I.
Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye!
They could not in the self-same mansion dwell
Without some stir of heart, some malady;
They could not sit at meals but feel how well
It soothed each to be the other by;
They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep
But to each other dream, and nightly weep.

II.
With every morn their love grew tenderer,
With every eve deeper and tenderer still;
He might not in house, field, or garden stir,
But her full shape would all his seeing fill;
And his continual voice was pleasanter
To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill;
Her lute-string gave an echo of his name,
She spoilt her half-done broidery with the same.

III.
He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,
Before the door had given her to his eyes;
And from her chamber-window he would catch
Her beauty farther than the falcon spies;
And constant as her vespers would he watch,
Because her face was turn'd to the same skies;
And with sick longing all the night outwear,
To hear her morning-step upon the stair.

IV.
A whole long month of May in this sad plight
Made their cheeks paler by the break of June:
"To morrow will I bow to my delight,
"To-morrow will I ask my lady's boon."--
"O may I never see another night,
"Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love's tune."--
So spake they to their pillows; but, alas,
Honeyless days and days did he let pass;

V.
Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek
Fell sick within the rose's just domain,
Fell thin as a young mother's, who doth seek
By every lull to cool her infant's pain:
"How ill she is," said he, "I may not speak,
"And yet I will, and tell my love all plain:
"If looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears,
"And at the least 'twill startle off her cares."

VI.
So said he one fair morning, and all day
His heart beat awfully against his side;
And to his heart he inwardly did pray
For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide
Stifled his voice, and puls'd resolve away--
Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride,
Yet brought him to the meekness of a child:
Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!

VII.
So once more he had wak'd and anguished
A dreary night of love and misery,
If Isabel's quick eye had not been wed
To every symbol on his forehead high;
She saw it waxing very pale and dead,
And straight all flush'd; so, lisped tenderly,
"Lorenzo!"--here she ceas'd her timid quest,
But in her tone and look he read the rest.

VIII.
"O Isabella, I can half perceive
"That I may speak my grief into thine ear;
"If thou didst ever any thing believe,
"Believe how I love thee, believe how near
"My soul is to its doom: I would not grieve
"Thy hand by unwelcome pressing, would not fear
"Thine eyes by gazing; but I cannot live
"Another night, and not my passion shrive.

IX.
"Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold,
"Lady! thou leadest me to summer clime,
"And I must taste the blossoms that unfold
"In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time."
So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold,
And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme:
Great bliss was with them, and great happiness
Grew, like a ***** flower in June's caress.

X.
Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air,
Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart
Only to meet again more close, and share
The inward fragrance of each other's heart.
She, to her chamber gone, a ditty fair
Sang, of delicious love and honey'd dart;
He with light steps went up a western hill,
And bade the sun farewell, and joy'd his fill.

XI.
All close they met again, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
All close they met, all eves, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk,
Unknown of any, free from whispering tale.
Ah! better had it been for ever so,
Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe.

XII.
Were they unhappy then?--It cannot be--
Too many tears for lovers have been shed,
Too many sighs give we to them in fee,
Too much of pity after they are dead,
Too many doleful stories do we see,
Whose matter in bright gold were best be read;
Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse
Over the pathless waves towards him bows.

XIII.
But, for the general award of love,
The little sweet doth **** much bitterness;
Though Dido silent is in under-grove,
And Isabella's was a great distress,
Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove
Was not embalm'd, this truth is not the less--
Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers,
Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.

XIV.
With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt,
Enriched from ancestral merchandize,
And for them many a weary hand did swelt
In torched mines and noisy factories,
And many once proud-quiver'd ***** did melt
In blood from stinging whip;--with hollow eyes
Many all day in dazzling river stood,
To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood.

XV.
For them the Ceylon diver held his breath,
And went all naked to the hungry shark;
For them his ears gush'd blood; for them in death
The seal on the cold ice with piteous bark
Lay full of darts; for them alone did seethe
A thousand men in troubles wide and dark:
Half-ignorant, they turn'd an easy wheel,
That set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel.

XVI.
Why were they proud? Because their marble founts
Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears?--
Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts
Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs?--
Why were they proud? Because red-lin'd accounts
Were richer than the songs of Grecian years?--
Why were they proud? again we ask aloud,
Why in the name of Glory were they proud?

XVII.
Yet were these Florentines as self-retired
In hungry pride and gainful cowardice,
As two close Hebrews in that land inspired,
Paled in and vineyarded from beggar-spies,
The hawks of ship-mast forests--the untired
And pannier'd mules for ducats and old lies--
Quick cat's-paws on the generous stray-away,--
Great wits in Spanish, Tuscan, and Malay.

XVIII.
How was it these same ledger-men could spy
Fair Isabella in her downy nest?
How could they find out in Lorenzo's eye
A straying from his toil? Hot Egypt's pest
Into their vision covetous and sly!
How could these money-bags see east and west?--
Yet so they did--and every dealer fair
Must see behind, as doth the hunted hare.

XIX.
O eloquent and famed Boccaccio!
Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon,
And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow,
And of thy roses amorous of the moon,
And of thy lilies, that do paler grow
Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune,
For venturing syllables that ill beseem
The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme.

**.
Grant thou a pardon here, and then the tale
Shall move on soberly, as it is meet;
There is no other crime, no mad assail
To make old prose in modern rhyme more sweet:
But it is done--succeed the verse or fail--
To honour thee, and thy gone spirit greet;
To stead thee as a verse in English tongue,
An echo of thee in the north-wind sung.

XXI.
These brethren having found by many signs
What love Lorenzo for their sister had,
And how she lov'd him too, each unconfines
His bitter thoughts to other, well nigh mad
That he, the servant of their trade designs,
Should in their sister's love be blithe and glad,
When 'twas their plan to coax her by degrees
To some high noble and his olive-trees.

XXII.
And many a jealous conference had they,
And many times they bit their lips alone,
Before they fix'd upon a surest way
To make the youngster for his crime atone;
And at the last, these men of cruel clay
Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone;
For they resolved in some forest dim
To **** Lorenzo, and there bury him.

XXIII.
So on a pleasant morning, as he leant
Into the sun-rise, o'er the balustrade
Of the garden-terrace, towards him they bent
Their footing through the dews; and to him said,
"You seem there in the quiet of content,
"Lorenzo, and we are most loth to invade
"Calm speculation; but if you are wise,
"Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies.

XXIV.
"To-day we purpose, ay, this hour we mount
"To spur three leagues towards the Apennine;
"Come down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count
"His dewy rosary on the eglantine."
Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont,
Bow'd a fair greeting to these serpents' whine;
And went in haste, to get in readiness,
With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman's dress.

XXV.
And as he to the court-yard pass'd along,
Each third step did he pause, and listen'd oft
If he could hear his lady's matin-song,
Or the light whisper of her footstep soft;
And as he thus over his passion hung,
He heard a laugh full musical aloft;
When, looking up, he saw her features bright
Smile through an in-door lattice, all delight.

XXVI.
"Love, Isabel!" said he, "I was in pain
"Lest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow:
"Ah! what if I should lose thee, when so fain
"I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow
"Of a poor three hours' absence? but we'll gain
"Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow.
"Good bye! I'll soon be back."--"Good bye!" said she:--
And as he went she chanted merrily.

XXVII.
So the two brothers and their ******'d man
Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno's stream
Gurgles through straiten'd banks, and still doth fan
Itself with dancing bulrush, and the bream
Keeps head against the freshets. Sick and wan
The brothers' faces in the ford did seem,
Lorenzo's flush with love.--They pass'd the water
Into a forest quiet for the slaughter.

