MY HOMAGE TO THE AOL JOURNAL COMMUNITY

Taking the idea from Theresa Williams` Journal,{http://journals.aol.com/theresarrt7/TheresaWilliams-author/entries/933} I`ve decided to leave an entry that reflects the sadness that I feel about watching the diaspora of the AOL community. This is the poem I wrote as an homage to the AOL-J community on our 1st Anniversary; it continues to reflect my feelings towards all who have had the courage to share their lives and souls with me. Love and Prayers. V    

 

 

 

  

"Metamorphosis"

The tiny worm hatches,
searches the net for sustenance.
She feasts on Pogo
gapes at Google
plays with Pics,
Windows Media offers refreshment,
but she`s still a worm.


How can she grow
find the cerebral food
to become a caterpillar?

Aloneness continues,
her only friends are Amazon and .coms
trying to sell her a soul.


She inches upward to Hometown
tastes a web page
and sees a friendly face
beckoning her to AOL journals.

Tentatively, she enters this strange world,
Butterflies are everywhere!
life is there to taste; prose, poetry, paintings,
the sharing of souls, of heartbreak and love.


She devours everything in sight, grows and grows
A fine caterpillar she is
having feasted on the butterflies` glorious wares.


Ah! It is time to rest
she spins a cocoon around herself
and sleeps in wonder.


Can I be a butterfly too?
can I be as pretty
as the wonderful Monarchs
of Journal-land?


She emerges from camouflage,
mothlike, she says hello,
and is welcomed by many others
Floating and flitting
touching her little nest.


She grows bolder, ponderously taking flight
and finds no judgement of her faltering attempts,
only encouragement, and love!


She becomes a butterfly,
offering what she can
to other, newer caterpillars
finding a butterfly`s true nature
the metamorphosis complete.


Vince Deabler  

Here`s my new site!
http://deabvt.blogspot.com/

THIS
SPACE
FOR RENT
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

" Bright Lights "

Bright lights,

the bathroom seems

illuminated.

The little boy`s dread

seems to heighten

his senses.

 

Confused, alone,

he faces the babysitter

who draws him to her.

The sadness that lives

within her

coils, strikes,

triumphs.

 

V

c 2005   Deabler, V.T.

" Survey Like None-Other "

The goal is to have this in every single AOL Journal. What do you have in common with others? Do you like the same things? Post this and put the title of your entry "Survey Like None-Other!"  This is a great way to introduce yourself to new readers!  

1. What sign are you?  Libra

2. What is your favorite color?  Blue

3. How many waffles could you eat in one sitting?  Er, three?

4. Can you touch your tongue to your nose?  Nope

5. If you had to choose between cats and dogs, which would it be?  Cats

6. What is something you have learned recently? From Ckays1967, Forgiveness comes before acceptance.

7. What is your favorite quote?  That`s easy; "To Grow Is To Be Anxious".

8. What is your favorite entry in your own journal? One of the poems, I guess.

9. What color is your bedroom? Cream walls?

10. Where is your favorite place to visit?   Lincoln Financial Field, home of the Phila Eagles.

11. What is one thing you want to accomplish this year? Get an agent for my 1st book and submit poetry for publication.

12. Why do you write in a journal?  I must.

13. What is your favorite joke? TOS!  AOL TOS!

14. Do you like the city or the country? I like to visit the country but I`m a city person.

15. What style is your house decorated?   You got me!

16. Who is your favorite artist? Taking ckays advice, I`ll limit it to deceased artists!  Monet.

17. Can you pat your tummy and rub your head at the same time? Yep!

18. Are you a night owl? Naw, I`m up at 5.00 AM every day, checkin` in with aynetal3.

19. What is something you love in your house? (If you have a picture you get extra credit!) My Mom & I, just before she died.

