poe2002

All poetry here by Ronnie, (aka Vee Bdosa)

MADEMOISELLE L'VAMPYRE
From out of all the darkest nights we've ever known
her heart as black as all the sins that man has shown
she came in scantly fitted laced atire
abreathing smoke, her body hot as fire,
and on the backstreets, she could make her way alone.

She rode a hackneyed team from out the midnight sky
to Paris in the dark, unseen by any eye,
and when she let the Seine to be her home,
she layed each steed down to the catacomb
where all unloved, and all forgotten go to die.

An early snow, each flake fortelling winters' cold
played magic in the corner lights of days of old,
and as her shadow blended to the night
her evil eye searched out a soul who might
be craving body heat, more dearly than his gold.

There layed she in the wait, until someone was near
then caught his eye before his anxious mind could fear,
and said she, if he layed this night alone,
she'd warm his bed and melt his heart of stone
or if he'd say the word--she'd simply disappear.

He quick embraced her propositioning and said
if she should leave him now, he'd rather to be dead,
and let us find my flat most hastily
for ours is love that simply has to be,
and so she'd set her spell into his eager head.

and so she loved him well but left him there alone
much happier in death, than life had ever known,
the very first of blood from her first bite
since joining the undead, one hallowed night,
but she sucked him so dry it turned him into stone.

"First Love of Mademoiselle L'Vampyre"
Your lady of the night, if you'd so choose,
counts on the dark within her Left Bank mews
to hide her as she watches from the dark;
she picks the flesh where she will leave her mark
then sinks her teeth to blood her soul can use.

She wonders if forever's ever done
and how it feels to walk out in the sun,
though all her memories have died away,
she still recalls one boy she'd have today
except he'd taken her in just his fun.

With all her heart, she loved, and loved him well
more than mere letters of it ever tell
but she has burned each one she ever penned
and cast the ashes to the midnight wind;
before she layed his body straight to hell.

And for her deed--the cutting of her knife
and drinking of his blood to end his strife,
her fate came to be one of the undead
the hated ones whom all of man should dread
and with such beauty, but no claim to life.

The feature of his face she soon forgot
but not the plight of love, the arrow shot
straight to the heart and still she knows its pain
and longs to touch his mouth one time again;
she lives and breathes to die--but dies she not!

Now you could have her love, if you should please
and for it she has brought kings to their knees!
But if it's more than love she wants this night
you'd best pass down the Seine onto the Right;
and not down on the Left where no one sees.

THE BURYING OF A SHREW
What reasons to the mind stands not a chance in light,
still I have laid her body deep and cold,
beneath the basement planking, clothed in black and white,
now I await my judgment, growing old.

The perfect crime, I'm told, has never come to be,
but I have watched those stairs, for her ascent,
and in her time, I know, her wrath will fall on me,
she'll make her vengeance known, with God's consent.

Among the nights I've spent here waiting for her rise,
I've never heard the sound of squeaking fir,
proceeding what I fear, her opening of eyes,
and still I watch the stairs--I wait for her.

My eyes sometimes a blur, my head sometimes too light,
her nagging tongue the ringing in my ear,
I know she's not too dead, but sleeping through the night,
til morning breaks, she'll waken, is my fear.

Another morning here, and still she's sleeping late,
the candle has burned out, atop the stair,
and through the day I feel the love I've come to hate,
though she is dead, she's with me everywhere.

I'd place her in God's care, but Heaven wants her not,
perhaps tonight she'll rid me of my sin,
but then I loose the plank, and see she's turned to rot,
I'll cry for her a while, then bury her again.

BURIED IN WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING
Whose woods these are, mox nix to me,
both dead and buried, she must be,
to bother me, not one more time,
but sleep forever; endlessly.

Though thought of still, as perfect crime,
(it made my life a downhill climb,)
tis none the less, I must admit,
the joy of me, all of the time.

And smile I must, with thought of it,
the slicing of her throat a bit,
and struggling, oh! how she tried!
whilst I enjoyed her dying fit.

Her eyes now crossed, as if she spied,
her life and death on either side,
and so I gouged them both in fun,
for every time she ever lied!

She begged for mercy--there was none!
Her legs were dead, she couldn't run,
and with her throat cut, couldn't cry,
nor could I, whilst I had such fun!

Her pleas are still my lullaby,
I've lots of time to wonder why,
and years to go before I die.
and years to go before I die.

HER EYES, HER EYES
Come list, this night has made confession dear,
no longer am I able to survive
with what's become my bleak and greatest fear
of Eleanor becoming still alive,

I know, she's decomposed now where she lays,
where I have buried her, in common dress,
beneath the riverside, I know she stays
at this, the spot, she gave me happiness,

no longer trim, no more with living hair,
please bear me out, you'd love her as your own,
no more the smile, the only thing she'd wear,
when her espoused would leave her late, alone.

What fool would go, and not return til day,
knowing where heaven waits, right in his bed,
and knowing she has loved, have naught to say,?
Only a man of wealth, already dead.

And yet, I pity him, he never knew
she loved him more than me, in her own way,
and talked about the wonders he could do,
on those few nights he yielded to foreplay;

it seemed she told me things that never were,
but certainly they cut and drove me mad,
to think his fingers touched the pink of her,
I yearned for part of her he never had.

Her eyes! Her eyes! Where there's no end to see,
from where she gave her blessing for the night,
as blue as heaven ever meant to be,
as wrong as sin, but somehow, just as right

the look of life, the look of love and death,
that once were locked to mine, foretold it all;
I guess I always knew, but held my breath,
that in her eyes was where my fate must fall.