XXVIII.
There was Lorenzo slain and buried in,
There in that forest did his great love cease;
Ah! when a soul doth thus its freedom win,
It aches in loneliness--is ill at peace
As the break-covert blood-hounds of such sin:
They dipp'd their swords in the water, and did tease
Their horses homeward, with convulsed spur,
Each richer by his being a murderer.

XXIX.
They told their sister how, with sudden speed,
Lorenzo had ta'en ship for foreign lands,
Because of some great urgency and need
In their affairs, requiring trusty hands.
Poor Girl! put on thy stifling widow's ****,
And 'scape at once from Hope's accursed bands;
To-day thou wilt not see him, nor to-morrow,
And the next day will be a day of sorrow.

***.
She weeps alone for pleasures not to be;
Sorely she wept until the night came on,
And then, instead of love, O misery!
She brooded o'er the luxury alone:
His image in the dusk she seem'd to see,
And to the silence made a gentle moan,
Spreading her perfect arms upon the air,
And on her couch low murmuring, "Where? O where?"

XXXI.
But Selfishness, Love's cousin, held not long
Its fiery vigil in her single breast;
She fretted for the golden hour, and hung
Upon the time with feverish unrest--
Not long--for soon into her heart a throng
Of higher occupants, a richer zest,
Came tragic; passion not to be subdued,
And sorrow for her love in travels rude.

XXXII.
In the mid days of autumn, on their eves
The breath of Winter comes from far away,
And the sick west continually bereaves
Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay
Of death among the bushes and the leaves,
To make all bare before he dares to stray
From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel
By gradual decay from beauty fell,

XXXIII.
Because Lorenzo came not. Oftentimes
She ask'd her brothers, with an eye all pale,
Striving to be itself, what dungeon climes
Could keep him off so long? They spake a tale
Time after time, to quiet her. Their crimes
Came on them, like a smoke from Hinnom's vale;
And every night in dreams they groan'd aloud,
To see their sister in her snowy shroud.

XXXIV.
And she had died in drowsy ignorance,
But for a thing more deadly dark than all;
It came like a fierce potion, drunk by chance,
Which saves a sick man from the feather'd pall
For some few gasping moments; like a lance,
Waking an Indian from his cloudy hall
With cruel pierce, and bringing him again
Sense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain.

XXXV.
It was a vision.--In the drowsy gloom,
The dull of midnight, at her couch's foot
Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb
Had marr'd his glossy hair which once could shoot
Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom
Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute
From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears
Had made a miry channel for his tears.

XXXVI.
Strange sound it was, when the pale shadow spake;
For there was striving, in its piteous tongue,
To speak as when on earth it was awake,
And Isabella on its music hung:
Languor there was in it, and tremulous shake,
As in a palsied Druid's harp unstrung;
And through it moan'd a ghostly under-song,
Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briars among.

XXXVII.
Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright
With love, and kept all phantom fear aloof
From the poor girl by magic of their light,
The while it did unthread the horrid woof
Of the late darken'd time,--the murderous spite
Of pride and avarice,--the dark pine roof
In the forest,--and the sodden turfed dell,
Where, without any word, from stabs he fell.

XXXVIII.
Saying moreover, "Isabel, my sweet!
"Red whortle-berries droop above my head,
"And a large flint-stone weighs upon my feet;
"Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed
"Their leaves and prickly nuts; a sheep-fold bleat
"Comes from beyond the river to my bed:
"Go, shed one tear upon my heather-bloom,
"And it shall comfort me within the tomb.

XXXIX.
"I am a shadow now, alas! alas!
"Upon the skirts of human-nature dwelling
"Alone: I chant alone the holy mass,
"While little sounds of life are round me knelling,
"And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass,
"And many a chapel bell the hour is telling,
"Paining me through: those sounds grow strange to me,
"And thou art distant in Humanity.

XL.
"I know what was, I feel full well what is,
"And I should rage, if spirits could go mad;
"Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss,
"That paleness warms my grave, as though I had
"A Seraph chosen from the bright abyss
"To be my spouse: thy paleness makes me glad;
"Thy beauty grows upon me, and I feel
"A greater love through all my essence steal."

XLI.
The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"--dissolv'd, and left
The atom darkness in a slow turmoil;
As when of healthful midnight sleep bereft,
Thinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil,
We put our eyes into a pillowy cleft,
And see the spangly gloom froth up and boil:
It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache,
And in the dawn she started up awake;

XLII.
"Ha! ha!" said she, "I knew not this hard life,
"I thought the worst was simple misery;
"I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife
"Portion'd us--happy days, or else to die;
"But there is crime--a brother's ****** knife!
"Sweet Spirit, thou hast school'd my infancy:
"I'll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes,
"And greet thee morn and even in the skies."

XLIII.
When the full morning came, she had devised
How she might secret to the forest hie;
How she might find the clay, so dearly prized,
And sing to it one latest lullaby;
How her short absence might be unsurmised,
While she the inmost of the dream would try.
Resolv'd, she took with her an aged nurse,
And went into that dismal forest-hearse.

XLIV.
See, as they creep along the river side,
How she doth whisper to that aged Dame,
And, after looking round the champaign wide,
Shows her a knife.--"What feverous hectic flame
"Burns in thee, child?--What good can thee betide,
"That thou should'st smile again?"--The evening came,
And they had found Lorenzo's earthy bed;
The flint was there, the berries at his head.

XLV.
Who hath not loiter'd in a green church-yard,
And let his spirit, like a demon-mole,
Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard,
To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stole;
Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd,
And filling it once more with human soul?
Ah! this is holiday to what was felt
When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt.

XLVI.
She gaz'd into the fresh-thrown mould, as though
One glance did fully all its secrets tell;
Clearly she saw, as other eyes would know
Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well;
Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow,
Like to a native lily of the dell:
Then with her knife, all sudden, she began
To dig more fervently than misers can.

XLVII.
Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove, whereon
Her silk had play'd in purple phantasies,
She kiss'd it with a lip more chill than stone,
And put it in her *****, where it dries
And freezes utterly unto the bone
Those dainties made to still an infant's cries:
Then 'gan she work again; nor stay'd her care,
But to throw back at times her vei

Isabella stood alone outside.
She was in the garden chasing snow.
Her nose felt the chill, her fingertips too.
The tips of her beautiful delicate toes, were fast becoming blue.

In the corner under the trees, she'd made a snowman.
She swore she heard him sneeze.
He wore a lovely tartan hat, a purple scarf, a pair of soggy bright red gloves.
She thought, perhaps he needed a lady friend.
Next to him on his right hand side, she created a very chilled girlfriend, made from fairy snow.
She built a buxom snow mamma, with a plastic gem in the middle to play the role of mamma's nose.
Isabella found an old Alice band and popped it round her soggy head.
Between the three of them they discussed having an infant, a snow child of their own.
All three of them got ready to discuss the coming child.
Isabella started building snow person number three.
A pretty little snow girl, with strands of straw for yellow hair.
She wandered indoors and pinched some precious pebbles from real mama's plant ***.
Isabella gave her snow girl bright blue shiny eyes.
Mummy let the dog out, he ran around the garden.
So happy to be out and free, crash, bang, wallop.
Knocked Mr Snowman to his knees.
Isabella built him up again.
Mr and Mrs Snowman and their daughter were her friends.
She kissed them all.
Bade a goodnight, to one and all.
Isabella went indoors.
It was nearly time for bed.

The morning sun ripped through the blinds.
She looked outside to see her friends.
They'd gone.
Perhaps they ran away.
It was a little warmer today.
In the garden just a slushy puddle.
Wearing a tartan hat purple scarf and bright red gloves.
(C) Livvi

Silence ebbs
Down the street
By my side.

By my pride.

Shattered not
By the patter on
My umbrella,

Down Avenue Isabella.