20. Do you believe in God?   Absolutely.

21. What hobby could you never give up? Writing.

22. What color makes you think of Hope? White

23. What color makes you think of Love? Green

24. What is your favorite flower? A rose.

25. If you had one wish for the world, what would it be?   Forgiveness.

26. Whats the best surprise you have ever recieved? Still waiting, a grandchild [but I`m getting closer!]

27. What can you cook like no-one else? Asaopao con pollo.

28. What do you think about most? Death & Immortality and the courage to confront it. {As a concept, LOL.}

29. Who is your favorite poet? Emily Dickinson &, in Aol, ckays1967.

30. And last but not least, if you could wrap yourself up in one word...what would that word be? Inquisitive.

Thanks, Christina. This is the first one of these I`ve ever done! I pass this on to commenters!

V

WOMEN AND MEN

  In my earlier years as a Psychologist, I had extensive experience with psychological testing, much more so than the typical psychologist`s practice. I was fortunate to have a world renowned teacher, Dr. Zygmunt Piotrowski. He was an expert on the Rorschach test and always taught that one could not consider themself fully competent until they could do "blind" Rorschach analysis; that is, analyze the data with no information about the subject other than sex and age.

 Over the course of a few years, I supervised the work of many interns and became comfortable in assisting their Rorschach analyses without knowledge of the patient. I can still remember my excitement being invited for the first time to perform a blind analysis for Doctoral students at a major university.

 All of this discussion is a prelude to the most important point that I have gleaned from these experiences. Men and Women are different! Boy, I put in a lot of work to understand something that most of my readers know by their lived experience.

 More formally, Piotrowski put primary emphasis on the "Experience Balance", that is, the relationship between an individual`s tendencies to experience life, to define themselves, through introversive or extratensive propensities. In other words, humans try to make sense of the world in some combination of internal thought and by the cues that the world offers them about themselves.

 In my experience, men and women differ significantly on the experience balance, although with a huge overlap. The key word here is tendency.

 Men tend to order their world by internal dialogue; women tend to evaluate themselves by their relationship to others and to the world around them. It`s no wonder that the sexes often have such difficulty in communication over important agendas!

 Men tend to scoff at the idea of intuition, women tend to get frustrated at their mates inability to verbally express their feelings. For men, logic prevails, even if illogical; for women verbal expression is a natural extension of their womenness.

 I must admit, as a male, it took me half of my life to value intuition as highly as logic.

V

Here is a poem of mine that addresses one side of the issue!

 " INTUITION "

ONE`S NATURE

Born in late winter

I peeked at March`s

roaring lion.

 

Some friends showed

an inkling, a budding

the adventurous ones.

 

My Mother, feeding me,

whispered

"Nature is always such,

sentinels must be sacrificed.

The Goddess Hera demands

payment for Her warmth."

 

I close my eyes

`til showers come,

my Mother`s milk is flowing,

pouring into me.

 

Then I stand,

prideful and strong,

my family branch

a bloom of green.

 

Birds alit,

butterflies aflutter.

I find myself smiling

as my nature

reveals itself.

 

V

 

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

" AT THE FEET OF DR. SKINNER " Repost

 When I was in grad school, in the early 70`s, B. F. Skinner was invited to address the Faculty and students at Temple University. Skinner was, and is, widely regarded as the greatest American Psychologist of the 20th century. The author of "Walden Two" and the discoverer of operant conditioning, Skinner was to appear in our largest auditorium and his address was sent by audio to the smaller rooms and even outside in front of the building. 

 

  By the time I was able to leave my grad duties that day, the Main auditorium and other rooms were packed! [behaviorism was a hot topic in America then, Psychologists dehumanizing people]. I had a faculty key to a back elevator that would take me to the back entrance of the Auditorium, but as I prepared to enter the elevator, a security guard stopped me "Sorry, that elevator`s off limits today."

 

 Thinking quickly, I told the guard that he better call his Captain immediately, because I had to check the audio equipment on the stage where Dr. Skinner was appearing.He was scheduled to speak in 10 minutes! The guard lookedme up and down and when I restated my need to get to the stage [and used his Captain`s name,'the clincher'] he said "Let`s Go!" and we got on the elevator and descended to the back entrance to the hall. He cleared a pass for me to the stage, for the steps were full of students and younger faculty. There I was on the stage with the President of Temple, the Dean of the Graduate School, and various dignitaries! 

