The dance of Delia….

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(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

Men believe,

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 Austin 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 hands 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 Delia, 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.


Majesty lady,

A eternal beauty.

Maybe muse?

Maybe siren?

You have create temperous fire of hope in sleeping heart.

Dear Delia,

mysterious lady near the river,

we can find the sea and 

leap into her arms.

And maybe?

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.

The dance of Delia.- chapter two

A Chapter by Coyote Poetry
"Chapter two." 

The dance of Delia- chapter two

“The Golf of Mexico. The majesty sea, seduced men heart forever, inflicting  the bold and the restless to dance with the chaos of the sea.
The sea, a wonderous lover, who murmur secret words to free men. More to life than treeless land and demanding work.
The endless sea, a woman, that demand everything and cannot be tamed. A celestial beauty who will bewitch your heart till death steal you away.
The lucky man find safe harbour with the ocean near. Allowing the sound of the sea to calm his spirit, relax his mind.”

We arrived at the truck and I loaded her backpack into my storage container. She told me. Almost a five hour drive to Port Aransas. I told her. I never saw the Texas  Golf of Mexico. I been to Florida often, never the coastline of Texas. She smiled and she reply. You will fall in love with her. The sand festival is going on, great food, great drink and amazing music. Aransas is paradise. My friend Lexi found her in 1990 and she rarely leaved the city. She lived in walking distance from the Golf of Mexico. The water is so clear. I told her. I love the sea and thank you dear Delia for inviting me for the road trip to the sea. I am off till Tuesday and when must you return? She smiled and she came to me and she whispered. I am self-employed. No schedule for the gypsy lady. She kissed me and she said. Time to roll dear Johnnie. The Golf of Mexico is calling us.

She roamed through my music. Putting Jim Morrison, Hank William Jr. and the Rolling Stones aside. She showed me the Jim Morrison cassette “L.A women”. She told me. My favorite travel music Johnnie. I knew you were alright. We have Jim Morrison songs and driving to the sea.  Not a hard journey and my friend house is easy to be found. She is a artist too, more successful than me. She sells her paintings and make money.  I am greedy with my work, my work are my babies. I was told I could sell them and make some real money.  I prefer to hang them on my wall for me to see. She put the cassette in and she sang with the songs. I watched her sing and I admired her eyes. They were hazel green now and I loved the wildness and fire in her dancing eyes. I loved her moving bare feet and her flowing dark brown hair touching her shoulders. She was a natural Texas beauty, long and tall, womanly curved that would tempt the devil. Brave and not shy.  She told me. I have lived in Austin, my whole life. I traveled for a while and I returned. Austin is cool. We have the music, the artist and the poets. She looked at me and she asked. Do you talk Johnnie? Or do you only write words to paper? Johnnie, please tell me a secret, something no-one knows except me after you tell me. She held my right hand since we left Austin. She squeezed my hand and she smiled.

I smiled and I told her. Three years ago, I left Michigan to seek a good death. Death didn’t want me. Once I thought I knew what love was and I was wrong. I learn with my three years stationed in California in Monterey. Life was more than me. The Pacific ocean taught me. So much to do, so many places to go. Now the Army owned me and the Army isn’t a kind lover. I drink too much and I want too little. She smiled and she leaned into my shoulder and she whispered. Beth allowed me to read your unpublished book. You must publish this work. My story is similar. I didn’t pay attention to what was truly important. Maybe, all of us Johnnie, we must fall down to get-up wiser. We bare the scars of disappointment and she laughed and she told me. Time for me to recite a poem.

“We are captive or willing, we can be. We do not miss our innocence till she is gone. First kiss, last kiss. Which one is sweeter? Are we lovers or liars? Are we dancers or just puppets? Are we captive by the chains of useless things? Or are we willing to live life with zealous energy, to eat-up life without walls.
Do we steal? Or do we borrow? Will our fluttering heart become stalemated? Will the kiss become less sweet? Do we need to be consumed by the need of the flesh? Is pleasure, our final emotion left? What does the artist see? What will the writer write? What will the poet create? Is silence, the bitter ending?”

She finished and she squeezed my hand. I told her, bravo. Beautiful, you are a poet dear Delia.  I believe when we forget to feel, we die. We need human contact. Skin to skin, people connecting and knowing the sweetest pleasure. We need the warmth of arms, legs, warm kisses where two people can be bare, honest and true. Consume each other will both people are content. These are the sweetest days dear Delia. She smiled and she laughed at my words. She asked me. Are you in-love with anyone? Do you belong to someone else? I brought her left hand to my lips, kissed her hand and I told her. Dear Delia, Johnnie been alone for awhile. Lost two brothers to suicide. One in 1988 and the second in 1989. I turn stone-cold. I excepted part of the reason, they wanted death over life. Maybe I was destined to fall in hell kitchen? I don’t have anyone dear Delia.

Her eyes looked sad and she whispered. Today is a new day and we are almost to the sea. Maybe you and I can find a miracle of hope and forgiveness? I have been alone awhile too. Lost people to cancer and drugs. My busy life keeps my mind occupies. You tempted me at last year poetry reading in Austin. I believe you are more lover than soldier, more gentle than what people can see. There is more to the soldier’s words that you write. I told her the sea is near. I can smell her. She looked-up to the highway ending and she gave me a evil smile. She asked. Can we go swimming, the damn hot Texas day and I need to go swimming now?

I told her, of course dear Delia. I parked the truck on the beach and I watched her run toward the Golf of Mexico. She took off her Summer dress and she ran in her bra and panties into the moving water. I followed her, taking off my shoes, socks, pant and my shirt. I ran to her in my boxers into her open arms. I found her in shoulder deep water and the gentle waves caressed our faces. She wrapped her arms around me and brought me closer to her. She whispered, the sea feel so good and thank you Johnnie for bringing me to Port Aransas. This is my first time this year. I love the ocean, allowed us to know. Life is more than us. She kissed me long and sweet. We watched the afternoon sun and sea in a needed silence. I haven’t felt this good in many years and I did a silence prayer. Thank you god of life and death for Delia and the sea.

She dragged me to the truck and she told me. Lexi is making us a grand meal. She took off her bra and panties and I saw her beautiful rose bush tattoo. She put her Summer dress on and took off my boxers. I put my pants, shirt and shoes on. I drove barefoot to Lexi house. I told her. I loved your tattoo, you are art, a beauty for the ages. The most beautiful woman, I ever seen. She gave me a coy smile and she told me. If you are attempting to make me love you? Keep talking my dark poet. Maybe I can make you the poet of the light? I have another poem dear Johnnie. Do you want to hear the poem? I told her yes, please.

“The ocean song…
She will siege your heart, she will steal the weight of your sorrow. She will sing Harmonious songs to you, she will make the dreamer, dream. She will make the painter, paint. She will make the poet, create.
She can be sweet, she can be deadly. She can uplift the dead in spirit and she can heal the body and soul if you love her.
She can teach you what life can be. The ocean song tell us.
We must be free, not tamed. Seek mystery and wonder.
We must be like the sea. Fearless and invincible.”

I told her. The most wonderful poem I ever heard dear Delia. Thank you for befriending me. You are a blessing to my heart. She looked serious and she reply. Maybe the dark poet will smile more, dance more and drink less? Maybe he had found his muse? The sea was near us still and we reached Lexi house. She brought my hand to her lips. Kissed my hands and she whispered. We made it Johnnie.

Dancing Coyote