A Reprise

Wallace Stevens She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly body, fluttering Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry, That was not ours although we understood, Inhuman, of the veritable ocean. The sea was not a mask. No more was she. The song and water were not medleyed sound Even if what she sang was what she heard, Since what she sang was uttered word by word. It may be that in all her phrases stirred The grinding water and the gasping wind; But it was she and not the sea we heard. For she was the maker of the song she sang. The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea Was merely a place by which she walked to sing. Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew It was the spirit that we sought and knew That we should ask this often as she sang. If it was only the dark voice of the sea That rose, or even colored by many waves; If it was only the outer voice of sky An

A re-telling of Snow White, submitted to Gothic Writers, Inc. poetry contest I dreamed of darkness and dreamed of you in my snow-bound sleep Awakened with a kiss my eyes flew wide, my lips red as blood warmed by your touch. You stole me away to a place where the wind in the trees moaned like the restless dead, where spiders plotted my death in the dooryard Where loved bloomed wildly, a rose with plucking thorns You surrounded me with the shadow of your love till all I could see was darkness, and I dreamed.

"You must let me go," she said. She pulled the cloak more tightly around her shoulders and shivered, looking at him longingly. The man she loved had lost his mind. "I cannot do that," he growled through the glass, his features contorted. She knew he felt as cold and dreadful as she did. They both believed that Hildegarde was dead. Anton was certain that Madeleine would be next, and she knew his suspicions were justified. She touched the glass as though to reach the features of his face. His face was more beast-like than ever to her now. It was harsh and angry. He would be easy to push over the edge. He was on the edge of sanity now. "Then come to me. Don't leave me here alone. Please." She shivered. "If my presence in the main house is missed for long then the murderer may grow suspicious. Your presence here must not be detected." "If you leave me I will scream." His eyebrows shot upward. "Don't do that. If you scream I wil

In a high, dilapidated tower she waited, as old as time. Her long pale hair was spread around her on the pillow, glimmering like dark gold in the moonlight. She wore an old gown which was tattered and stained with age, though the hands which lay on the bed, encircled in tattered ruffles, were pale and slender, clearly the hands of a young woman. He stared at her with a sense of obsession, his green eyes narrowed. I will have you, beauty, he thought. You are mine in life or in death.

Procol Harum We skipped the light fandango turned cartwheels 'cross the floor I was feeling kinda seasick but the crowd called out for more The room was humming harder as the ceiling flew away When we called out for another drink the waiter brought a tray And so it was that later as the miller told his tale that her face, at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale She said, 'There is no reason and the truth is plain to see.' But I wandered through my playing cards and would not let her be one of sixteen vestal virgins who were leaving for the coast and although my eyes were open they might have just as well've been closed She said, 'I'm home on shore leave,' though in truth we were at sea so I took her by the looking glass and forced her to agree saying, 'You must be the mermaid who took Neptune for a ride.' But she smiled at me so sadly that my anger straightway died If music be the food of love then laughter is its queen and likewise if

It took a second glance to see that the queen's tastes in art were debauched. In the scenes naked nymphs were straddled by eager Pans, and powerful centaurs made love to helpless maidens, horseflesh against the bodies of the women. The queen was known for her sexual appetite, and everything about her attested to it, including her attire, which clung to her body and accentuated her full breasts and hips. She moved to him with the swift grace of a cat, her black silk skirts smoothing silently over her legs. She lifted his dagger to his throat and raised her black brows as she spoke. "If you do not do as I say, then I will take your brothers and sisters from your home. I will kill them, roast them, and serve them for my court's pleasure for dinner. I will weave your sisters' beautiful hair into a shawl and set your brothers' teeth in gold in my crown. They will glow like pearls in my hair." She smiled evenly, displaying long, even white teeth like those of a pant

I thought sleeping in would help my bad headache, the one that starts behind the eyes, but now I just feel worse and slightly stuffy. Oh no. Not now.  Yesterday I wrote almost all I need to in order to submit "The Golden Palace" to The Marlene and The Merritt. I am going to work on "Angel" today (hhmmm...or possible tomorrow) to submit to the Winter Rose. I was on an absolute role yesterday with "The Golden Palace" and had this deliciously tired feeling afterward, like I had done a hard day's work.  Then, I played Virtua Fighter IV with Nathan-- which I have never done before--- and of course he beat me but it was fun and I would do it again. Eventually I will beat him. Then, I looked up www.dogdoo.com and thought seriously for about 45 minutes about sending my old boss a Poo Poo Platter. Then, over dinner, I found out from Nathan we are in debt, and got freaked out so today, I am going to start cooking dinner for us.  Gosh, I have been so lazy. You

Wallace Stevens 1 Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She dreams a little, and she feels the dark Encroachment of that old catastrophe, As a calm darkens among water-lights. The pungent oranges and bright, green wings Seem things in some procession of the dead, Winding across wide water, without sound. The day is like wide water, without sound. Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet Over the seas, to silent Palestine, Dominion of the blood and sepulchre. 2 Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams? Shall she not find in comforts of the sun, In pungent fruit and bright green wings, or else In any balm or beauty of the earth, Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven? Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow; Grievings in lone

Up very early because the cats were fighting like mad. It's funny, I've rarely been so awake at 6 a.m. And here I am back at the computer. I'm still trying to get the hang of the blog thing. I guess I haven't learned to really write in a blog yet and that's why I feel so awkward about it.