 

 I stumbled around, pretending to check wires until the President had introduced the Dean and he had introduced Dr. Skinner. There was no place to go, no place to sit, so I said to myself,"What the hell", walked to the front of the stage, and sat down! Heard the whole lecture from there! And that`s how I ended up at the feet of Dr. Skinner.

 

V

Creativity is not merely the innocent spontaneity of our youth and childhood; it must also be married to the passion of the adult human being, which is a passion to live beyond one's death.
Rollo May

 

DracuLucky!!!! Alucard`s Dog!!!

 

Graphic by my son, Sean; Outfit by Barb; Lucky by Anna!!

" VIVI AWARD " Poetry and Fiction

Hi everyone! I`d like to take a minute to thank the Vivi committee for all their hard work and perseverance in putting on a wonderful celebration. Such a crowd last night!

Thanks also to everyone who took the time to nominate and vote in the contest.

I`m proud to share the Poetry/Fiction Award with Mavarin, and equally proud to share this Award with the other nominees in this catagory.

Congratulations to everyone who has the courage to share their life and experience with us by writing an AOL Journal.

Especially, my humblest thanks to my readers. Your comments validate my work and are more important to me than any award. Hugs.

V

" THE FIRST ARTIST AND SHAMAN "

Killing tools honed,

nomads

follow the herds,

never settling,

in homage to the instincts

of their prey.

 

Full bellies belie

a need,

a demand within,

to become.

 

Women`s berries

and intuition,

feed an idea

which allows the toiled soil

to sustain us.

 

Fire conquered

the cave warm.

A measure of safety.

 

Finally, time to ponder

learning to speak,

communicate.

 

Within, the self

sees its end,

recoils, confused.

God`s gift at Eden

a two-edged sword.

 

A new emotion,

not of want,

but sadness and fear,

exudes itself

to fill the cave.

 

Finally, inexorably

mortality is faced and conquered

as the first artist

draws of triumphs.

Deer and bison fall,

despair is vanquished,

bowing to sublimation.

 

V

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

 

 

HAPPY HALLOWE`EN !!!!!!!!!!

Happy Hallowe`en, AOL Journallers!

Perhaps you`ll be visited by some friends of mine this evening!

Yours in darkness,

Alucard,

Vlad, Count Tepes

 

" INTUITION "

 

 

 

Woman,

born with that

drivenness, that

need

to experience the

world.

To be defined

by it.

 

Open to affect,

her feelings meld

with impressions;

senses define

existence.

 

Her world is Color

overwhelming

movement,

valuing the wonder

of experience,

not its definition.

 

V

C 2005   Deabler, V.T.

An Excerpt From "CARRIE", Book Two Of "Vampire"

Happy Halloween, everyone! In honor of our spookiest of holidays, I`m posting an excerpt from Chapter 15 of my book "Carrie", Book two of the "Vampire" series. If anyone would like to read more, please send me an email and I will add you to the readers of my private fiction journal.

 

 Mondrian waited as Maurice viewed his paintings. He was drawn to his latest works, the most colorful and abstract. Mondrian approached him and touched his hand. "What are you feeling, Maurice?" she asked.

 

 The painter startled, so lost in his thoughts. "I can see my future here! I have been struggling for months....where to take my art. But it`s quite clear. I`ve been trying to strip my painting to bare essentials, to understand the symbology of my creativity. And yet, all I see is Color! Thick, riotous Color! What had gotten into me? Allowing emotion to rule my art!" 

 

 Mondrian felt the first tinge of disquiet. Had something of Maurice`s essence been lost in his transformation? Is affect important to his work? She felt a shuddering. No matter, it`s too late for recriminations! Que sera, sera.

 

 Mondrian took Maurice`s hand and led him to an open window at the rear of the house.  "Tonight, I would like to show you another of your special powers. We will leave here as bat and fly to our right. At the base of Rue de la Roquette is the famous Cimitiere de Pere Lachaise, the burial place for many of the most illustrious of Frenchmen. At this time of night we will have the cemetary to ourselves. We will fly over many of the tombs of our most famous artists. And at the end of the tour there will be one last burial vault to view. There is an entrance at the top of the vault wide enough to give us purchase. Follow me into the vault and we will change to human form."

