should, the enormity of chance;
Chance that I should see her from across the vast hall
Chance that she should even have caught my eye
But Chance and sister Fate seemed ready at last to deal with me
Perhaps taking pity on me, allowing her to see what I could not
Something deep and special within,
Hidden and unbeknownst to even I
Yes, They were kind to me, who
Always on the edge, watching, yet not dancing
Allowed far too much evening to pass…
Perhaps they whispered to her,
Directed her eyes across the Grand Hall and the great sea of movement
How many millions danced that night, and yet her eyes fell on me?
How fortunate that I saw her from across the swirling sea

The Grand Hall hushed, seemed to pull back its voice
And I heard her voice speak across the great distance
“I am Angelina,” I heard her voice,
Sweet as honey. “Please, tell me your name.”
And she moved through the crowd, toward where I stood in wonder
Each step timed to the rhythm of dance,
She was a pebble in the stream
Each couple gliding to a side and sweeping by,
The dance and its harmony preserved
“I am Etienne...” I said with surprise.
I marveled at her radiance,
At the light that shone from her eyes and smile as she drew nearer
“I am Etienne...” I whispered in awe
“Hello, Etienne. Tell me; do you dance or do you simply watch?”
“I would like to dance,” I said, “though I am far from graceful”
“Grace is learned,” she said… “No one here arrived with skill,
Though all were born to dance”
“All? Not I,” I said
And she smiled and spoke… “Yes, Etienne, even you!”
And she laughed
My! How it shone! Silver and true! A ringing to awaken my sleeping heart
Her smile then burned through
Consuming each curtain drawn and shutter locked
     ‘neath the eaves of my soul
Smoke and ash! and blown away upon sweet winds
Over plains long forgotten
And the light that shone from her impossibly blue eyes

I fought to speak, fearful she would leave; and I stammered…
“I tried once to learn,” I struggled, “and though my teachers were patient all,
I have not achieved such grace as these.”
She swept back her arm in gesture, “These?”
“Yes they are graceful, some more than others; still, you need only a teacher”
“Will you teach me to dance, Angelina?” I whispered, afraid of her answer
My voice wavering and on the verge of tears
For I could not believe how beautiful she was
Oh, How her skin shone! And with a light I could not fathom
And yet she had chosen to notice me
Among the millions who had come to dance
She chose me


Part II

Her dress was a glimmering white, diaphanous layers of silk, satin and taffeta
Milky gold hair fell flaxen and amber honey to soft porcelain skin
And I thought briefly of Olympus, of goddesses both beautiful and self-aware
Yet unaware of their effect
     ~Of her effect
On my senses
She was ambrosia to me, a heady wine of bliss
Her eyes the color of a soft summer sky, shining wetly
Seeing all that I was at a glance
And I could not hide
It was as though I fell
Forever tumbling and ever in awe of her
Yet I found I could not gaze forever into their liquid depths
For I was drawn to her lips, how they danced themselves, moist and inviting
Shaped and contouring 'bout the sound of my name
“Teach me to dance,” I asked again
“Teach me to move and spin and step and live
For I find that I would take you in my arms and never let go
I would die in your arms, and in your eyes…”

“I will teach you,” she said at last, after long perilous moments
A smile on perfect lips...
“Will you do as I say, step where I say, move where I say?
Then take me in your arms, gently as a lover
For is that not what all dancers are?
Lovers, moving with each other, through the press of skin on skin
Drinking in each others eyes, sensing in each, desire in the subtlest of turns
Each eager to please the other?
And yet it is not making love, not the union of flesh and passion
Think of me nonetheless as your lover, think of our souls
Binding themselves one to another”

I could not believe I was to hold her
To feel her warmth, to be guided by her, this loveliest of dancers