Possession then was mine, but for a while,
I reasoned she still tried to make him see,
and if he'd see beyond her pleasant smile,
her eyes, her eyes, he'd take away from me!

And when she told me he would leave no more,
to sell his ware, out of this countryside,
my rage led me to kill my Eleanor,
because she looked more like his loving bride.

No one ever conceived accusing me,
the gentle neighbor, down the road a bit,
and through these years, I've held my misery,
but never learned a way to live with it.

I even searched the valley, through the trees,
with all the rest for her, for many days,
into the places no one ever sees,
where light may shine, but very seldom stays,

beneath the cliffs, under the brush and vine,
the dragging of the river where she died,
not one of them would think the truth was mine,
or if they did, they pushed the thought aside.

Confessing now, I go to meet my death,
with that same piece of tarnished cutlery,
that made me feel her warm and dying breath,
but I still feel her eyes, her eyes on me.

     DEATH OF MADEMOISELLE DUPONT
Look down the dreary path, into the park,
deep shadows hide the trees along the Seine,
the quiet of the night accents the dark
and you can feel your breathing now and then.
The peaceful gloom, enveloped by a mist,
all black and gray and shades of morbid white,
accentuates the place your eyes have missed,
where someone waits, who's watched you every night.
This place, where gendarmes warn to be aware,
tonight is more foreboding than you've known,
and so you pause; you look; is someone there?
It's then you realize, you are alone.
       The snapping of your heels you hear increase,
         as if the hurry puts your mind at peace.

Engulfed, the path leads up and from the Seine,
and then you'll be out of this narrow pit,
but suddenly you feel the eyes again,
much closer than a glove too small to fit.
You struggle with your thinking, in a word,
to flee or just pretend no one is there,
and so you hum a tune you've never heard,
and place your safety in your mother's prayer.
You think about that in the spring you'll wed,
your sweet betrothed, believe he's at your side,
and you will laugh at all this gloom and dread...
though courage might have found you, it has lied.
     The shadows all are moving; you can hear
        the groaning of someone who's all too near.

The quiet; crickets sounding no alarm,
but now a drizzle rain cools at your heat,
and tingles flowing down onto your arm
remind you of the friends you'll never meet;
quite suddenly, he's grabbed you from behind,
and muffles any sound you might have found,
you cannot scream, to hurt is in your mind,
but he's too quick, he's pinned you to the ground.
Who is this thing, your lover or your friend,
you might have pained...why does he want you dead?
or is this just someone who brings the end,
you've never known, with killing in his head?
     You feel no teardrops, feel no blood nor fright,
        there's only blinding, blinding, blinding light

YOUR ONLY FRIEND
Out of the night she's called for you
and raised you from a restless sleep
into the life you're going through,
into the life you can not keep.

She's known by all, her name is death,
you see her, then you realize,
she is your very final breath
and you have seen it in her eyes.

You look again, to clear your head
but truth is truth, and now you know,
your book is finished, it is read,
and now it's time to go.

So long you wondered who she was
if she would ever be a friend,
but now you see the love she does,
and it is there beyond your end.

She whispers all the things you've done
and sings them in her song
each rising star, each setting sun,
it all played out, but played out wrong.

And there is nothing here for you,
so welcome her, she is your end,
and go to where you must go to
to know sweet Death, your only friend.

JE VOUS ATTEND
Je vous attend, I wait for you,
as patient as death's rendezvous;
and just as certain as the sun
knows each tomorrow's overdue.

I wait well hid from anyone,
the devil's hope, and native son,
the gift of Hell, you'll not acquire,
until it's yours, when life is done.

Beyond each sunset's probing fire,
deep in the dark of your desire,
I wait to kiss all hope away,
and give you more than you acquire.

I wait for you beyond the day,
into the night that will not stay,
I wait in dark, your only friend,
And I will love your death away,

Deep in the night that has no end,
I wait for you, je vous attend,
Beyond the life you now pretend,
Beyond the life you now pretend.

DEAD HEAT
Reflecting from the surface, bright and still
of mine own pool of dismal memory,
your face, sometimes it glows, as if it will
present itself once more to what I see.
I shouldn't think about your flesh the way I do,
once soft and eager for someone to touch,
but having loved the best, and that was you,
'tis near impossible to say how much
you filled my life--but then you died from me,
and all this love is unfulfilled today;
so I have taken it in hand, you see,
for no one's ever loved me that same way.
I close mine eyes, and you are almost there
though in my mind, I know you're dead, somewhere.

THE BURNING OF THE LOVERS
The festival, to all the saints now underway
as dark a night has fallen from an autumn day
and if you listen to the rustled breeze
you may hear voices somewhere in the trees
but never look for them--they're only there to play.

Two lovers in the night, though black and white, amiss,
and reaching out to take that first and bonding kiss
but then to be forbidden their desire,
though in their hearts it burned a constant fire,
the world of separationists refused them this.

But she was in his mind, and Sarah loved John so,
each time their eyes would meet, they never could let go,
and everyone was watching them until
they knew their love would overpower will,
for everyone resented love they couldn't know.

Her fathers madness, wrought from years of slavery
came to an evil, few had thought could ever be,
and he took to the whip he'd taken from
his masters hand, for love had surely come
to such a point, and John was bound, and made to see!

