| XI. The Faerie
The song of the faerie lover had run Through my tired mind just before I slept, And I was visited then by a dream So sweet, that upon my awakening, My senses remained so heightened as to Convince me I'd had a visitation From a gossamer-winged man. But, sadly, It was just a dream, brought on, no doubt, by Loneliness, exhaustion -- and that damned song. (But, oh, how lovely was that balladeer!) There is some magic, I guess, in this wood. Otherwise, how is its spirit so good? |
Aura photo of Rev. Louis by K's Aura Photography, 270-769-5813 [email protected] |
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| Listed in the National Body-Mind-Spirit Directory |
| Writings by C. S. Louis (c) 2008; All Rights Reserved |
| The Summer Sonnets: A Personal Journey |
| I. Swallowed Whole
I've been sick a long time, but I never Thought of it as being sick, just normal. I'd have happily lived the rest of my Life not knowing that I am aberrant, But, somehow, the Irish God of Discord Found me back in Cincinnati again, That vortex from which my sickness spawns and Which swallows me whole whenever I'm there. Each time I escape, people I love, who Place no value upon my sanity, Drag me back to the State of Ohio, The place I would never willingly go. |
| II. No Spring Winter melts to summer here; there is no Spring these days, no time to thin the blood out Before temperatures soar to eighties. I am unemployed again, having tried To force my square-pegged self in yet one more Round hole. I know I must leave, but I am Destitute. I have nowhere to go, Having made a bad choice in where to live -- As well as where to work -- all for nothing Now, since my sister has agreed to stay. I came back here at my parents' pleading; If I don't leave now, I'll die from bleeding. |
| III. Plan B
Plan A was Lexington: Invited by My long-time (but forgetful) friend to come And reinvent my life, where we had met So long ago, where resources abound For new beginnings, and where I had friends. But, she forgot the invitation, and So I was on to Plan B: Beattyville, Lee County, Appalachia, Land of NO -- No resources, no housing, no jobs, and No prospects of any kind -- none at all. But, the weather was warm, I had my tent, And my campsite, and friends, so off I went. |
| IV. Freedom
I have longed for freedom all of my life: First, as a child, as I wrenched out of my Mother's arms, racing to outside the gates Of my father's carefully-built fences; Then, from the young men who would bind me with Promises, and rings, and good furniture. I flee now from the ravages of age And illness, hurt, and disillusionment. How different is the life I had planned To that which materialized for me. If I am truly the author of my life's tale, I need some serious editing, before I fail. |
| V. Arrival
Gangs of young maples crowd the gaps left by Tall oaks and hickory on the long ridge. Shy sassafras watches tentatively From the forest's fringe as my calicos Prowl and paw and sniff, determined to find All secrets hidden under rock and leaf. A robin calls. "Cher-wheet?" in answer to A chickadee's high-pitched, frantic query, As a woodpecker drills for larval treats In the high branches of this fine Spring day. I have fled the city, and the pain therein, To breathe the country air, and start again. |
| VI. Sacred Space
I love this ridge, with its circle of stones And its deep green wood, full of faerie folk. The land here is old, the mountains rounded By time and wind and rain, with shallow soil -- What the settlers called "hard-scrabble" -- and the Indians left to forest, rich with life. One would never know this place is so close To town. The tall trees form a barrier, Protecting this space from the ravages Of progress, with its noise and pollution. Crystal Crow's is holy, a sacred place Where I feel connected to time and space. |
| VII. Dappled Shadows
The moonlight shines into the tent screen and Makes dappled shadows on my mattress there. I hear the songs of owl and whipoorwill, Haunting in their plaintive adagios. The yips of the coyotes remind me That my own companion is still wild at Heart, as she lifts her head and sniffs the air. The rhythms struck by crickets soothe me now, As I settle into my rude bedding To, as Shakespeare said, "...sleep, per chance to dream." I do not mourn the life and possessions I have left, For in this place, I cannot possibly of spirit be bereft. |
| VIII. The Storm
A hawk screams on the wind, his short red tail Fanned out as he eyes the ground before him, Riding the currents below the great clouds Gathering, grey-bottomed, along the ridge. A row of pines beseech the sky for rain, Their branches arching upward, as maple, Oak, elm, and thorn turn their leaves heavenward In search of moisture that is long overdue. I can smell the rain on the rising wind As the trees all clamor for its coming. The storm which blew me to this refuge here Rages no more, and now no storm I fear. |
| IX. Hannah
The coyotes here are too plentiful, And so, driven by shrinking hunting grounds, Have taken to invading our human Haunts, replete with trash -- and our treasured pets. On one such foray, those stealthy canids Ambushed my beige tiger, Hannah the Bold, Who yoooowwwled her defiance... yet died no less. Her ghost appeared to me some nights later, Eyed me reproachfully, then flipped her tail And vanished, her bright spark gone forever. I know it is the way of the wild, yet That last disdainful look I can't forget. |
