Thursday, August 14, 2014

The Spoils of War


     She felt him walk into the tent before she heard him. He stumbled in, drunk on merriment and wine, bringing a warm breeze from the coast with him. She could smell him from the door. He smelled of sunlight and earth, open fire and the metallic sweat of the day. It was not an unpleasant smell. He smelled like a man, a warrior.  She could hear him shuffling around, picking up various items and setting them back down. He said not a word and she didn't either. She just laid on her pallet in the corner, eyes closed as if asleep. She did not want him to know that she laid awake waiting for his return. She anticipated seeing him all evening while he broke words with others. She had no place among his people and would not interrupt his interactions with them. She waited patiently in the tent they shared. He kept her there for her own protection. His kin were brutal and overreaching. To them, she was a spoil of war. To him, she was his conscience. They spoke frankly when in this tent, speaking of hard truths and decisions. She led him to follow his heart regardless of how difficult it was to do so. Their relationship was strained by tension. She knew he wanted her, and she him. He kept his distance as best as he could for fear of destroying her innocence.
     Normally he slept near the entrance of their tent to keep her safe from those that would snatch her away in the night. If it wasn't for his obligations to the clan, they would leave this coast and strike out alone. Just the two of them. She wanted that desperately. To be his, and he to be hers. She knew his path would not take them where she desired. Instead of dwelling on that which would never be, she kept busy with various tasks he set her to and spoke to few. Once done, she would come back to the tent, exhausted from work and heat, and wait on his return with food and drink. He promised that she would never want for anything, as he would keep her fed and cared for. At first meeting, he frightened her. He was imposing. Tall and handsome, yet fearsome in his rage. He fought with a purpose and a savagery unmatched by anyone she ever seen. He stood a god among his men... all men really. No one matched his mastery of warfare. He was a champion born and bred for battle. And he was her savior. He saved her from a life of slavery and hardship. He gave her freedom.
     She continued to lay quiet as he moved about, finally coming to her pallet. He knelt at her side and reached out a gauntlet clad hand to touch her. He began at her ankles, his fingers delicately dancing over her skin. He traced the line of her leg up and laid his hand softly on her hip. She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with unbridled carnality burning in his clear azure eyes. The light of the fire outside their tent burnished his skin and long flaxen hair in a celestial blaze. He shone like an immaculate beacon in the darkness, lighting the way to her. She sat up facing him, gazing at his beauty, never taking her eyes away from his and took his large hand into both of hers and pressed it to her heart. She smiled warmly at him and finally broke her eyes from his. For a moment, she was afraid his lust may overtake sense in them both. She sought to steady herself before speaking with any veracity. When she looked back up at him, he reached forward and touched her cheek with his other hand, tenderly and lovingly stoking the petal soft skin. Finally he spoke, after what felt like an eternity.
     "I fear that I will depart this world without ever knowing your touch." And with that said, he took her face in both strong hands and kissed her thoroughly and deeply, his stubbled chin bristling against her skin. He tasted of wine and roasted meat. When at last he let let her go, she panted and touched her fingers to her tingling lips. With eyes full of longing, she looked up at him, cast in that golden light and reached for him again. She stopped herself just short of his arms. She was afraid to touch him, afraid the thin veil of restraint she had would be shattered the moment she touched his skin. Like she would be lit ablaze with passion. When she spoke, she did it slowly, deliberately, making him hear her words.
