Weeping willow (Complete- this is a long post)

October 18, 2012

Prince of Wales Hotel
Niagara-on-the-Lake, Canada
9:00 pm.

Anne looked across the party room, 

resting on the face of her fiance, Ben

Around her, chimney fire and voices swirled and crackled

with secrets and haunting stories of people who have lived and 

died in this land over 200 years ago - the Watcher, 
Sophia Shaw and General Isaac Brock. 

Torn and razed to the ground, this town was
the battleground between British and Canadian soldiers, 
against the invading American forces.    

October 1812
Fort George, Niagara 
7:30 pm

your face is cold but your lips 
warmly scented with coffee and cream,  
silky soft as the night, now quiet from gunfire burst        

tomorrow is uncertain, much less dawn's light  
the blustery wind is fierce, as is your ardor for 
battle of our soil and water, for our Motherland  

so give me the kiss of forever - 
stinging bite of intoxicated bee, 
lush taste of forbidden plump fruit 

that i will savor again and again
on my tongue, sweet nectar and rain
on my limbs, musky earth and autumn leaves    

i gather - fiery storm, impetuous clouds -   
for this night, unclasp my bow, lift me up 
that i will remember how strong and brave

you are, my soldier 

and when they bring me your body   
stone cold, gunpowder and bloody mud on your red coat of arms  
i will weep

a broken petal, lost soul  
along the cobbled streets and blue lake,
beseeching for your return

October 19, 2012
BrockamourManor, Niagara-on-the-Lake
5:00 am

Morning coffee, fresh and black, warms his chest    
as he waits for the service car to bring him 
to the airport for an early morning flight for business

Perhaps it is the lack of sleep or too much wine
but without warning, a prickly sensation like an ice drop
on his nape, startles him into awareness that someone might be 
behind him -- 

Ben turns around quickly but it is just 
his shadow and silence of the house, circa 1809, 
nestled amongst the gardens off the main tourist road
Hearing the door closing along the corridor, he calls out quickly,
probably a staff, “Thanks for the coffee.   I really appreciate it.”

But there is only the wind
now rising like sand storm, whipping the fallen leaves
into a frenzy, straining the sounds
of someone crying

Sounds are coming from the second floor,
heartbreaking in the pauses
after a moment’s hesitation, Ben goes up the stairway
leading to the bedroom where Anne is still sleeping

Midway up the steps, he feels the energy -- 
pull of strong currents surging past him, like someone rushing
downwards in a hurry
He is taken aback for a moment and sees a shadowy tail of
someone going towards the foyer
He follows the movements and notes that the main door 
is now ajar in the cold wind,
the mist from the lake, giving the house an eerie vibe  

Slowly he walks outside and sees in the murky darkness
two outlines:  back of the woman standing near the horse 
and the horseman on the saddle
The blurry shapes confuse him and for a moment, he feels like an 
intruder watching an intimate farewell scene - a replay of that fateful night,
200 years ago.

Quickly the horseman in coat of arms, gives a nudge to the horse and is 

gone in the whirling fog, in the dark dawn, towards the main road
where his destiny and choice will collide

Ben shivers as the galloping hooves hit the dirt road, making it all too real for him.  

The woman’s back is steadily looking at the horseman until he is out of sight.

Involuntarily, Ben murmurs in admiration, “He is a brave man, our hero.” 

Slowly the woman's back turns towards him-- 
her profile now clearly visible --
she is wearing a long dark dress, cloak heavy on her shoulders, but  

it is the expression on her face -- eyes -- 
that he will never forget.

Then in the blur, she fades in the mist  

October 1812

Queenston Heights

7:04 am

under the blood stained blankets,

your face is cold, as well as your hands
fearless soldier, hero -   

you have fallen where you wanted to be –

fighting valiantly in the cannon lit dawn

one hundred yards west of the road of Queenston

leading the battle of 49^th men,

not caring of your personal safety

your voice a bold call to arms

thundering like hard rain in hearts of the enemies

you stood on the crest, fatally wounded,

until your heart broke into a thousand pieces 

falling down on autumn leaves, moistened tears

and trampled heads of wild-flowers,

you lay in the organ notes of the battle, shouts

and shrill-war cries of the Mohawks

I wept under my heavy black veil, 

For all the days that could have been

For all the children that you and I could have raised   

And the willow trees wept along with me  

October 2013
Niagara-on-the-Lake

10:00 am

Ben opens the car door to help Anne in the backseat of their mini-van.

After the fateful encounter with the ghosts, Ben had gone up

to check on Anne, who was still sleeping in the bed. 

Though they made plans of getting married next year, 
the specter of death and separation became heavy in his heart.

The face of the woman haunted him-- no, he decided not tell Anne
nor anyone what happened to him.  
Instead he prayed silently - a vow - that he will try his best 
to make her happy --

every single day and moment of their lives.

