from a manuscript...

autumn leaves are falling
my love is far away
autumn air is calling
i miss our joyful play
autumn clouds are drifting
my body longs for hers
autumn dawn is misting
and my love endures

My Autumn Melancholy

Seasons come and seasons go,
Heat and thunder, rain and snow.
The garden rocks do see each day.
Until at last they're worn away.
My life meanders as it must,
Until at last I too am dust.

The Waiting Flowers

He wanted to believe that the flowers would last forever, but the smell of autumn hung heavy all around.  So he put aside his ancient fear of winter, to smell the few flowers waiting there beside him.

truncation

all wound up to fly
he was shot out of the sky
plummeting to earth
there to await
another birth

Different for girls...

Upon first arrival, he sat at the staff table.  The others boys took note that a new fish would be arriving for the spring term.  Poor fellow!  Though seven and a half years old, he had never bathed by himself, never tied his own shoes, or eaten a piece of chicken that his grandmother had not first cut for him.  So when he choked on the skin and gristle, the boys knew they had a good fresh mark.

What is a mark, you ask?  Why it is some boy who is exemplified chiefly by his response to torment.  If he stands up, ignores, or gives back in kind, he will no longer be a mark.  But if he cries, shouts, or reports the discomforting incident to the house-parent, then he will be branded as a "good" mark forever, unless bullying dies out as a pastime, or he resolves to fight his way to freedom.

O, how he may wish for a "big brother" in such a fashion as she upon her admission gained a "big sister."  For instead of being branded and forced to cry or fight, she was taken under wing, and shown the ropes.  She was even introduced to new and exciting worldly enjoyments, the existence of which she had never dreamed.

So then, as he hid behind a pile of books in the library, she snuck off with her new comrades toward nocturnal adventures indulged in only by the elect. Did he perhaps see the faint glow of her golden hair as caught briefly in the moonlight as she passed into the cornfield?  His deep sigh leads me to believe it was so.

the gyant went a-boating

The gyant went a-boating
  He took my princess fair
His iron chains upon her
  His flowers in her hair.

She is my own sweet passion
  But he has her now
He's leering from the poop-deck,
  She's reading in the prow.

I see them on the water
  My body shakes with rage
Against him I am helpless
  His boat is now her cage.

Far away they drift, alas!
  Leaving me behind.
Them on that boat together:
  It roasts my shattered mind.

I flop upon the marshes,
  As visions come to me
Though they are far out of sight
  There's much that I can see.

I know she's on her hands and knees.
  Her mouth is open wide;
Of gyants' food she will partake
  He'll thrust it right inside!

He'll make her suck the bitter root,
  Suck it dry and clean;
Then she'll eat the pulpy fruit
  Than ne'er a man has seen.

Her lips and chin so sticky wet,
  It drips upon her thighs:
The salty sap of gyants' fruit
  And bitter root's surprise.

I cannot bear to think of it,
  I cannot turn away-
He owns her out there on his boat
  She is his willing prey.

Minutes turn to hours,
  My hands sink in the mud.
Although I cannot really see,
  My mind will chew the cud.

His magick staff of hearty oak,
  It fills her now with bliss!
Ah! How can I, a mortal man,
  Ever compete with this?

A fever of delerium
  Now has captured me,
Pulpy chains of rooty bliss
  Are all my mind can see!

Vision of the Questing Knight

the fisher king
relaxed and triumphant
his line slack
drifting on calm waters
as the golden one
who holds the Grail
blesses the Holy Lance
with her moist lips

Ymir's bliss

absence...
yawning void...
on either side--
a hunger.
a great beast
with his presence
at the center
fills the gap
draws together
fire and ice
two young spirits
seeking other
yet now his
on each side
take their place
his lust pulling
them together...
now fastly held
in his great arms

mr world

Mr World is out there
Leering with his grin
Mr World is out there
All he wants is "in"
Other ones have tried it
And they seem ok
Other ones have tried it...
Perhaps he'll come today.
He'll plant his seed inside me
Far in, where none will see
He'll plant it deep inside me
And it will grow for free.
Then I will be like them
I will be "ok"...
Mr World will have me
He'll never go away

A zeppelin going down

over water now
land behind us...
unfriendly place--
makes us think
keenly of home.
loss of lift--
captain's order:
all surplus over!
we have so little,
is any surplus?
food will go,
ammunition too...
guns? why not?
we can't fight--
anyone could have us:
jump or burn?...
that's it--all gone.
land in sight
water looks cold...
we might make it,
i hope...