 

 Maurice nodded and the two vampires flew to the cemetary. In her mind, Mondrian spoke. "Can you hear me, my dear?"

 

 "Yes! Yes I can! I didn`t know..."

 

 "There is much more for you to learn, Maurice, but first, the tour."

 

 Mondrian had planned this flyover easily since she had spent many an hour on these grounds. She first showed the writer`s tombs; Balzac, Moliere, Wilde, Proust, the American Jim Morrison. Then, the musicians; Bellini, Bizet, Chopin, Maria Callas. Finally, Mondrian led Maurice to the Painter`s tombs; Corot, Delacroix, Ingres, Modigliani, Seurat.

 

 "Mondrian, this is overwhelming! I can feel their genius flowing to me! What an inspiring place!"

 

 Smiling inwardly, Mondrian led him to the top of an impressive burial vault. They entered through a small window opening and alit on the floor of the tomb. Both changing to human form, Mondrian led him to the side of the sole casket.

 

 "This is the casket of the painter Cartolome. As you know, he died at the end of the nineteenth century." 

 

 "Yes, Mondrian, a genius! His work foresaw Manet and Cezanne. I spent six months trying to capture his famous still-life 'L'orange et la Poire sur le Velours'; 'Orange and Pear on Velvet'."

 

 "Now for the Surprise!" Mondrian opened the top of the casket and the two of them peered inside. Maurice fell back in wonder, "There`s no body! Cartolome`s body is missing!"

 

 Mondrian put her arms around Maurice and drew him forward. "That`s the surprise, my dear. There is no body because Cartolome is one of us. He remains quite active, polishing his craft these past hundred years. He has all the time in the world to bring his life`s work to fruition, as vampire. That, my dear, is my gift to you."

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

" Dad "

At the Wawa store

looking for o.j., milk.

I feel your presence

bent, rasping.

 

The mustache, white

smiling,

never giving in.

 

I remember your voice

these many years,

the load you carried,

the distances we trod

to finally meet.

 

The barriers finally shattered

resemblances cherished.

I loved you, Dad

before you died

and evermore.

 

And I see you

everywhere,

even in the smiling face

staring back at me,

in the sliding glass window

at the Wawa store.

 

V

c 2005  Deabler,  V.T.

Inspired by Christina

Journals entice

displaying their wares,

driving by

beguiling, seducing.

 

Limousines, jeeps

compacts, hatchbacks

station wagons.

 

Transporting our lives,

the illness and blessing,

death and birth,

the sadness and joy.

 

Words are mere conveyances

a true window

to our souls.

 

V

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

" There`s Something Wrong With Her "

 

 There`s something wrong with her

 A certain sadness, lingers in the air

 Pronounces her passing,

 as clouds conceal the warming rays. 

 

Lifelong burdens, never truly gone,

The grimace in her sometimes smile

reveals the weight of destiny.  

 

People question her activity

the glee she sees in mural`s lens

captured one by one

and every day a symphony.  

 

Yet lying down at night, alone

awaiting Somnus` divine repose

She cannot help but think of things,

denying life its happiness.  

 

The nights are endless, yet

an inkling, a spark is kindled

from the beauty

a mural allowed her.

 

In reverie, she thinks

of butterflies and flowers

of children`s smiles

of moonlit nights

and stars divine.

 

Awakened with a start,

a smile upon her lips,

she stretches like a kitten

her thoughts in happiness.

 

Perhaps the mural

brings focus to her life

What is gone is done

and Art is happiness.

 

V

 

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

" I KNOW YOU "

I Know You.

 

You attend to

a movie, a book.

Yet attention

has lost its easy breath.

 

Like lights flickering

in a winter`s storm,

a thought escapes

to consciousness.

 

Just a murmur

in your ear.

A picture of.....

what?

 

So many robes

does depression wear.

