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anne p murray Apr 2013
In flames of love we filled our desires
Hearts and souls brimmed with fire
Riding smoothly on winds of air
With sentient heart and love so rare

Dancing blissfully before the sun
Light of foot on dreams to run
Oh such beauty and ecstasy rare
In radiant love we danced on air
Poised before gods in pools of light
With immortal wings we took flight

That last day I closed your eyes
In veils of twilight sent to the skies
With outstretched arms and empty heart
I sadly watched your soul depart

In those days that we loved so
Forever immortal...
In lovely glow



That last day I closed your eyes

In veils of twilight sent to the sky

With outstretched arms and empty heart

I sadly watched your soul depart

In those days that we loved so…

Forever immortal...

In lovely glow
anne p murray Apr 2013
She was a tiny, angel of woman,
mindlessly moving in a chemical haze
Her heart barricaded tormented
from her long, lonely days...
From dancing on the edge of a pin  

Twirling oblivious on a bar room pole
trying to live her shoddy role
Stripped of dignity, ripped of grace
that’s imposed upon her lifeless soul…
As she dances on the edge of a pin

Her teardrops falling, slowly slipping, silently dripping
leaving behind a clear, salty trace
as they slide down her cheeks
like icy blue, watery veins on her weary, tear stained face...
While dancing on the edge on a pin

She dances mindlessly without care
from one seedy bar to another
in faded, jaded memories blurred by her past
Through misty, watery depths she bleeds
trying to quench a thirst so deep
in her hemorrhaged, sedated heart so worn, so torn
by her dreams that did not last…
As she dances on the edge of a pin

She slides down the pole performing her dance
floating in an igneous swirl of aqueous, diluted anesthesia
Demons eating and devouring her soul
through her darkened descent of amnesia…
Dancing on the edge of a pin

In painful depths that twist and turn
in her nebulous, muddled reality of unspeakable memories
that cannot exist in her mind
lest they drive her deeper in a shattered demise…
She dances on the edge of a pin

Childhood dreams
that were stripped cruelly of their parts
her mind wanders in a foggy, semi-conscious state of grace
from hungry teeth marks
left on her innocent, delicate face
Cheap, neon lights bathe ******, shoddy floors
in seedy, darkened bars that smell
of stale cigarettes and *****

Dangerous, dingy, low-rent neighborhoods
leased by lurking, lewd, slovenly men
who try to ***** her every move
She sits on an old, bar stool, sipping amber colored whiskey
from a *****, shot glass
waiting for drunk, salacious men to approach
handing her their grimy, rumpled cash…
As she dances on the edge of a pin

Ten dollars a dance to the tune of one weary, old song
or twenty dollars an hour to some drunk, bleary eyed man
for sixty minutes she’ll dutifully belong
Shadowy features biting at her heels
Unnamed creatures gripping, clawing at her heart
like broken shreds of steel
Her soul so bruised from so many wounds that cannot heal
A fragile, beautiful soul, so battered, so used
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One sad morning the headlines of the daily news
printed one more, sad obituary
of a beautiful soul so badly abused
Her parents were sent a note
from the bar where she’d last worked
that said…

“Your daughter used to work here, but now that she’s dead
will you please stop by and pick up her clothes and shoes"?    

       Death of an angel
anne p murray Apr 2013
All along the castle walls
A deadly secret she doth keep
"Revenge”, she whispers, while he sleeps
She was once his only lady
With ivory skin and beauty fair
She fed him nectar from raven hair

His betrayal seared her hemorraged heart
She had warned with many a fiery stare
Thou shall not indulge in wicked fare
Be ever so watchful, do not betray
Beware, where thou heart doth leave
"Take heed" said she, “Just who thy seed deceives"

In her chamber dark at night, this maiden fair
Planned his demise with nectar, bitter sweet
Stirring her venomous, poison treat
Or would dagger to his heart she’d plant
Bid him die a dark and lingering death
Upon his sleeping body that she left

Amidst her pillaged, ravaged heart
Would this poison brew she stirred
Leave him dead without a word?
Her empty soul doth bid her tears beneath
Bringing chalice to her lips of ruby red
The poison she drank…
Left her coldly dead
anne p murray Apr 2013
He was casually walking one evening in a bustling place called New Orleans in the year of 1845. Nonchalantly strolling down Bourbon Street, a street lined with beautiful homes; graceful verandas; elegant parlors, and... Marie Laveau.

His name was Moine Baptiste. He was a black, French Creole. A man who lived for his music, Quadroon *****, the blues, jazz, and  places where he and Charlie would play their rip-roarin' music in the place called "The Big Easy".

Charlie the sax, was Baptiste’s long, time friend, since he first started playing the 'sax' at the young age of eight.

Moine Baptiste, Plessy Ferguson and all the guys played their Cajun, jazz and blues music at clubs like, 'Antoine’s Bar',  'The Maison Bourbon Jazz Club' and 'The Funky Pirate', all which were popular clubs in the French Quarter on Bourbon Street in New Orleans.