It was all hallow's eve, and you could hear the cry
throughout the foggy night, but love refused to die,
so town folk layed some timber to a fire
and bade them one more time, "reject desire..."
but in their eyes they cried, "we'd much rather to die..."

The flames consumed as if love spared them misery
so quickly was the end, it wasn't there to see,
and madness fell upon them, everyone,
who watched, it seemed the fire would not be gone,
and so they all jumped in for sake of agony.

THE READING OF THE RAVEN
Speak softly in the night, I hear each word,
though you've been dead, what is it, now a year?
Obliquely unindexed, though I have heard,
your crying in the dark, but not in fear.

Has not decay removed by now from you,
your larynx? How is it you make a sound?
To say it's made me mad, is nothing new,
and in my madness, is no peace, I've found.

In Raven's constant reading, by the fire,
I sit alone, pretending I've not heard,
the tapping of the ghost, in your attire,
who wrote the nevermore, yea, every word.

The drunkard and the master of the pen,
you'd both have me insane for what I've done,
and I must kill someone, yea, kill again,
though it's myself, so let the deed be done.

SLIDING DOWN A STAIRCASE BANISTER WHEN
SUDDENLY IT TURNS INTO A RAZOR BLADE
The slicing into flesh of polished steel,
brings on a flowing red and bloody stain,
as sliding down the banister, you feel,
the razor's edge that cuts an instant pain.
You grit your teeth in silent agony,
as if your mind has anything to say,
and flashes white and bright are what you see,
with squinted eyes that focus black and gray.
And as the razor's edge cuts deep into
that part of you that keeps life holding on,
the flashes turn to scarlet brilliant hue,
and pain tears up your mind, til pain is gone!
Kalaidascoped in escalating light,
you take to wing and find death's but a flight.

ANNIVERSARY
Speak softly in the night, I hear each word,
though you've been dead, what is it, now a year?
Obliquely unindexed, though I have heard,
your crying in the dark, but not in fear.

Has not decay removed by now from you,
your larynx? How is it you make a sound?
To say it's made me mad, is nothing new,
and in my madness, is no peace I've found.

In Raven's constant reading, by the fire,
I sit alone, pretending I've not heard,
the tapping of the ghost, in your attire,
who wrote the nevermore, yea, every word.

The drunkard and the master of the pen,
you'd both have me insane for what I've done,
and I must kill someone, yea, kill again,
though it's myself, so let the deed be done.

The Witch's Breath and Brew
She brought the lunar spell, at midnight's glow,
upon herself to rid the love she felt;
in all her grief, she wanted him to know
she didn't care, although he'd seen her melt.
He'd taken his desire, all he could want,
unmeasured love that flowed as free as sin,
all fresh and cool as any mountain font,
until her soul was drained and stretched too thin/
Unshackled from her past and in a daze,
she yielded to his hand that searched her out,
well knowing of his vile and vagrant ways,
but hungering for what he was about.
Unmercifully his enigmatic style
brought to her mind the reasons life can smile.

How she did love his probing fingertips,
to places never known by anyone,
the violence in his sealing of her lips
that stopped the heart her life depended on;
but what she gave was more than he could bear,
and his own heart gave in to death's embrace,
just as the coming of his soul was there,
he died--and with a smile upon his face.
Right then she knew, he'd always plague her mind,
unless the gods would rid his memory;
and though she'd search, she knew she'd never find
another man that made her love as he.
And so the lunar madness her soul breathed,
was brought on by the spell of love bequeathed.

A LADY VISITS MARIA CLEMM
Your darling Eddie's grave is there,
buried beneath the church's care,
though claimed to be a nobler plot,
'tis underneath the church, and not,
the sight a memory should share!

But look yourself, your eyes are for
the seeing truth, in Baltimore,
beneath the cinders, dust, and grime,
dressed in a garb as old as time,
less than a beggar ever wore.

And buried are his eyes so deep,
beneath the prayer of God's own keep,
to hear the bells not as he should,
or breathe God's Heaven, if he could,
eyes wide awake--he'll never sleep.

My tears are born of lunacy,
from seeing how his death must be;
and hoping you might care as well,
to save his soul out of this hell;
though I've told not a soul, but thee.
written by Vee Bdosa (aka Ronnie)
(Footnote: in 1860, 11 years after the death of Edgar Allan Poe, a lady
called on Maria Clemm in Alexandria, VA and reported his grave to be
in the above deplorable location and condition. It started a movement that
continues to this day.)

I LOVE YOU, DEATH
I love you death, and welcome all you're not;
no love, no hate, no failing and no gain.
No fighting for the things we haven't got,
nor wondering about our latest pain.
Your mercy is a thing I surely bless;
anticipating you, my only friend,
who brings conclusion to all wretchedness,
the only one who knows us in the end.
So come you now as I help you along,
you know you've tried to get me in the past,
but now I know your timing is not wrong,
and so I live and breath for you at last.
Your nothingness is what I hunger for,
and in your end, I pray there's nothing more.

FINGERNAILS
That tap-tap-tapping--how I loath it still,
though surely she's been laid among the dead--
and put there by my own design and will
to end the tapping she put in my head--
those cursed nails--they brought the end to me,
and slowly through the years, drove me insane--
and though I pleaded for my sanity,
she relished in the thought--and loved my pain!
So bludgeoned I--her life--to yesterday--
severing every nail that drove me mad
and though I thought I cut it all away
her tapping's with me yet, and twice as bad!
Here in this cell, I wait, for death is near,
and still her tapping's all that I can hear!

MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE MEETS THE WEREWOLF
While walking on a path sublime
accustomed to at times, when I'm
just going neither here nor there--
but all content to only passing time;
from my Chateau near Poitiers,
I happened to a fine display
of cutlery, so very fine,
of sellers merely passing my own way.
I told them I'd no time to spare,
and couldn't stop to see the ware,
but could at my chateau tonight--
the man replied, he had a problem there!
He then explains his eyes grow tired--
by dark, his sleep cannot be mired,
so he will send his daughter fair,
o! joy within my days, my heart was fired!
Anticipation all aglow,
I went to where I meant to go,
and purchased I, the finest wine;
then quick I got me back to my chateau!
O! How we laughed the night away!
My choice of wine, she never say,
And then I viewed her cutlery,
and told her I would buy the case this day!
The offer swept her off her feet,
I asked her, "if we be discrete..."
the proposition you must know,
is sharing this cool night, some body heat!
And so led I right up the stair,
as heard I music, ev'rywhere,
or maybe just the mood I be,
and in my private light, such beauty there!
Loved we, then well into the night,
I thought we'd rise with morning light,
and when she feigned into a trance,
I quick set in to make our loving right;
and as I moved a lock of hair,
revealing such of beauty there,
set I my teeth, to make the mark
for not a mark did I see anywhere!
Closed I my eyes, as she concede,
my teeth about to fill my need;
when on my shoulder were a pain--
so sharp--like I have never known indeed!
And in a moment, suddenly
so terrible, a cry there be,
a howling I'd not heard before
so harsh it chilled the very soul of me!
Her skin, once smooth unto my own,
was wrinkled and some hair had grown!
and my own blood be on her chin!
And in this dark we be there all alone!
And as I kept myself afar,
one hand held to my bleeding scar,
another howl of death there be
by someone else, who pushed the door ajar!
Just hairy, vile and in decay
was how they looked to me, the way
a rabid dog, I'd seen before;
and needing blood--as I need ev'ry day!
And carried he, just then I see
a blade from my own cutlery--
I'd just now paid my money down,
now they would use that very knife on me!
Such foaming of the mouths! I knew
there not a thing that I could do
unless I make it cross the room
where waits my derringer with bullets two!
She, groaning as if then she would
but leap on me and make it good!
But stepped I to the other side,
then runned I just as fearful as I could!
Then quickly grabbed it to my hand,
from off the chest, how I had planned,
just as her father camed my way
but steady then I grow, and made my stand!
I volleyed then with no adieux
a silver tip, the first of two;
deep in the heart attacking me,
and how he cried! But fell he as I knew!
But love hath pity if it start,
and love unfinished will not part,
so sank me there, the teeth of me
into her neck and to her very heart.
She fell, and back the same old way,
I'd loved so well that very day,
the fairest of the fair I knew,
and that is just how I would have her stay;
so fired I while she lying weak
into her heart just dark and bleak,
and how I cried the night away--
there are no words I know--to ever speak.

THE WARMING WIND
The warming wind has brought no sign of relief.
My death is slow, it takes its time, like a thief.
My wonder is my life has gone on so long,
I must have prayed a little weak, or too strong.

A girl I knew once told me love can not end,
My lover told me she could be just a friend,
Preachers taught me how to pray in Sunday School,
Teachers told me, if I do that, I'm a fool.

I'll tell you secrets, God has let my heart see,
no one believes them, but He showed them to me.
He is the warming wind, but comes like a thief,
and I will love you until death brings relief.

GHOST OF THE SUNSET COWBOY
I've seen the sunset cowboy,
ridin a palomino,
both of his six-guns are still smellin of smoke.
He's not afraid of dyin,
but he don't care for lyin,
white is his hat, but he might light up a toke.

Girls are a little useless,
but Nell's a little different,
she'll keep up with his whisky drinkin all day.
Never he gets too tipsy,
but Nell she puts out plenty,
and before sunset he'll be gone on his way.

Ghost of the sunset cowboy,
don't shoot that poor coyote,
you'll need him later on, to sing you to sleep.
Remember Nell is cryin,
but she ain't been alyin'
she'd give up all her sin to sing you to sleep.

LAST RIGHTS
If you listen to this night,
creeping, deathly night of nights,
certainly your skin will crawl,
you must die where you must fall,
death is swift and death it bites.

If you know the night is black,
creeping, dying, whites and blacks,
certainly it's all a game,
white or black, it's all the same,
love is love, so just relax.

If you think love has no bite,
creeping, loathing, love now bites,
certainly it matters not,
black or white, love's all you've got,
love is death--I've read your rights.

DEVIL GALE
Relinquishing my right to being sane,
tis none-the-less God given to my brain,
the very hope, while on this restless sea,
so into dark, and where a gale must be,
I'll stay my course, into the driving rain;

into the howling wind; into the night,
through white caps higher than my line of sight,
the bellowing less than two fathoms mark,
close to the bottoming to Neptune's dark,
but I must steer my ship, to what is right!

Though I may know the brine is shallow here,
along the coast, and know the rocks are there,
to dare my vessel, have a pleasant trip!
up devil's shore, they hope to dash my ship
and sink me to the depths, to disappear.

Blow hard! Nor'easter! You'll not put me down!
My ship is fit, I've heard your dying sound!
Now I can see the rising of the sun,
in streaks of light, predicting you are done!
And I have sailed this night to solid ground!