     "Do you speak truth or do you let wine speak for you?"
     "When have I not spoke truth to you?" She smiled.
     "You've always been truthful. Even when true words would do harm." He looked ashamed at this. Taking his hands away from her face, he averted his glance down to the grass beneath his knees.
     "I have never sought to harm you. I would see you safe from pain. I wish for nothing but your peace." Again, she smiled. This man, this fighter... pain was his purpose. To harm, to kill, to destroy. And yet, she believed him. He would never misuse her. She knew this. Hearing him say it warmed her heart. She nodded at him, in acceptance of his words, stood up, taking his hands in hers, and drew him up from his knees. Standing on tiptoes, she pressed her body against his, threw her arms around his neck, pulling his face down to hers. He closed his eyes and sighed, resting his forehead against hers, wrapping his arms around her waist.
     "You are my peace," she whispered. "You saved me from uncertain fate. If my embrace is payment for that, I gladly give it to you." He kissed her again and held her tight to his chest. His hands ran up her back to the tie that held her linen dress in place and released it in one swift movement. She untied the knot that held the short cloth to his waist and let it fall to the floor. They both stood naked, bronzed by fire light. He laid her down gently on the pallet, slowly lowering his body onto hers. He explored her body, touching, kissing, tasting every inch of her skin as he made his way down her torso. He looked up at her, resting his chin on her stomach and grinned at her in that devilish way.
     "You do not encourage me to continue by remaining silent," he said brashly. "Let's change that, shall we?" She eyed him curiously and he continued his downward descent. She opened her legs to him and he nibbled gently at her inner thighs. She giggled at the feeling and he took that as permission to continue. He lowered his head to her. His tongue was nimble, making broad strokes that caused her to tremble. He kept on with speed and skill and she sighed audibly, moving her hips to his rhythm. She felt a tightness deep inside her, as if she would explode if he continued. She tried to pull away from him in an attempt to lessen the feeling. He felt her struggle and wrapped one arm around her thigh, while the other reached up and gripped her breast. He continued with renewed fervor and she squirmed and panted. Finally able to break his hold, she sat up abruptly and gripped him by his hair and pulled him up to face her and kissed him deeply. She could taste herself on his lips, musky and feral, that ignited an inferno deep within. Reaching down, she took all of him in her hands and stroked gently. He inhaled sharply and pushed her back down to the pallet. He took her hands away and pinned them over her head with one hand, while the other guided himself into her. She gasped at the sudden intrusion. They began to move together in a steady cadence of mutual bliss. He looked deep in her eyes and she back at him as they writhed in tandem. He let go of her hands and she immediately dropped them to his hips in hopes of holding him within her forever. The tightness deep within her returned and she begged him not to stop. In response, he went faster and faster and faster until a wave of pleasure crashed over them and threatened to drown them both. She cried out and he collapsed onto her, chest heaving and breathing heavily. She wrapped her legs around him and held him there.
     "Do not move... I do not wish to be separate from you yet," she panted. He nodded, unable to form words and they lay fitted together like a puzzle. She felt complete and whole with him inside her and did not want that feeling to end. Is this what love is, she thought to herself. Feeling whole when coupled? They lay quietly, hearts hammering against the others ribs. She released him and he propped himself up on his elbows.
     "What spell you have cast upon me, bewitching woman? I fear you will never be rid of me." he said quietly. She laughed.
     "You speak as if I would want to."