You`ll concentrate,

say "No!"

 

Yet synapses know

the traveled roads.....

a love taken away;

years wasted;

barrenness;

loneliness.

 

Again, "No!"

A tear escapes

"Why me?"

"I`m a good person!"

 

The demon smiles

as you close your eyes

to relive your memories,

and blacken the future

with despair.

 

V

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

" A WOMAN "

I`ve seen your pain

in many ways.

The tears you shed

in ache and happiness.

 

Squeezing my hand

as I cooled your brow.

The doctor `tween your legs

measuring millimeters

gauging time.

 

You lie, relaxed,

a minute`s respite.

Our baby, thinking what?

As she awaits

her nature.

 

Ah, the beauty of you,

the courage!

What wonders

God has given women!

 

He honors them

as He bestows

the awe of Creation.

To feel, to know.

 

V

C 2005   Deabler, V.T.

 

 

" Ode To Wine " Pablo Neruda

Oh! To be able to write one poem like this....................

 

Pablo Neruda - Ode To Wine

 

Day-colored wine,

night-colored wine,

wine with purple feet

or wine with topaz blood,

wine,

starry child of earth,

wine, smooth

as a golden sword,

soft

as lascivious velvet,

wine, spiral-seashelled

and full of wonder,

amorous,

marine;

never has one goblet contained you,

one song, one man,

you are choral, gregarious,

at the least, you must be shared.

At times

you feed on mortal

memories;

your wave carries us

from tomb to tomb,

stonecutter of icy sepulchers,

and we weep

transitory tears;

your

glorious

spring dress

is different,

blood rises through the shoots,

wind incites the day,

nothing is left

of your immutable soul.

Wine

stirs the spring, happiness

bursts through the earth like a plant,

walls crumble,

and rocky cliffs,

chasms close, as song is born.

A jug of wine, and thou beside me

in the wilderness,

sang the ancient poet.

Let the wine pitcher

add to the kiss of love its own.

 

My darling, suddenly

the line of your hip

becomes the brimming curve

of the wine goblet,

your breast is the grape cluster,

your nipples are the grapes,

the gleam of spirits lights your hair,

and your navel is a chaste seal

stamped on the vessel of your belly,

your love an inexhaustible

cascade of wine,

light that illuminates my senses,

the earthly splendor of life.

 

But you are more than love,

the fiery kiss,

the heat of fire,

more than the wine of life;

you are

the community of man,

translucency,

chorus of discipline,

abundance of flowers.

I like on the table,

when we're speaking,

the light of a bottle

of intelligent wine.

Drink it,

and remember in every

drop of gold,

in every topaz glass,

in every purple ladle,

that autumn labored

to fill the vessel with wine;

and in the ritual of his office,

let the simple man remember

to think of the soil and of his duty,

to propagate the canticle of the wine. 

 

 

Theresa Williams "the secret of hurricanes"

  With the author`s permission, I`d like to quote a paragraph from "the secret of hurricanes' by Theresa Williams. For anyone in love with the written word, I strongly recommend her Journal, Theresa Williams-author .  Once you`ve read her Journal, I believe many of you will buy her book; it`s a wonderful, heartfelt read. Definitely the work of a Poet!  

 

 

 page 2.... "I hear the dead oftentimes: parents,

friends, lovers. Some gnawing at the undersides of

grasses. Wanting to be coaxed out with sweet

words like It`s all right. I love you."  

 

 

 Page 2; stopped me in my tracks! I had written a poem trying to reach the same idea, tho not as succinct.  

 

“PURGATORY”

 

 When death approached, I bowed my head

 To Morpheus` crown,

 not knowing that my soul would stay

 in this body, tho` embalmed.

 

 We see the soul as suffering

 when purgatory bound,

 that place unknown to mortals

 is merely underground.

     V

   

" CONVERSATION WITH AN ARTIST "

From infancy,

pencil in hand.

Scribbling, drawing

trying to make sense.

 

Drawing Mommies,

Daddies, trees.

gaining nourishment,

growing.

 

No sense to it,

just a striving.