     “Come now and take me, into your arms and make love to me
Turn me about, and let's move with the tide and currents of the dance”
And she placed a hand in mine, her palm to mine, fingers gently grasping
Fine boned and soft, nails lacquered and gleaming. Perfect
I stepped closer placing a hand to the small of her back
And drew her close
Her scent enveloped me; cradling my senses
It was the scent of angels, pure and beguiling
And as I breathed deep
The warmth of her skin encompassed me, and I sensed
The lines of her form like the lines of my earth
Rich and yielding, fertile and young, and ripe with potential
“Tell me your thoughts, Etienne,” I remember her saying
“For you are surely not here
With me”
“Oh, but I am,” I smiled
“Tell me everything; remembering your promise to do all I say”
“I have been taking pictures, Angelina
Sculpting this moment in the clays of my memory
Drinking in every sensation
The feel of your hand in mine
The warmth of your body through silk, satin and taffeta
Every glint of pearl, every aquamarine and tanzanite sewn
The scent of your perfume, your hair of honey
And the unnatural beauty of your eyes
The very way your skin gleams and shines
Your smile, the soft sound of your breathing
And your lips…”
“My lips?” She asked
“Do they make you weak?”
I thought for the briefest of moments she mocked me
But her eyes glinting and lips shining
Pulled into a smile and assured me she understood
And I believe I loved her at that very moment
The moment she showed she understood my heart

“You should take care,” I said, “for I could well fall in love with you
Though I sense I already have”
“And would that be so terrible?” She smiled, and leaning to my ear whispered
“Did not I choose you?”
And I felt my heart swell and my soul surge with new life
My spirit enlarged and engorged with a new sense of purpose
To love her and her alone
~Et nunc, et semper
For now and forever
From that day forward
Confidence grew in my hands
Her hand in mine seemed new and my hand at the small of her back, at home
I thought of the Gardens of Loveplay
How I longed to walk their paths with her
And yet I felt as though we were already there

The music had crept back, little by little
The dancing continued yet we had not danced a step
Only stood together, poised in preparation like horses at the gate
And in that moment I realized
It was I who was horse, straining at the bridle, champing the bit, eager to run
And she the rider, skilled and at ease
Gently stroking and controlling my impatience to burst forward with a rush
Calming, relaxing me, yet promising me the heat and sweat of the race
She has always shown more control than I
For I have ever been weak in my excitement of her
And for her

“Relax,” she said, “there is time a'plenty for to run
First let us learn to walk with one another
Let us enjoy this first moment of bliss
And remember always the feel of our proximity, our touch
Handsome and magnificent”

“Where should we begin,” I asked
“Begin? Are we not wrapped in a lovers embrace?
And your arm about my waist
My hand in yours?
My dear Etienne, we have already begun…”

“Can you feel the music?
Can you sense its desire, its only desire, to see us wed in motion?
And moving across the planes of the earth
Clicking sparks with our heels, and drawing fire from the heavens?
There is no stopping now, Etienne
Feel its rhythm; let it speak to your soul!
Let it move you to move me
And touch my heart
Never taking your gaze from my eyes ~ or lips
Nor your hand from mine ~
Remember your promise!
Write to me with every movement
With every step and whirl write me poems”

“Angelina,” I softly cried
“Forgive me, but I am fallen for you
You speak to my soul and I… We have yet to even dance!”

“Shhhh, my, Etienne,” her lips brushing mine in a kiss brief and eternal
“Make love to me,” she whispered upon my lips, her eyes deep in mine
“Come, and dance with me”


Part III

“What you must understand, Etienne
Is that life, like the Dance has a rhythm
Our hearts beat, our every breath a cadence
The words our tongues and lips shape
All is rhythm
And still they are imperfect. We are imperfect
Life and the Dance as well
Everything imperfect.”

“But their grace…” I said, and at that moment I was struck
We were not dancing
Yet she allowed me to hold her
Our hands still poised
Our arms still about each other
And her breath on my face
“But their grace,” I said again
“They could not be more perfect!”

Then she smiled and drew me closer
Laying her cheek to mine
And together we watched as the Dance swept ever by

“Look, Etienne. Watch their feet!”
I watched and heard the sound of their shuffle
Felt its rhythm, and I shuddered
I felt her smile against my cheek
But she did not pull away
And I then saw…
As one foot slipped, its leg stiffened ~
Balance was restored, and the pair flowed on

“Did you see it?” she asked, “did you see his misstep?
How he caught it and moved on?
She did not even notice! Her eyes were only on his!”

She pulled away ~ My cheek warm with the memory of her
And she favored me with another smile ~ Gleaming, shining true
A radiant sun in a perfect sky
Perfect, I thought. She is perfect…

“No, Etienne, I am not
But it is sweet of you to think so. Thank you”
And she suddenly laughed for the expression I wore
“Your eyes, it was they who spoke to me…
     ~ And your soul"

“How is it you understand the language of my soul, Angelina?”