“It’s so beautiful here.”  Anne said, gazing at the autumn leaves and blooms.   

“Yes, it is.”  Ben smiles, marveling at joy and serenity on her face.     

She had insisted in visiting the manor house again on their way to Niagara Falls.     
“After all this is where he was conceived.”    
     
He is their baby boy, sleeping contently in her arms.  

Posted for Romantic Friday Writers:   House of Horrors - Word count - 994.  This is probably my longest piece.  Please check out the other stories in Romantic Friday Writers ~ MPA - Feedback is appreciated - which part is your favorite ? Thanks for the visit. 

Loosely based on love story of Sophia Shaw and General Issac Brock.   Brock was the great general of the British, and the most important strategist for Upper Canada's resistance against the Americans.  They were devoted to each other but Lady Sophia's parents refused to allow their marriage. Though an elegant hero Brock was not born of nobility. Their affair continued and General Brock swore he would return to marry her. Tragically, the general was killed in battle on October 1812.     Sophia never recovered and stayed true to Brock, never marrying. For those final few years, people in town did not see Sophia.  Instead they would only hear her cries from a second floor bedroom in Brockamour.  She is commonly spotted wandering the halls of the manor house crying in despair, longing for the man she loved. Her sobs are heard reverberating throughout Queen Street, giving her the name "Sobbing Sophia."  Source

More on the Ghosts of Niagara-on-the Lake here

Picture from the Movie -Pride and Prejudice

Still

the  pale blue evening sky inhales

excitement of midnight’s festive air 

orange red banners festoon the house,

brighter  than  the  night’s  starry  glow 

sparklers, blow horns, wine glasses,

sets the clock ticking closer to 12:00

the seconds leap from here  to tomorrow,

binding  our  embrace  checkered  tight

moments like these stitch our arms,
day and night, black and white, sun and moon

flickering  overhead  as   the  countdown  begins,

your lips bend close and savor my red wine lips

ever changing passage of new year’s cheer

still, never changing love on my tongue lingers

.

Happy New Year  !!!!

Posted for:    D'verse Poets Pub : Couplets for the New Year:   And for Poetics:   Endings and Beginnings, hosted by Mark Kerstetter.    

And Romantic Friday Writers:   ties that bind 

Update:   Thank you to Romantic Friday Writers for this award ~

Christmas star

the winter of content
drapes her thin shoulders
as she prepares their late dinner
sprinkling pepper on casserole
warming kitchen fire, 
she hums a christmas song


the days are shorter now,
folding under bed of snow
slumbering nights envelops
house in mellowed lantern sky
frosted windows peek ceiling of
red bells, cones and festive boughs


paring small potatoes and carrots
she muses on months past,  
when he got his pink slip from
his work, and she too lost her job.
with a sigh, she gathers vegetable
stirring them in the boiling soup.


outside, the cold breeze stings his face.
finding work in the factory has been 
a tasteless mutton on his plate, but mounting 
bills must be paid, so he toils and waits
for the clock to sigh it was time to go.   
gathering thick coat, he trudges his truck 
through the slippery road, a long journey home.  


lighting the advent candles, she rearranges
home baked cookies, cheese, ham and fruits in
season’s platter.   a luxury in these hard times,
but she insisted on a nice dinner, specially 
christmas eve.  her hands linger on the table linen,
as she waits for her husband to arrive home.


the old brick house glitters in purple night
white dust swirling, he opens the front door
shrugging off the day's bitterness from his voice,   
he calls out a hearty greeting, "I'm home."
the aroma of home cooked food welcomes
and warms his ice numbed hands. 


taking off his woolen scarf, he embraces her,
saying, "I have a surprise for you."   


laughing she extends her hands in excitement  


he places a brown box wrapped in red ribbons near
pine decorated tree.   he looks at her, his heart racing


her eyes are shining, radiant bright 
as she peels away paper tissues 
to hold the classic books she always wanted to read.


her long hair is gone, skin pale from
chemo sessions, and frail from weight loss.   
but her fierce spirit radiates, and 
so does hope... fluttering, sparkling in his chest.


she is still the brightest star in his life

Posted for Romantic Friday Writers:   Challenge is Sparkle - Word limit:  400.  
Happy Holidays and thanks for the visit.

Update:   Thank you to Romantic Friday Writers for choosing me as Featured Writer for this post.

Friday Romantic Challenge: Voices

The whispering started on a lazy sunday afternoon
when cleaning their abode, she came across
a stack of letters bunched in an elastic tie in his drawer. 
Curiosity, with righteous pinch of a newly minted wife,
made her take out the tie, and unfold the papers.   

Dusting away her palpitations,
she began reading each letter, then another. 
As the words of love and admiration flowed out,  
she clutched her breast hoping her heart doesn't fall out. 