And silence flows.

The crooked sidewalk
Grabs at my feet
And my pride snickers.

Silence breaks not
For your ambient
Bickers.

A door of wickers'
Make
On Avenue Isabella
Swings to regression

And silence flickers.

For whom
The bell tolls
My pride reprimands.

The dead need no
Gentle hands.

And on
Avenue Isabella
Porous souls are steeped
So deeply in
Their own pretension
To fill the lonely holes
That the bell tolls
To a harmonious roar
Of crowded silence.



Dead



Silence.

"Here Made of Gone" for  Isabella Stewart Gardner
Lyrics By Randy Vera
Music By: Randy Vera and Anthony J. Resta  
http://bopnique.com/anthony-j-resta-and-randall-vera-finalists-john-lennon

LYRICS :
Vermeer, Rembrandt, Manet, Degas, from my three thousand year old Chinese KU, I toast you. 

Mrs. Jack, I am your Bronze Eagle. I cut the painting at the frame – thieves by any other name.

Mrs. Jack with handcuffs and *****, I overcame your walls. Your collection’s complete.
Titian's Europa still hangs. The mirror to my:

Piece de la resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert.
Here, made of gone. 

Mrs Jack, I’m your new William James. Through your kindness, you support me, in Dutch Room empty frames.
Like John Singer Sargent, I toil between your walls. I am Vermeer’s "corn flower blue," indescribable. 
The metaphysical: Known unknown!

St Patrick’s Day 1990, I’m in Boston in the Fenway. For my penance, I’ll go to Saint John’s, drop to my knees, and like you, scrub the tiles clean.

Titian's Europa still hangs, the mirror to my: piece de La resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert. Here made of gone. 

Where language fails that where art triumphs. The interloper between camps of reason and dreams. I’m an event not cognition. Like any event stored in canvas, paper, pen ,or ink.

Oh Mrs Jack I so love your "Head Band." I’m also a Redsox fan. I loved the Champagne and donuts, and thank you for the paintings.

Scrounging local garage sales... near ten years past... I had found a flat, welded iron, rusty seahorse... 3 feet high... with a good seahorse shape and poise... edges welded and cut... after the haggle... twenty-five dollars..... perfectly added to my estate... covered rust in gold sheen... mounted upon a tree... to greet all comers... with a seahorse kiss!    
     Seller said it was made by the same artist... of the turtle lady statue... to be found in Corpus Christi!  Asked if I had seen it... my reply... No, but I liked the seahorse piece! He expounded... the artist... only had one leg... but was a surfer... well known for this trait... in Corpus Christi!  
     After I had mounted the seahorse... upon it's tree...I did an internet search... looking for anything about the one-legged surfer artist of Corpus Christi!  Found... nothing!  
     End of May, 2019... visiting my sister, Donna... we were wandering Corpus Christi!  She guided us to the surf museum... not knowing the story... of the one-legged surfer artist... creator of my mounted seahorse!  
     Girl at the front desk... Kyla... real nice and friendly... told her about the seahorse and questioned her... she didn’t know... she never heard of a surfer with one leg or the turtle lady statue!  Looking at us just a bit strangely... one legged surfer???
      Donna and I... started our stroll through the small museum!  Along the right side... stood a long row of surfboards... I’ve never surfed... but I was imagining trying it with just one leg!  
      Anyhow... I didn’t really stop to read or look in any detail at any of the exhibits until I reached the back... there was a glass case... which had a piece of simple letter paper...  8.5x11... taped to the front of the glass cabinet!  I started in reading the last paragraph...

     “Welch, 53, and his wife, Chelsea Louise, 23, died September 15, 2001, when their car plunged off the edge of South Padre Island’s Queen Isabella Causeway, which partially collapsed after a string of barges crashed into the bridge’s support pilings!

     Thought to myself... Wow... Who is this guy???  I jumped up to the middle paragraph...

     “Welch lost one of his lower legs in an auto accident in the 1970s, but he kept surfing with a prosthesis.  He wore a peg-like prosthesis at first, then got one with a foot.  He won the prosthesis division of the United States Surfing Championships on South Padre Island in 1998.”

     In the glass case was a welded metal sculpture of a beach scene... with waves, palm trees, and all!  The piece did have some resemblance in style to my seahorse sculpture!  Also, there was a picture on top of the case... of Harpoon Barry... striking a muscular, no shirt pose... in his tattoo shop... his torso covered in tattoos!  
    
     “It is said... he was on the verge of suicide after losing his leg. In one interview with the San Antonio Express News in 1992 he said;  "I may not make it to heaven, but you can be sure I made no deals with the devil to get where I'm at now, "  Looking down at his false leg stretched out in front of him, Welch said quietly: "It is a real empty feeling when you put one of these on for the first time, especially if you are an adult on your own. And your mama'a not there and your daddy's not there, and the people in the hospital tell you, 'This is the best it's going to get.  I made my first leg myself, out of Hi-C cans. I couldn't wait for my leg to get finished. I wanted to walk. I guess I got the idea from the Tin Woodsman in 'The Wizard of Oz.' That leg actually worked pretty well!”

     I had found my one-legged surfer artist!  I walked towards Donna... who was already half-way leaving the museum...  I hollered to her... she just had to come see this ... “I think I found the one-legged surfer!”  She had recently had partial knee replacement... and was hobbling!  She said if I was fooling her... she better not walk back all that way for nothing!! She came back to the glass case... we read through the letter in it’s entirety!  
     Then we went... and told Kyla at the front desk... she again looked at us again a bit strange... but then reluctantly left her post to go with us to take a look... she was then astounded!  Said she never knew about the one-legged surfer... although she had worked at the museum for several years!  Said there were also a couple metal sculptures... at the front of the museum... she thought were also done... by Harpoon Barry!  We took pictures of those also!  

In the letter we also read...

     “Welch had numerous tattoos and body piercings.  He wore a tiny 14 carrot gold harpoon through one ******.  That is how he got his nick name according to a friend, Scott Gangel.”  

     "I am a unique, self-made sensation!” he said matter-of-factly... in the interview with the Express News!  
    
     It's been 18 years since eight people died when South Padre Island's Queen Isabella Memorial Causeway collapsed... sending 11 people into the water below... four days after the 9/11 attacks!  A string of tow barges had struck the supporting pilings!  A section of the roadway had collapsed...
     I promised Kyla... I would donate my seahorse piece to the museum upon my death!  I only hope my death... is as grand as Harpoon Barry’s plunge into the Gulf of Mexico with his young wife!  Wonder what they were doing during the plunge... what was Barry doing... yelling Yippee Ki Yay... or Surf’s up... Dude!!!... maybe???  
    
Surfed waves on one leg
Young wife... crazy life... grand death
Harpooned by Barry

©  2019 Jim Davis

I remember when I first met you,
you were so excited to meet me,
as I was you.
The way you could fill me love,
and joy,
and fun,
it was only you Isabella,
that would show up at the best of times,
and always make me beam with joy from just your presence.
For you I would do anything to make sure I made you as happy,
as you made me.
I'd even go out of my way to make your favorite meal,
just to get a few more of your kisses,
because you being that joyful,
gives me the best delight.
You'd lie with me all night,
just because you knew I wanted to be next to you,
and you were always the best one for cuddling.
When I had to move,
you could not come with me,
and I regret it,
but I can't take it back now,
I just hope you were as happy in your last moments,
as you were in your best moments.
I'll always remmeber you Isabella,
as you are forever apart of me,
but you had a long and good life,
and I know you can rest forever more,
not having any more cares,
or anything else ever bother you again.
Even though you're a black lab,
there is no one else that I've been that close with,
and even though some people think you're just a dog,
you will forever be my best companion.
My best freind died today,
and I'm just happy I got to know you,
but I will be mourning a while longer,
before the pain starts to fade.

