Lauren waited four days, checking her EMail. There was nothing from Brent. She felt a little foolish, like a schoolgirl. I met this man, he touched my shoulder and lightly flirted with me; and here I am looking for EMails from a stranger? She smiled at her folly but couldn`t resist going to Brent`s website. It was there that she saw the poem.
To L
Oh, if I be that goblet
brought to your lips,
releasing my fluid
into you.
V, 2005
As soon as Brent and Lauren entered the main ballroom, it was clear that any chance of their sharing a few moments together was futile.
Lauren looked on wistfully as Brent was surrounded by women of all ages; touching him, trying to get his attention. Brent shrugged his shoulders and winked at her, mouthing the words "Don`t go!" as programs and pens enveloped him.
Lauren smiled, walked to the bar and ordered a glass of chardonnay. She sat at a table and gazed at the crowd around Brent. Had these women read his poetry or were they just drawn by his celebrity?
She found herself feeling warm, somewhat flustered. To be honest with herself, it felt like jealousy. She smiled at herself, sipped at her wine and went to the coatroom to retrieve her coat. As she left the room for her car, the last glimpse she saw of Brent was of his eyes, staring at her.
v
Finally free! Well, at least for two hours. Her eldest of two children was at basketball practice and his best friend`s mother would drive him home afterwards. Lauren was pulling out of the parking lot of the ballet academy where she had just deposited her eight year old daughter Courtney.
She had not decided to meet Brent until she found herself turning left at the light, heading towards the city. Lauren had been married for ten years, had a happy life; her husband and two children, a beautiful home in a fashionable community, her passion for writing. And yet here she was driving to meet Brent; just a drink, nothing more.
Lauren had met Brent at the annual Philadelphia Writer`s Guild conference. He was one of five invited guests, published writers all, with their own devoted followings. Brent O`Mara was the poet invitee and Lauren had had the pleasure of introducing him at one of the workshops.
After his reading and the last of his admirers had left for the cash bar, he came over to her as she was gathering the extra literature from the head table. Brent lightly brushed her shoulder with one finger, "Lauren, I really must thank you for your help with my workshop. Could I repay you in some small way for the pleasure of meeting you? At least a drink."
V
Michelangelo " Temptation And Fall " Sistine Chapel Ceiling
Gulls are free,
their borders seem endless,
Yet bonded to the sea.
Tigers are free,
scoffing at predators,
Yet tied to the jungle.
Elephants are free,
stronger than nature,
Yet tethered to foodstuffs.
Humans are free,
with the gift of self-knowledge,
that frees them from the present
yet reveals their mortality.
Vince D.
In the Biblio Philes, marigolds2 asks us to list the books that are in piles round our homes. Here is the pile that resides next to my bed.
Saul Bellow-"Ravelstein"; Thomas Pynchon- "Mason & Dixon"; Michael Gruber-"Tropic of Night"; Tony Hillerman- "Hunting Badger"; Michael Faber- "The Crimson Petal and The White"; Dan Brown- "Angels And Demons"; John LeCarre- "Our Game"; Len Deighton- "Mexico Set"; John Dickson Carr- "The Corpse In The Waxworks"; Bertrand Russell- "The History Of Western Philosophy".
C`mon, if you want to play along, check out the above link to Marigolds2`s entry!
Vince
Poetry is so hard
without metaphor or simile.
Nature escapes me
Rhya`s earth, an illusion.
I rub my eyes and sigh
"you know no words".
What drives this need
to sit in quietness and pain?
What need at Lascaux
to picture unicorn and bull
just a bursting
Ah! the humanness of it!
the rapture, when words were few.
c 2005 Deabler, V.T.
In dreams, the past comes alive.
She who has haunted my memories
gains substance,
and presents herself to me,
in all her mystery.
Colors blaze, pain fades
and hopes become reality.
in this moment
of reverie.
