one minute to midnight, New Year's Eve 2007

Where my beloved sleeps, it has been the New Year for several hours. Here, it is just moments away. I wanted to dedicate one last piece of this year to her, for making 2008 look so hopeful.

one minute to midnight, New Year's Eve 2007

I stand between two worlds, mine and yours.
Yours is distant and, although tempting,
there is an exempting hesitancy in my nature,
having been asked to cross that line before
and being disappointed by hollow words and wounds
uncured by failed amomancies in false prophets.

But I no longer belong in my world, for my spirit slips
and flickers in lambent adoration of you,
pulling its leash and begging me to let it away
to play and pray with you its altar and mistress.
And, with a word, dropped from as high as heavens allow,
you can cut the cord and free me to be yours.


William F. Devault. all rights reserved.

Cleaning a house and building a new one

A few people may have noticed, indirectly, that I have been performing a house cleaning over the last few days (some beat the rush and bailed on their own). Not angry with anyone, or even disappointed, it is just that several people who were taking up a lot of my time started becoming too elusive on commitments and I have a very aggressive publication schedule for the coming year. I am mortal...hyperkinetic and perversely energetic, perhaps, with a great deal of stored charge from my last four years of monastic existence, but mortal enough to meet the textbook definitions.

In a not completely unrelated development, there will be the most major change to the official domain for my works, www.cityoflegends.com ever conceived and delivered since the founding of the 'City in 1996 and I will be addressing this change in the next several days. Prepare to have your mind blown.

I have made some major professional and personal commitments over the last week or two, and to accomplish these I will need the full fury of my mind and heart focused where I need them to be. I am organizing and reorganizing. I ask for your support in these changes and trust in the wisdom, intelligence and empathetic natures of my friends and readers as I take some pretty major steps.

By the way, watch the space for the first of a series of publication announcements in the next few days.

Love, peace and joy to you all. It is time for Atlas to rise to his feet and set the sky straight, once more.

consecrating the madness

Something new, by request, for a certain feral friend.

consecrating the madness

soft sleep the night and light the tread of memory
bids you reach out to a lover not yet there,
bare to your hunger, warm to the chill of lesser agents
of change and sanctity, the pity of wasted emotion
in an ocean of bleached leeches, unworthy of
even a kiss, stolen by deceit in shallows
where the power of a creature of the deeps
is unappreciated by those who cannot kiss
with intention to unleash you from their tepidity.
so fearful are they of the tigress within that
they sin with their mediocrity when heat and sweat
and sweat and iron would consecrate your sacrifice
to the gods of love and passions, awakened.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

free eBook download

I could burble on for a while about my latest poems or about the woman I love, or even about politics or social change, but I think I'll keep it simple today.

In honor of the holidays I am reminding everyone about the free eBook download of my massive volume THE COMPLEAT PANTHER CYCLES, which is available at archive.org.

The direct link to the page is The Compleat Panther Cycles at archive.org.

There are two files, one is the cover, the other is the entire pdf of the book. Since the printed volume costs you as much as $40.00 at brick and mortar and online stores (and, at three pounds, can cost you seriously for shipping), I thought this was a nice gift to my readers, especially those wishing to not only read this novel length poetic memoir, but also see my annotations to the cycles, as I place then in context of what was driving them at the time they came on the scene.

Some have called the "p-cycles" the benchmark of the online poetry movement, others are just impressed with the range of works and themes (and some just snort and go off to write more haiku about their keyboard). In any case, regardless of how you feel about the affair that inspired them and the effect it had on so many lives, it is a monument of some note to the power of passion and madness, coeur rage and cowardice. Included in the 640+ works are such pieces as "Cassiopeia's Garden: wildflowers", "The Panther on the Beach", "pride of authorship" and "I dared to dream of nightblooming jasmine".

So, Happy Holidays, all.

If enough people grab this between now and New Years to impress me, I promise to make available my book "Invocato" via the same means and for free. So pass the word around: Big honking book, for free, for download.

the inspiration behind I Stand for You

It was very gratifying to read a review of my new villanelle "I Stand for You" and not only see a reviewer with the experience and education to note the heptameter variant, but also to be compared favourably to W.H. Auden and Lord Byron (I sometimes refer to him as "GGLB" for George Gordon, Lord Byron). It is flattering and humbling.