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Why I write

I write because I have too much imagination inside. To contain it would be like trying to fit the Atlantic ocean into a fish tank. Once those flood gates are open, there is no stopping it. I have always lived in my own world of ideals and fantasies that are so impractical in the real world. My stories begin as dreams usually. That is where I get my inspiration. Because in my dreams, there are no limitations, no rules. The people I meet in my dreams are not figments of my imagination. I didn't create them to deal with some weird, deep rooted childhood trauma. They are me. They are the aspects of me that I am, that I lost, that I wish I could be. They are fantasy made real by an overactive imagination. There's a saying that a writer doesn't have 1 life, they have many lives.And that is the closest to the truth than I could ever really express.

Some of you know, though most of you don't, I am writing a book. I've been working on it for a long time now and I still don't have more than maybe 3 pages typed. I don't type it up to start though. I write it all down, old school style. Seems impractical to the vast majority, but I feel that it's more personal this way. I know I will have to type it all up eventually, and that is okay. Because when I retype it all, I can reword things and update it all as I see fit.You know, rearranging words and phrases.


I plan of self publishing my book via Amazon, as an e-book. Maybe if enough people like it, it will be made into a movie or something like that horrendous Fifty Shades of Crap. (I know I shouldn't bash other writers, but damn that book is horrible. I read all of 5 pages of that drivel and had to put it down because it was just so bad. I'd give the writer more credit if she made up the characters herself, but she didn't. That whole crappy story began as Twilight fan fiction. And don't get me started on fan fiction.) I don't have any illusions about it though. I know that there are better writers than me whose stories go unnoticed or overlooked by the majority because they are not easily adapted. The same was told to George RR Martin and look at him! The man is a commercial success because of his imagination and his creations. I would love to have that kind of success. I know that isn't the reality of most writers but one could hope.


I don't write because I want to be rich and famous. I write because my imagination and internal world is too massive to contain. I write because I have a gift with words that many don't have. I write because I can.


Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Decadent Dionysus

After watching live performances of Led Zeppelin, I decided to write this piece. I find Robert Plant to be one of the most alluring men on stage. He exudes charm and sexuality on stage. Everything from his apperance to his body movements to his choice of clothing all plays into his persona. So after many nights of discussing 1971 Robert Plant with a now no longer friend, I finally found a way to work him into my writing. For your reading pleasure, I give you Decadent Dionysus.

Decadent Dionysus:
     Around a blazing flame, we danced. Our dance of liberation and madness born in the most primal places of our wandering souls. He stood a midst the saturnalia, rejoicing in the freedom he incited. His amber mane whipped about his immaculate face as he sang of love lost and oppulant lands. His lithe body cavorted amongst us as we swayed to the rhythm of his phantom melodies. He raised his arms skywards, begging for the heavens to break and release it's tears upon us. We frolicked as he commanded, without regard for pain or self. He took us to the brink of lunacy and we revelled in it's sublime simplicity. We gave ourselves over to him, relinquishing the control of our sanity for the freedom of his bliss. We danced without care, we loved without fear, and we indulged without limit. He carried us to ecstasy on the wings of sedition and we submitted willingly. We placed him above all in the pantheon of our passions. His beauty was second to none. Our exhalted love, our decadent Prince, coveted above all. Our Dionysus. We drank in his rapture and drunk on his divinity, we made love. Our bodies, an offering of entwining limbs and idolatry for him, our venerable consort. His emboldened azure eyes pierced the midnight veil of our essence, and we surrendered to his earthly appetites. Our precious conqueror, possessor of our singular vitality, Lord of our devotion. Our Golden God, like a candle lighting the dark path to mania, we succumbed to his debauchery.


Now, I wrote this from a literal stand point. To me, Robert Plant embodied all that Dionysus represented; Indulgence, love, and madness. So I imagined him as Dionysus and those who gave in, his priests and priestesses. But after I showed this to my husband, he asked if it was written from a fan's viewpoint in the crowd at a concert. I did not, but I can see how it can be viewed as such. It is both really. What do you see when you read it?

Derangement

This one I wrote about a dream I had 2 years ago. The few people that have read it told me it sounds like my fear of getting married. At the time, I thought that that explaination was total crap, but the more I read it, the more I understood where they could see that. Sometimes, the most terrifying dreams have very little in them that are scary but a feeling or a seemingly innocuous thing is the most terrifying of all.

Derangement
She stood in front of the mirror, running her hands down her stomach to her hips in a vain attempt to smooth out the stiff satiny fabric of her white gown. She almost didn't believe the reflection staring back at her was even her. They did her hair and makeup. She couldn't bring herself to do it... she didn't want to be here... no matter how beautiful she looked.
     