Your Gyant God

adapted from Baudelaire's The Giantess, tr, by R.Howard

had you been there

when primal nature teemed

with monstrous progeny

you would have tried

to nest beside

some gyant god

the way that cats

sprawl at the feet

of those who feed them.

loving to watch him breathe

you would see his lower arm

grown tremendous

with his terrible games.

and you would study

rain-clouds forming

in his darkening eyes

to know what thunders

gather'd in his heart.

scaling the slopes

of his enormous legs

you saunter through

the landscape of his lap.

and when fetid summer

makes him stretch

across the lands

you will sleep, untroubled

in the shadow

of his arm--

a peaceful homestead

at the mountain's base.

when it comes

golden treasure
summer's child--
warm breeze
dancing leaves
ache for moisture...
at his touch
alive and flowing
drenching flower,
leaf and stem,
shaft descending
into darkness...
a rooty forest
of eager, greedy mouths

The Empty City

empty streets i wander
empty houses pass by
not daring to enter
not wanting to try

salt air now calls to me
down to rotting docks
there no ships await me
no keys for any locks

i cannot bear to depart
i do not want to stay
lying down by the gate
too tired even to pray

The Stolen Bride

Once upon a time, a blonde, blue eyed lass named Colette was preparing to marry Stan, her childhood sweetheart.  But on the very day of her wedding, she vanished!  Old Roger, her father, who thought, incidentally, that Colette could do much better, felt this social humiliation very keenly.  A whole days' paid entertainment now gone to waste!  But Stan and the old man agreed to a truce and set out to look for her.

After a few hours, Old Roger thought he heard his daughter's cries for help away off in the hills.  Not stopping to tell poor Stan, he ran as quickly as he could in that direction.  There he found Colette, still in her wedding dress, covered in silver ornament from head to foot!  Her father then understood that she had been taken by the gyants to be the bride of a particularly lanky and strong bodied specimen.  They had dressed her in silver as her bride-price.

Old Roger was much pleased with this new match, and did all in his power to encourage the union.  Poor Stan did not learn until it was too late that his dear Colette was now forever lost to him.  Old Roger grew rich from his new relations, but did not live long in the enjoyment of it, as dissipation and luxury ran its course.  And as for Stan, he wandered the hills, hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse of his Colette.  She stayed ever young and golden as he grew old and grey.

Gofaric the Gyant - part 3 of 3

                                                                        V.
After this debacle, Gofaric asked princess Colette why they kept coming to challenge him when it was so obvious that they could not possibly win.  Colette explained that her hand had been promised.  She, as fine a girl as had ever been seen thereabouts, with svelte figure, azure eyes and sungolden hair, would be wedlocked to him and have to clean his house, cook his favorite foods, wash his stinky clothes.....and sleep with him (ugh!).  It was quite obvious to any man that she was well worth the hazard of one's life (humph!). So the gyant pondered her words.

                                                                        VI.
Suddenly, Gofaric the gyant came to realize that he indeed liked the idea of wedlock overmuch.  He picked up the princess and smashed his way into the cathedral, where he forced Bishop Abner to marry them!  Colette has a hard life now, but she did gain eternal youth and a share of the gyant's immortality and strength through regular and prolonged exercise of his husbandly prerogatives.

                                                                        fin

((there are many variations of this tale, as the mythology of Algarsheen is rich in gyant lore...........))

Gofaric the Gyant - part 2 of 3

                                                                        III.
The gyant Gofaric kept Princess Colette tethered outside his cave as a lure to all would-be rescuers.  These had been promised the hand of the princess by the King.  All set off from that city blessed by Bishop Abner, and all were easily defeated by the gyant!  Most fled in shame, but a few were slain, and their remains cast into the violated barrow of John the Old, first king of Algarsheen.

