Ten O’Clock

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Delbert H. Rhodes

Years later, the memories hang on but why? Yesterday is gone and suffrage is a benefit to no one; and yet no matter how she tries her ex’s memory haunts her, permits her little peace. An American woman whose Dutch parents emigrated Nederland to immigrate America, Story Vanderbloren was conceived in Amsterdam and born in Minnesota. Raised and cherished by a loving family, after high school she leaves to study Archeology; and it is soon after completing her P. H. D. that someone special enters her life.

At the age of twelve and while talking with Mommy, the girl asks about her first name and why she has it. “The tale of your conception, and delivery and love that you brought to us is a wonderfully, glorious story; and so, your Dad and I agreed that no other name could suit you.”

Tall, blond, blue, and curvy and intelligently beautiful, Story has traded French Fries for Fish and Chips. Her life, and new profession are better, much better and she prefers positive to negative distractions.

Time, and terms must meet the mind and hers struggles for clarity, to think clearly about things that matter most, that matter now.

London Towne is lovely and especially at night, the lights, the shoppes, Libraries, the Trem, the people and glory of the new world surrounding her. I digress: The “Trem” (silent e, long m: pronounced trm) is the local high-speed monorail, it is an excellent and wonderful ride.

Of the resources available in the city, its Libraries contain ancestral files, these halls of antiquity are some of the finest in the world, invaluable to her research.

Today Story walks the sidewalk in Belcher Street and then something wonderful meets her, rounding the corner to Tolstoy it occurs that the smells come from Le Patisserie, a shoppe two stores away. In America, “Le Patisserie” would be The Bakery. Entering, she sees not only beauty but something sweetly agonizing.

Unbelievably well organized, the cakes, pastries, cookies and other delicacies appear to await the photographer rather than customer. “I Love this place!” She visits no less than once weekly.

Oh, my, and Story simply adores her new life, except for one small thing…memories. If she could remove only a portion of them then everything would be happier. Although never easy she perseveres, surrender to the toils of yesterday is not optional.

“Sto-V,” the nickname given to her by her colleagues, is a Research Writer and she works diligently to uncover facts, truths to prove her premises. Sometimes she disproves them and this too is okay, a foot in the right direction. Disproof proves something, a person of critical thinking works either way, both are beneficial, worthy.

She loves it whenever waking to new questions. Life is strange, often placing answers before us that either incomprehensibly or, sensibly, we fail to recognize and may even refuse to acknowledge.

Yes, but since Story’s youth she has been a dreamer and the truth in dreams is less fuzzy than people make it; a superb analogy, she thinks, is the innocence of children which acts expansively, making anything, everything possible. As such, unlearning adult fears, permitting the mind to freely think, she believes, provides greater opportunities in life.

Opportunity: Story’s middle name.

As a researcher she is deeply busied by events of humankind, she has developed a premise that though not popular may one day prove man’s existence. No, not actually his place here but the reason he is here. Story believes that it has less to do with either the egg or the chicken and more to do with the bearer, the creator of them. She must somehow make sense of it. She will make sense of it.

This woman strongly feels reason to be both parent, and plan of humankind and whether Celestial, Natural, or, neither, she struggles to find the clues, the pathways leading to proof. Thirty four-years old and after five years of research, she uncovers only uncertainties; definitive evidence eludes her. Still, she persists and to the end would not falter. Either Story proves or disproves her theory, a dedicated Scientist, she tirelessly works long hours and so far, without rewards. “One day.”

Reason.

The word flutters about her head like a lacy butterfly with little care. Tomorrow a business meeting about Policy and then Story attends the Theater, she sits front row center stage. “Les Miserable,” her favorite play is in town and she simply must see it; “Front Row Center Stage, Exciting!”

In many ways, her life resembles the theme and as the tale unfolds, like a looking-glass much of Story’s life unveils. She realizes that this too must be dealt, it has to one day (all) end. How the end plays out is the question and one the woman, right now, cares to ignore. Somehow, and even this moment, Darren speaks to her and as much as she should not, she listens…

“I told you, it wasn’t like that,” Darren stammers, staring out the window.

“You are lying!” Story stabs the air with her finger, trying to see his eyes. “And witnesses tell me that you and your girlfriend were there at ten o’clock. They are credible, I trust them, they saw you and I believe them!”

“Ten o’clock?” He says, looking directly at her. “I don’t know about witnesses but ten o’clock has always been ‘my’ witness. I was not there, I love ‘you!'”

He just kept repeating it over and over again but what exactly did he mean, what does “it” mean? “Ten O’Clock?” Of the many things said that last night the time frame lingers in her mind, she is oblivious to its meaning and is without useable clues to make sense of it. Surely, if truly she wanted to she could find the evidence: the missing pieces to the puzzle; but, is the responsibility hers?