A knock came at the door behind her, and a muffled voice mumbled that she had a few minutes and then it was time. She looked down at her hands and wondered exactly how it was that she got there. Nothing made sense. Only that moment and a few passing memories from the day before lingered in her mind. But the only one that she remembered from before, the one that seemed so ominous, was the tree. She kept seeing it in her mind... the thick oak tree, barren of all signs of life, it's twisted black limbs stretching high into the grey sky. Nothing scared her more than the thought of that tree and it's death like stranglehold on the air around it. But no memory followed the image of the tree... nothing to explain why it frightened her. Tears trickled down her golden cheeks.

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't notice that They came into the room like ghosts. They dabbed her eyes and whispered consolation in her ears. They beckoned and she turned to the door and followed them out of the comforting security of the room. Their voices echoed in her ears; scolding her for ruining her makeup by crying, all would be better soon, he would heal her, he would make her whole, the nightmares would stop, the memories would return. Walking down that long hallway, she trailed behind Them, ignoring their words. The hallway was eerily lit by the lambent light of the moon streaming in from the many large windows. They carried candalabras as They shuffled her towards the end of the hallway to the ornate carved door that lead to a place she knew that she needed to fear.

Suddenly and without warning, a sense of hushed urgency swept over Them and Their voices became frantic. They said things she couldn't understand, not that she even cared to, she was focused on her own sorrow. One smoothed down her hair, another placed a tiny kiss on her cheek and handed her a small candle to light her way, while the final 2 rearranged her dress around her. Coming out of her trance, she looked around and noticed that she was alone. They left her at the door.

She closed her heavy eyes and drew a deep breath in. The menacing door seemed to swell with every breath she took, it's hinges creaking as if it had lungs of its own. Opening her eyes, she noticed that her hand was reaching for the silver doorknob. For a moment, she hesitated. Why would They leave her in front of this door? Is this where he resided?  She shook what fear she had from her head, clutched the candle tightly in her hand, and with the other reached out once more for the doorknob, and turned it.

She stepped in and the door shut behind her. Enveloping blackness surrounded her, closed in on her, the rich carmelly glow of the candle lighting her way through the huge room. In the distance, she saw a small window. A faint grey light eminated from it, though not enough to give her a pathway. She began to walk toward the window. She walked for what seemed like hours, and yet she was no closer to the window than when she began. Aburptly, she broke out into a swift run. As she ran on, she could hear the echoes screaming warnings in her ears. Stay away. Turn back. You won't like what you see. She finally reached the window. She pressed her hands against the cold glass, panting... and there it was.

The massive oak tree from her memories stood triumphantly in a field that it had drained of any signs of life.

That forbodding tree stood on top of a small grass covered hill, surrounded by murky water. Those armlike limbs tearing at the delicate and dingy sky. One moment she was gazing out that small window, the next, she was standing waist deep in the water, looking up at the majestic and terrifying reality of that tree. She climbed up the hill on hands and knees, the dead grass scraping at her tender flesh. Why couldn't she remember this place? Even though it frightened her, she felt oddly at home, almost soothed, this close to a memory of her past. She knelt at the base of the tree, hoping something would come to her. An explanation, a reason, anything that could tell her who she was, where she came from, and what happened to her.

When she realized that she would get no answers here, she turned away from that tree and walked back down the hill to that impure water. Bodies began to drop from the vault of Heaven, pedulously swinging from nooses.  All hanging from an invisible source above, the bloated ashen skinned bodies of men and women. Their eyes searched the skies. Their mouths grotesquely contorted in their moments of agony. Their hands open at their sides and their feet cuspidated like those of ballet dancers. Around each right eye, a red mark, either painted, cut, or burned into the skin.

She should be afraid. A forest of bodies hung all around her, yet she feared nothing here. Such a vulgar display of reality, she thought. Vulgar and yet so beautiful. She lowered herself into the water and began to float around the tree, the toes of the bodies dangling just above her. She floated on and on, feeling herself fall deeper into despair. The black water saturated her gown, dragging the weight of her delicate body down into the cold depths of the dark pond. As she sunk further and further down, she saw the bodies hanging above her turn their heads down and glare directly into her eyes, their mouths still twisted, the red sybmols around their eyes oozing blood.