VALENTINE'S DAY WISH
From off the sea, a night wind cold,
reminding me of growing old,
each joint in pain, each pain held dear,
lest in the end, I die from here,
but die we must, or so I'm told.

Out of the coming of the dawn,
tomorrow's hope, life's going on,
my hope for sunlight, soft and warm,
to rid me of my painful norm,
Night on your way!! O! Death be gone!

Out of the night, from off the sea,
as I have mentioned previously,
no wind you've felt has ever blown,
so cold to chill your heart and bone,
so deep as this wind does to me.

Out from tomorrow's warming trend,
my valentine, my love, my friend,
I hold the glow that kisses me,
as dear as life--it seems to be,
the touch of God, and not the end.

Off of the sea, out from the night,
tis February's freezing bite,
The blowing wind, a winter's gale,
makes every joint I have to fail,
but love the pain, or die I might.

In light, tomorrow shall be less
of pain brought on by colds progress,
and I no longer wish to die,
but hope to see you, by and by,
to make complete my happiness.

YOUR VERY LAST LOVE
The shadows have been cast your way,
both dark and bleak, and black and gray,
to play upon your foolish mind,
no one can reach or ever find,
where you have been and where you'll stay

in search of truth that is not there,
although you feel it everywhere,
illusive as your last nights dream,
where nothing's quite as it would seem,
and so you only sit and stare.

You try to make some sense of it,
the love you've known still hurts a bit,
though time has eased the flowing tears,
the pain goes on for years and years,
and you will not get over it.

CURSE
I came in the name of He who gave you breath,
as certain as the emptiness of time,
as hopeful as your life, and meaningless as death,
I came to stay.

No holy water, no exorcist's demand,
can quench your thirst; your need for all I am.
I fill your head with things not meant to understand,
I came to stay.

I breathe your name, tormented you may seem,
but sleepless is your night, I fill your time.
I am the joy of life beyond your dying scream,
I came to stay.

I came in the name of He who gives you death.
I am the calm; the blinding of the light;
forever part of you, I am your very breath.
I came to stay.

SLAPPED FROM BEHIND
I knew the instant I took my first breath,
right after being swatted from behind,
that butt-head made me realize my death
was just as certain as the life I find.
Now looking back through years of social rot,
at times I've surely said I'm having fun,
although I've laughed, I realize 'twas not
less than a joke, but now the joke is done.
All things must pass, but after it has been,
each love, once beautiful, must die,
and though we love it dearly now and then,
it leaves you cold, alone, and this is why;
all love is just a losing of your mind.
As certain as you're born, slapped from behind.

MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - Fountain Of Youth
Into the night, committed to my way,
in sheer delight, and freed from light of day,
I bring no ray of hope for you,
if tears are what you're coming to,
and if you're hoping love will ever stay.

I bring the passion! Love that's made from heat,
and only physical, but never indiscreet,
if you'll allow my teeth to sink,
into your neck, you'll come to think,
all your life's ever been, is incomplete.

When all is said and done, I'll leave you cold,
but never will I leave you growing old,
and what's come from my loving bite,
has brought the end, to your delight,
of all the death to which your soul's been sold.

BURIED TO THE SEA
He stands, forever watching to the sea;
her restless steed lets out a bridled neigh;
no tears to cry, he sets the sorrel free,
with a pat on its hip, "Be on your way."
Every night he'll remember her last word,
"Love's no more, now I leave you by the sea."
but lost into the wind, as if not heard,
all the love of his life could never be.
To the sea, to the black and foaming sea,
all the pain, all the grief, there on the shore,
and all he's ever loved will always be
where he has lost his mind forevermore.
See his eyes. How they shine. It had to be
he killed his love, then threw her to the sea.

THE THREE IN LOVE
Has not your memory blood-soaked my brain
and made my sanity in days gone by,
eluding ev'ry effort, tried in vain,
'til now, I'm quite content to live this lie?
Your closest friend can only shake her head,
as she lays down with someone almost dead!

Oh! Yes she lives the lie just as I do,
but she needs all of me and ev'ry day,
though ev'ry time I still pretend it's you,
and ev'ry time she loves it anyway!
And even when I call out your sweet name,
she still loves it, and like a burning flame!

I pray in death you hurt with my desire,
as love that's chained me to eternity,
I blast the night! But can't get any higher
although your girlfriend does her best for me!
In this--our fantasy--one day we'll die,
and be the three in love, you, she and I!
1996 Vee B'Dosa

SPELLBOUND
Feel the early morning coming
Lighting up a sudden sky
Nothing nothing bringing raining
Something blowing from the sky
Ringing singing bringing something
Light of nothing light of night
Light of morning flowing showing
Reaching reaching ringing light
Feel the early death of morning
Crying scrying in the sky
Reaching reaching fingers reaching
River flowing through your sky
Candle burning learning something
Scrying through a morning light
Touching touching what you're doing
Reaching scrying through your night.

UNFORTUNATE LOVE
Once more it's morning and I greet the dawn,
waking to feelings I've known,
breathing the fragrance that's lingering on
throughout a lifetime alone;

splinters of sunshine are drifting through blinds,
revealing dust I breathe in,
dancing through flashes, and somehow reminds
of things that never have been;

I hear a song and it's what I've dreamed of,
outside my window they mourn,
I'd face the morning, but I need a shove,
for this poor heart badly torn;

unfortunate dove, why is it you sing,
outside my window each day?
It's a reminder of what life won't bring,
mourning dove, don't fly away;

once more it's morning and I hear the dove
all of my life is a sin,
it's just the way of unfortunate love,
but I still dream now and then.