If you wish to view the poem at the Amomancer blog, the link is on the side here. I stand by my position (snarfle) that the quality of the work is more a reflection of the lady to whom it is dedicated than in any way a measure of me as a poet.

Inspiration is like that, and I give credit where it is due. She will be revealed when she chooses to be revealed. Until then, content yourself with the works that are a window into and a mirror of her beauty and value to me.

Dinosaurs in the Temple of Aphrodite

I know you have heard me say this before: Patience is the final virtue.

Of course, paranoia comes at the same time, piggy-backing on it to make sure that, while you can wait for something to happen, your imagination plays infinite tricks on you, trying to get you to react.

Patience is a discipline I have not perfected, but I have made great strides over the last several years. That damned imagination gets in the way a lot, much as in Carl Sagan's classic explanation as to why 19th Century scientists thought there were dinosaurs on Venus. It goes something like this:

In the 19th Century we could see only that the surface of Venus was enshrouded in clouds. They are also closer to the Sun, therefore most likely warmer. There was a time in earth's history when Earth was warmer and wetter, during the Age of Dinosaurs. Aha! There must be dinosaurs on Venus.

Observation: We can't see a thing. Conclusion: Dinosaurs.

I was the kind of kid who had trouble sleeping. When there was enough light to see, everything could be a slightly out of focus something ominous. In total darkness I rocked out, imagining all sorts of things that could be sitting or standing or creeping mere inches from me, ready to suck my brain out through my eye sockets.

Yeah, that's part of the reason why I took to lucid dreaming, just to get a handle on my nightmares.

I have learned some balance. I am still easily startled or disoriented when things don't play out the way I anticipate, when someone is not where (or when) I thought they'd be. I don't think ill of them, I just worry that an emergency came up, or they are in peril, or they are playing a joke. Paranoid? Maybe. But since all three have happened to me, on scales you would find astounding, it is the hard lash of experience.

Ever the optimist, I rebound quickly, but that damn imagination waits for the next dark room, the better to conjure the fears, not of a child, but of a man. This ronin is not hesitant to risk or trust, but the scars itch sometimes to remind me that everything is not always as we would hope it would be, and that sometimes, yes sometimes, there are dinosaurs in the Temple of Aphrodite.

Merry Christmas to all...

I have been writing for hours, letting the blood and sweat pour to the page and I will post some, not necessarily all, once I am better able to read and comprehend what I wrote and what it means.

I know the essence is this: For Christmas this year, to all appearances, I have given and received the beginning of perhaps the greatest gift I shall give or receive in this life, and I am grateful.

Just impatient for the rest of my life, now...like Billy Chrystal's speech to Meg Ryan at the end of "When Harry Met Sally".

from out of the city, with clarity

In these last few weeks, visiting old haunts in Los Angeles and Central California, meeting with old friends and finding who amongst my new friends is more than a shadow...and, of course, falling in love, all these things have given me some perspective.

One of the key poems I got some angle on was my 1997 work "from out of the city", long considered something of a curiosity for its seeming precognizant statement regarding 9/11. A claim I have long dismissed and will drive a wooden stake the heart of now. I actually see with clearer eyes how intimate this work is to my life.

What follows is the poem, annotated (italics):

from out of the city

From out of the city came words. Small words.
("the city" is "the city of legends", my website...or perhaps even the entirety of my works. the "small words" are simplistic statements.)
Words like lead pellets, ringing on armour, stinging on flesh
and carrying a message of rage and honor defended.
(despite being "small words", they carry great power, due to their earnestness, and speak of rage and honor defended, when I stood up for love in following through on my oath to the panther.)

The prophet spoke in broken syntax, the facts spoke
for themselves in time and he was carried to the city square
to be stoned to death, in accordance with the law.
(My words were heavily stylized, and broken into hundreds of poems and poetic fragments. I was verbally assaulted and insulted for my actions by those who saw the impropriety of the situation as more important than my heart.)