She didn't try to scream, she didn't fight against the force forcing her further down. She accepted her fate. Who knows what was supposed to come of her, and if this was the will of the Fates, then she somberly resigned herself to this destiny. As she went deeper, the water began to turn her lovely alabastor flesh to an alluring shade of cadaverous grey.

And as she plunged into the unknown deep, she finally felt free.

Romanticide

Another one written for a man. LOL. This one has a special place in my heart. I wrote this 3 years ago about someone who randomlly popped back into my life for a short time. He helped me to see that I was better than how I allowed people to treat me. He will always hold a special place in my heart for all that he showed me about myself. I don't think I would be where I am now without him. We haven't had any contact with each other in over 2 years, and while it makes me sad, I know it is for the best. Ladies and Gentlemen... I give you Romanticide.

Romanticide-
One special night, a long long time ago... a young naive girl met the man of her dreams. A sort of Viking knight, oozing chivalry, romance, and other worldly perfection. He looked at her with eyes full of passion and she melted into them. He looked like what she imagined sin would be. Tall, dark, and brooding with clear blue eyes and a halo of black curls stretching down to his waist. Thick arms, massive hands, long legs... a proper giant, but he exuded such divinity that she half expected him to have huge white wings concealed under his clothes.

He made her feel like no other before him. Saying those words are sometimes viewed as cliche, but no truer words have ever been spoken. He didn't have to touch her for her to feel satisfied; he just had to speak. His accent rolled off his tongue in a wave, dripping into her ear like verbal honey, crashing against her insides, seeping down into her body and awakening the tiny butterflies inside of her soul, soaking her in nervous anticipation from head to toe. He made her feel like the most beautiful woman walking the planet when he simply touched her hands, and shot a smile a her from afar.

He was never forward or inappropriate. Always the perfect gentleman, he asked permission to kiss her, held her hand tightly in a crowd, waited for her when she asked him to. She daydreamed about him, imagining a life far beyond what she ever had with anyone. Theirs was something innocent, completely unfounded in this world, or the next. Like something out of a fairy tale.


She waited for him to turn out like everyone else, anticipating him to do the same things to her that were done by the others before him. She waited in vain for something to happen that would change the way she saw him. He was polite, and courteous to everyone around them. He treated everyone with respect... Do men like this really exist? Or is he just putting on a show? She wondered to herself every single moment she witnessed his kindness. Maybe it was their age difference, or where he was born that made the difference. Every day she waited for him to change into the typical man was another day he did not.

She fought off her feelings, afraid to give in to them for fear of heartbreak. She diminished her affections for him and his for her. She didn't want anyone to think that she loved him that way she did. She didn't want to seem more childish than she already was. Those who witnessed the two of them together confirmed what she knew already in her head and in her heart; that she loved him. And that he felt something for her too.

When she finally gave in, they lived a fairy tale romance day after day that they were together. She often surprised herself with how much she adored him. Seperated from each other constantly, they savored every second they had by spending it wrapped in each other. He flirted with her while he worked, flipping his hair into his eyes, using it as a shield so no one else noticed. He blew her tiny kisses, smirking after he would see her reaction to them.

She knew he loved her... even if he didn't say it. She could see it in his eyes. Those words need not be spoken... she just had to look deep into those icy eyes and see the love burning deep inside, warming the turquoise blue until they were nothing but pure crystalline pools. He spoke his native tongue, whispering beautiful words into her ears that she longed to understand. He sent electric shivers through her. They sat under the stars, listening to others speak of events around them of which they were completely oblivious. They walked together, arm in arm. Their love was pure, unblemished by the world that brought them together.

