Poetry is NOT dead
It had just been on hiatus
On the Value of Silence
Be spare with words.
Lest, ye reveal
The empty chamber,
From which they echo.
Lilith….Woman’s Intuition
The whir of the bullets, as they passed her ear, was akin to that of stirred air caused by gnats buzzing about one’s head. Her response was more impulse than decisive action. Her head recoiled from the vibrations left by the vacuum of the projectiles sent her way. Somehow, three shots had managed to miss their mark.
Naturally, one assumed Lilith had been lucky. As with so many simple things that occurred in her life, anticipating the direction of the bullets and deflecting their path was merely secundum naturum (second nature) for Lilith.
Lilith ….. New York
New York City was the perfect location for a high-priced Escort… She preferred the title courtesan, but she was just as comfortable with call-girl, or hooker. She was unpretentious…With her apartment in the mid ’50s, Lilith was only ten minutes away from Dag Hammersjold Plaza – site of the United Nations building. Most of her clients were either corporate execs, diplomats or individuals who were attached to various embassies in one manner or another.
With the advent of the Internet, the need for a madame or pimp was voided by any girl with a modicum of intellect. In preparation for each call, she checked her handbag for the usual tools of the trade: makeup, creams, lotions, baby wipes, mini bottles of ginseng extract and most importantly plenty of condoms.
Prices were fixed according to time allotted. The average visit was one hour at seven hundred per. With tip, she generally cleared a thousand an hour. Over time she had developed a fairly consistent regimen. Three customers constituted her normal daily client load. The usual workweek was Thursdays through Sundays; but of course her schedule had to be flexible. Some clients needed more attention than others, just as in any business.
Other than the positive fact that her job provided her with a lucrative income, there were negative drawbacks… Not the sex. That had never been a problem. Lilith loved sex. She was not a nymphomaniac. She was just a girl with a hungry appetite; who simply enjoyed dessert more than the main course… The problem she could not escape was the delicate nature of the work of her clientele. Discretion was paramount in her working relationships. A hint of scandal was unacceptable. In diplomatic, corporate or espionage circles, one wrong move could lead a prominent client on the first step toward Siberia or worse… death.
It was this tenuous aspect of her job which first brought Lilith and I together.
Snowed-In
Blocked…the front, back and side.
Were I to perish, I would remain fresh for at least three days.
The expiration date on my corpse would lengthen.
Frigid air encircles my being.
Not one flake likened to another…Except in purpose.
They fall, cover… and given time and temp, grow.
The sirene beauty… the expanse of white desolation…
Inspires the hibernating mind.
Two Souls………dedicated to M. Foster
Loneliness is an unavoidable condition
in the practice of everyday life.
When we encounter an individual
Who, by dint of desire unencumbered,
chooses to: lift the heart without qualification,
embrace one’s loneliness, as well as his bounty,
celebration (unrestained) is justified.
The confluence of two spirits, in this glorious manner,
Is friendship in truth. (A rare occurrence, indeed).
Lilith
His exhalation was quick, as if he were punched in the gut. Seeing her for the first time in four years, in the same exact position: the streaks of tears and mascara running down her face, her hands balled up into fists, sobbing uncontrollably; it was more than he could take. Memories began flooding back. Four years ago it had been one of those “it’s not you, it’s me ” kind of an ending, which was the cause of her angst… Now, all her emotions seemed the same, except for an obvious new one – terror.
Other than that, Lilith hadn’t changed a whit.
Those sharp cutting cheekbones and aqualine nose were the two exclamation marks, the “cherry on top”, of her incredible overall beauty. Skin the color of alabaster mixed with the black smudges of makeup, only seemed to accentuate her amazing features and the distress on her face.
Lilith had walked out on him almost four years ago, to the day. Yet, seeing her like this, it was almost as if she had never left. He remembered their first meeting, when she explained to him that her parents…who were into Kaballah before it was trendy…had named her after the first female created by God according to Hebrew mysticism.
Lilith…the bad girl, who could never get along with Adam or God.
( More to follow )
My Breathtaking Blossom
A daughter is the joy of:
The aroma and sight,
Of a rose;
From bud to bloom.
Word-smith
The tedious work of a Smitty, requires:
A coal-fire which must attain a high degree of intense heat.
( In order to achieve this necessary temperature,
One must expend infinite energy pumping the bellows.)
Sluing metal into the correct form,
Demands a precise touch.
(A discrepancy of the slightest magnitude,
Can have unforseen consequences.)
A letter or phrase forged too mailable,
Lessens the sword’s power;
Hammering a blade without subtlety,
Leaves the impression of a blow hard.
A Verbal Posy
When using flowery verbiage,
Take care to prune your verse.
Lest the scent of your message
Be undone, by an unbridled aroma.
A perfect bouquet is oft ruined
By a riot of lilac.
The Apotheosis of Antoine Burmette
A sky of glistening mist obscured the young man’s vision. He was only able to see about ten feet in any direction. After that, his vision was permeated by a myriad number of jewel-like undulating figures.
They moved, spoke…and in all obvious ways…were shaped and animated by nothing more than the serpentine power of the wind. Antoine saw…where others could not…that they were not simply amorphous dust-devils, borne on the breeze. They were Spirits: Daemons or Angels. One could never be quite sure.
Their substance was composed of connected particles of glittering spectral dust; insignificant motes of disparate granules to the untrained eye. Their shape and movement appeared to be dictated by the capricious nature of the wind’s random gusts. Their purpose, however, was anything but random.
Badu (as he was called by those who knew him) had learned not to disturb them. The drafts and eddies: which molded them, crafted them, made manifest their essence… allowed them to stay hidden. A perfect transparent illusion of innocence.
Antoine Vermette, and some few others, knew better than to discount the underlying animus of their presence. ” Don’t be fooled by the safe, ephemeral demeanor they project, Badu…”, Mark had warned. ” The harmless aura they present, is nothing but a facade…Stay alert!”
Dr. Mark Forster was one of a handfull of people, who had (for good or ill), the ability to see them. Much more than that, Dr. Forster was one of the few people left, that Antoine respected and trusted.
Opening Salvo
When does stream of consciousness reach the level of active thought in motion?
Do Vampyres need to drink the leukocytes, as well as the red blood cells?
Does the fear of today’s economic woes differ from that of yesterday’s global warming?
Did Helen’s Praxitelean beauty truly inspire the siege of Troy?
Did Agamemnon launch 1000 ships, or did a blind poet exaggerate?
When we find the higgs boson, will we really discover the ‘god’ particle?
How many of these particles would one need to make god?