Morning slid over the horizon as if on rails invisible,
and split the night like Trinity. Infinity seemed possible
except for the silence of the waking world, one eye open.
(When I realized that my lover had deserted me after I had walked away from my life, it was only a single moment of clarity the next morning that saved me from self-destruction, sort of a reverse "Nosferatu's Dream".)

Mourn the night and rise. Rise to your feet and climb
the hill you always said you'd climb before the end of all things.
For it is upon you, even in the optimism of dawn.
(This is an exhortation to my conscious mind from my preconscious, to accept the loss and move forward, being aware of my losses even though I will, by my nature, seek the best of what has passed.)

Mourn the night and rise. Rise to your vision, rise!
The afterlife is not waiting for you, but you for it,
and the madness of martyrs may call it too soon.
(I continue the exhortation, and warn myself that even the actions of others or random events could end the path before my work is done.)

Mourn the night and rise. Spread your bastard wings
and catch the feral winds that come on the sun's fire
to sweep away the night into small shadow piles in corners.
(Guess who? "The dragon" is back, a representation in my works for my superego. The past is consumed by light and heat and it is time to rise to the truth and get on my way.)

From out of the city came words. Final words.
Words like Eden. Gethsemane. Golgotha. And then.
And then. And then, the silence. The violence of indifference.
(The greatest danger, when pained, is to stop caring. Do not stop caring, I was warning myself. Do not die. Do not allow my words of the time to be "final words", as that silence would be a violence to the world.)

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Takes on a different flavour now, hm? I think so. It just took my all these years to realize I knew the answers, I knew the game and I was ready to continue, even then. The epiphanies of the last few weeks have been amazing, I feel like a child taking Catechism, learning mysteries never before considered. I am moving up a magnitude in the understanding of my own works.

riders on our rainbows

I think it's a fragment, or several fragments, or something...it just burbled out and I haven't got a pen on me, so I put it to the web.

riders on our rainbows

I've been burned and spurned, taken lashes unearned
for lessons I've learned from beautiful liars.
Rejected
not infected but
unprotected
when the history is inspected
it's amazing I'm alive.

They have whispers on the wall where the hearts of gold fall
and in and through it all
I still kept my point of view
and you, you were learning too
that not everyone who says it
speaks the language it was writ in
some times we just have heard it
from those who want to fit in
something passing them by on grey days
and rather than move away
they climbed on in and asked to steer
never asking where the nearest exit was.

We were ever the perfect hosts
to lug the baggage, calms the ghosts
and offer up our blood as toasts
for the riders on rainbows.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Truth Inventory and the I am exercise

I am still working on the truth inventory. Who knows? Maybe it will turn into a book.

I am developing my own process for getting to the truth, one of the tools I am using is a variation on the classic "I am" psychological test.

The basis for that test was that you needed to identify who you are and what priority you assign to the labels you assign to yourself. You would make a list of ten statements starting with "I am..."

For instance, in my case, I might make a list that reads:

I am a father.
I am a human
I am a poet.
I am a Quaker.
I am a son.
I am a published author.
I am overweight.
I am twice divorced.
I am fairly self-aware.
I am a brother.

Then you go back and identify them by priority, either by assigning them a place 1-10, or just picking the top one or top three, etc. It's fairly simple and can be the basis for a lot of add-on exercises.

For the truth inventory, perhaps I need to make a list of "beliefs" that may need to be examined to see if they are true to the best of my knowledge. For the purposes of this exercise, all things I "know" become "beliefs", as no "truth" has yet been defined.

So, let's try it, live, right here and now.

I believe in the existence of God.
I believe I love my children.
I believe I exist as a corporeal and spiritual being.
I believe Global Warming is a danger to the world.
I believe I write pretty well, and at an absurdly prolific level, compared to most.
I believe everyone has some good in them, and some evil, it is environment and free will that determines the manifestation.
I believe I have been in love; not always wisely, but always with the best of intentions.
I believe I am, on the whole, happy, and with the ability to continue to be so.
I believe there is a difference between law and morality, and should be.
I believe I can change, if not the world, at least my world.

Wow. Some are going to be difficult to prove or disprove. But let's pick the top three, the three things I need to be true to be best anchored in this world.

Hmmmm.

