Birds and bunnies
colts and squirrels
romping in delight.
Buds aflowering,
nod their scent
and fill the morning light.
Streams define
new boundaries
from winter`s chilling white.
An ode to
vernal wakening
Ah! such a lovely sight.
C 2005 Deabler, V.T.
Thoughts invade your soul,
the familiar carousel of darkness
is awakened, by what, by whom?
What dust of synapse arouses him,
the organ grinder plays his dismal tune.
C 2005 Deabler, V.T.
William Butler Yeats { 1865--1939 }
To a Young Beauty
DEAR fellow-artist, why so free
I love the day when April smiles
the end of morning blight.
Flowers demand attention
birds atwitter, in their flight
seek out our cares to bury them,
and fill us with delight.
c Deabler, V.T.
As I lay dying,
in this shared room of pain
I see my son`s eyes.
Concern and pain reflect
to me.
No others near me
I have outlived my family
and no friends are close,
I have no friends.
Son adjusts my pillow
I smell his scent
but it seems like a baby`s
fresh and pure and clean.
I smile an inch
try to raise my hand,
Expire.............
C2004 Deabler,V.T.
Lauren arrived at the Mill race at 7.15, about fifteen minutes early. She continued driving past the tavern for about ten minutes, then turned her SUV around and started back. She remembered that Brent had said 7.30 and she didn`t want to sit in a bar alone.
When she arrived at the tavern she found a parking space close to the entrance and, after checking her makeup, she entered the front door.
The tavern was dimly lit, but she could see the bar area was to her right. Lauren walked to the bar entrance, then hesitated. There were only five customers there, two couples and an older man. Lauren, crestfallen, checked her watch; 7.45! Feeling a bit foolish, she turned and started walking back to the front entrance.
As she approached the door, she felt a light touch on her shoulder. "Lauren, Hi. I`m so sorry. I`ve been sitting at a table in the dining room and I must have missed you. Come, it`s much more private there at this hour."
Brent took her elbow and led her to a nook near the back of the dining room, where they sat. "I`m so happy you`ve come. I was worried I`d been stood up!"
Lauren smiled nervously as Brent poured her a glass of white wine from a decanter on the table. "Chardonnay, wasn`t it?" Lauren nodded and Brent raised his glass to hers, speaking, "Here`s to our adventure."
c 2005 Deabler, V.T.
The need to be heroic
in all our small ways,
demands our attention
and creates our journals.
The most banal of entries,
the most extraordinary,
are equally
paeans to immortality.
V
It`s funny. When I write poetry, I start with a blank page, always paper. Writing fiction, it`s always the computer.
I`ve finally finished my novel, "James and the Animals". Bear with me as I list the 14 intrepid souls who commented on the final entry, in order of appearance: barbpinion; hope5555; wildflower; aynetal3; gbgoglo; sarajanesmiles; cneinhorn; indigosunmoon; z7snowflake; punky5678; builds8; carly0042; musenla; jojolona.
I thank all of you for staying with me for the past 14 months. Without your continued support and encouragement, Alucard would probably still be sleeping in his castle in the Carpathians!
Hugs and Faith.
V
THE DREAM 1910 MoMA, New York
Rousseau, Henri, known as Le Douanier Rousseau (1844-1910). French painter, the most celebrated of naïve artists.
His nickname refers to the job he held with the Paris Customs Office (1871-93), although he never actually rose to the rank of `Douanier' (Customs Officer). Before this he had served in the army, and he later claimed to have seen service in Mexico, but this story seems to be a product of his imagination. He took up painting as a hobby and accepted early retirement in 1893 so he could devote himself to art.
His character was extraordinarily ingenuous and he suffered much ridicule (although he sometimes interpreted sarcastic remarks literally and took them as praise) as well as enduring great poverty. However, his faith in his own abilities never wavered. He tried to paint in the academic manner of such traditionalist artists as Bouguereau and Gérôme, but it was the innocence and charm of his work that won him the admiration of the avant-garde: in 1908 Picasso gave a banquet, half serious half burlesque, in his honor. Rousseau is now best known for his jungle scenes, the first of which is Surprised! (Tropical Storm with a Tiger) (National Gallery, London, 1891) and the last The Dream (MOMA, New York, 1910). These two paintings are works of great imaginative power, in which he showed his extraordinary ability to retain the utter freshness of his vision even when working on a large scale and with loving attention to detail. He claimed such scenes were inspired by his experiences in Mexico, but in fact his sources were illustrated books and visits to the zoo and botanical gardens in Paris.
His other work ranges from the jaunty humor of The Football Players (Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1908) to the mesmeric, eerie beauty of The Sleeping Gypsy (MOMA, 1897). Rousseau was buried in a pauper's grave, but his greatness began to be widely acknowledged soon after his death.
Photographs by Mark Harden.
The Sleeping Gypsy 
Eclaireur attaqué par un tigre (Scout Attacked by a Tiger) 
Femme se promenant dans une foret exotique (Woman Walking in an Exotic Forest) 
Portrait of Joseph Brummer 
Combat of a Tiger and a Buffalo Entire contents courtesy of WEB MUSEUM PARIS
The next morning, while loading the dishwasher, Lauren heard the Coldplay song announcing someone was calling on her cellphone. She rushed to the phone, then waited 10 seconds before clicking it on.
"Hello"; a 10 second pause; then "Good morning, Lauren. Thank you for visiting my web site. Did you see your poem?"
"The poem was beautiful, Brent, but I wasn`t sure it was for me!"
"Lauren, I was so sorry to see you leave the meeting, I went to your table and tasted from your wine glass. The poem just erupted as I tasted the chardonnay through your lipstick on the rim."
Lauren felt that warmth again; 'How can that happen over the phone?' She didn`t know what to say, how to respond.
Brent saved her by speaking, "Can you find some time tonight to meet me? I still owe you that drink."
Lauren thought about the kid`s schedules, then replied, "If you really want to, I have some time between 7.00 and 8.30 tonight."
"Do you know the Mill Race? On the way to the city?"
"Yes, Brent, though I`ve never been there."
"I`ll see you there at 7.30 then?"
"Yes, Brent, I`ll be there. Bye." Lauren turned off the phone and wondered if she was doing the right thing.
c 2005 vince
Lauren was moved by the poem, yet was unsure if it was written for her. After all, she had just spoken a few words with Brent. She shuddered as she remembered the feeling of his finger lightly caressing her shoulder.
And what if it was for her? She was a married woman with two children and a wonderful husband. The last thing she needed was a romantic complication in her life!
And yet, how beautiful the poem, how sensuous! Lauren imagined leaving a comment at Brent`s website, and how foolish she would feel if the poem was not written for her. She was just about to exit the website when she noticed Brent`s EMail address.
She thought, "What harm could it do to send him an EMail complimenting his poetry. Maybe just leave my cell phone number!" She felt a warmth in her body, an excitement that she had long since forgotten! Before her better sense could argue with her, Lauren typed the EMail and hit send.
c 2005 Vince
