Serpentine, Volume 4, Number 1, Winter 2000

I, Emmanuelle

I, Emmanuelle, was born and lived in beauty.
I roamed upon white sands, and breathed white air.
I existed in a sterile world,
confused by the red flames
of other life.
There came a day when I saw
life passing swiftly
over this endless place, and
I could hear the voice of human beings,
but never knew its meaning.
I lived apart, with anchored thoughts
in a sad, dispassionate sea;
and mountains rose
like crowded, passive things.
They were splendid walls imposed
which kept me in this place.

There came a day my need was great
to break and find my way
into the world, be gone from innocence.
I ran to the nearest path,
where from my eyes fell tears
which pooled upon the sand.
I looked upon the grief of leaving
as the price for unfurled wings.


II

I laid upon the sands and slept;
dreams were freed upon me:
images of pain, of need,
and of many unknown things.
I dreamed of others seeing me,
and for love would intercede
while the sand in all its innocence
absorbed the tears I wept.

Awakened by the light
which moved across my emptiness
like a comet against the sky.
I stood and saw the walls were gone,
and a single path was there, and beyond
was the city of which I dreamed.
I took a step, and watched the lights ,
and the warming flames of life.
The pulse within my chest had quickened,
the need within was strong.

The road was made of worn and dusty stone,
and my stride brought little clouds
like the crush of fusing atoms,
and footfalls like old tombstones.
All things near were silenced
by the crimson flowing torrent
of blood coursing through my veins.

I neared the town and saw the shadows,
but no one looked my way.
There were streets of crowded, crippled souls,
with grinning mouths, and clouded eyes.
They shuffled in, and I could smell
the smothering rot of death.
I cried for them, then turned my face
and crossed to another path.

I could see the empty faces
and the scars upon their spirit:
Winter is their season;
barren souls and faded color
with memories that promise them no life.
City streets have you not seen
the pain of those upon you?
Have you not felt the warming wash
of the tears that flood your gutters?

City streets: tell of the prey,
of human raptors in the air
that plague the weak and hopeless
and move the olden way:
Tell me of the people
who seek the way to new,
to leave this crowded place,
and of the lucky few.
Their voices, like a howling in the night,
are neither bad nor good.
And hope is like a lover’s kiss:
hot then fades away.


III

Dreams are sometimes only dreams
and life is as dreary as it seems
full of whispers, full of screams
where we fear to tell
what we really mean.

Sits a man in a city park
his face is in his hands;
and from his hands hung holy beads
and he tells me of his life:
"I have lived in this ether world
and begged the grace of many,
I ate the life of city streets
and thought I had found joy.

I have cried and prayed and begged and ran
to the city’s distant corners
and found no help, no means, no route
from this place and all it’s horrors."

The man turned and walked away
and motioned for me to follow.
He said that I should seek
the council of the tarot.
I said I would and looked to where
his eyes had come to rest.

Like a net cast upon the wind
a voice drifted from the seer:

She turned the card of the Fool.

The shadows were only spectres
of the old remains of man
sucked dry by gods
in whom did not believe.

She turned the card of the Devil.

The fortuneteller was but a relic
of her born but wasted self.
She sold the future
to those who believed;
dreams to those who did not.

She turned the card of the Priestess.

Her eyes looked like shimmering rubies
in the bottom of stained and shallow cups
and they spoke silently of her life
and the absence of any beauty.

She turned the card of the Lovers.

I saw death rise violently
from deep within her throat
and her whispered voice frightened me;
and as she died she looked at me
and-

Turned the card of Judgment.


IV

I grieve for the beauty that I dreamed,
gardens with endless green,
sun filled skies, and trees of shade
where aged hearts and breasts with pain
to rest can now be laid.

I long to sleep again
in near immortality,
and bid farewell to things
that blacken humane skies.
I want again the whispered wind
that sings to me in lullabies.

Without regret I say goodbye
to the city and it’s streets
I turn my back and walk away
and vow the dark will never
cheat me of my destiny.

To the islands I have come
where glorious days and cooling foam
blow softly over ruffled seas
thick with salted scent,
and whispers future memories.

Yes, now are days of yellow light
and gone are life’s mimicries
gone are damp and chilly souls
gone are those that send to flight
all life within a stranger.

There is crisp, clear water here
and air that cools the past
It mends the soul from rips of fear
so life is more than fiction.
This place is restful heaven
to a man with a weary head.
Its evening clouds of crimson
warms my earthen bed.

But, the iron gates of satisfaction
have come unhinged for me,
I cannot forget the torment
of those whose lives are writhing still,
in the plastic bags of hell.

I step into the crystal shallows
in search of cleansing waters
and sit upon the sandy floor
and watch the heavens counterglow.

So intense the silence
when the tides are full and still.
Ah, this wet bed has called me
to slip into it’s grasp
where I can sleep again in ignorance.

David Ritchie has appeared in many on-line and print publications including: Serpentine, Poetry Motel, Live Poets Society UK, Northwest Literary Forum, Parnassus Literary Journal, Piedmont Literary Review, and was the blue ribbon winner for poetry with the Southern Poets Association.  He has been an active proponent of poetry through teaching and public performances for many years in the Seattle, Washington area, including radio and television.  His recent works appeared this summer in The Animist (Australia), bonfire (Scotland), Gravity (US), and Niederngast.   He resides in LaConner, Washington, and spends much of his time in the San Juan Islands. You can visit his website journal at http://www.angelfire.com/in/thebayou.

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