“One need only look, dear Etienne…
To read one must open his eyes, focus on the page
Wrestle meaning from each word; its order and relation to the others that
Follow, or come before
There is rhythm even here
And now,” she said, “to the Dance”

“Our hands and their placement
And the pressures we employ
Speak to our partner; this too is language, and the beginning of love
For the languages of Dance and Love are sisters
Or brothers, if you like
Twinned and born of the same mother ~
A Greater Love known only to gods
Who have no name utterable by mortal lips.
She simply is
And Dance and Love are but shadows of her Grace and Perfection
     ~ True grace, true perfection
And we as mortals need learn this language
It is our souls purpose
And though we as mere mortals cannot attain this perfection
Its pursuit is not without merit”

“I feel like a child,” my eyes bright as a whisper
“Do not,” she said
“For whatever reason, the fates have chosen me to teach you the Dance
And I would not do you disservice
I must confess, Etienne, I have never heard a man’s soul
Speak so clearly. I am intrigued”

She tilted her head and her smile broadened
“Shall I teach you this language I spoke of?”
“I am yours to command,” I said
“Do not tease me,” she replied. Her smile flickering as it were a candle’s flame
Then returned, forgiving me my indiscretion

“Very well,” she said
“Your hands speak to me, to the small of my back…
I hear that you support me
That you will protect me; you tell me I am safe in your arms
My hand set upon your shoulder
Speaks to you of my acceptance
Of you, and of our journey together, however brief
Or enduring

“My other
Clasped softly in yours
Tells you my acceptance does not come without price
You must be gentle, and above all, respectful

“The way you hold my hand tells me of your reverence for my honor
It speaks of devotion
And acceptance of your responsibility
Not only to me
But to your own honor as well
How you hold me tells the world you a gentleman
And cognizant of your duty to me
As I have given myself over
To be led by you
But never dominated
To be cherished
But never captive; I am free to leave if I choose
“How I allow myself to be held can tell the world many things
If I am rigid and grip too tightly your hand
The world will see I do not trust you
For I have not given myself over to you
And that our dance will be brief
If I am a feather
The world will see I am not content to be led, rather
Intent on requiring you follow me
It says, I do not believe you can lead me
And the world will see you as weak
Again, the dance will be brief
But if I seem to move with you
Our movements harmonious, our steps in tune
Our bodies flowing one to the other, so much so
The world cannot tell where I begin and you end…
Well…
Such a man is to be admired
To so gain a woman’s acceptance; her trust
The world will applaud your grace and skill
The Dance may still be brief
But most often it is not
For when a man and woman dance so
It speaks of their abiding commitment; each to the other
It is rare that a woman should find such a man
Skilled in the art of Dance
His bearing graceful
Most women must hope they can find a man they deem trainable
Like clay upon a potters wheel
A man they can shape to their desire”

I listened, rapt with wonder
And I prayed to be taken into her supple hands
To be molded and shaped to her desire
Her words so touched me; my heart, imbued that moment with hope
I knew I loved her and I hoped…

But I was not worthy of such as her
And though I could not hide my pleasure
I secretly crafted new dreams in the depths of my soul
Fearing and hoping both that she might hear and tell me she approved
That the dreams I forged too had merit…
Ah, she was so lovely…

“Shall we begin?” I heard her say
Her voice drawing me back from my dreams
“Yes” I said

“First, Etienne, Dance is founded on but two primary rhythms
Unlike the spectrum of light
For in dance there are but two; a cycle of two and a cycle of three
Though music follows several other such cycles
Dance has but two”
“How is that possible,” I asked, “if music has many and dance but two?”
“Ah, but Etienne, it is merely a matter of slowing or quickening the pace
To fill the space between beats
If a dance boasts a rhythm of but three or four, each step is equal
Yet there are Cycles that require more than its measure
If there are but three in a cycle of four
You must lengthen one to fill the four
But if there are four to fill the three
Then you must shorten two to fill the three
There exist, of course, variations
But all are easily learned with time
Now let us begin simply, allow me to lead

And she danced me upon the shore
Beyond the crash of thunder and music
And the shimmering sea of dancers
“Pretend your feet are tied to mine, having no choice but to follow
Where once my feet were, yours must now be…”
And I followed her, and loved her for the confidence she showed me
Never taking her eyes from mine
Sighing not once in frustration
Never stiffening beneath my hands
She spun me and moved me and carried me about the Grand Hall
Yet always on the shore
And there were some who laughed
But her eyes never left mine
Her smile never dimmed
And my love for her,
Filling all the dark places of my lonely heart
Now ached to hear her lovely voice
Speaking to my soul
Calling me friend
And saying, I love you…