In a dark elder forest from long ago;
sat maiden Isabella with ***** aglow.
Her nightly visitor would soon appear;
with his musky fur and pointed ears

She ate some shrooms to open her head;
and wildly danced naked with the living dead
The moon peered on with a ***** gaze;
as she chased rainbows in her psychedelic craze.

Her lover approached with a rabbit in tow;
with a sudden move blood soaked the snow.
They drank the offering with an ethereal bliss;
then his lips covered hers with an urgent kiss.

Her chest heaved deeply and her ***** shook;
her sounds were guttural as he explored every nook.
She pulled him to the ground to consummate their love;
he obliged with a growl but used a velvet glove.

The animals in the forest felt the instinctual need;
as he howled shrilly when he planted the seed.
Maiden Isabella fell into an exhausted sleep;
as her lover made an escape without a peep.

The sun caught her eye and she awoke with a moan;
she was alone in her bed and chilled to the bone.
What a crazy dream I had she said with a sigh;
but then she saw the claw marks on her thighs.

The beach swept away in the distance,
The tide as far out as could be,
A couple were laughing and playing there,
She’d cuffed him, in fun, to a tree,
‘Now that isn’t fair, Isabella,’
He’d laughed, as she danced in the sand,
‘You’re going to be mine, Richard Andrew Devine
Or forever be tied to the land.’

She taunted and teased and annoyed him,
He said, ‘I just want to be free!’
She spun on the sand and she held out her hand
And she laughed as she dangled the key.
‘You can stay ‘til I hear your proposal,
It’s like squeezing out blood from a stone,
If you fail to propose, this relationship’s closed
And I’ll leave you out here on your own.’

‘We’ve talked about this, Isabella,
And you know it can’t possibly be,
I’m already wed, when you came to my bed…
For God’s sake, just throw me the key!’
‘You know that you’ve never been happy,
With her, or with all of her friends,
It’s time you got rid of the lot of them,
It’s time you were making amends.’

‘I said at the start, Isabella,
That a fling was the most it could be,’
A shadow passed over his worried brow
As he looked at the incoming sea.
‘That might have been in the beginning,
But you know it’s gone further than that,
I’m having your child, did you know, in a while
And I’ll not have you leaving me flat.’

The sweat had burst out on his fevered brow
As the water encroached on the sand,
‘Did you know we’re beneath the high water mark,
In an hour or so, I’ll be drowned!’
‘The choice becomes yours, you must get a divorce
Or I’ll just walk away and be free.
There’s no going back, I’m determined in that,
I’ll be walking away with the key.’

The sea was beginning to lap at his feet,
And she to retreat as it came,
Then suddenly she was beginning to sink
While crying that he was to blame.
In seconds she’d sunk in the sand to her waist
In terror she cried, ‘Rescue me!’
But he was restrained by a half inch of chain,
‘For God’s sake, just throw me the key!’

‘How do I know that you won’t walk away
And just leave me to sink in the sand?’
‘I wouldn’t do that, just throw me the key
Or we’ll both become part of the land!’
She’d sunk to her shoulders at this point in time
And she struggled to pull out her arm,
Then raised it on high and she let the key fly
As they both held their breath, in alarm.

‘I’ve told her I want a divorce,’ he cried,
As the key fell just short of his reach,
‘And I lost the baby a week ago,’
She cried, to her neck in the beach.
They stared at each other as she sank from sight
Then the water rose over his head,
As a little gold key, was swept by the sea
To a hand that was already dead.

David Lewis Paget

My beautiful little Princess
I wonder as I am...
Watching you sleep in the silent night
What travels in the mind of a sleeping child?

There’s a smile at the corner of your lips
Are you having a sweet dream?
Are you playing with angels in heaven?
Are you dancing barefooted in the garden of angels?

If I could I beat the time…
And travel back through the time tunnel
I wish to be born again
To be a sleeping child just like you

If I should trade my life
To be that sleeping child again
I would….
Sleep my little princess
Sleep peacefully through the night..

Dearest Isabella,

It pains me to think of you for you are not within arms reach.
In fact you are millions upon millions of reaches away,
And that realization hurts the same every time I come to it.
Yet I still find my thoughts to be of you, why is that?

Perhaps I simply do not know better than to give in,
Even if what brings me joy brings twice as much pain.
Like a man so rapt in the beauty of the sun,
He does not care that he may never look again if he continues.

And yet I carry on, allowing myself to think of you.
Opening the door to my thoughts without hesitation.
I seek the comfort and felicity it brings now,
Knowing all too well it will return grief and verity.

Or perhaps I carry on because I have hope.
Hope that one day the reaches will be fewer,
And I can be free of the pain that comes when I think of you.
Hope that soon it will all be a distant memory.

Hope that one day I can come home to you,
Never doubting if you will be there or not.
Hope that when I think of you, nothing but happiness will come
And I can live with no regrets, knowing my patience was not overlooked.

You know the type.
She's probably called something like
Isabella. Rosalie. Ginevra.
and you find her in the sort of novel where
she's outdone by someone called something like
Jane. Agnes. Lucy.
She's remembered in criticism as
Trivial. Silly. Foolish.
She's defined as Shallow. Vain. False gold.
She's analysed as the mirror, the contrast or the foil
and you're supposed to vaguely dislike her.
She'll reaffirm to the reader that the heroine,
whether she be plain or beautiful, is always, in the end,
Rational. Independent. Brave.
She reaffirms the heroine as someone who
learns and grows
while the silly girl is left looking at herself in the mirror.

The thing is sometimes I feel more like the silly girl,
the girl who needs a hand, the girl who reads books
and wants to believe the stories.
Sometimes, I'm looking in the mirror,
chest deep in my own trivial, silly little worries,
looking at the puddles not the lake, and I know.
I know I'd be one of the silly girls,
not the heroine, out there, just surviving.
I'd be one of those silly girls and I hate it - and yet
- what's so wrong with the silly girls?

What's so wrong with the girls who love themselves,
or love the wrong people or love their clothes?
What's wrong with the girls who are
brave but not rational,
independent but trivial,
selfish but practical?

What's wrong with those girls,
because I always find myself preferring
the Ginevras and the Isabellas anyway.

my dear Isabella pro

my life my heart and my soul
like a  dying black alley cat
and the alley light  darkness and this work was city I call home

to me life is not worth living  

without you by my side

like a lonely Cub without his mother

to mean you are not just a memory
you are something more

you are my light
at the end of the tunnel of sadness
you save me from myself
I would like to thank you

I will give up anything

to hold you again
and here you giggle
rest in peace dear
Isabella rose

In keeping on track to make art more accessible, Isabella Huffington has a two-item collaboration with Designow and two upcoming exhibitions.

While her paintings can be “kind of intense, colorful, bright and a bit overwhelming,” she decided to translate a “very light one” called “Chrysanthemum” for the dress and scarf that will be sold on Designow’s site starting March 30. The artwork’s floral motif is actually a collage made of found objects like books and magazines. With clothing, you’re thinking about the consumer and you’re thinking about yourself, so it’s much more like an architect. You want to be authentic but it also has to look good on the person.” Huffington said of the $250 long-sleeve knee-length dress with a tapered waist. “You could wear it to a party but you could also wear it to work at 20 or at 40. I’m really interested in making art that has mass appeal.”

There is also a scarf with an artistic box that is geared for gift-giving or for a younger shopper who might not want to wear a dress. Huffington said of her fashion debut, “This is the first dip in the water but I’m definitely interested in pursuing this further. A lot of people don’t think they have interest in art or access to art so I love the idea of bringing art into the everyday.”

