The dance of Delia
The dance of Delia. Chapter one.
A Chapter by Coyote Poetry
Tongue is Sea
From the dark comes the light
From the words you write
Light is energy
Like your love for me
Your spoken word is the air I breathe
Your tongue is sea
© Delia Ross. 2020
The dance of Delia
The barbarous age was upon my world. My steadfast hate made my eyes blind to the sweetness of life. I have learn the book of life is never truly written, no real destiny written in stone and we decide our final sanctuary. Once I tried to lift my spirit by work and making money. Was a seven-fold mistake. The money create phantasm dreams of great glory. I learn, money create more folly and chaos than joy and peace. The vexation of seeking wealth, knowing wealth. You can’t see what is worthwhile or not.
Now I seek blissful solitude in Austin, Texas. Two brother committed suicide, the dirt of war, barren heart made me seek peace in prose and rhyme. I have been coming to Austin, Texas for three years now. I was station at Fort Hood. I would come to Austin every Saturday and Sunday in the early morning and I would write near the river. Drinking coffee and watching the movement of the college students. The college kids left me be alone. I was just another person reading and writing by the moving river. Seeking quiet. I was a ghost to the young, hopeful and the innocence eyes of the college kids. I rejoined the Army in 1991 and I learned. My life wasn’t so bad and the Iraq war taught me. Dead people, don’t complain and war is hell. Boys and young men fight and die for the price of old men wealth. I know now. The past, the present and the future. They become one. I wrote a poem with the morning Texas sun, sun-kissing my face.
“The radiant sun
Everything is him and
he run to and fro.
We are like mice in a maze and
we are running to no-where.
The presumptuous man believe believe,
he is the king of the mountain.
One day he learn,
the faith of youth don’t linger long and
the book of life can be sweet,
deadly or a infernal hell.”
The radiant sun touches my face and I told her. Thank you noble sun for the Austin river and a safe place to be, to rest. I felt someone watching me and I looked-up and I saw a dark eyes girl with moving hands, drawing me in her sketch book. She was wearing colorful clothing of many colors, barefoot and many tattoos. She allowed me to see a tattoo of a rose bushes on her right leg. I wondered where the rose bush ended. She gave me a kind smile and I smiled back. I returned to reading my favorite book of Jack London, “When god laugh.” The book, each chapter more truer then the last. I read the statement. “Men are like meat. We work and we work, till we cannot no-more. Just meat for the rich men.” I laughed out loud at the words and I smelled the gentle perfume of lavender near. I looked-up and the young artist was standing above me. She was watching me with eyes of mischief and softness. I told her, hello and she reply. Hello dark poet, my name is Delia. I am a local artist looking for a inflicted face to draw. I love your face. You are young and I can see the wrought and the demur in your face. Your eyes are hazel and I can see the chaos, like a Pacific storm. Your face, realm of darkness and hell-bend highways. I love your face, make me want to paint to canvas. I know you but you do not know me. I heard you read twice at the Austin city yearly poetry reading. This year and last year. I wanted to talk to you and you are like a fathom, just faded into the Austins taverns and I couldn’t find you. My friend Amy, Jenny, Kathy and Beth said you know them. They said you danced with them at the new wave club and you were funny, drunk, kind and safe. They told me you bought them breakfast and you gave Beth, A copy of your book to read. They said you planned a meeting and you never appeared. They said, you were a soldier who didn’t want to attack them.
I looked-up into wild and untamed eyes and I asked her. You know me and I don’t know you dear Delia.I can see, you are a artist who paint old soldiers faces. She smiled and she reply. I am a dancer, poet, writer, artist, herbalist and masseuse and I love to dance. I dance yearly at the Austin renaissance, wearing my Gypsy dress. I am a want-a be belly dancer and I sing a-bit. I am a 27 year old career college student who love to travel, drink strong whiskey and fun people. I smiled and I told her. Well, you did find a odd person dear Delia and I reached out my right hand to her. She took my hand and she forced me-up and she gave me a bear hug. She asked. Do you have your truck near dear Johnnie? If you do. There is the yearly coastline Summer festival going on near the sea. I have a friend on the coast with a big house, good drink and she is kind to me. Are you brave enough to wander with a strange woman? I answered her. Please show me the sketch of my face? He saw she was a artist with skilled hand and fingers. He liked how she create him reflexing on the river with his book in his hands and the hardness of his face. He looked at her hands and he looked up and he took her right hand and he told her. I will read your palm. He told her. I can see white, black and grey in your hand. You love line is forever and you will live to be one hundred years old. You have known great pain twice in your life. When you were young and lately. She looked sad and she smiled. She told him, we are a perfect pair. Maybe the folly of life had brought us together Johnnie. In my dreams, I found the dreamer. The weight of the world almost killed him and he became bold and restless. He gave everything away and I found him near the river. We shared our scars, we drank to life and we drank to death. Can dreams become true?
I smiled and I told her. Dreams are the gate way to real life. I believe we can see the future, bad and good in our dreams. Thank you dear Lelia, you uplifted my spirit today, you made me smile. Are you sure, you want to travel with a man who evade everything that comes near? She reply. Yes I do dear Johnnie, please give me twenty minutes to gather some things and please don’t disappear again. Please write me a poem while I am gone. He watched her leave and he wrote in his journal.
A eternal beauty.
You have create temperous fire of hope in sleeping heart.
mysterious lady near the river,
we can find the sea and
leap into her arms.
Be clean of sadness,
maybe we can forgive ourselves,
maybe forgive the sins against us?
I dream of kisses pure,
falling into the charm of your voice and
finding where the rose bushes begin and end.”
I heard her voice and she told me. I am happy you choose to stay and she took my journal. She read the poem. She looked sad and then she laughed. I love the poem Johnnie. I love every words in the poetry. Few have seen where the rose bushes had began and ended. Only the brave and the lucky can. Are you brave enough Johnnie?
I stood-up and she wrapped her arms around me. She whispered. You will love the sea and I will finish my painting. We will roam the sea and we will dance for the falling sun. I smiled and I told her. I am ready kind lady. She gave me soft kisses on my forehead than my mouth. She told me, dear dreamer, let’s find your truck and let’s find the sea.