                                                                        IV.
At his very wits end, the king did take council with Bishop Abner.  Together they decided to expend the resources necessary to summon Jack, the well-known gyant killer.  Indeed, this same Jack did then arrive with great celebration and homage, and the whole city turned out to watch upon the day when he went up to the low hill to challenge Gofaric.  But the gyant did mash him with one blow!  The throng, with their king and bishop together, fled headlong back behind the broken walls of Algarsheen.

((ooh! ooh!! who will defeat the gyant now????))

Gofaric the Gyant - part 1 of 3

((there are just not the right kind of fairy tales out there for me..so i must write my own..but be warned, they are oddshippy....))

                                                                          I.
Long, long ago there dwelt in a dry, dark cave upon a low hill the gyant known as Gofaric.  Ages out of mind had he dwelt there, hibernating at times for decades, and forgetful of even his own past.  But prodigious strength he had, and earth-lore aplenty.  When awake, he keenly hunted his lands.  His only fault was a lack of sustained attention, the exception to this being the possessive desire he felt toward his beloved treasures.

                                                                          II.

After a particularly sustained and satisfying hibernation, the gyant Gofaric was rudely awakened by a riotous cacophony of sounds  not heard on his low hill sanctuary before.  During his absence, the city of Algersheen had been founded, fortified, and converted to Christianity.  King and bishop now presided over a thriving and prosperous trade in foodstuffs and antiquities.  Gofaric took great offense to this blemish upon his domain.  Taking up his club, he smashed his way into the city, breaking walls and houses.  He rampaged all the way to the royal palace, where he espied and seized King Roger's daughter, the Princess Colette.

((ooh! ooh! what will happen next? stay tuned to this station!))

Painting at last!

There comes a time in life when a person had to do what she or he has to do. For me, this is painting.  I have wanted to paint since I was in high school....more than 30 years ago.

This painting shows the city of Derbent in the Caucasus.  It is after an engraving of the city in the Yule-Cordier Marco Polo (Dover Edition).  The calpih Harun al-Rashid, ruler of most of the civilized world, visited this strategic place, standing at the frontier of his vast realm.

The city lies open to the sea.  The rolling hills are the body of the earth.  The one who has arrived, the so-called great one, is a small but important figure heading into the midst of the city.  he has past the entrance and proceeds into the depths of this ancient place.

The jetty and the boat linger at the entrance, but the caliph reaches the interior.  His presence will cause a chain reaction, the will engender new life into this once forgotten town.

Overhead, far from the concerns of men, two birds float serenely over the whole scene, oblivious to the concerns of humans.

"Auch euer denkin wir, ihr Thale des Kaukasos,
So alt ihr seid, ihr Paradiese dort
Und deiner Patriarchen und deiner Propheten"

                                     ~Am Quell der Donau, Friedrich Holderlin

Van Gogh in Philadelphia

The Philadelphia Museum of Art recently exhibited almost 50 paintings from van Gogh's final, and most productive phase of his career as a painter.  In the reproductions that I have seen, his paint seems so thick, and his brush strokes so clear, that the paintings come to life off of the canvas and into the viewer's reality.  As a beginning painter myself, I felt that I just had to see them up close and in the real, to find out what he had done.

My friend Mike R. generously offered to drive us down to Philadelphia, as I could never have made the trip alone.  Before our time to view the exhibit, we wandered in the 1500-1800 gallery wing.  There the paintings, in spite of giving three dimensional appearances, were, for the most part, flat medium on a canvas.  What made van Gogh stand out so?  I had taken a class in Italian Renaissance Art in college, in which we discussed the various methods used at that time, but nothing I had seen from that time in painting seemed comparable to this exhibit.

I did find out, however, that there were rules about getting too close to the paintings.  I had so wanted to see them with my naked eye, and to do that, I had to get within a few inches of the canvas.  At least I was able to see a few up close before I was warned away, and it was enough.  Now, how had he done it? and how had he been able to paint so many in the space of just two to three years?  At home, I looked it up on Wikipedia, and discovered his method.  IMPASTO, or using the paint as a paste on the canvas.  Moving rapidly, finishing in one "sitting," van Gogh swept broad areas of color onto the canvas, and then worked on detail with a smaller brush and different shades of color to give the three dimensional effect.Upon trying this method myself, I immediately discovered the value of brushes with a curved end....to keep the areas of color from mixing too easily and promiscuously.