In those days dusky stable hands would lead horses around the stables engaging in desultory conversation that went something like this:
"Hey where y'all goin' from here?" they'd query. "From here we're headin' for the "Big Apple", one would offer in reply.  "You'd better fatten up them skinners or all you'll get from the apple will be the core," was the quick rejoinder.
Resulting in the assigned name, Those Big AppleYears".

Close by on another beautiful, tree lined street was 'Esplanada Avenue'. It was the most elegant street of all in the French Quarter.

Esplanada Avenue claimed fame to a somewhat elusive, secret Bordello called LaBranche House where all the affluent or wealthier men would frequent.

Baptiste was very familiar with LaBranche House. That was where he met all his women and spent most of his money.  

The French and Creole children casually roamed the town, sometimes walking down by the graveyard near Bayou Street. They had been told many a time to steer clear of Bourbon Street, a street with a sordid reputation of burlesque clubs, all night parties and…Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of   New Orleans!  

When Baptiste was taking his walks he'd always watch out the corner of his eye. Something he learned to do when strolling along the sidewalks in New Orleans and in particular Bourbon and Bayou Streets in Congo Square. You see he’d had a few encounters with Marie Laveau.

Oh he had a great deal of respect for Marie Laveau... along with a healthy amount of fear.

This Creole woman, often used her Voodoo  to manipulate, acquire power and upon occasion bless those she liked with good luck and prosperity. She  was also quite adept in conjuring up her many powers in matters of the heart.

Her hair was long and black. She was both feared and respected. Ms Laveau had olive colored, Creole skin. Her black, piercing eyes were sharp as a razor’s edge. Almost magnetic, if she stared at you for very long.

Baptiste had called upon the Voodoo Queen a few years back when he was down on his luck..... and down on his luck with women.

It was almost to the point, that he’d all but given up on the possibity of being happy and contented.

Baptiste was a man with a robust charisma of Creole and French charm. Yet he had an air of reserve and dignity, with a bit of naughty that shone brightly in his chocolate, brown eyes. He was remarkably handsome with dark brown, wavy hair; a well chiseled bone structure in his cream colored face, full lips and a well toned body.

His main problem was, he liked too many women. Too many all at the same time. He spent too much of his money on his women which left him broke,  lonely and dissatisfied.

One night while strolling down Bourbon Street he happened upon Marie Laveau. He’d just finished playing a ‘gig’, with his old, friend Charlie his beloved sax and a few of the guys. Baptiste was feeling a bit light headed and a tad drunk from the ***** that flowed and poured so freely in that part of town called The Big Easy. It was a part of New Orleans steeped in history, lore and many mysterious legends.  Baptiste was feeling slightly tipsy from all the Whiskey he'd drank.

When Baptiste saw Marie Laveau walking towards him down on Bayou Street, he boldly said:

     "Well, Ms. Laveau”,  said he as she walked on by
      She looked piercingly at Baptiste, stared straight at him right through to his eyes.
      She was the famous Queen of mysterious curses
      She carried potions and spells in her bags and purses
      She was a famous legend in New Orleans where all the black trees grow

      This Black, Creole Lady lived in the dark, murky swamps all alone
      She carried black cat’s teeth and eerie Mojo bones
      She had three legged dogs and one eyed snakes
      A mean tempered hound she called  Big Bad Jake    

      He said, “Ms. Laveau you Voodoo Witch
      Please cast your spells and make me rich”!
      Marie started mumbling and shook her magic stones

      Why it scared Ole’ Baptiste right down to his skinny ole' bones!
      She cast aVoodoo Spell and spoke some eerie incantations
      Promised him wealth, true love and a big plantation!
      There’s many a story told of men she’d charmed
      But Ole’ Baptiste, he wasn’t too alarmed

      They strolled through the graveyard down on Bayou Street
      Where all Marie's ghouls and ghosts and spirits meet
      There lived a big, black crow where she held her ritual scenes
      She spoke powerful Voodoo words and cast her magic in between
      She held Baptiste’s hands tightly in her large, black hands
      She promised him love and riches and lots of land
      From that day forward Baptiste had more than his share of luck
      He had the love of a beautiful woman and lots of bucks


      But Baptiste always remembered that piercing look in Ms. Laveau’s stare
      An admonishing, cautionary warning they always shared
      If you ever walk the streets in New Orleans....
                                   Beware....
      You just might meet up with Marie Laveau... "The Bayou Voodoo Queen"
__________________­_________
"Marie Laveau (September 10, 1794 – June 16, 1881[1]) was a Louisiana Creole practitioner of Voodoo renowned in New Orleans. She was born free in New Orleans.
Marie Laveau a legend of Voodoo down on the Bayou. This well known story of this
Voodoo Queen who made her fortune selling her potions and interpreting dreams...
all down in a place called New Orleans!
anne p murray Apr 2013
To the roof of the world… the mighty eagle flies
Silently watching the Earth down below
Flying mile after mile, day after day
Their solemn spirits soaring in Heavenly skies

From all the forests, from all of the plains
From all the mountains high above
Discarding sacred bones beneath the dust
They see many people leave their Earthly stains