But like all beautiful things, their love was not everlasting. Like the spring flowers, the heat of summer burns their beautiful petals, and leaves nothing behind but the wilted stems; such is the same for them. Distance began to take it's toll on the untainted affection and forced her Scandinavian love into the arms of another. As much as she hated him for taking her heart, she couldn't be angry. Thousands of miles seperated them, a boundless ocean spanned between them, pushing them apart. He said things that eased her pain and others that just made the distance worse. He promised her, that if one day, they were still living a solitary life, and each still felt the same about the other, he would come to her and sweep her away like the knight in shining armor that she deserved. He promised her the world, if no one else had already given it to her.

She felt like she has no reason to breathe without him and he did his best to console. He told her that he wanted to see her again, he didn't want it to end in a bath of tears. She agreed to see him once more. He hugged her, pressing his strong body against hers. She wanted his scent of cologne, cigarettes, and vodka to encase her, cocoon her, wrap her in a comforting memory of the days when he refused to let her go. At the end of the embrace, he held her by the arms, kissed her forehead and smiled down at her. She smiled back, faking her happiness and walked away, tears streamed from her eyes at the thought of never holding him again, never feeling his lips on hers, never again seeing the love for her is his eyes.

Her heart sometimes still bleeds for him; her skin yearns for his touch every once in a while. But over the years, the longing has lessened, her heart healed, and she learned to love again. And even though she still loves him, she knows now what she knew then, this love was not meant to be, if it was, it wouldn't have been so hard to maintain. She has to be okay with her own reasoning, even though it will take some time to convince her of it's validity.

She sees him from time to time, not in person of course, and she smiles and thinks fondly back to the time when she was his girl. No matter what happens now... she will always have that year when her heart belonged to the Swedish rock star.

Etherial

This one was written about a friend of mine in the UK about 9 years ago. I was looking at his pictures and started thinking. He is someone I still talk to occassionally and he continues to inspires me to this day. Thank you Luke, for this one!

Etherial
He didn't know I was watching him as he slept that morning. For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes away from his alluring face. I had just met him the night before, and now, there he was, in my bed the following morning, sleeping like an angel.

I remember very little on how or where we met, and honestly... all of that seems irrelevant now. I do remember wanting him, his touch, his taste, all of him. There was such a familiar quality in his eyes, so knowledgable and seemingly omnipotent and yet he looked upon everything as if it were new to him. He was calling to me without words. He shot me a quick glance, and a slight smile. That expression, even now after a night of passionate moments, is forever embedded in my mind. His body glistening in the dim light, his full lips curled in a gorgeous smile.

There was something about him that put me at ease. And at that moment, as I watched him intently, I couldn't explain it. There was a child like serenity exuding from him as he clutched my pillow in his arms. My blanket caressed his naked skin and it shifted softly and ever so gently as I leaned forward to move the one strand of long dark hair that blocked my clear view of his divine features. His smooth skin glowed, almost radiated, a seraphic light. His beauty was uncanny, unworldly. It seemed as if he came from some place that we could never see.

As we made love, the world seemed to stop. Everything was governed by our entwined bodies. I was seemingly in love with him, whom I only knew for 9 hours. I felt like I never had before... calm and at peace. I was content with any trials that life had to throw at me, so long as he was by my side. There are few poets who can capture the sheer essence of beauty in thier words; Lord Byron, Shakespeare, Emily Dickenson... but none of them could ever capture the gracefulness in his appearance. Only 3 words come to mind when describing him... etherial and seemingly angelic.

Words Straight from the Heart

I wrote this about 7 years ago about someone I adored with all of me. At the time I wrote this, I was head over heels for him but he did not reciprocate the way I did. He gave me very little to hold on to, but I can honestly say that he helped me write some of the best poetry I have ever written. Without further adeiu, Words Straight from the Heart...

I can't sing a song to you
Because No one's message
seems to ring true
I can't relate to Karen Carpenter's words
You never said you love me
Although I wish you would
I don't think I can take much more
My heart is exhausted
and my soul has been torn
Being without you
is like living my life
without the one who
gives me hope
gives me strength
but I can't give you
what you won't take.



Tell me what you think!