“As far as I am concerned, those words, like time on a clock, have freed me of abuse; and true, he neither hit, pushed nor physically injured me but daily reduced me mentally and emotionally. The scars, though invisible, are more devastating and destructive than any black eye or, broken jaw. I am ‘free!'”

Story loves her new life and refuses to surrender it; and admittedly, Darren and she should have ended years ago but love strangely partners with reason.

Reason, the term strongly affects her and she knows that it plays, in large parts, a very important role in her life. Darren at one time was her life and without him she sometimes feels lonely. Loneliness has a way of prevailing truth and like a catapult propels Story forward. Now, here in wonderful London Towne Happiness and She stroll hand in hand; a ringless marriage to her work and life.

Once more and as usual dreaming offers more pieces to the puzzle; and waking, Story smiles. She stretches as the feelings in her dream embrace her with clarity. Lazily, she slumps into the bathroom for a Lady’s Moment and then to the Kitchen for some Chocolate Tea, “Chocotea,” she calls it. Blended with Cocoa and any Tea of choice, she favors Green Tea, her concoction is refreshing, tasty and medicinally healthy. Cocoa is a good thing.

As her dream and the phrase “A Loving Plot” touch her, Story permits a childlike innocence to control her; for, “Puty,” her laptop, seems to ask that she pen the dream, now, before its memories leave her. “Ok, ‘Ok,’ I’m coming.” Careful not to spill her Chocotea, slowly, Story crosses to her desk. Moments later, done, she has written something new and powerful. A wonderful addition to her poem book.

Filled with feelings and honesty, the poem exemplifies the lady’s suffrage; and understandably, truly, she admonishes and  admires it. Actually, why would Story not love it, for, from her heart, and inside every verse is her freedom and her life.

…..

A Loving Plot

You think I love you
Please tell me why
Should I think of you
Better to cry

Challenge I must
The surging seas
The damning rock slides
Inside your knees

Scale I the towers
The tallest skies
Or smallest flowers
Your floral eyes

Want that I want you
Your tender kiss
A bee its honey
Want me you this

Sometimes I wonder
Why loved you, I
And then the thunder
Love’s alibi

Sweetly, you scorn
Oh, yes, I know
So dark your sunshine
A summer snow

Tarnished my teardrops
Torn is my soul
Autumn to Springtime
A Winter cold

Scripted, our tale
A loving plot
“To have to hold?”
I think, have not

…..

…Outside, darkness smothers the sky; inside and deliciously, Chocotea creams her, the woman smiles…

I Love You (So Much More)

sadness

The marriage has suffered years of hurt pain and sorrow. A couple has lost its smiles laughter and hope. Sometimes hope is the burden of a dream…

“…Every time I see myself
Walking out the door

I look back and then return
I love you so much more

Who decides what is right
Alas, forever wrong

Emotional waves pounding rocks
Our currents much too strong

Your eyes speciously impose
Deeply, I love you dear
A twisted maze of terrible lies

Still, I am standing here

Many times I gave you love
Somehow, it failed to reach you

Summon I would an ancient Scribe

For only he could teach you

This heart pierced by thorns
My pains you never feel

A pretentious cross we bear

This lie we live is real

For you I give my life
Could you ever ask

Your eyes open slowly

You close your eyes too fast

Within the misty nights
Sullen stars stream by

A mesh of tearful tapestry
Inside it shadows cry….”

Copyright © 2014 Delbert H. Rhodes

“Watchful Flies”

flyDoris’ day terribly ends. Trace, her love of many years, abandons her.  Sleep frustrates the tormented woman. Finally, her convoluted dreams soothe the hurt in Doris’ heart. Upon its walls, a strange poem offers peace:

 

 

Where go I
to find a place,
someplace, I need
to hide

What must I do
to hide my face
dare I, my faceless
pride

A quiet peaceful
loneliness, you
seek me, go away

They  hurt me so
my painful knees, I
broke them yesterday

This plate of food,
how do I eat, its taste
I cannot stand

My throat a web
of spider claws, I
feel its clammy hands

Upon a tomb my
name I read, written
by my fears

A dusty grotesque Eulogy
of wretched morbid
tears

Turn from me,
oh, do not stay, leave
me to my thoughts

To understand this
mind in me and why
to me it talks

The  warmth of you
I cannot feel
your searing cold
I dread

Dare risk I
the bold in you, melt,
should I instead

Inside my heart a
darkness looms, dare
I love you so

A tapestry of watchful flies
warning, “No,”
“please, no!”

