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.