On April 28, Huffington will open an exhibition at Rebecca Minkoff’s gallery adjacent to the designer’s Melrose Avenue store. The artist has another show opening May 3 at Anastasia Photo on the Lower East Side of Manhattan about women and politics.

An admirer of Japanese artists Yayoi Kusama and Haruki Murakami, Huffington said a lot of Japanese artists, and American ones too, are collaborating outside of fine art so she’s looking to what they’re doing for cues. Even buying flowers in Japan calls for almost “artlike wrapping,” she said. “We’re almost missing that in the States because art is very much seen as something that is reserved for the elite. Even with Trump trying to cut [the National] Endowment for the Arts, it’s just not seen as a priority. But people who need art most almost don’t have access to it. I love being in a country where art is so much a part of the culture.”

Huffington said she has been really lucky to have her mother Arianna’s encouragement for years. “Since I’ve been a kid, she’s basically let me completely destroy my entire bedroom. I put paint on the walls and colored. At one point, I glued sponges so she really let me experiment. That really was my introduction to art,” Huffington said. “The best lesson my mom ever taught me, it’s especially [good] for my generation, was if something doesn’t work out it’s very easy for us to get discouraged. My mom basically said, ‘You have to knock on a lot of doors before things work out.’ So you just keep going. It’s like a task. A bunch of tiny things will lead to a big thing. It’s not one thing that changes everything. So you have to do a million different things before the right thing comes along.”

In other Designow news, the first Collective x Designow fashion show will be held April 2 with 28 students from FIT, the New School’s Parsons School of Design and Pratt Institute. The event at 526 West 26th Street is part of a competition.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses

Chapter 15

Media from around the world were set to broadcast every word Charlie had to say.

"O say can you see peace instead of war? I can. We all can (thunderous applause).

"Welcome, World!

"It is a pleasure and an honor to speak with my sisters and brothers!

"We are on the threshold of world peace!

"We shall no longer seek the biggest piece of Earth we can conquer. Deep in all our hearts--all 8 billion of our hearts--is love of each other. I will now share with all of you what I now know."

"We have a new ecology, a spiritual ecology. There is one land, one sky, one sea, one people. The boundaries that divided us are not on maps, but in our minds and hearts. Catastrophic climate change and nuclear holocaust will deal death to all living creatures on Earth, but we will have both eliminated.

"There will be no nations. There will be only Earth and Citizens of Earth. Each Citizen of Earth, 18 years or older, will devote 10 years or more helping Earth remedy its shortcomings. There will be no money, no private possessions. Each Citizen of Earth will receive what each one needs to live a full and productive life. All weapons, private and military, will be destroyed. All Citizens of Earth will have the right to be treated well and the responsibility to treat all others well. Love Centers will replace all jails and prisons. Love, not punishment, is the only way to rehabilitate a hurting human being. Citizens of Earth will govern Earth. There will be no president of Earth.

"Wealth is not worth. The mansuetude of loving and being loved is. When love is your currency, all else is counterfeit. Citizens of Earth will be able to go about creating their own happiness that is built on professional goals and love-based personal relationships. No longer will Citizens of Earth be able to profit from another's pain. With love being at the center of being and living, there will be no more wars, no more dictators, no more corruption. Finally, there will only be Peace on Earth.

Thank you."

The applause was deafening.

(The date to vote on CAMPAIGN FOR WORLD PEACE had not yet been set. Citizens of Earth will have two weeks to vote. Majority wins.)


Chapter 16

Anh and Charlie lay side-by-side on the bed in their room. Though it had been several hours since Charlie's speech, both seemed as if they were in a trance.

"Everything has happened at light speed," said Charlie. "Thank you for being at my side, Anh." She snuggled up against Charlie.

"I knew you when you were clinging onto life in the hospital, Charlie. This morning it seemed as if you were shot out of a cannon," said Anh.

"And you were the one who kept me alive," said Charlie as he kissed her.

"I want to concentrate upon the poor of the world. It is a disgrace they have no voice," said Charlie, then kissed again the woman he loved so much and soon was to become his dear wife.

Still exhausted by all that had happened in such a short time, Anh and Charlie fell asleep in each other's arms.


Chapter 17

Anh and Charlie were going to be terribly busy in the months ahead. Will would be his contact. Travels around the world would be a mix of meeting current leaders of nations, as well as the poor wherever they existed. Not surprisingly, Charlie wanted to meet the poor first. Thus, Mexico would be the destination of their first trip.  

"Among the poorest towns in Mexico is San Simon Zahuatlan . That will be our first visit. All facets of our trip will be planned by experts, but we will determine our itinerary, Anh," said Charlie.

"O Charlie, I'm excited." said Anh.

"Me too," echoed Charlie.

Plans to begin the trip were already in the making. In three days Anh and Charlie would fly out of D.C. to Mexico City. They would meet their translator at the airport who then would drive them to San Simon Zahuatlan. The family Anh and Charlie will meet will have been chosen by the day they arrive. Charlie's way and words had already spread like wildfire around the globe.

"Ready?" said Charlie.

"Yes," said Anh.

"Then let's go!" said Charlie.

The flight was actually relaxing. Both had been beyond busy. The flight from D.C. to Mexico City should take about 5 hours. Anh had a 7-Up, Charlie a Coke. Anh actually took a nap in flight.

They met Juanita, their translator (and guide), once they had landed. As they traveled to San Simon Zahuatlan, Charlie fell asleep. Juanita had to stop once to fill up the gas tanks. A lot of Mexican singing from the radio kept Juanita awake.

Juanita was given a hand-drawn map of San Simon Zahuatlan that showed her where the Navaez family lived. It was not difficult to find. As the car approached the house, everyone in the car saw many members of both worldwide TV stations (EURONEWS, France;  CGTN, China;  PB-DD, India;  DW, Germany;  NBC, CBS, ABC, PBS, CNN, United States;  BBC, UK;  AL JAZEERA, Qatar;  NHK, Japan;  XEQ-TDT, Mexico City) and newspapers (NY TIMES and WASHINGTON POST, United States;  CHINA DAILY, China;  LE MONDE, France;  LONDON TIMES, UK;  and TIMES OF INDIA, India;  and LA PRENSA, Mexico City) swarming the house.

The word was out.


Chapter 18

"Let me introduce the Navaez family to you. This is Isabella and her husband, Bernado. And their two lovely daughters are Elena and Gabriella," translated Juanita. All Navaez members said hello.

"Anh and I are starting a trip around the world. We hope to visit every country on Earth. My special interest is how so many of my brothers and sisters suffer from being poor. You can see how many media from around the world are interested in what's going on. Feel free to talk to them, if you wish. To start, do you feel comfortable talking with Anh and me about the problems you face?

"Isabella and I will talk to you," said Bernado.

"Please go ahead," said Charlie.

"Our lives are tough. We struggle every day just to get through it. All those who live in San Simon Zahuatlan have the same problems. Except for the few elite, everyone has a terrible time having enough to eat each day. Isabella can tell you how hard it is each day to get enough food to stay alive," said Bernado.

"We have great problems wherever you look here," said Isabella. "It is hard, terribly hard, to find enough clean water to drink. We have very little electricity. There is much corruption. It is very hard to find work to get paid to buy food. Look at the condition of our house. It's about ready to fall down. People go to the bathroom on the side of the road. We have no doctors, no healthcare. We have one school and one teacher. Just to stay alive is a terrible problem every day."

"The reporters you see all around you would like to talk to you. If you don't wish to do that, just tell them no thank you. They have been told not to bother you, if that is your wish. If it is OK with you, fine. They are very eager to hear what you have to tell them," said Charlie. "Thank you for talking with us."