I believe in the existence of God.
I believe I have been in love; not always wisely, but always with the best of intentions.
I believe I love my children.

Interesting choices. beliefs based upon the paradigm of love, as I believe it to be (God), and the manifestation of that love through me (lovers and children).

Now...are these truths? Are they beliefs? More likely the latter, as empirical evidence is tough on all three. Perhaps I need to get more construct on my "truths"...for instance.

I live on a planet generally referred to as "Earth".
I have been married to two different women, and divorced from both.
I have fathered three children.
I have authored books of poetry.

All of these four examples present hard evidence to back them up. That's a better starting point. Beliefs define how I look at things, but I need to be sure of what things there are and how they relate to me.

A truth inventory

I was reading, in Time Magazine, Bono's article on Al Gore, as part of their "Person of the Year" issue. Al is first runner up for that honour, behind Vladimir Putin, a charming fellow who in time we may discover if he was the next Margaret Thatcher or the next Stalin (my guess is, somewhere in-between).

And Bono, the politically-active superstar of rock, invoked a word that Al quoted to him, from Gandhi (definitely not the Stalin or Thatcher type): Satyagraha.

It means to hold tight to the truth.

As a Quaker, I am required to do this, to seek truth and hold on in a death grip that not threats or pain or the seduction of media can loosen. It's a tough bastard concept, holding on that tight to anything.

And it occurred to me that one thing I might benefit from is a "truth inventory", actually sitting down and trying to clearly differentiate in my mind between truth and untruth. Not just truth and lies, but also allowing for supposition. Author Robert Heinlein used a class of character in some of his books who were called "true witnesses", people who were trained to only report the absolute, objective observations. When asked what colour the house on the corner is, instead of saying "White" they would be more proper to answer "At ten o'clock this morning, when I passed by, the South and West faces were white". Even that has suppositions in it.

Much of what I know in this world has been taught to me. Some of those teachings I have tested, and some have been proven or disproven to me by hard experience.

But to actually break it down to that which I know and that which I merely believe or have accepted out of convenience. That gets sticky and prickly.

Descartes will have a field day. We all must accept certain things as convenient truths, like our own existence. You can invoke your Freshman Philosophy professor, who will probably never be cited by anyone who didn't take his class, as he explains that even that is a bit presumptive. I don;t want to waste time with the mental masturbation that is free-range semantics.

I want. I need. I seek the truth.

I'll get back to you as soon as I sort out ten things I know for sure, but here's my starting point.

Truth #1: I am limited to my senses and my reasoning for verifying truth, and these can be subverted by internal will, prejudicial thought patterns and external influences.

This will be fun, the way I define fun. Some people relax in an easy chair, I prefer to relax running an obstacle course littered with live landmines and HK drones, in my head.

Top Ten...

Top Ten Reasons Why Terry Bowden Should be the new WVU Coach

10. He played football at WVU.
9. He already knows not to park on Dorsey Avenue.
8. His reputation and name will protect recruiting.
7. Yahoo can't afford to match the offer.
6. He'll show Slaton how to hold onto the ball.
5. He hates Pitt.
4. Florisa State will need somebody to poach when Bobby retires.
3. Sets up an all-Bowden top 3 in the BCS, which is a sign of the Apocalypse.
2. He locks up recruiting at Morgantown High School for the next few years.

and the #1 reason WVU should hire Terry Bowden?

1. He's tanned, he's rested, he's ready.

old friend vote

I could take this morning to talk about my new lover, dispelling all mystery by naming her and telling the story of our relationship.

I could use this time to present some new works, talk about my screenplays I am working on, or even to talk more about the good, the bad and the ugly of my recent California sojourn.

But then I would be predictable.

So, instead, I will discuss the football coaching vacancy at West Virginia University and the man I am rooting for to coach the Mountaineers.

I'm backing Terry Bowden.

Not just because he's the son of a coaching legends and the brother of another first-water coach, or the fact he played for the Mountaineers and has proven himself a competent and creative coach of major college football.

But because I know the guy, having gone to high school and church with him. I have some great anecdotes, anecdotes worth telling if he's the head coach at WVU.

