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The EmpireChapbook of:
"Jules"

"South"

In a city by a southern sea
a recent stranger to me lives, tugging
lines of longitude and latitude
from whitened waves like fishing net, lugging
nautical degrees that coil, like platitudes,
around her dug-in heels. A thousand people's
worlds revolve around her sunny smile;
and though the crowding chimney stacks and steeples
of her new, adopted domicile
have served to hide her from unwanted gazes,
on a thousand journeys people shun
a map of routes to their allotted places
for a very different, mental one.
They measure where they are from where she paces
up and down the city's river mouth,
tugging worlds to rights, and hoping she erases
memories that make our compasses point south.

"Lost"

And I remember Runnymede: the hill
We climbed where some forgotten monument
Had glistened, sunshine-wet, white and still,
And where we'd lain amid the trees and grass
And watched the cars below us pass.

You'd bent
Your head upon my chest, and felt my heart
Through skin and bone and seven missing years;

I thought that we would never be apart.
In less than seven months my darkest fears
Were realized; but then?

You'd smiled, and killed
The birdsong with a kiss. A single look
From you, I knew, had cemeteries filled;
And as I held you in my elbow's crook,
Your flaming hair-strands spilt, like blood, across
My future and my past, I knew you meant
To love and be abandoned, like that monument:
Sunshine-wet, white and still, and lost.

"All the Cares of the World"

I watched you run yourself aground, again,
This evening; saw your body sprawled across my bed
In silent supplication, eyelids strained
Against unconsciousness; your breathing low, cheeks red,
Brows furrowed. I watched those wrinkled threads
Of stress and worry lie upon your tired face
In lines of longitude and latitude, and trace
A world of cares around your troubled head.

And then, in manner low and soft, I said:
"There is a strength within you born of something hid
From me, my love; I think I would have sooner fled
These stormy shores, than take the course you did.
But know this day and every day that you are not alone:
Perhaps a stubborn mind and heart of stone
Will get you through each day of strife,
But love, not work, defines the worthiness of life."

At this, you raised your head and, blinking, smiled -
And in so doing, made my worthless life worthwhile.

"Woodland Walk"

Stumbling over stone and shallow roots,
we fell upon a buzzing field of flowers.

Poised upon the forest brink, we stared
at sun-struck butterflies careering softly
through the stamen and the summer shoots;

I could have watched her watching them for hours.
Instead, she plunged into the nuclear glare,
her burning, solitary figure seeming lofty,
stern, and brittle as the stems beneath her boots.

Sunshine-specked beneath my leafy bower,
I plucked a trampled daisy for her hair;
while she, chasing butterflies and cursing hotly,
laid in loam her heart of stone, her shallow roots.

"Leaving"

You were as beautiful as ever;
I hadn't slept since yesterday.
I bowed my weary head and left.

You greeted guests with calm endeavor,
knowing what you had to say.
You were as beautiful as ever,

Your movement round the room was deft;
You never seemed to walk my way.
I bowed my weary head and left.

I'd liked to think my mind could sever
Thoughts of you: to my dismay
You were as beautiful as ever;

You only made me feel bereft.
I knew you wouldn't let me stay;
I bowed my weary head and left.

I reached the door and turned the lever,
And caught your eye amid the fray:
You were as beautiful as ever;
I hadn't slept since yesterday.
I bowed my weary head and left.

"Sonnet"

Why should I wrap my life about her finger
Tight enough to strangle love, yet loose
Enough to let all kind of memories linger
Longer than they ever had a use?
And why should any man be made to suffer
Loss like I have known, the drawn-out kind
That hollows hearts and screams that I still love her,
Mocking feelings she made numb, and blind?
Or should I harbor hopes of new beginnings
Far from here, or closer to her thoughts,
Knowing love and hate will keep me spinning
Back and forth: a puppet for her sport?
Why, on what belief is hope worth pinning?
Was she, in leaving me, the more distraught?

"Couplet"

Sarah smiles, and takes my hand in hers,
And deftly swaps a blessing for the curse.

We'd led each other up the garden path,
Her fingers weaving better times from worse,
My heart as hollow as my loudest laugh.
Somewhere on the way we found the start,
A new beginning for my empty heart;
Her sleeping form to fill my elbow's crook,
Her homely eye to end my searching looks.

Fingers weaving better times from worse,
Sarah smiles, and threads my life in hers.

"She Flows"

She takes a brush and runs it through her hair,
The mirror's stare reflected in her eyes.
Her eyes reflected in the mirror's stare,
She takes a brush and runs it through her hair,

Combing drizzled strands into a down-
pour; waterfall to curtain homely eyes.
Every imperfection prompts a frown:
She takes a brush and runs it through her hair,

The mirror's stare reflected in her eyes,
Her eyes reflected in the mirror's stare.
The looking-glass is proof against my lies;
She takes a brush and runs it though her hair,

Every imperfection prompting sighs.
The mirror's stare reflected in her eyes,
Her eyes reflected in the mirror's stare,
She takes a brush and runs it through her hair.

"Birthday Card"

No clumsy word, or flowered phrase
Defines your deeper meaning;
No poem, picture, film or play
Could capture your true being.
Not passing Time, nor mortal hold
Could curb your striving hunger;
For while your temptress looks grow old,
Your angel heart grows younger.

"Lover's Epitaph"

She always smelt of summer; I remember that,
As though I'd breathed her scent in yesterday.
My memories fill my eyes like cataracts;
As blind as love, I've lost my crooked way.
Her images replay my past in black
and white, whilst all about me fades to gray.

All writing Š to author listed here.

Since Est. 12-1-96

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