Chapter 19

After their trip to Mexico, Anh and Charlie traveled to the United Kingdom to meet and talk with Hoyle, Speaker of the House of Commons, then went to France to meet with President Macron, then went to Germany to meet and talk with President Steinmeier. In addition, Anh and Charlie met with Rutte, Secretary General of Nato in Brussels, Belgium. They then flew to the Sub-Saharan desert, which is in Africa, and met with many groups of the poor and extremely poor of this region, as well as leaders of countries like Nigeria, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Tanzania, Ethiopia, and Madagascar.  Anh and Charlie then flew back to New York City and met with Will who had assembled a sizable group of women and men with expertise in all areas pertaining to the poor and extremely poor and ways to solve all the problems--indeed, tragedies--they had caused.

"What is worse is our government not helping them. I don't recall the Puritans being forced into cages, and I don't recall African Blacks being invited into our country to enhance racial diversity. I only remember chains and auctions and worse." said Charlie.


Chapter 20

Anh and Charlie continued their travels in Africa. Burundi is arguably the poorest country on Earth. Its GDP per capita is $259. It faces corruption, weak infrastructure, and pervasive hunger. Central African Republic suffers ongoing conflict and political instability. Sierra Leone is also riddled with corruption and a paucity of civil liberties. Somalia is an extremely poor country. Mozambique tries to cope with chronic malnutrition and poor literacy. Niger belongs on this list for similar reasons.

When Anh and Charlie had visited every country in Africa and had spoken with thousands of the poor, they flew back to New York City and met with Will.

"I have invited the presidents and heads of every department of the following universities to attend a two-week roundtable to be held at Columbia's Low Rotunda. All have accepted my invitation. Columbia will be joined by Yale, Princeton, Harvard, Brown, Dartmouth, Penn, Cornell, Cambridge, Oxford, Stanford, and MIT," said Will. Columbia's President, Dr. King, will preside.

"Wonderful!," exclaimed Charlie.

"Then these brilliant women and men will jointly design ways we will bring about Peace on Earth." said Will. "Now let me treat the two of you for lunch at Le Bernardin.


Chapter 21

Charlie's major contribution had been his opening remarks at the US Building. He wanted others to share their ideas and concerns. After making his opening remarks, Charlie did announce the creation of the ANDOVER/EXETER PLAN, which would recruit the best and brightest people from around the world to teach the poor and extremely poor students throughout the world. He and Anh were now ready to continue their worldwide journey. Countries in Central and South America were next.

In Central America, the worst poverty was in rural areas. Honduras experienced 75% poverty in rural areas with 63% living in extreme poverty. In Guatemala, 54% of those in rural areas lived in poverty. Nicaragua and El Salvador both had 47% of their rural population living in poverty. In Panama, 37% of those living in rural areas lived in poverty. Costa Rica had the lowest rate of poverty at 23% in rural areas. Indigenous peoples in all these countries faced the highest rates of poverty and lacked access to essential services such as housing, education, and healthcare.

In South America, the countries facing the worse degree of poverty were Bolivia, Venezuela, Suriname, Paraguay, and Ecuador. Bolivia is considered to be the poorest country. More than 80% of their population live in poverty. Having faced severe economic crises, Venezuela's heavy reliance on its oil has made the country vulnerable to global price fluctuations. Suriname struggles with significant income disparities among its people. Paraguay has a high poverty rate with many people living in rural areas who struggle with little financial resources. Ecuador depends on oil, which makes its economy volatile. Lack of access to education and healthcare are most hurtful, as is income inequality.

It is most important to remember that these disparities cause not
only inequality, but more importantly, untold pain.


Chapter 22

In Asia, the poorest countries include Afghanistan where ongoing conflict, corruption, and inequality contribute to its economic struggle. War, famine, and economic blokecades have severely impacted Yemen's economy. Nepal, despite its abundant natural resources, poor planning, and corruption hinder its development. Mayamar's political instability and economic mismanagement are major challenges. Tajikistan's phyisical isolation, scarace resources, and aging infastructure limit its economic growth. Kyrgyzstan, similar to Tajikistan, faces challenges due to its geographical and economic conditions. Pakistan suffers struggles with uneven development and political challenges. Despite progress, Bangladesh still faces significant economic challenges. Timor-Leste's experiences limited resources and political instability that affect its economy. Cambodia struggles with poverty despite some economic progress. Ubzekistan faces economic distress. And Syria is seriously affected by their ongoing conflict.

Ukraine is the poorest country in Europe. The reasons causing this are war and conflict, economic disruption, infrastructure damage, financial fragility, human capital loss, and more robust economic reforms. Moldova gained independence from the Soviet Union in 1991, but experienced an economic collapse from doing so. The transition to a market economy was difficult, leading to a high level of poverty. A significant portion of Moldova relies on agriculture;  however, the agricultural sector is not very productive due to small farm sizes, lack of modern technology, and limited investment. This limits Moldova's market access and adversely affects its economy. Corruption is a major issue in Moldova. This stifles major business development and economic growth. Many Moldovians seek employment abroad to seek remittances, but in the long run, they do not increase economic growth. Albania has a low GDP. In 2023 it was around $8,575, which is significantly lower than the European Union average of $35,948. In addition, Albania suffers from high unemployment, corruption, a limited industrial base, infrastructional challenges, and debt levels. North Macedonia has a relatively low GDP per capita. It also suffers from high unemployment, political instability, and a limited industrial base. Bosnia and Herzegovina has struggled with political instability and ethnic tensions since the end of the Bosnian War in the end of the 1990s. High unemployment and corruption further hinder economic growth. Belarus faces economic challenges due to its reliance on state-controlled industries and limited economic controls, as well as facing international sanctions that impact its economy. Serbia has a low GDP per capita and has high unemployment and political instability. The country is still working to recover from the economic impact of the Yugoslav Wars in the 1990s. Montenegro tries to abate high public debt and limit industrial diversification. Bulgaria has a low GDP per capita and also faces corruption, high unemployment, as well as a limited industrial base. Romania still battles corruption, high unemployment, as well as a limited industrial base. It's easier to type these words and phrases than it is to solve all the problems they represent.

Haiti is considered the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.
In 2023, its GDP per capita was around $1,963. About 36.6% of its population lived on less than $2.15 per day. Causes of this horror include political instability, corruption, natural disasters, lack of infrastructure, colonization and slavery and foreign intervention, dependence on international aid, and unemployment. Cuba is poor due to the following:  The USA's 1961 embargo;  loss of Soviet support in the early 1990s;  tourism decline;  reductions of oil from Venezuela and other sources;  migration;  and corruption. In the USA, Mississippi has the highest poverty rate in the country with 19.58% of its population living under the poverty line. Louisiana has a poverty rate of 18.5%. New Mexico has a poverty rate of 18.55%. West Virginia has a poverty rate of 17.10%. And Kentucky has a poverty rate of 16.61%. The Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota has long been among the lowest income areas in the USA. The town of Comerio, Puerto Rico has one of the lowest median household incomes in  the USA. In Canada, the poorest towns include Sept-iles, Quebec, which has a low median household income. Becancour, Quebec also has a low median household income. And Quesnel, British Columbia has a sizable number of low-income residents. The following towns in Australia share the problems of low income levels, high unemployment, and limited access to essential services:  Kowanyama, Queensland, which suffers from geographic isolation, limited employment opportunities, and insufficient access to healthcare and education facilities;  Mungallala, Mungallala South, Redford, and Tyrconnel, Queensland whose suburbs have some of the lowest income levels in the country;  and Newcastle, New South Wales has the 2308 postcode that has one of the lowest average taxable incomes. These areas suffer from their geographic locations, educational disadvantages, health issues, and societal inequities.