To My Star of Bethlehem

It's cold, I'm old, growing mold, but then,
You come, bringing sun, and lots of fun begins!!

Harun al-Rashid in Derbent

The sudden and ongoing

Influx of peoples and animals

Has overwhelmed our customs

Pushed aside our moral values

And set our sleeping passions ablaze!

I hope the night will remember

I hope the night will remember

All my little hopes and dreams

Long after I am here to supply them

In such abundance.

Arnie & Zoe ch. 1

Chapter One In which Arnold Philip Young III make the acquaintance of Zoe Carlotta Marie Tietjens

Arnie's memory. It was just my first or second day at the Academy. I had arrived in mid-term, but well before the Easter break. My room was small - perhaps it wasn't a room at all, I mused...they had converted a closet! That would explain why there was no wardrobe...and so many shelves! But there was a bed, and my very own audic too...limited calling around the campus, of course.

Anyway, it was getting late and I dimmed my astrolux to the lowest reading level, and settled in with one of my favorite books, Barlowe's Libretti by Merlineus Textor, propped on my pillow. I set off to my dreams with the story of "Fair Rosamonde."

I must have nodded off, because the clic-clic-clic of the audic awakened me with a start. It clic'd again several times before I found it. On the wire (as we say, even though there are no wires) was a young woman from the Medical Office. She needed to ask me a few questions for the admission report.

Zoe's memory. Voices...it was loud here. And there were so many voices.

"Go on..."

"Yes!"

"Snrk..ask him if he does it!"

"Well..not like that.."

"What?"

"Say it like...'We need to know if you have had seksh-you-all eent-err-course' "

"Well don't just jump to that...geez...say 'carnal relations' or something official-like.."

"Yeh, but start small...I mean like 'have you had chicken pox...' "

"He would already have answered that!'

"Well maybe he won't remember.."

"They say he's wicked smart."

"Who?"

"The new boy."

"Huh?"

"Who says?"

"Gawd, why must you say everything's 'wicked'? It's really annoying."

"I don't.."

"Shhhh! She's making the call!"

I click'd him up on the audic. He was so very serious when he answered that I nearly lost my nerve. But then, I thought..'He is too serious for a boy his age..I must help him to enjoy life...'

"Hello, is this Arnold Philip Young the third?"

"Yes."

"Well...th-this is Miss Tie--Thomas with Medical Records."

"Ahh...what can I do for you, Miss Thomas?"

"I am finishing...finalizing your..aahh...medical record here, Mr. Young, and I an afraid I have a few more questions for you. Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Please ask me anything."

(Snrk ..this is too easy!!...Shhh!!)

"Ahh well...aahh...Mr. Young..."

"Yes?"

"H-have you ever had...had...ummm.."

"Yes?"

"Well...to put it....well..have you ever had...to experience of...of..."

(Go on!!!..Geez, Zoe! Just say it!!!)

"Mr. Young....have you ever had sexual intercourse?"

"No, Miss Thomas, I have not."

"Well then...then....thank you for your time. And have a good night!"

I turned off the audic and threw it across the room. I was shaking and gasping for breath.

"Well geez..that was boring.."

"Yeh..what's on the cinecube?"

Königsberg 1945

My city is wrecked

Surrounded, besieged...

And yet I'm here

My path is clear:

To hold out till the end.

My salvation calls me

From over the ice--

A boat at Pillau:

A lovely, long-dream'd-of boat,

Rich with the wonder of the sea..

But I will never reach it.

I laugh with the madness

Of deep-submerg'd despair.

the phooka's (abbreviated) lament

I am memory...

I am dreams...

Yet I am still

Alive , it seems.

So don't forget

That I exist;

Don't let me vanish

In the mist!

finishment

like storm toss'd sea
when you are grip'd
and gnaw'd by one
who, press'd hard in
at back, oh you,
sheet and blanket--
so rocks and creaks
the wood-fram'd deck
upholding two
dark secret shrouded,
you now wet
with morning dew
pour'd out from deeps
at last releas'd
and tamed withal--
a peace.