We stand steadfast and strong to let people know
As we walk the trails of many tears
From deep within,  our sacred fires burn
Always remembering what our Shamans foretold

Built in stony cliffs and hills beneath Earthly skies
The modern world cannot foretell
All the thousands of legends left untold
In desolate ruins many enshrined mysteries lie

Immortal, sacred images inscribed in stone were cast
Held firm by rocks and boulders- left alone
Proclaiming years of hallowed history
Their Spirit messages and figures from out of the past

One day soon, the roar of drum beats will soon be heard
The four winds will lend their mighty ears
While the winged-ones rejoice and soar above
Remembering the past… and the hardships endured

There and then...
Lies the dawn of light - the mysteries revealed
anne p murray Apr 2013
After she drank his bitter wine of selfish, pathetic love
She slyly sang him her haunted chant
"The laughs on you", she crooned in her soft malicious tune

At times, she could act with chicane
She had many charms when treated well...
Deadly ones - when not
Oh yes...
She herself may at times have sinned
But he-had the stain of evil, paltry love

Now...Inside her gossamer labyrinth she lay
Carefully, diligently spinning her web
Revealing nothing-and everything
She'd weave her silky snare inside his heart
Laying her toxic eggs of betrayed despair
Spinning her poisonus venom of painful truth

Oh yes...
Her bite is deadly now
She could have been his 'Velvet Rose'
But, he crushed her petals rare
Ending her silken dreams
With his evil malicious schemes
Her spider's web became untethered
Attaching itself by a single thread
To his shoddy veil of evil, selfish love
    Now...She is the hunter
    And...He is the hunted
In the coming eve...
She'd deliver her poisonous, lethal sting
He'd be noones's lover now
Her threads would cut his miserable flesh
Her deadly venom would seal his fate
Remaining nothing more
Than an ancient, slithering shadow
All along the castle walls

For some time a deadly secret she doth keep
"Revenge”, she whispers, while he sleeps

She was once his only lady
With ivory skin and beauty fair
She fed him nectar from her raven hair
His betrayal seared her hemorrhaged heart
She'd warned him with many words and fiery stares

"Thou shalt not indulge in wicked fare
Be ever so watchful, do not betray
Beware, where thou heart doth leave
Take heed" said she, "Just who thy seed deceives".

In her chamber dark at night, this maiden fair
Planned his demise with scourged nectar, bitter sweet
Stirring her venomous, poisonous treat
Or would dagger to his heart she’d plant
Bid him die a dark and painful lingering death
Upon his sleeping body that she'd leave
As she crept silently into his chamber -
These words she bitterly but victoriously said...

"Thou shalt betray no more.
Thou has sinned against me...
Taken my love in shame
"Betray no more", she said".
     But now
Thou is thankfully, forever DEAD!"

Her silken threads had cut his miserable flesh
Her deadly venom had sealed his fate
    Now...he remained nothing more
Than an ancient, slithering shadow...
All along her castle walls
anne p murray Apr 2013
She seemed to be like a delicate portrait
   which had fallen from its gilded frame
Abandoned, lying face down on the cold winter floor
   An elegant portrait once painted
In resplendent hues of indigo blue
Her eyes told a story of bittersweet
   magenta colored sorrows bathed in tears
that etched themselves throughout
   The frail intricately, woven canvas of her soul

Over time thoughtless hands had subtly
   Contrived to manipulate the beauty
Of her painted portrait into a resemblance
   Likened to that of a cold, chiseled statue
Carelessly molded by calloused fingers
   Lancinating the fragile fragments
Of her spirit leaving her heart
   With etiolated worn fabric - called her life

She dreamed of Icarus soaring down
    on silvery wings of steel shrouded
in cobalt and lavender clouds
    with outstretched, feathery fingers
lifting her up to dance a Stravinsky ballet
    As it was meant to be - not how it was

She was a beautiful, fragile butterfly
    bruised by a world much too harsh
for her diminished spirit
    leaving her unable to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
    making it difficult for her to fly away
from the skis thirsty rains
    It left her struggling to stay afloat
In the springs melting snow

Life had bruised her tender skin
   Gnawing away like insatiable insects
On her delicate pink frescoed soul
   Leaving her feeling
Like a fabricated manikin on display
   For all to pose her as they may

Muddied soil was the blood that coursed
  through her veins, holding her tethered heart
in fleshy, mounds of chocolate brown earth
  It held her helpless in its hold
clogged by the silt which descended down
  Into spaces of her soul…
Like murky strings of yellow tattered maize
  Leaving their ragged tassels tangled
Throughout her life flowing veins
  Choking off the blood she needed
To nourish her hungry heart

Mighty winds toppled her willowy limber tree
  Snapping the delicate boughs
Of her outstretched arms
  As they pulled at the tender fleshy bark of her skin

She stood cold and alone
  In the icy winter night wrapped
Only in her wounded, naked flesh
  With open, bleeding wounds
Under the icy blue mist of the winter moon
Her heart and soul painfully revealed...
   In shades of indigo blue
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