So, c'mon guys, let's get him in the saddle so I can tell about the time...

California, the waning hours

Only a few short hours left before the winds of an old rage drives me East, back to Virginia. Three hours closer to my heart, but away from my home.

I just got back from a lively lunch with old friend Raven West, author of several books, including "Red Wine for Breakfast". We had a good time dishing dirt about people we've known from the AOL Writers Club, as well as Author's Den. A definite high point of my trip.

I qill miss Peri, but it will be good to see the boys.

Saturday morning, California scheming

As I told my daughter yesterday, I feel incomplete when I am away from Los Angeles. I realize the city is not to everyone's tastes...but to me it remains home, a spiritual center.

Many would consider that deranged. I recall when I first moved here, Aldo Alvarez challenged the move, pointing out that the city had a reputation of being a cultural wasteland. I stand by my sense that it is here, in the near-fusion molten sea of carbon monoxide and night-blooming jasmine, of tanning beds and shattered dreams, there is a vapour that is unique, and once inhaled, it either poisons you or seduces you.

This city is my crucible, where I found myself and where such of me remains as to render me only complete within her shadows.

This trip, for whatever else comes of it, was good to that purpose...to remind me of who I am and how much more I have to do. I sacrificed the path once before out of charity for a lost soul, I can't do that again. The clock continues to tick, every mark a slice off the candle I burn from the other end, and the wick is not infinite.

Friday night and the colours adjust themselves

I have had a few hours to ponder my lessons from the desert and am beginning to sort them out. Many, many thoughts, more than I can translate to words in short order, the channel is only so wide and the waters so swift.

I belong here. I learned that more than a decade ago, and nothing has changed. My given obligation to a broken soul drew me from here, but I find my strength in the Santa Ana Winds and the sand dragons, the night blooming jasmine and the texture of the sky.

I will make every reasonable attempt to, in the future, return here.

I am stronger now.

California, by proxy

Well, the poet is winding down his time in the City of Angels and the Golden State by making his sacred pilgrimage to the desert. He has confided in me that he plans to visit again next autumn, but "not alone".

I can guess. Although he did tell me that he has received "more than one" offer of companionship for the next trip. It will be interesting to see what happens. I know who he wants to spend the time with...but plans sometimes take a detour.

I understand he will be meeting with his friend, author Raven West, this evening, and spending some more time with his daughter and son in law before he departs.

High point of his trip so far has to be the day at Notre Dame High School. I'd say the visit to the high desert, but that is not always a pleasant experience...it is his time to wrestle his demons.

And, usually, he wins...but sometimes by a close margin.

California, part VI(I think)

The trip down to LA was brutal, as I allowed my demons free run in the sealed shroud of the car.

Words were said both true and twisted, dreams dissected and vivisected, protected parts parts of my soul projected and directed into darkness.

You know, the usual path to a writing spasm.

California (V?) or, our story so far

Getting ready to head back down to Los Angeles after a nearly three day visit to Salinas and Monterey. Many people evaporated on me; some pleasant surprises, nonetheless.

I was never able to work out the email problem at the internet Cafe here, but I was able to tap into my email through the local public library, so I got caught up on that, yesterday. The damnedest thing is that the public library opens at 11 am! WTF?

I had lunch yesterday with Nightblooming's cousin, a pleasant young lady who seemed pleasantly surprised not to find an Old Testament Prophet (why do people online always have this bizarre image of me as some sort of an authority figure?). She was very nice and charming and we had a nice visit.

The high point had to be the day spent at Notre Dame, though, with the six classes of students and their amazing teacher. It was good to reconnect with many at the school who recalled my last visit, five years ago...how time flies, eh?

I also dropped by Harden Middle School. where I was the Alcohol and Drug Resource Specialist five years ago, as well as being the Friday Night Live (FNL) coordinator for Monterey County and the facilitator for the Youth Alternatives to Violence (YATV) program for the probation department. I was busy back then, but doing good.

I ran into quite a few people who did a double take when I walked in, and that was nice...the soda machine in the teacher's lounge still dispenses Diet RC!!!!!!!