 

Yet, for some

it never leaves.

Developing lives

friends, lovers

compulsions

obsessions......

cannot deny

the depression within.

 

The need to become,

to be heroic,

can only be fed

by creativity.

 

The artist in oneself

that barren place,

undefended.

bursts, demands, implores.

 

Our meager tools

are honed;

we slash through

reality, trying to

understand

what lies beyond.

 

It must be wondrous

to be God blessed.

A true artist, who,

for just that moment

has triumphed!

Yet wanders on.

 

V

 

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

" AT THE BEACH "

The sand is cooling,

sun has bid Adieu.

Like voyeurs

we lie on our blanket,

watching the night sky

dressing in diamond raiment.

 

The moon is quarter full;

winds have opened

the curtain of clouds.

 

Ah! The throne of Nut!

Egyptian Goddess

who swallows the Sun-God Ra

each dusk,

to give birth to Him

at eve`s end.

 

I feel your breath on my neck,

warming, caressing.

I open your eyes with a kiss,

traveling past the stars

into your soul,

marvelling at the wonder

it arouses.

 

V

 

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

" AWAKENING "

Light streams,

a second, restful.

 

The engine starts,

thoughts, incessant.

 

Her face,

smiling, radiant.

 

Death appears,

with will, repelled.

 

Computer on,

messages, alerts.

 

None from her,

death appears.

 

As loneliness,

invades, saddens.

 

Poetry, art,

salvation, solace.

 

V

 

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

AUTUMN

 

Each morn

a minute later,

the sun arises

over the river.

 

Each dawn

a degree south,

on its journey

to the Equator.

 

Canada geese arrive

following the sun;

disciplined V`s

collapse and rest.

 

Bees and wasps

flitting lazily,

the sun signalling

the end of struggle.

 

Leaves depart,

depending on the kindness

of strangers,

for their blaze of glory.

 

Autumn, inexorable,

cloaks its arrival

in glorious colors,

soon to be blanched

by winter`s snow.

 

V

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

 

Thanks For Birthday Wishes

I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who wished me Birthday wishes, either by commenting or sending Email. I was really overwhelmed by the response and was finally able to trace the "little birdy" who spread the word. AYNETAL3 !!!

Readers, if you have a moment, stop at her journal to check her Birthday Post to me! Wonderful! Here`s the link;

Happy Birthday V!!!!! (Please MAXIMIZE screen)

 

Ann, {{{ Hugs & Loves }}}

 

V

The Muse Of Epic Poetry

Ah, Calliope!

fair voiced Muse.

Supplicants beg your throne

for inspiration.

 

Goethe approached,

his plea for order,

visions overwhelming.

 

Ah, fair Emily,

small voice of Amherst,

wanted but a touch

of your gown.

 

The Bard of Avon,

reincarnated Linus,

overcoming Hercules.

 

Me, a mouse

in the shadows,

humbled.

 

V

 

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

A POEM

I`ve just attended a wonderful conference on "Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy for Depression & Anxiety." Given by Zindel Segal, Ph.D. and presented by J&K Seminars, it was a most wonderful and instructive experience. The following is a poem I wrote in response to one of Dr. Segal`s meditative exercises.

 

Imagine a raisin

placed in your hand,

a gift for you.

 

You stare at the image,

seeing its barrenness,

and yet,

the clefts and ridges

draw you in.

 

Moonlike, it reflects

the light.

Iridescent!

like a peacock feather,

sparkling.

 

You feel its weight

touch it with a finger.

It resists your touch

a rainbow of fissures.

 

It fondles your lips,

odors redolent of wine

and earth.

Sends you to valleys,

then, gently, back.

 

Tasting,gently at first

the tongue exploring

then a dental teasing,

gently, softly.

 

Biting, flavors

overwhelming

then, gently, back

to its image.

 

c 2005, Deabler, V.T.

PHILA EAGLES "Their Big Dog T. O. Returns!!"

Terryl Owens is assisted by my son Sean and owner Anna.

A P O E M

Ever see

at second glance,

something so perfect

it spins you back

to happiness?