  Part IV

We danced for what seemed ages
Our eyes held fast and
Unwilling this spell be broken,
She was exquisite to my eyes
A priceless jewel
In a sea of mediocrity
     ~As though the Dance could ever be so!
And lost in her eyes, I do not recall when we left the shore
And moved upon the sea; dancing the current
Now part of the great migration that ringed the fountain
That circled life
Nor can I say when she ceased to lead and I follow
When she
Letting herself be led, told the world how she believed in me
How she trusted my hand at the small of her back
     And my love for her grew
I scarcely knew where she left off and I began,
As she said we should be
And passion stirred within my breast
A desire to make love to her with every step and sway
Make poetry of her name, for love’s sake.
To see pleasure written in her eyes
And smile, I was willing in that moment to die a thousand deaths
On foreign fields; a warrior-poet, my bone the quill
My blood, the ink ~ spilled on the whim of a muse...
Such was the love that filled my heart
And fills it to this day

     “I am thirsty Etienne, though I am not sure
Whether I thirst for drink, or do I crave something else?
You perhaps?”
     “Do not tease me,” I said, the spell suddenly broken
A gulf beginning to deepen between us
Yet she drew me back, putting her arm in mine and pulling me close
“We shall see,” she said with a smile
“Let us go to the fountain and drink and...
It is true, I am parched for both love and drink”
     “I cannot move as you did through this sweeping dance,” I said
“I have not your grace. Not yet”
“Etienne, don’t be silly
It was not I who moved through the dance
It was the dance that moved past me. About and around
The current does not divert the island
Nor is stone pushed aside by the stream
It is the water that flows
Not island or stone
Let them be what they are…
And let yourself be what you were meant to be; my companion”

     “Why is it at the center? Why a fountain in the midst of the dance?”
As we moved toward the center, the dance streaming past,
A river of swirls and eddies running before and behind
Never a touch or glance toward us, yet stirring the air
She laced her fingers with mine, and spoke to me

“Life is at the center of the dance,” she said
“To drink is to live ~ and the dead do not drink;
Life is at the center of all things, Etienne”
     “Is that what I was? Dead?”
And then she spoke the word I had not before heard
Nor since forgotten…

“Not yet, my love”

     “My love,” I repeated, “…my love”
“Yes, you are my love, Etienne”
     In the midst of the dance
Somewhere between life and death;
The fountain and the shore
We stopped; the world swept by, the ocean rushed past, the dance moved ever on
And her arms swept over my shoulders drawing me close
Her smile for the briefest of eternities filled my sight
Before her lips swept me away in a dance of their own
We were the island she spoke of
The stone that parted waters, and for as long as our kiss held
As long as the taste of her lips, the scent of her hair
Filled my senses, I forgot about death
Forgot about life
Forgot about everything but the brush of soft lips
The dance of tongues, and our eyes
Open and drinking
Watching and swimming in each other’s depths

     “I knew I loved you the moment your eyes touched mine
Though I was afraid to tell you, fearing you might return to the sea
And the dance, yet you stayed”
    “Where would I have gone, Etienne? Where between heaven and hell
Between life and death, where would I go?” you asked
“I watched you for the longest while
Watched how you desired the dance, how you longed to dance
I watched your hands, watched as you sketched
And I wondered how you viewed the dance, how you drew our lines
How you, on the edge of death, viewed life
And I saw in your eye a wistful dream that awoke in me
A desire I thought long dead…
I did not know if I could love you
But I had to know
And now I do, and I find I am still thirsty, Etienne
For life… with you”
      “But you know nothing of me, Angelina,” I cautioned
“Don’t I?” you replied
“Have you not danced me magnificently?
What more need I learn? I have read the lines of your earth*
Saw what manner of grain grows there. So come,
Let us go to the fountain and seal our love, and drink of life”
     I took your hand in mine…
It was my first act of confidence, inspired by a desire to live
Born of a desire to belong at your side, in your arms, and in your heart
And I led you in a dance that brought us nearer each turn to the waters of life
To the consummation of love, of devotion ~ a cool and heady drink ~
Awaiting us there at the very heart of life