GAMES CHILDREN PLAY
The sun is blinding through the window,
in afternoons it's such a glare.
I cannot see out of my window,
but I can hear some children there.
And I can hear them outside playing
the same old games we used to play,
down in the street it keeps repeating,
and never changes any way.

The sun is rising on the children,
how could they know that yesterday
will take away the games they're playing,
and give them brand new games to play?

The sun is setting on the children,
their day is gone--where did it go?
and now the game is just survival,
and learning things we never know.
We sit and hear the children playing
and wish they'd let us play
another game the children always know,
but, it's raining so today.

SEARCH
Look deep into yourself my friend,
if then, you need to look to me,
and deep enough to see the end,
beyond the end is where I'll be.

Into the love someday you'll see,
becoming all the things you'll know,
before your very eyes, I'll be
already where you want to go.

I'll be your long and blinding light,
of which all life is awed,
the thread that reaches through the night
in search of what is God.

And in a while, if love is right,
and hope is not just more pretend,
though you have sought what e'er you might,
'tis me you'll find, beyond your end.

WIDOW ARBUTHNOT
It's a dreary kind of story, but a story young and old,
in a way already finished, in a way it's never told,
you can hear it when it's raining, but it's never meant to hear,
it's a love not meant for seeing, but will never disappear.

From the Pocono's it's singing through the Pennsylvania trees,
and a lot like Irish whiskey, it's a little bit of tease,
if a summer rain is falling, it will be a little right,
if a cold wind is ablowing, it will bring a little blight.

It's a love a girl was living for a boy who changed her name,
but an empty kind of feeling, for the way he played the game,
so she killed him in the morning, and she buried him alone,
while the buttonwoods were crying, her poor heart was turned to stone.

You can hear them in the morning, you can hear them late at night,
it's a dreary kind of story, but it's how they always fight.
She will hit him with a hammer, he will stab her with his knife,
but you know before the evening, he'll be buried by his wife.

FENCE
I dreamed you dead. Now read between each word.
I thought the dream was mine, but it was you
who dreamt of me, a love song seldom heard,
though it was me, I guess you never knew.
Yes I was there, not making any sense,
and you, so young and beautiful would think
who is this fool, across this rusting fence?
And we'd not dream I am the missing link.
How could I be there in your restless sleep,
and touch your hand; remembering your eyes
when I awake, from what I thought too deep
to understand or hope to fantasize.
While you were dead, I searched to find a gate,
though none was there, and I had dreamed too late.

JANUARY WIND
There is a wind outside and here I hide,
I couldn't love her more.
If January goes much longer, I'll be dead.
I hear the rain it hits my window pane,
then taps upon my door,
if it gets colder it will turn to snow instead.

There is a wind it blows, but where it goes,
I've never heard it said.
If I was younger I would care what life is for.
I feel an emptiness about it,
or maybe I'm too dead,
from loving her--I could not love her more.

There is a wind, it cares not where it blows,
nor if it rains or snows,
I hear the tapping and it's winter in my head.
I feel a little dying in it,
but don't know where it blows,
and I should care a little more, but I'm too dead.

CONDEMNED
All the rest of me is what it will be.
There's not a way to change what you've given me.
Everywhere I go, I will know,
Eyes are there watching me.

In the dark of night, I might never see,
who might be there, but I know they're watching me.
Everywhere I know what I know,
that your eyes are on me.

Every eye is you, but they never see,
there's not a way they'll ever know what is me.
Everywhere I go where I go,
and your eyes, follow me.

Paranoia--is it not there to see?
Where do I go, to know you're not watching me?
Through my dark I go, but I know,
all
of
your
eyes,
will follow me.

DEATH OF THE LOVER
Out of the bleakest darkest memory,
that I'd endowed to what must be,
there came a burning to my mind,
as cold as life to me.

For all the will I had, and how I tried,
to find a place my soul could hide,
where I'd be safe, from all alone;
short of my lunacy.

In all the secrets of my love's desire,
that first showed with her love for hire,
I never knew her failing heart,
would take her life from me.

In mine own madness when she died away,
the tears I shed were night and day,
in search of where she might have gone,
where I could never be.

There's not a thought I didn't call to mind,
as possibilities to find,
the place she died into that day,
and there, love might send me.

THE LEVITATION
If you lie still and close your heavy eyes
and concentrate on nothing that you feel
as in a dream, where you can visualize
from out of no where, everything is real;
and there's a long and narrow cord you find;
you thought was cut so many years ago;
out shining any sun that's ever shined
and made of things that only gods could know;
it's stuff of life, and leads to distant dreams
not ever dreamt by anyone before,
just then you know that nothing's as it seems,
and all we are is dreams, and nothing more.
The blinding light consumes us in the end
and it's a love no one can comprehend.

THE TRUTH ABOUT ICARUS
I fly to heaven, I can not see the ground.
I feel the sunlight and I hear a funny sound.
My wings have melted and my lift's abandoned me,
My feathers fall into a dark and restless sea.

But then I find a burst of new energy,
I feel my wind, it keeps me out of the sea,
the gods now tell me, my dear father has lied,
and I can fly without his wings on my side.

Oh, father why did you put lies in my head,
did you not think I would remember when you're dead?
Were you in hopes it might have kept me close to ground,
or is it something you had sought, but never found?

MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE immortality
If you'd but give in to the will of me,
and follow your desire, where it may lead,
all reason cast aside, where it should be,
you'll find love meets your every dying need.
You're blood is warming as I'm touching you,
it flows from out your face and leaves you white,
and makes your heart to feign, so I can do
what you've anticipated all this night.
And so as I lay teeth into your skin,
and probe into your very deepest part,
you'll feel no pain, as love comes rushing in,
and reaches even to your very heart.
Once bited you will never feel the sting
of dying mere mortality can bring.

MY FLOWER LOVE
Hid in the deepest dark, and soul of me,
where no one ever thought could be a thing,
a flower grows, called love, and and longs to be,
all of your deepest dreams a night could bring.
And if this night does whisper your desire,
through mine own heart, and through my fingertips,
my flower love shall burst into a fire,
as surely as the meeting of our lips.
To lay you down, and enter love so deep,
into the very heart of you I go,
then damp with passion, it's the time for sleep,
to dream the dream again, you'll never know.
And as the dawn lights through my window pain,
my flower love--I'll love you once again.

Death In the Cesspool
Forget the dead--their faces never smile.
Nor do they fret about life's uphill climb,
but if one must, 'tis good to cry a while,
remembering they've died from age or crime.
Or if you're of a mind to dance and sing,
while laying dead down to their resting place,
the world should never say a single thing,
as life goes on, in its redeeming grace.
And if you think you'll never be the same,
what manner of a fool would want to stay,
here in this garbage heap, this stupid game;
here in the pits of hell and death's decay.
Don't think the reaper's scythe won't cut you deep,
while wide awake, or tossing in your sleep,

TEARS OF AN IRISH GIRL (Esther's Song)
While the rain is falling gently on the roof it makes the sound
of a time that's long forgotten though it seems to hang around
I can hear you breathing lightly from an Irish dream I've known
it has come to Pennsylvania where you've found me here alone
      and I can feel you when you cry.
       So far from home, you wonder why,
         and it makes me want to die.

All the way from County Down there was a dream you had to find
you were long ago and far away, but always on my mind,
in your photograph your eyes are reaching out perhaps for me,
I can feel you when I see you but I never really see,
       what makes you think you have to cry?
         You must have known I'd wonder why,
            and still it makes me want to die.

Can you hear the raindrops falling? County Down's so far away,
or perhaps it's just forgotten, like a dreary Irish day,
I can feel it when you're smiling, and I see it in your eyes
love is gone before you know it, and it's then I realize,
      it's made you think you have to cry.
       And through it all, not wonder why,
        And still it makes me want to die.

(to the memory of grandmother Esther Arbuthnot b:County Down 1802 d:Pittsburgh, Allegheny County PA 1868

DEATH AND THE SERPENTINE
Death takes all your dear life has ever known,
to bring an end, to what your body feels,
in love or hate, together, or alone,
death has no mercy for one's last appeals.
Death never fails to bring the solitude
those living on in pain, would surely bless,
though we don't always want it to intrude,
death comes no matter what our happiness!
Death's kiss is not a thing to worry of,
for it belongs to you! No other's claim
can steal away your very greatest love,
and not one love in life is near the same!
Death's promise is removing of the mind,
to other times that living fails to find.

THE MANIACS OF MINER'S HILL
How doth the soul of midnight come about
to bring to light the very heart of death
that clutches at your life, then snuffs it out
before you find you've ever lost your breath;
an agony as certain as the dark
and swift as bats from hell that breed in flight
from where the vampyres comed and left her mark
while dead are left imprisoned to the night;
they're digging gold down deeper than they should
though yellow birds have failed them long ago
and crazy are they if they're understood
and if they're not, no one will ever know!
Stand back! Stand back! That miner has a match!
And if it's struck we'll all go down the hatch!

Meanwhile, up on the hill the music plays
as violins flow through the mountain air
and if the fiddle stops one of these days
there won't be anyone who'll even care
unless they stop the dancing to the call
of Texas Star, you twirl your sweetie round
and round and round until she's rounded all
and then the caller bays that awful sound
to pass the hat! Oh God, the fiddlers through
so someone pass the jug around instead
cause Sa'day night's the night for mountain dew
and raisin hell enough to raise the dead!
The girls of Miner's Hill, are eas'ly had
and this drives all the boys stark, raving mad!

MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE the lazy day
One spring and sunny day I set my sight
behind my darkened lenses, feigning night,
so I might stroll in my own way
and see what's life in light of day,
my thread put to my back, I traveled light;

when Paris comes to all its greenery,
there's not a sight that means so much to me
as flowers holding to the hair
of Mademoiselles out ev'rywhere,
and laughing children, that's how life should be.

The beat of Paris leads a steady pace
and if you stop, you're holding up the race
there's not enough time in a day
to walk all of Champs Elysees
and so you miss the smile of ev'ry face.

But there are places few would care to go
with streets so narrow, darkness is the glow,
where yesterday's not in the past,
but here and now, and here to last,
with cobble stones laid many years ago;

a world of silence, far from natures care,
a place of echoes, snapping here to there;
the signs of life flow past your feet
and to the Seine, just down the street,
but leaves its scent, it's with you ev'rywhere.

This is a time, more than a place to be,
the soul of Paris few can ever see,
the very secrets of her heart,
where light of Paris had its start,
and left here for the very likes of me.

You hear her whisper in the mid of day,
or you might hear a concertina play,
but all that's Paris surely lies
right here for you before your eyes,
and it's the dream Parisians want to stay.

