red and black

A new piece, perhaps a lyric? Perhaps...

dedicated to Jazz, wo always seems to think I'm trying to get into her bed, when what I am really trying for is far, far more ambitious.

red and black


blossoms born of heat and quest
that place this suitor to his test
that I might dare, her passions, wrest
to bear with bright vermilion

meanings borne in things unsaid
that place me in her heart and head
no beggars bag for just a bed
I crave the full cotillion

black as blood in moonlight's glare
she looks for me, she'll find me there,
beneath the wreath of jasmine'd hair
that sparks a dark Bacchante

the petals settle in gentle breeze
to mock and stalk and please and tease
a cure to purity's disease:
release the beast enchante.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

in the strangest corners of memory

how new is this? I composed it live, right now, in this post create window. If there is a power outage in the next few seconds, it will be lost, forever. This is the nature of the truth.

I'm back.

in the strangest corners of memory

I will find you in the strangest corners of memory.
The way you took your drink and the pattern
of cool drops of sweat that formed on the glass
as we spoke of nothing as foreplay to
an inevitable union, moments in the future.

The texture of the skin on your back when...
when you were warm and full of life and me.
The way your hair fell in my face when I was
too busy with other things to notice, but remembered
later, and smiled a slow and gentle memory.

The scent of jasmine filtered through the oils
of your skin as you lay beside and beneath me
asking for nothing more than everything I had
and was and would ever be and I gave it all
in joy and hope and dreams and passion undismayed.

The texture of your kisses and the questions you asked
with hands and arms and lips and legs and sounds
that were not words but spoke infinite eloquences
that stole my heart and soul and memory of promises
I had made before I saw your eyes and lost the pain of life.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

G'night Jaz

This evening, for Jaz, I dedicate my poem...

Pellinore, watching across the room

had I the will these arms to fill
I would take you to me now.
inhaling the essence of your skin
as your hair brushes my face.
no trace of doubt, no fear of falling
in a lazy death spiral of fractured heart.
where do we start.
when do we part.
and with what shall we fill the lazy hours
and the impractical nights?
soft words leading to
soft touches leading to
harder words leading to
harder touches
and the moment where
the terminator line loses focus.
duality merged in kisses urged
to their necessary conclusion.

but I have lost the will
in the killing fields of memory
where I even now
search through battered shells
for the omens of hope
left cut
into my skin
where I fell
last time.
but not for the last time.
for I have the will
to find the will
to wake the legion
and reason enough
to rise to challenge
the mocking moon
in the nights of silence.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

G'night. You'll hear me read this piece on "The Last Romantic Verb", en route to you, as we speak.

Centaur at archive.org

I failed to post the archive.org page for "Centaur", in case you want it in a higher resolution or variant format for listening or downloading:

William F. DeVault's Centaur at archive.org

Centaur

A new work came to me as I woke this morning, in fits and fistulas, demanding I serve it and the muse that inspired it. I could do no less. Once written, I saw it could use voice, so I sat down at the Mac Mini and laid down my own techno track for it, then recorded the poem itself. The vocal track was one take, the balancing of the synthesizer took several passes on the engineering side.

The poem itself, is entitled "Centaur", and while it is of and for Jaz, it hearkens back to the old "Goldeheart Cycles", where my appearances in those works were often portrayed as that of a centaur, half-horse and half-man and known to be great mentors, amongst other things.

To hear the recording of this work, mere minutes old at the time of this posting, you have but to click this link to listen to 'Centaur'. For the text of this poem, read on...

Centaur

let me walk to the horizon
with you there by my side
I'm not looking to play martyr
to some self-consuming pride.

I would ask you many questions
and answer all you dare.
I will smile at life's imperfections
as you brush aside you hair.

there are places on this highway
better spanned by teams of two,
and I am just to thinking
what it would be like, with you.

let me walk to the horizon
with you there by my side
I've got gas enough for miles to go
if you come along for the ride.

I've got baggage by the bushel
as I know you've got as well,
I can't promise you good weather
but I'd walk with you through Hell.

dreams of the damned and dramas
are better lived in lover's arms
where you're shielded from the fire
by my passion and cast charms.

let me walk to the horizon
with you there by my side
let us sleep in fields grown feral
where no hunger is denied.

let me walk to the horizon
with you there. by my side

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.