Chapter 23

"You and I have traveled the world," said Anh.

"And the world's media has trailed us all the way," said Charlie.

In addition to the world's media following Anh and Charlie around the world, They also had invited the two to come to their headquarters to be interviewed live. Despite their pressured itinerary, Anh and Charlie were able to accept many of their invitations. And Anh and Charlie were not the only speakers. The more who fervently hoped the world would change, the more other people around the world wanted to do the same, and did. One's best bet was that the vast majority of Citizens of Earth not only agreed with all the tenets that would be voted on, but also millions, if not billions, would be eager to vote for and promote CITIZENS FOR WORLD PEACE, thus bringing the vast majorities on Earth together for the first time.

Charlie said, "If you don't have a moral compass, or if you do, but don't know north from south, go to your heart and soul. Those are where you can feel what's right or wrong. I predict the world will feel what's right.

When the world vote was taken, 68% of all voters were for CITIZENS FOR WORLD PEACE. When Anh and Charlie heard the news, they gave each other a heart-warming hug and kiss, as well as billions of others did, too.

It was the greatest day in history.

I lay on the ground,
Watching the blue sky,
As clouds swim gently,
Varying shapes spontaneously

I listen to the hissing wind
Brushing lightly on my face,
Eyebrows and curly hair
Whispering her name in echoes

It resonates clearly in my mind
Creating vivid images of her
Projecting them onto the open sky

They run one after the other
Creating a motion picture of sort
Seeing how gracefully she smiles,
I get lost in every inch of it

Her lips appear tender and shiny
A perfect alignment of snow white teeth
Just like the clouds above

Her gaze, so enchanting,
And like a flying arrow,
Straight into my glass heart,
Cracking and shattering
Aching with desire

Her dark hair, long and plaited
Twisted strands falling to her back
Appearing satin in the mid sunlight

She bows her head slowly
And raises it cordially
Like an ancient goddess of a kind
Symbolizing beauty and fertility

Her body, young and strong
Perfect curve lines running,
Stretching out her white linen dress,
Appearing like a second skin

And her natural skin?
smooth and immaculate,
A chocolate complexion,
Fusing with that of her dress
And not in an actual blend,
But an astonishing graphic work of art

And like sound from many bells,
Melodic and rhythmic
Pure and steady
She sings warmly
Healing hearts of they that hear

And her name,
Isabella

I dreamt my tower before my tower
Arose from oak-treed woods,
And standing far above a sparkling sea
Providing welcome space: a home
From where to think, compose,
Be quite alone.

When becalmed by night, the youngest girl
Of three and yet *****, I sat and pondered
Many silent hours, the house quite still,
(No music sounding out, or I to give it sound)
And sitting so did spin a future for myself:
A castle-keep upon a point of wooded land
With sea to either side and hills behind,
No, mountains surely, and across the water
A sprinkle of isles all shapes and hues,
Their aspect changing hour on hour.

It was not arranged that we should meet,
'Twas a love match made by Cupid’s hand.
At Mrs Morran’s weekly dance he came,
The second son, a slim, dark soul,
Rich in silence and sharp looks
He did at once unlock my heart, so seated
At the instrument my hands did briefly
Falter at the keys to see him frown then look
When I began a *Menuet from Playford’s book.
I sang, but now cannot remember what,
My voice seemed strangely not my own,
But distant, far away and lacking tone.

Faining not to dance he later came and spoke
Of Mr Handel whom he’d lately seen and heard
On that great man’s brief sojourn in our city.
Masterly playing, he said, rich in invention
And delight. You know his work? Oh yes I cried,
Of course, of course I play his keyboard Canzonets
Until my sisters scold me and my finger sore
With trills and turns and ornaments apace
Such grace this music . . . and he laughed.

Six months later we were wed,
He, a most Honourable son by birth,
I, his Lady came to be.
Through music our love begat
An heir then daughters three
Before five years had passed.
And then . . .
With swiftness hardly comprehending
He became the heir and Laird
Of 20,000 acres in Bendeloch, Mid Lorn,
His father and his brother dead, their ship
The Coral foundering in Atlantic storms.
And so did Lochnell, newly built,
Become our home, its policies
******* broad Archmucknisk Bay
That favoured to the west the Isle of Mull
and to the north Argyll and Bute.

As children grew and wifely obligations
Changed I became again a dreaming soul
Returned by degrees to that first love,
My music, that had brought to me such joy,
Affection, happiness, delight.
My husband busy with affairs abroad,
I filled the house with Mr Handel’s
Strains and finding I could improvise
Upon his grounds, discovered too
That I had tunes a’plenty, and not only
In my fingers, but in my restless mind.
Whilst other ladies write and paint
I scribe the symbols of my art, and then
In music’s script composed and scored
To paper with a draughtsman’s pen.

Each day I went to seek my muse,
Would find her form in nature’s grace.
My garden walled in granite stone
Held leafy treasures safe from wind and storm.
But ascending thence through oak woods
To peninsulary heights I glimpsed afar
A fine, majestic view towards the Highland
Ranges so rich in Gaelic names (and oft in May
Still topped with ice and snow).
Such sublimity I felt when gazing
On the aspect of these distant hills
That music came unbidden to my waiting hand
And, returning to my study, I would play and write
My manuscripts till late at night.

My husband smiled at such full-fancied thought
Then hid from me a brave intent and plan.
Whilst away one spring we travelled south
To Venice and Milan, he ordered built
A tower to rise above the trees
With winding stair and tiny chamber
At its top where my small clavichord
might rest and furnish me with
With gentle sounds to speak of music
On the very peak of Gardh Ards.

Arriving home in burnished autumn’s wake
He led me to the very top, and there
Above the forest sward, rose up a tower,
A tower from whose fine granulated heights
A Lady who wrote music might imbibe
A richer view, and then in silent meditation
Take from landscape’s glory all and more.
And so inscribed upon a plaque reads
*Erected for Lady Campbell anno 1754.

It is dark and cramped and this room
But it is private and serene to me.
Beneath my feet the water rushes up and down, up and down
The smell of salt washing the air and calming my nerves
He would tell me this is exactly right, not to worry
The smell of salt wrapping around my shaking legs,
He would understand the way it holds me. The way he does.
The smell of salt holding my trembling hands
He caresses my fingers, plants soft and sweet kisses on them; just like this.
The smell of salt nestling in my windswept hair
He likes the smell of the ocean, he won’t mind it
The smell of salt soothing my brain with its marine tendrils of happiness, of bliss
He is a man of the sea, he’ll know why his bride came here to collect her thoughts

The ship rocks, lurches, rocks
This is nothing compared to the storms I have weathered for him
But no bride truly wants bad weather on her day
At least, no bride whose heart and future is bobbing on the sea.

The smell of salt wraps an arm around my shoulders
He is the one who gave me the words for this feeling.
The smell of salt sweeps my dress around, blowing it all over the place
He would smile if he saw this.

And the smell of salt reminds of those words spoken, years ago,
And the smell of salt tells me who I am:
“Isabella, you are my perfect bride,”
Of course, his hair had oozed the aroma of sea salt as he held me that night
My sweet sailor, always wearing sea salt
And Isabella, his perfect bride.
And the smell of sea salt, ever a guiding light.

