The new book is out!

Selected Poems and Passions: 2004-2011 is now available through Amazon! Special thanks to my amazing editor, M. K. Brake, my cover model, Ti, and the inner illustrations from Mariya Andriichuk. 74 poems, evoking the period in my life from the dissolution of my second marriage to the rise of the White Sunday works.

Epithets and Sobriquets

there has been a trace of controversy over this poem, so let me clarify. it is about how people say one thing to you, and another to others. I hadn't really thought much about that until a few years ago, when I discovered that a woman I had been involved with, had sacrificed much for, was telling blatant lies about me in an attempt to garner sympathy ahead of our breakup. it was emotionally brutal, realizing that perhaps worse that someone lying to you is when they lie about you.

Epithets and sobriquets.
So many I have carried,
Like a married woman's name,
Reshaped to drape a new image
When the old one was fine.
I would love to know the words
And tone of voice you use
When you choose to speak of me.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Padparadscha

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

the path broadens, then narrows.
stone to clay to dust to grass to stone again.
when the sun is at the right angle
I can see the long neglected spires.

home.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

when the wind blows, it is from the South.
when the rain falls, it is down from the skies.
when the sun rises, I can see the edge
of a world I have never comprehended.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

vacant streets save for the occasional ghost
of seasons and reasons long past and cast aside.
a bride of dust. the pride of trust, forgotten.
I am home now, and there is much to be done.

home.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

the trivialities of other, lesser cities.
pale purgatories to one who has lived
where the gemstones pierce the night
and shed their light on the dreams of lovers.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

find your way to me, when you can and will.
I will clear out the upper levels of the palace
and lay new stone by my hands, black marble
for the bare feet of acolytes who have fled.

home.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

I hide in the open, so only the blind miss me.
the tumbling weeds and hungry hornets pass by
and acknowledge me not, for I am not relevant
in the green waves of prairie grass they inhabit.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

my voice echoes in the violent silence until...
until the echoes find synergy and it sounds
like a multitude, a host of fair heirs, chanting.
and all my words are of you. all my words are true.

home.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

the dust slides on the smooth stone in the wind
as the moon illuminates without heat
and I shiver like a frightened child, alone
to face the morning with renewed vigor.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

trouvere. priest. worshipping one of seven.
penetration without flesh or even sound.
the riddle of scrimshaw on jigsaw people.
the towers shift in spectrum, but retain strength.

home.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

two hundred and twenty three stairs, gently curving,
and I am undeserving to ascend them, empty handed
but for yet another sack of words, awaiting worms
to feed upon me as I lay, sightless, forgotten.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

the lotus blossom minarets whistle in the wind
and I watch the dance of the stars, forgetting years
and vows I had made, without malice or regret
for I am caught up in the universe and the sky.

home.

you alone will know where to find me
you alone I will not refuse

my padparadscha prison was smoothed by hand and sand
and now stands, neglected. too long. too long.
and I am not an agent of rebirth, my muscles
will be dust and rust before you find your way here.

home.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

and the city was struck

but did not fall.

Four years ago, I entrusted a friend to convert this blog to WordPress, a decision I almost immediately regretted, as it is much easier to change to WP than from it.

Now, four years, almost to the day, I stand before you and explain. I was notified yesterday by my web hosting company that someone had planted malware, through a security hole in WP, on my City of Legends site. A bomb, shall we say, by a terrorist or criminal, in my city.

I tore the city down. I revived this surviving antiquity, and am endeavoring to salvage what I can of the last four years of the City of Legends blog to add to it. I don't know how long that might take.

But the City stands, still. I will be tweaking it heavily in the next few days and weeks to clean up the mess and improve, I ask your patience.