     And on we danced, moving like stars about the galactic core
Merging at last, emerging from the stream to the bright wet shores of life
The great fountain rose before us like a mighty ziggurat, gleaming like pearl
And ringed about by Orsel maids, pitchers tipped and brimming
From which wine fell like rain, filling our glasses
Ambrosial mists covered our skin
And together we shone glistening wet and
Bright like the sun
And we raised our glasses to toast the fates
That joined our threads and wove the pattern
Of years to come, and our lives
Within both weft and warp
     “To Angelina,” I smiled, falling deep into your eyes,
“To my dearest friend and most cherished lover,
I vow to love you,
To the last breath I breathe, and beyond
For I was destined to love you,
Born to be your lover,
To dance with no other but you…”
     “And to you, My Etienne
I will be your harbor, safe and warm
When storms threaten, and oceans build
I too will love you to my dying breath, ever mindful of your heart
I will love you and no one else
To the end of my days, but again, there is a price:
You must always remember that how you dance me
Tells the world how you love me
And you must love me such that
The world would be envious
Wanting what I have, but never can or will…
To my Etienne, to our love,
     And the envy of a world!”

     We drank from our glasses then drank from each others lips
In a kiss that, to this day has never left me
~ And it was a rich wine indeed, thick like honey upon our lips ~
Above all else, you inspire in me a desire to be one with the dance
To be one with you, in all things
And so I have sought daily to never lose the feel of that
One beautiful kiss, sweet ambrosia misting our faces

Our lips heavy with wine, and our senses drunk
With love and wanting…
And to live each day remembering my promise
To make an entire world envious




     There are many things I sought to find at the dance, And you, my most secret of dreams,
But what I found far surpassed any hope or dream. Like my sketches
~ Poor imitations of life
And with your gift of awakening I was made to recall a verse of song…

          “Gold and diamonds cast their spell      It’s not for me I know it well
     The riches that I seek are waiting on the other side
     There’s more than I can measure
     In the treasures of the love that I can find…” **

       And what had I hoped to find? I had come to dance never expecting to dance…
And finding a dance, changed my life forever, to the reshaping of my soul
The deconstruction of a name I walked within
The resurrection of a name in the throes of a dance
And the resonance of a name
Spun from dreams and cast like nets
From your own perfect lips
To the capture of my very heart and soul

My fair Angelina



--ELAshley
010302.115718.6
Many Revisions
Culminating in this
Final Revision:
102107.125628.6
041610.113811.1

_______________

* "The lines of my earth, so brittle, unfertile, and ready to die.
I need a drink, but the well has run dry." --Sixpence None the Richer

** "The Wall" --Kansas

I am Atef

He burned through the desert ~ hate and rage
Sight searching and hoping for respite
Hearts vitriol grasping for life,
And no purchase for scalded hands
Screaming down the barren hills

                    “I am Atef ! I am Atef ! I am…

“…bereft! In an ocean burning white
Where is paradise? My reward?
Pools to cool my blackened feet?
Where the virgins to attend my whims?”
Now screaming vast in a fiery demesne

                    “I am Atef ! I am Atef ! I am…

“…the sun! So hot! Might this be that star?
Where is God? Where Allah the merciful?
I am Mohammed Atef! Martyred son of God!
Surely Lord, Thou hast made a mistake!
I am burning pitch, embers cracking with pain!


                    I am Atef ! I am Atef ! I am…”



ELAshley
17 November 2001
In memory of Mohammed Atef, Osama bin Ladin’s chief of security. Atef is credited with training the terrorists responsible for 9-11, and was killed during a US bombardment in Afghanistan on November 16, 2001 during the Holy month of Ramadan.

Yet Another Riddle...

Having cleaned, it's what we do
It's what must be in spite of you
It can't be fixed - It isn't broken
It comes and goes with each word spoken
Adapt or perish is what it says
And is what it ever is

One Kiss

There is but one kiss
The first kiss
Only that one ~ savored more fully
With each returning brush
Of lips intent
On recapturing the moment and pleasure
Of the first
Like the taste of wine remembered
On a lovers tongue ~ the wet warmth of desire
Sensual and yearning…
We clash again and again
Lips hungry,
Hoping to find that moment
Now lost
Wherein we were awakened
By the gift
Of that first kiss...