I doubt I will ever forget
The note you left me
On the day you walked out that door
I'm going to find a new world under the ocean
Somebody once told me there are ghost towns there
Do not mourn my departure, for I am happy now
With that, you married yourself to the Thames
Leaving me with a hole in my heart
For all of eternity

Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie

Where are the Eleanors
And Godivas riding
In power and insight,
With spirit and mystique.
They aren't in jewelry
Or splashed on jeans.
Vishti refused to attend
Her drunken Lord;
She is no mirror for Isabella,
So inexperienced in love.
Anne H. fought for liberty,
Bella likes to shake blonde ringlets
On her shoulders;
The nervous Anastasia,
The clumsy Swan,
So modest
And ill-spoken
With downcast eyes.
Katniss is no Palla Athena
Or Garibaldi, though there's promise.
They are bound, timid heroines.

Malala never shot an arrow,
But spoke like Rosa, like Golda.
Yet, your childish sword-bearers
Are still desired by the men
They encounter;
Not as Susan B was courted.
Do they understand
How the chase ends,
These self-depricating heroines.

Once upon a time there was an Italian,
And some people thought he was a rapscallion,
But he wasn't offended,
Because other people thought he was splendid,
And he said the world was round,
And everybody made an uncomplimentary sound,
But he went and tried to borrow some money from Ferdinand
But Ferdinand said America was a bird in the bush and he'd rather have a berdinand,
But Columbus' brain was fertile, it wasn't arid,
And he remembered that Ferdinand was married,
And he thought, there is no wife like a misunderstood one,
Because if her husband thinks something is a terrible idea she is bound to think it a good one,
So he perfumed his handkerchief with bay *** and citronella,
And he went to see Isabella,
And he looked wonderful but he had never felt sillier,
And she said, I can't place the face but the aroma is familiar,
And Columbus didn't say a word,
All he said was, I am Columbus, the fifteenth-century Admiral Byrd,
And, just as he thought, her disposition was very malleable,
And she said, Here are my jewels, and she wasn't penurious like Cornelia the mother of the Gracchi, she wasn't referring to her children, no, she was referring to her jewels, which were very very valuable,
So Columbus said, Somebody show me the sunset and somebody did and he set sail for it,
And he discovered America and they put him in jail for it,
And the fetters gave him welts,
And they named America after somebody else,
So the sad fate of Columbus ought to be pointed out to every child and every voter,
Because it has a very important moral, which is, Don't be a discoverer, be a promoter.

The Secrets Lying By the Seashore
                                   by: Isabella Anishchenko
                              

                                 As the crisp
                                    morning
                                    breeze
                      arrives, the graceful oceans
                                    gleam.
                   The burnt wood by the seashore,
                                    The amethyst
                                     unknown
                                   in the caves,
                 Tells us about a story that shows us a
                            secret from centuries ago.
                                      The
                                     hushed
                  ocean reveals secrets in those who
                                       see it.
       The development of the sea creatures being developed.
                                       The
              clusters of ripened fruit from a mysterious tree.
                          The mild beauty beguiled
                   by the secrets hidden in the seashore.

MY NEICE IS A AN OLD ROCK AND ROLL SINGER OF THE PAST




YOU SEE MY NIECE CAITLIN IS A ROCK SINGER

JUST LIKE MY BROTHER IS

THERE COULD BE PREVIOUS LIVES STORIES HERE

LIKE SHE COULD BE ROY ORBISON OR RICKY MAY

OR SOMEONE BETTER, CAUSE MY NIECE CATLIN

IS SO PERFECT AT SINGERS, IT GOES FURTHER THAN  GENES

IF MY MATE PAUL BERENYI DIED IN 1995 LIKE A ****** TOLD ME

HE COULD BE CAITLIN, BUT YOU CAN’T TRUST OTHER PEOPLE

BETTER JUST TRUST THE NEWS

AND NO MATTER WHO CAITLIN WAS IN HER PREVIOUS LIFE

SHE SHOULD ****** CHOOSE, WHAT IS A HER CHARACTER

I AM JUST CRONUS THE POWERFUL GOD

I CAN TELL IF I HAVE THE INTERNET FACTS

I CAN FIND PREVIOUS LIFE PATTERNS

BY, WORKING OUT WHEN PEOPLE DIE

AND HOW MANY YEARS, AND NORMALLY IF THEY YELL

THEY WERE EITHER, KIDNAPPERS, OF OLD HOOLIGANS OF THE PAST

BUT CAITLIN IS A GREAT SINGER, AND SHE HAS SOME PREVIOUS LIFE PATTERN

I KNOW MY BROTHER IS A SINGER TOO, BUT THERE IS MORE THAN THAT I KNOW

LIKE, I WAS ISABELLA OF FRANCE, I WAS THEIR FAMILIES ENTERTAINER

I KNOW SCOTT MCDONALD WANTED TO TEASE ME

SO HE DIED AND BECAME TWO CATS, LUCKY THE CAT WHO WILL TEASE DAD

WHEN IT RAINS, AND MUSCLES WAS TO SAY ONLY ANIMALS DO WHAT I DID BACK THEN

THAT IS WHY THE GUYS TEASED ME

IF PAUL DID DIE, IN 1995, HE COULD BE MY NIECE CAITLIN

BECAUSE NOW I MENTION IT, IT COULD’VE BEEN BEFORE 1995 WHEN I SAW HIM

AT TUGGERANONG WITH ANTHONY COSTA WATCHING BASKETBALL

BUT I KNOW DAD IS IN THE ****** OF LISA CAMPBELL, WITH ROBIN WILLIAMS

WHAT I AM TRYING TO DO, IS BRING MY FAMILY HAPPINESS

CAITLIN COULD BE PAUL BERENYI, OR COULD BE ROY ORBISON

AND NO MATTER WHO SHE IS, SHE IS MY NIECE, AND SUSAN IS MY OTHER NIECE

AND I LOVE THEM BOTH TO BITS

AND NOW, THE RAIN IS COMING CAUSED BY PAUL BERENYI

SAYING NO MATTER WHO I AM, CRONUS SHOULD KEEP IT DOWN

GO TO BED USA, AS THERE IS A BIG SURFING TOURNAMENT IN MERCURY

ORGANISED BY THE TERRORISTS, TO CALM THE HEAT, AND NOT **** THEIR HOOLIGAN

BUT CRONUS TELLS DAD, TO KEEP THEM STRAPPED IN THE SUN

WHERE NO WATER CAN SAVE THEM, THEY’LL SUFFER

A blast of hatred of acid tongues,

A needless phrase to scold the tall,

A forgotten hero they never mention,

Take a look at the one called Robert Smalls.




A swipe by fist of foul means,

A dangerous concoction of sparks,

A cowards language of sorts,

Take a look at the one called Rosa Parks.




A definition of weakness in ruling,

A slap in the face of the now free,

A collapsed cult now gone forever,,

Take a look at the one called Isabella Baumfree.




A word is a word to fight and hurt,

A sentence pinned together from fools,

A paragraph of silence descends upon you,

The N word no longer a relevant tool.

Helpful.
Holding Hands.
Chatting over email.
Have a lot of fun.
Always there for each other.
Go getting manicures with each other.
Playing soccer and kickball with my friends.
We got to the movies,mall,and restaurants together.
Bella, Jenna, Darla, Saanvi, Rebecca,
Caitlin, Isabella, Thalia, Laxmi, Sophia.

she smiles so big
when she's happy
she's so beautiful
I love her so much
my little girl
my little sister
my dear Isabella
so strong, so radiant,
dream big little one
dream big. don't let
anyone steal your dreams
and hopes. I know
you will do great things
in the future

On a night in December
In a pale stricken grey,
Laid beside my Isabella
In a dark winter's embrace.

As the moon shone down
To our valley below
Surrounded by the trees,
Where frost did grow.

Where we loved like wild creatures
And cared not for the outside world.
In our utmost feral delight
Our lust had unfurled.

And there was no grief
Nor sorrow or tear stricken eye.
Just the trees, the snow,
My Isabella and I.