The voice in her mind grew louder  
torturing her for being a fool,  fool !  stupid !
The letters were from his best friend, 
or was it from a lover's hand? 
Was she deceived or their friendship more than that? 

Fool !  stupid ! blind fool !
She didn’t have the guts to confront him that day
allowing the whispering in her mind
to torment her days and nights
until she became a nervous wreck.    


After their second month wedding anniversary dinner,
she mustered the courage to confront him directly. 
       
Placing the letters neatly on their bed, she said softly,

"I was cleaning the drawer when I came across these.   
What is this all about? “

"Oh, that.." he grinned.   "Bob is like that; we write 
to each other like we are each other's muse to our writing.   
We exchange ideas, and this is his way of responding to my writing."    

She looked at his earnest face, and nodded her satisfaction.      
It’s fine. You misunderstood the situation.   

"I love you, only you."  He said gently. 

She embraced him, hushing back
the other voices dancing in her mind.  Lies..Lies !.   
He rained kisses on her face and breasts.  
Pushing her to bed, he made love to her fiercely 
and even roughly.  With sweat running down his muscled body, 
he exuded confidence and pride in his manhood.  
He made her forget the letters that night, and nights after that.   

The voices in her head had quieted down to an occasional whimper.
She tried hard not to let the seed of doubt bear fruit
specially when she sees him laughing at Bob's jokes
or just enjoying his best friend's company.  

"Best friend...male bonding." she repeatedly told herself.

For her peace of mind,  she burned the letters with his consent.

Besides, there was no real reason for her to worrry.    





Not yet.   
  

Author's Note:   This post is for Friday Romantic Challenge - Voices.  Write a story in less than 400 words with voices as the theme.  This story is based on a real life experience.

Missed out last week as I was writing challenges for the poetry communities.  Joining you this week ~

Friday Romantic Challenge: Coming Home

My eyes dried out of tears

As you wore proudly

the insignia and stripes

of your uniform

glistening boldly in the sun

My eyes dried out of tears

As I kissed you gently

Reminding me of life’s

Fleeting moments against

The dark shadows of war

My eyes dried out of tears

As I caressed your strong hands
Loving you meant sleeping with danger 
Intense, adrenalin pumping, unpredictable   
But it also felt like a warm blanket,
Smelling of home.      


My eyes dried out of tears

As my hand felt the cold metallic

Glass draped with a flag,  

I heard your voice echoing in my ears,

“Wait for me.  I am coming home.”

As I waved my final good bye,

I opened my hand to see

your name engraved on the tag    

Warm from your blood,  

A teardrop fell on my arm,

as I walked

Home.

Author's Note:   This post is for Romantic Friday Writers - Challenge:  Coming Home.   
Based on the theme, Coming Home, we are to write a story in less than 400 words. 
picture credit:  militaryheroes.tumblr


Shared with Poetry United:   The Poetry Panty #59.   Nice to meet you ~

Tango Romantica

Passion, intensity, focus
The words hammered in her mind
As she smoothed down her red and black dress
In a few seconds, she will skate for the dance of her life

She locked eyes with her ice skating partner
In his fitting black ensemble,  he looked  dashing
Muscular and strong though built on the slim side
He can easily lift her now, more so then
when they first danced shyly as 6 and 9 year old kids

Head erect,  she held out her hand to begin  the routine  
She posed gracefully as they moved in beat 4
His hand on her back, they glided with deep clean edges
The lover’s dance,  the complex dance of tango

She is arrogant and unattainable
He must plead and be worthy of her love
His shoulders are stiff, chasing her
His legs crossed with a sharp sound
With a quick turn, he moved in close

She glided away, her back straight in a flash
His hand is warm at her waist, caressing
her side, he wanted  to plunge himself into her core
And spill his passion into her

In the ice rink, they moved in a curving fashion
Pouring their unrequited love, their unbridled tension
for the 1.43 second dance sequence,
surrendering to the music echoing in their hearts
no one intruded in their dance, not the crowd nor judges    

Years of practicing together 
Like two peas in a pod, has made it easy for them
to share one heartbeat,  one goal of glory  
More than best friends, their bond is deep and unexplainable 
They came first with each other, 
their lovers, an afterthought.             


From the side, their coach watched them  
Precise arms and leg movements at 112 beats per minute,
on ice their chemistry is undeniable
She knows what every skating fan and public suspects
that something more is added to bring
the tango dance technique into a spectacular flaming number


The skating partners moved closer, foreheads touching    
Closer, he wanted to ravish her
Her lips opened in anticipation
Beckoning him to savor her sweetness
Her heat, to pour his heart


The tension is palpable as they embraced for the final beat 
his thighs pressed close, his breath on her lips  
Do I have your heart ? he asked tenderly    
Theirs is a dance of seduction and capitulation
My love, it has always been yours, she whispered softly.