That I desire you…
That my entire being is impassioned
By the hope of your soft lips
Brushing mine
Should come as no surprise
For I am compelled to reach for you
I am tortured by separation, and
Bound without remedy
To the promise
Of our first and only…
Our last and eternal kiss...


ELAshley
--On St. Valentines Day, 2002

Dearest Mary Angel,

Deepest apology's for not writing you sooner. My last letter was the night of my birthday, and I had allowed myself to drink far too much. I hadn't been drunk since the year before when a friend of mine passed on. I rarely drink as it is, which is a good thing, but I was foolish, allowing grief enough room to throw caution to the wind. But that's neither here nor there.

I had been so miserable the year or two leading up to my firing, and it took losing my job to see it clearly. Eight days after my birthday Colin fired me-- Princess Diana was dead and I was out of a job; albeit, one I hated. Still, it was completely without warning, and I was simply too stunned to ask why. All he told me was my performance was "...too little too late," and that the matter was out of his hands. He went on to say that if I wanted, I could continue working at the restaurant as a cook until I found work elsewhere. I told him I would think on it and give him a call. I then surrendered my keys and left.

I had another set of keys at the house, and for a month and a half I contemplated entering the restaurant some night when everyone was gone, disabling the alarm system, and wreaking havoc on their food inventory, and stealing money from the office, but thankfully, I had better sense. Instead, I applied for unemployment and made a half-hearted attempt at finding work... meaning, I didn't look very hard.

I had decided months before that I would never work in another restaurant again unless I had some control over menu, and autonomy enough to treat my employees with more respect than I was then allowed. I'd also caught on to an unconscious trend-- every new job I go to always seems to be completely unrelated to the previous job. So, when I looked, I consciously looked outside the food-service industry.

In early November, I went to both television stations in town and applied for whatever might be available. Ch 18 never called for an interview, but Ch 4 interviewed me on the spot, and I was hired the next day! I am now what is called a "Master Control Operator," which means little in regards to pay-scale, but the job is so incredibly simple, circus bears could do it-- I literally get paid to watch television and occassionally push a few buttons.

Then the most amazing thing happened! 1 day after I was hired, Spinnaker's Restaurant-- the establishment to which I had devoted 10 years of my life --without warning, closed 3 hours early on a Saturday evening and informed the staff that it was closing it's doors in town forever. I received a call that very evening from a kitchen worker with whom I had been sociable. I was somewhat shocked that he openly cried over the phone as he told me everything.

The home office, I later learned, closed six other units that same week and had recently closed two prior to "our" closing. Initially, I was so elated to know that the company, which had seen better days and was in decline due to debt, had been forced to fire almost 500 employees and over thirty managers to stay afloat. I laughed until I realized what they had done by letting all those people go just four weeks before Christmas. Each employee, like myself, had given a significant amount of their daily lives to a company that couldn't have cared less.

So here I am. It's 1998. And I am somewhat happier, though the loneliness I feel grows stronger each day. I want a family. It's time I start thinking about a family. But I'll probably have to hurt someone I care a great deal for to actually get on with my life. It would be nice to find someone with whom I could actually open up to; someone whose personality would allow me to be myself without fear, and perhaps someone who would love me with equal measure in return.

But that's all I can say about that for now. Ophelia will be home soon, so I must finish this.

With great love and longing I am ever yours,


Eric

January 0898

To Reflect or Capture?

What constitutes an "Artist" or "Artisan"? Is a man or woman an artist if they perform music, or perhaps paint? Are they Artisans simply because they craft the artistic? What if all the 'Artist' can do is perform on stage, or paint variations of the same theme/landscape? What do you call someone who is good at many things? Is the single-facet artist on equal par with the multi-faceted artist? Is a one-dimensional diamond as beautiful as a 3 dimensional diamond. The former is nothing more than a mirror to reflect light, while the latter captures light, and creates something infinitely more beautiful.

Do I, as an artist, wish to merely reflect, or do I want to capture and create beauty?

3 things I find to be erotic:

1 - Washing a woman's hair

2 - The taste of wine on her lips

3 - The sparkle and glisten of her eyes in candlelight

How About Another?

One man makes it and doesn't need it
Another man buys it but doesn't want it
Yet another man uses it and doesn't know it

How About a Riddle?

I watched Semolina's upward climb
To the rhythmic cant of a scarabs rhyme
While sitting on breakfast...
Who am I?