 

In Vermont,

the loons are quieting,

stars impatiently await

the darkness of their stage.

 

Transported,

I feel your breath

warming me.

 

V

C 2005  Deabler, V.T.

A Poem written by Alucard

Your Dream,

to be immortal?

Can you make

the sacrifice?

 

Living on the blood

of others,

often feared

never loved.

 

Banished by God,

no need of Satan.

Never to see the morn

or measure the sun`s chariot.

 

Nights spent flying

stealthy--preying.

A woman alone

at night--

shining to me.

 

I alight,

become a nightmare.

 

 

Count Vlad Tepes

From "CARRIE" ; Book Two of  "VAMPIRE"

 

C 2005   Deabler, V.T.

A POEM "Our Adventure"

It comes

equal measure

signposts

road shortening....

 

Exits taken

lovers met

road shared

counted times......

 

Darkness falls

morning breaks

endless road

sometimes seems.......

 

Preparing

journey`s end

heart is locked

vision forward.......

 

only dust

and dreams

remain........

 

V

 

C 2005   Deabler, V.T.

AOL JOURNALS 2nd ANNIVERSARY A NEW POEM

The Second Celebration

Faintly,

A whisper,

A year passes.

 

Our garden

blossoms;

butterflies and

bees

industrious,

sipping,

offering sustenance.

 

Photos,

Graphics,

Poetry,

Our lives.

 

AOL Journals

a symbiosis

of creativity.

 

V

c 2005   Deabler, V.T.

 

 

 

 

 

JERRY GARCIA 8/1/1942-------8/9/1995

Giacomo Puccini " La Boheme "

The arias when Rudolfo and Mimi first meet are, for me, the most beautiful, most romantic. I wish I could share the music with you.

"Che gelida manina"    Rodolfo  [second stanza]

Who am I? I`m a poet.

My business? Writing.

How do I live? I live.

In my happy poverty

I squander like a prince

my poems and songs of love.

In hopes and dreams

and castles-in-air.

I`m a millionaire in spirit.

But sometimes my strong-box

is robbed of all its jewels

by two thieves; a pair of pretty eyes.

They came in now with you

and all my lovely dreams,

my dreams of the past,

were soon stolen away.

But the theft doesn`t upset me,

since the empty place was filled

with hope.

Now that you know me,

it`s your turn to speak.

Who are you? Will you tell me?

 

Mi chiamano Mimi         Mimi [first stanza]

They call me Mimi,

but my real name`s Lucia.

My story is brief.

I embroider silk and satin

at home or outside.

I`m tranquil and happy

and my pastime

is making lilies and roses.

I love all things

that have gentle magic,

that talk of love, of spring,

that talk of dreams and fancies----

the things called poetry....

do you understand me?

 

V

A LITTLE POEM

 

 

Loneliness

an active art,

not so easy

on the heart.

 

It must be nurtured

given life,

too much love

there is no strife.

 

You must guard against

involvement,

on obsessions you depend,

disallow the pangs of

solitude,

it`s depression that`s your friend.

 

V

c 2005   Deabler, V.T.

Reply to Theresa Williams

IN Divine Child, a wonderful post on Freud and sublimation in Theresa Williams Journal, Theresa responded to my comment by asking me to expand it, maybe in a journal entry. 

In this time of the 2nd Anniversary of AOL Journals, it is also a way of expressing why I so love the people here who give so much of themselves. All of us are true artists here in AOL J-Land.

 

The road of the artist is a heroic one. From gifts of heredity, from life experience, [s]he has been left with a vulnerability to understand existence. Like all human beings, the artist narrows his world using all the typical substrates of repression, yet unlike most, his[her] world is not so easily ordered. Freud`s instincts to Eros [immortality] and Agape [death] are not so conveniently repressed for him[her]. They continually infringe upon his[her] consciousness, driving him[her] to depression [despair] or to the creative solution. The artist attempts to transform Eros to self expression and Agape to self surrender.