| X. Bruce & Linda
Bruce and Linda come at sundown, to run Their dogs and hike the woodland trail with me. Sometimes, we build a fire and sit and talk As their dogs chase mine in happy circles. Other times, we sit in the dark, watching The bats dive overhead for their dinners, As we share our thoughts, and sometimes, a song. They came from a posh life in Florida To struggle here in these hardscrabble hills Because it was Bruce's dream to do so. But I think Linda's sad without a beach; For Linda, here, her dream is out of reach. |
| XII. Holly
Holly, my wonderful whappy-tailed cat, My sweet, silly, fluffy calico clown; My Hollykins-harlequins, curmudgeon Of a cat; Holly the Shredder. She's my Lovely lap lion, Queen of the flat-headed, Green-eyed warding stares, and soft meowings; She-Who-Thumps-The-Bed, and licks my nose, and Squeezes her plump-rumpness into any Tiny box or basket lying about. Holly, my wonderful whappy-tailed cat, Was taken by coyotes this morning, Without a cry, and without a warning. |
| More to come, as my summer (and autumn) adventures continue... |
| XIII. Leonard & Vicki Leonard and Vicki have been kind to me. They are loving and generous people, Without pretense, and without prejudice. I know it was hard for them to have me Underfoot for all of May, and then June, Running up their water bill, burning up Their fire wood -- and their cell phone minutes. They were dealing with their own kind of stress, Yet were gracious to me in the extreme; And if they begrudged me, it never showed. I wish I could copy their attitude. There are no words to tell my gratitude. |
| XIV. Mel's House Wednesdays are my laundry night at Mel's house. She lets me use her washer and dryer In exchange for my bringing and fixing Dinner. So, laden with laundry basket, Soap, and groceries, I brave the chaos Of the yard and house, filled with mewling cats, Barking dogs, screaming birds, and various Other animals, wild and domestic, To prepare our repast and settle in For our weekly night of TV crime shows. Amid the ruckuss, I, Mel, and Heather Enjoy the food and our time together. |
| XV. Solstice I look forward to Summer Solstice At Crystal Crow's Nest each year. But this year, Having just lost my precious Hannah and My wonderful Holly, I can't muster Much enthusiasm -- and not just for The Gathering. I know I need to smile, So my mouth curves up to reveal my teeth, And I greet my friends and say all the words I'm expected to say, but my heart's gone, Eaten by coyotes, gone without trace. Tonight at the balefire, I'll call the Fae, But my heart will be wishing me away. |
| XVI. Brandie Brandie is not my cat. She belongs to Lexington Cindy, whose husband, Peter, Forbade her to bring home another cat. But they'd bonded, undeniably and Irrevocably, at Mabon Oh-Five, And Brandie has grieved the loss ever since. She is lovely, with her mother, Hannah's, Golden eyes and lithe frame, and dad, Shadow's, Square jaw, long silky fur -- and skittishness. She tolerates, but will never love me. And now, 'cause the coyotes chose Holly And Hannah, I'm left with Cindy's folly. |
| XVII. (Heart) Broken, part 1 I think I'm broken. I think I'm missing Something that other people have that makes It possible for them to trust and love. I remember trusting; I remember A time when love came easily to me. I can't remember why or how it left. All I know is, it's gone, and I'm empty. And I've been empty so long, I don't care. Hell, I don't even miss it anymore. So I wonder now, did I ever care? There's a hole in my heart where love should be, And a hole in my life where I should be. |
| XVIII. (Heart) Broken, part 2 My heart is gone. I have lost what kindness I had, as if someone reached inside me, Carefully extracting something vital. It didn't happen all at once, some huge Catastrophic trauma to be endured, But slowly, steadily, stealthily, and One day I looked up, and it wasn't there And I cared not to seek or wish it back. There is no sorrow, for sorrow grows from Longing and regret, and I feel neither. I feel nothing in my heart, mind, or soul, And though I look the same, I am not whole. |
| XIX. Progeny We marry our parents. We try to fix What was wrong in our first relationship With all succeeding ones, until at last We give up and get out, or just give in. It is funny (and frightening) to see Our progeny making our same mistakes. His wife is so like me that it is No wonder Tim finds her attractive -- And no surprise at all she hates my guts, As she's as insecure as I once was. If she but knew how much I've advocated On her behalf, I doubt I'd be hated. |
| XX. Second Chance Uncle Bill was not Tim's, nor my uncle; He was a dear friend, a kindred spirit, And great teacher who helped us immensely. At the age I am now, he found himself In roughly my position: Way too young To be put to pasture, and way too old To start over; alone and much depressed. A plan to rescue him (and myself, too) Went awry, straining our relationship, And, sadly, it never quite recovered. He's on his way back now as my grandson: A chance to get it right has just begun. |