IF DEATH IS ALL
If death is all--a blessing it must be,
to lay alone, a body void of pain,
and never have to feel this thing of me,
nor recognize a loss in life again.
If death is all--the welcome kiss of it
would lay to rest for once and so for all,
the curse that life's layed on me, bit by bit,
and made me beg to hear the reaper's call.
If death is all--no loss could come to mind,
to make me think there's reason on our way,
nor lead my heart to think, a love might find
it's way into my life, and make me stay.
If we've no doubt there's nothing beyond death,
with no remorse, we'd end life in a breath.

THE BEST CIGARETTE
In a darker part of morning,
or a lighter shade of night,
with his paying for hereafter,
to be rid of all his blight,
was a lunatic in waiting,
she was something of a tease,
she would spread her legs at dropping
of a man onto his knees.

Never faking her orgasm,
she would always let him know,
she could sense about his coming,
and was first to let it go.
With the sweating of her body
and the beating of her time,
she would take him to hereafter,
but to stay would be a crime.

In a little bit of wiping.
if he paid a little more,
she'd remind him of the reason
he'd come back again for more.
But the best part of hereafter,
in his smoking just a bit,
wasn't part of what he paid for,
so he left forgetting it.

THE BURIED LOVER
There's a distance from the sea,
to the place I have to be,
to the love of my life,
who is buried close to me.

In the night I carried her
while the breeze was astir;
to the place she's buried deep;
far from sea, where we were.

Night of death, did not she scream,
from the killing of her dream?
Did her voice not want to die,
but cry all night, it would seem?

Yea, she loved her beating heart,
as she loved me from the start,
until someone came along
of which we were not a part!

When she told me, hope was slim
I'd relinquish her to him,
though she begged I'd understand,
letting our love be a whim.

Have you seen, in dying eyes,
have you heard such mournful cries,
as a lover's last mistake,
and of such, they realize?

Ah yes! Buried, cold and deep,
where the earth worms only sleep,
but from her, the wish to leave,
I'll not hear another peep.

MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE the houseguest
One night, while laying tired and restless eyes
out through the darkness into stormy skies,
(just south of Paris, I should say,
at my chateau, near Poitiers,)
the storm made me forget, how time it flies;

the lightning flashed, and thunder made its groan
through all the heavens God has ever known,
when all at once I came aware;
as midnight chimes behind my chair;
that in this night, I might not be alone.

Have you not had a thought disturbing you
and foolishly, you force yourself to do
some little thing, like check the door,
or raise the wick a little more?
Of such a mind was what I had come to.

There comes a still before a pouring rain
as if a giant's struggling with pain,
and in this void I came to hear
a sobbing of someone in fear;
I pray I'll never hear that sound again.

I feared the cry would not leave me that night
and so I set my way to candlelight
and while my shadows led the way
down creaking stairs where darkness lay,
I checked my derringer to left and right.

The softwood steps they numbered twenty eight,
led down to where I had not been of late,
and chills a body to its bone
if you come to its' dark, alone,
it's just the feeling I had come to hate.

With every step, the sobbing grew to be
a little closer to the right of me,
until I raised my candle tip
and then the whisper from her lip,
to crack the window and to set her free.

I searched into the dark an hour more
not finding what I thought my search was for,
and all the while her words echo
to set her free, to let her go;
yet no one was in chains, within this door!

I pleaded to her voice to just appear,
if she was but a spirit very near;
but all she said was let her fly
into the night, or she would die,
and she would have to spend forever here.

Just then her sobbing started once again
and laid its' might all through my troubled brain
in madness I put down the light
and cracked the window to the night
allowing for departure through the rain;

a stony silence set, as if a sting,
then all at once, there came a fluttering
and then a kiss, as if goodbye
but not an explanation why,
and to the night, she took her soul to wing!

And so her leaving set my mind at ease
and stilled my breath, and firmed my shaky knees,
my visitor was no one more
than auntie who flies door to door
and stays a while, if she should ever please.

CAGE
Deep in the death, the vastness of your eyes
that reaches into times eternity,
I go, a vagrant, soon to realize
you are beginning and the end of me.
The fear of being born brings me to tears,
of living once again, as I have done,
and unsuspecting, all my greatest fears
are realized again, and life goes on.
You look at me and bare all you may find,
I am a delicate, and easily to break,
and you can see me hiding in my mind,
from your first look, and I can only shake.
The book of me is now one empty page
and all of life has now become a cage.

DEATH OF A ROCK (Jim Morrison)
There's a man all alone and his name is well known
but he thinks all the world is a den
of the poor and the weak and the too dead to speak
for themselves, it's a game they can't win.
He's a little bit high and he'll be til we die
it's too bad that his heart is so black,
but he knows how to sing to a crowd and to bring
out the love that they've been holding back.
It's a game that he plays with your life and he stays
just as long as the music goes on,
and he'll make you to smile if it's only a while,
then he goes where the devil has gone.
All the girls that he's had think it's not all that bad
but the glitter's too much for their mind
so they leave him to sleep where no angel would keep
anyone for there's not one to find.
He could write every word of the songs we have heard
and he's led every daughter astray
to be part of his past and a love that won't last
into light of another new day.
Now he looks for the cause of the reason he was
as he dies he's still misunderstood,
but the dream's been too dead for too long in his head
and his heart's turned to stone as it should.

� 2005 Joe & Jon Wilson