Stopped by a local produce market and loaded up on huge navel oranges for just twenty nine cents a pound. Wrote some nice pieces. My knees are no longer hurting me and my clothes fit like I've dropped 5-10 lbs already.

As I type this it is 9:08 in the morning and seated at the next computer are two kids who are obviously truant from school, just like the posse of them at the local Burger King...I wonder why there isn't more diligence, everyone knows the local hangouts.

Missing the boys, looking forward to going back East, but mostly wanting to spend more time with Peri and Brian. Also missing regular contact with the Siren. Yeah, I'm smitten...although I was very attracted to this one woman I met here...

California part IIII, the cafe blues

It is a bit frustrating not being able to access my email. The one cybercafe I found in Salinas, Rollick's, has their security set up such that I cannot access my email. WTF?

The counter help just shrugs when asked what can be done. As a result, I may have to seek out a less convenient location or wait until I get back to LA, as I have full access to everything at Planet Cyber on Topanga Canyon, where they use a different Cafe software package (from TinaSoft).

Rollick's uses something called SmartLaunch, but I think it is more an issue of my using a paid guest account, where their security settings are more strict. I will see about a membership.

Considered contacting some more local friends last night, even at least one new one, but the lack of email was a hindrance.

California, part III

A good day. Okay, good and bad.

I am staying in Marina, near Monterey, and the air is crisp and I can see the ocean. The real ocean.

The time I spent at Notre Dame High School was nice. I spoke with several classes and met dozens of bright young minds, some of whom had their own charms and intellects to get to encounter.

Their teacher, Katie, was a charming and very bright and attractive lady who was very good at introducing me and stepping back.

Nightblooming has cancelled our dinner. I am disappointed, but life goes on...I have other options for distraction.

I may even extend my stay through Wednesday, rather than return to LA tomorrow morning.

We shall see. My email does not work at the cyber cafe I am using...which is a bummer. I shall try another method later, as my emails may effect my plans.

California, part II

I went out with my daughter, Peri, and her husband, last night, and watched most of his staging (he directed) of "The Best Man". Excellent show. I say "most of" as jet lag overtook me and I had to call it a night.

Peri is under the weather today, so we are to get together again after I get back from Central California.

I was tempted to take in the Arts and Crafts Show in the Valley this morning, but considering some of the people I might encounter there, I decided to save what is left of my good mood for now.

LA, part I

On the ground in Los Angeles. Good flight.

The melancholy lifts. More later.

going home for a visit

Well, it's about time.

In about 18 hours my plane lifts for the Golden State. Just for a visit, mind you.

But a visit full of rebirth. I will reconnect with old friends, a former muse or two, spend time teaching poetry in schools, and visit with my daughter and her husband, Brian (including seeing him direct the Gore Vidal play "The Best Man").

I will try and grab a meal at Roscoe's, maybe the Pier View is back in business and I can have some of their incredible fish and chips. I'll eat some cheap Chinese food, hang around Venice, and maybe pay my respect to my brothers, the sand dragons.

It's about time.

Of course, the topic of my love life will come up. I'll just smile.

taking requests

Always at least willing to listen to my reading public, I would like to hear if anyone would like to suggest any particular poems for me to read during my West Coast swing.

Remember, a lot of the readings will be done in schools, so let's stay away from the more habanero works, if you please.

a glimpse at the itinerary

Much of my trip next week is unstructured. I have to leave flexibility for old friends (and a daughter) who may have last minute changes to their plans...

But, the day that is shaping up as the most interesting so far is next Monday, December 10th. I will be spending that day in Central California, starting with a full day reading poetry, discussing poetry and sort of playing poet in residence to a rather girl's prep school I have previous performed at. Getting to spend a day just being me, the poet, is nice.

In the evening i am having dinner with "Nightblooming" herself (yes, that is her on the cover of the CD...not a bad way to end the day). No, sorry guys, she's not the mystery woman. We are friends. Although at one time I made a run on her affections, she had the sanity to reject me as a suitor. (Insert joke here) I am going to be meeting with her to discuss a book project I am considering editing and publishing for her. Yes, Tag and I are examining the possibility of starting our own publishing house.

So, all in all, if only the planned events transpire, it promises to be a good day to immerse myself in the poetry.