 As Becker writes, "To renounce the world and oneself, to lay the meaning of it to the powers of creation, is the hardest for man to achieve- and so it is fitting that this task should fall to the strongest personality type, the one with the largest ego."

 It is this need that drives the artist to the defensive posture of sublimation, which Freud defined as the single defensive posture without neurotic implication. I`d like to present one of my poems that attempts to address the artist`s difficulty in verse.  

 

                                                              

                                DEATH  

Death is that which hovers

wherever people are.  

 

That knowledge of our finiteness

that makes us human

and produces our neuroses,

is also what drives us to write,

and all our attempts at immortality.  

 

V

A POEM

Does a rose

have a radiance within?

 

Does the sky

smile at you

warming in itself?

 

What moon exists

without shadowing

your beauty?

 

What soul can

live alone,

after the touch

of your smile?

 

V

c 2005   Deabler, V.T.

SOMETHING I WROTE WHEN I WAS 20 YEARS OLD

This is the earliest writing that I still have, written when I was about twenty.

 

Death scares me to death! When I was little, and laying in bed, on my stomach, my ears against the pillow, I would hear these footsteps coming after me. It sounded as if someone was walking in snow, each step had a slight crunchy sound, like when it had snowed at night and had gotten cold enough to leave a slight frost over the new snow. As I lay there, the footsteps would quicken, getting closer. Even then, I knew their meaning, impending dissolution, the march to infinity. I would ask my guardian angel to help; when he didn`t respond, I would pray to God. Most of the time, that would help. I would think about going to Heaven, and how good it would be. But sometimes I would think about life after death, living forever, and it would really scare me, as much as I still get scared about not living forever. {The steps in the night don`t scare me any more because I know it was only my heart beating, then racing. The symptoms are cured, but not the demons.}

V

C 19?? VTD

On Being A Poet

Judiciously,

I approach the thought.

Hunting a Chimera.

 

Will its serpent`s tail

fling me

out of its dimension?

Or will I mount the goat,

controlling the fire`s breath?

 

Revenants confuse and

haunt my mind.

Chimera`s specter

a Paradise for fools.

 

To be a Poet

is thirsty work.

Nourishment

a constant quest,

to fend the fears

of dissolution.

 

V

C 2005   Deabler, V.T.

HAPPY SECOND ANNIVERSARY AOL JOURNALS

 

Happy Second Anniversary to all intrepid travelers in AOL Journal Land! I have been blessed to have met so many wonderful people, to have visited so many remarkable journals. At my disposal are Photos, Art, Poetry, Fiction, Reminiscences; most importantly, the daily lives of ordinary people; their struggles, their joys and heartbreak, most of all, their inner courage to become! I salute all of you and humbly bow.

The following is my Anniversary Poem from our First Celebration. The Butterfly Graphic is Courtesy of Viviansullinwank. Merci, Viv.

 

 

"Metamorphosis"

The tiny worm hatches,
searches the net for sustenance.
She feasts on Pogo
gapes at Google
plays with Pics,
Windows Media offers refreshment,
but she`s still a worm.


How can she grow
find the cerebral food
to become a caterpillar?

Aloneness continues,
her only friends are Amazon and .coms
trying to sell her a soul.


She inches upward to Hometown
tastes a web page
and sees a friendly face
beckoning her to AOL journals.

Tentatively, she enters this strange world,
Butterflies are everywhere!
life is there to taste; prose, poetry, paintings,
the sharing of souls, of heartbreak and love.


She devours everything in sight, grows and grows
A fine caterpillar she is
having feasted on the butterflies` glorious wares.


Ah! It is time to rest
she spins a cocoon around herself
and sleeps in wonder.


Can I be a butterfly too?
can I be as pretty
as the wonderful Monarchs
of Journal-land?


She emerges from camouflage,
mothlike, she says hello,
and is welcomed by many others
Floating and flitting
touching her little nest.


She grows bolder, ponderously taking flight
and finds no judgement of her faltering attempts,
only encouragement, and love!


She becomes a butterfly,
offering what she can
to other, newer caterpillars
finding a butterfly`s true nature
the metamorphosis complete.


Vince Deabler