The fate of love never risk
its ending is foretold;
watchful flies never bate,
thy youth is much too old.

Copyright © 2014 Delbert H. Rhodes

To Never Know

babyTwelve years passed since Tim and Sue communicated, and succeeding their conversation Tim lay thinking of his comment. “…Lately, I dream about a baby….” and then quickly Sue excuses herself off the telephone. Why?

That night and as usual the dream continues. Waking, the dream connects Sue; my mention of the child caused her discomfort.

Tim returns to Oregon, and as they discuss his dream Sue admits, “Yes, twelve years ago we had a daughter.” Tim listens as Sue sadly recounts the events, and her pregnancy and miscarriage; “…I once called to tell you I was pregnant, but I failed to reach you. I never called back.”

Twelve years more since the shocking news and often Tim thinks of his daughter, he never knew her; yet, he sometimes misses her:

To Never Know

Wakes the morning
Without a stir
A stranger’s hands
Unknown to her

Colors crying
For her smile
To morning’s eyes
A silent child

She never saw
A starlit night
Never awed the
Sky blue-white

Sparkles dancing
All about
Rainbows searching
Finding doubt

Darkness twinkled
In her eyes
Soundless ears
To mommy’s cries

Daydreams never
In her mind
Pots of gold
To never find

She never heard
A Rooster crow
Her name to call
She’ll never know

In my arms
She’ll never be
Inquisitive eyes
To never see

Moonlit nights
Her sleep to miss
Her mother’s songs
And loving kiss

Nursery rhymes
To never learn
One penny brown
She’ll never earn

A favorite joke
To never hear
Scary movies
To ever fear

Cartoon capers
Cowboy show
Mommy’s touch
To never know

Blue Jays sing
A tuneless song
Rivers flowing
Far too long

Windless trees
Bending badly
Funny clowns
Laughing sadly

She’ll never hold
A pencil tight
Forever lost
Her joy to write

A quiet throat
To ABC’s
Childhood sickness
Bruising knees

Climbing high
A tomboy she
In her pants
To never pee

Complaints unheard
“Work too hard”
Spending thrifts
Credit card

Her graduations
Wedding day
“I love you too.”
To never say

Her charming hugs
I’ll never know
Sunlit strolls
We’ll never go

Here on earth
“So little time
To never know
My daughter-
Mine.”
Copyright ©2004-2014 Delbert H. Rhodes

Un-Wrapping the Words

Menu Grammar Check

By Delbert H. Rhodes

Flowing upon the page words form living chains, strings of text for everyone to admire.

Grammatical portrayals of punctuation, style, and phrase abound and although seen remain invisible to uninformed eyes. The expression “Family Dining ‘At It’s Best!'” demonstrates improper grammar.

The neuter pronoun it as used here in the Contraction form (It’s) rather requires the Possessive form (its) without apostrophe, and as such erroneous grammar cannot hide. Naturally, one hopes that the error was intentional so as to make some sort of point. Terminologies enthrall, persuade, discourage, and overwhelm and even abhor us. They are a mixed bag of human emotions; and thereby, control us as readers, and listeners and as people caring to peruse the written page.

Expressions may be similar, or altogether different still interpretations are as diverse as are the people exposed to the scripts.

The world of words opens us to the worlds of the past, present and future; it recaptures childhoods, makes us cry out in the night and helps us to constructively analyze events living in the yesterdays of tomorrows. Searching bestows treasures unavailable without a willful inquisitiveness.

The lyric of song fills the air with musical passions; rivers of imagination float us away. We drift, as would aimless canoes propelled by rushing waters. Fantasies groping and swelling; our faces brightened by big eyes in the face of twilight; the coming day offering the end to suffrage and the beginnings of joy.

I love words, they challenge me to take risks; while daring me to look inward at someone or something difficult to bear: something I, preferably, would ignore or deny. Words, and the manner in which I make use of them “make use of me” and difficult though it may be, they forge a better person.

The writer is merely an architect drawing images of illusion: titillating the fancies of individuals creatively reaching beyond their grasps; every venue representative of imaginatively stirring lures parenting dire circumstances; each moment availing itself to passionate artistic muse by manner of creative genius.

Ideas, and no matter their seeming fixations are flexible, lending themselves to modification and to the living will of change.

If the world of words, and the graciousness abounding within their elements were attractive then what one finds and understands is that words offer something nothing else can and that is the opportunity to create reality from unreal sources. By bending truth, and fiction and making dreams come true the world of words helps us to believe.

Meeting the challenge lives in the hearts of the daring and the risks may be great. Whatever one’s truth or fiction unearthing the treasures of text demands searching, finding and then un-wrapping the world of words.

Copyright © 2013 Delbert H. Rhodes