Author's Note:   This challenge is for Romantic Friday Writers:   Surrender.  Maximum word count is 400.

Picture:  Canadian Gold Medalists, Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir, Ice Skating Competition, in  Vancouver Olympics in 2010, Canada. 

Friday Romantic Challenge: Forgiven

He held the world in his hands  

As he crooned the last notes to the sea of nameless faces  

The bright lights swiveled on his slim form

His sweat glistened from his glorious mane

He was the newly crowned prince of the rock world 

Amidst the crowds and adoring fans, he felt powerful 

His mind rocking with the pulse of his raging music

He went into the back room of the stage 

What he saw made his stomach curl and bile rise up

His girlfriend, Diane and band mate entwined limb to limb 

Her face caught in passion’s fury, her luscious lips

Moaning as her lover licked her breasts, his hands

Cupping her legs, bringing her to mindless pleasure

He felt his heart blown into a thousand splinters

The very same lust and hunger that drew him to her

Now disgusted him, and made him remember Dorothea 

Grabbing his most treasured possession, his guitar

He left the concert grounds and drove

Around in circles until  he saw with clarity

His path ……the yellow lines on the road

led straight to a red brick house with a rusty mailbox 

Getting off his gleaming car, he paused to peer at Dorothea's house

Seeing its steadfast points, noting its tranquil lines

His last image of it was slamming the door in anger   

Her, the anchor in his rocky and turbulent musicscape 

What a fool he was to let her slip away!   

He rang the doorbell not knowing what to say

All he knew was that he wanted to grovel at her feet

And beg her to take him back. 

He took a deep breath as the door opened

Dorothea saw his earnest face bathed in the moonlight

It was the boy who gave her roses for her birthday

The awkward teen who tied her prom corsage on her wrists

The young man who composed love songs just for her 

strumming the guitar, and playing with her heartstrings

The rock star who wanted his freedom.

Kneeling down, he took his guitar, the soul of his music  

And placed it at her bare feet, his eyes shut tight

Bracing himself for her sharp words and blows

Instead he felt her gentle hands on his hair weaving like the wind

Her hands drew him close unto her breasts

Like a prodigal lover, he wept in her arms

Forgiven, he held the world in his hands.   

    

Author's Note:   This story is for Romantic Friday Challenge:  Forgiven.   The challenge is to write 300-400 words with the theme or word Forgiven.   Do check out the others participating this week.

The story is based loosely on a rock star's love life.   After catching the woman with his band mate, he went back to his high school sweetheart to “grovel at her feet”.   They got married soon after and until now, are still making beautiful music together.   

Friday Romantic Challenge: Lies!

she was coming home at last
it has been 5 years since she left town 
she was burned out, depleted and exhausted
she was searching for something... for anything
maybe her spirit that was buried under the forest
maybe her heart along the river bank she grew up
she wanted to know if her life
for the last 5 years in the city was real
or was it all 
a lie




she walked towards a spot she knew so well
there it was - a small river with boulders on the side
she sat on a rock and stared at her reflection in the water
in a heartbeat she remembered one hot afternoon
when his friendly smack turned into a lover's sip
gripping her hips, they tumbled into the water
trembling and weaving, with only the trees hearing their cries  
it was the summer of their innocence lost
it was also the summer she said goodbye
she told him she was accepting an opportunity she couldn't let pass
she promised him that she would keep in touch
and that she was coming back
but the weeks and months turned into years
she told him
lies    




she took off her shoes and clothes on an impulse
bracing herself, she stepped in the cold water 
her soles felt the pebbles and grime underneath   
in her undergarments, she splashed water everywhere
reveling in the refreshing water
she felt her make up peeling off, her hair floating out of the bun
basking in the warm afternoon sun, she felt her spirit awakening
her pale skin tingled with prickling awareness   
her mind cleared of the city's fog 
she told herself no more
lies   



she stood up and walked back to where her clothes lay crumpled 
she saw to her surprise that he was standing there
watching her play like a young girl he so remembers
the boy has grown into a man 
his face fuller but his eyes are still the same 
understanding, serene, and so much kindness
her lips trembled with a smile
she didn't realized how much her life has gone astray until now
home is where she wanted to find her moral compass
he gazed at her appraisingly until his face broke into a familiar grin  
running to him, she flung her arms around him
she felt her heart beating strongly
she will tell him everything
there would be no more
lies


Word count:  400

Author's Note:   This is my entry to Romantic Friday Writers.  The challenge is write 300-400 words with the theme and words Lies, Lies, Lies.   Do check out the others participating this week.  Thanks for the visit and your kind comments.


Picture credit:  gildam.tumblr