Friday, November 27, 2009

disappearing

the poem is spoken,
but it wasn't there,
an ephemeral token,
devourered by air,

surly shadow claw,
our things unseen,
imagines toothy maw,
that had never been,

a ghostly kiss,
it's impression still felt,
a lingering bliss,
to make one melt,

when gone is gone,
the memory won't fade,
for king, rook or pawn,
the image unmade,

i in memory dwell,
of the hurt before,
before the a wishes hell,
for the longings score,

so then I'll see,
the ghost of that past,
disappearing in me,
a loving sprit to the last.

so why is it,
the joys dissolve,
when hurts re visit,
and always evolve,

but in it's painful embrace,
it's no wraiths we fear,
when we stared at it's face,
only to disappear.

this poem may be spoken,
yet do not despair,
from a dream you have woken,
and the pretty words repair.

Friday, November 20, 2009

fool's errand

FOOL’S ERRAND



By



Scott Ferrara









My Dearest Sister Vivian,





I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I miss you and mother terribly, but my time in the holy city has brought me great joy. I can feels God’s presence, like it was emanating from the very stones of Rome. I wish Lionel were here to read this letter. His loss in the air over Germany was a great shock. I’ve been thinking a lot about Lionel recently. As you know I am but a humble acolyte doing my translations from the Old Latin in the Vatican archives. I sought to escape thoughts of my little brother falling in flames from the sky. I also know that both mother and father do not approve of your upcoming marriage to that American flyer from Texas I believe he’s from. They have cut you off and out of their lives. Father is the hardest heart. He will not forgive you for marrying what he sees is below our station. But with Lionel gone, myself pledged to God, Our father loses any hope of a male heir. He put his hopes in you to at least continue the line with someone proper, and English.

I know this is painful, And please Dearest Sister, understand the language and the urgency of my letter. In my studies I have come across scores of ancient confession, transcripted from heretics dating back to the dark ages.

Mind you the confession itself was fragmentary, but it dates back to the times of Emperor Lucius which is most curious. Lucius was eager to expand his influence throughout the empire especially our Fair Isle. There he met resistance to his demands of tribute. By a war leader known as Artorius. The forces of the emperor were repulsed.

Years after a wandering bard was captured and tried for heresy. Rather than fight any charge he gleefully submitted himself to the trials and begged to be burned at the stake. With this as a frame I shall do a rough translation of the lost and fragmented document.



The Fragments



I wanted to make my confession simple and accurate, Although neither is likely and I can’t simply guarantee the veracity of the words you are about to hear. The truth comes difficult to a creature like me. The truth loses its charm only if it is spoke plainly. But I shall attempt to do so. I was a knight of the round table after all.



Merlin’s father was a demon of that there can be no doubt, his mother was a druid priestess and one wise in the old ways. Sometimes being one of the few who wasn’t taken in the end makes me doubt my convictions in a merciful God. Now as Gods go, I like Rome’s all it demands is some obedience and you are spared eternal hellfire. Obedience comes second only to truth as the most difficult virtue. All you must do is confess to whatever petty evils you have done and safe in the knowledge of Mute Gods forgiveness. Then you can stroll safe and secure from the cathedral knowing that the lighting that would have struck you otherwise. Had it not have been averted by a few choice words to a celibate go between. I feel that as methods of avoiding eternal pain go that one has its peculiar merits. I also prefer my gods mute.



My name for the scholars who will no doubt be translating this from the Latin is Dagonet. I was Arthur’s jester and keeper of the secrets of the descent. I sang, I danced but more importantly I had the ears of the Arthur’s court. Merlin made me from scraps of fallen knights and pieces of wandering bards that fell to brigands in secluded woods in Cornwall or Wales. When I say I was built I am not being hyperbolic. Nor am I being extravagant or metaphoric, as we wandering Minstrels tend to be. I have the face of a Cornish Knight, the legs of a Welsh peasant, the body of a monk, the arms of brigand, the ears of midwife and my tongue well…..

I say made because I was created for one single and unique purpose. My mouth was to be the sepulchre for a forked tongue. The tongue was a vile organ which belonged to Merlin’s father. Merlin knew it to be a dangerous thing. It was prone to tales of ribald knights and lurid ladies in waiting. It also held Merlin’s true name. He needed to imprison the tongue because that name was the last word it spoke. And if the winds heard that name Merlin would be at the mercy of all the other incubi. But I am of course ahead of myself.



I was created to play the fool, Knighted by Arthur on a whim, I was to be the target of ridicule from knights like Kay the dullard, Gawain the thick, and Lancelot the Lech.

Although I liked Lancelot. He was kind in his way. He would talk with a gentle condescension that comes from rivaling perfection and making it blush. Occasionally the other knights would clash steel with me. It was those times I felt like part of the Fellowship and I felt the uncomfortable seeds of virtue start to grow. Luckily Merlin knew how to keep those weeds from his garden.



Lancelot you see he was the problem and the fulcrum on which the whole kingdom hinged. For he was the master pawn in a war a war between Merlin and his sister Lady of the Lake. The two suckled at the bosoms of a human mother and as the twins matured startling differences arose between them. Both were gifted in the old ways, the ways of the earth, sun, moon, the sky, fire and the waters.



The Lady of the Lake had raised Lancelot to be the greatest knight ever. And she did a fine job with King Ban’s son. She raised him in the waters and trained him against knights of Shells. He learned courtly manners in a palace of sand and even I must admit he was a sheer pleasure to behold. Even if both my eyes came from separate beings. A fact that might explain my apparent madness. It also may explain current trial for heresy.



Merlin of course had the sight, occasionally coupled with wisdom. He knew that virtue is a curse unto itself since it can be undone by a very simple truth. Ideals are the easiest things to fall short of. And as strong as you are, as fast as you are, gossip is stronger and faster.



A lie can be a powerful thing if treated with respect and consistency. And hence my career at court was born. I was created during the time when Arthur and the knights were about to battle the holy Roman Emperor Lucius. Lucius challenged Arthur’s right to rule but would’ve settled for a tithe. As most despots do.



The real patriarch of Camelot was a demon bard named Talesin, whose name meant radiant brow. He was the father of our esteemed Merlin. Begot during a rite of the Goddess. Everyone ran about naked in those days during rituals. I’d often see Merlin whisk his mind back there when my reports on the gossip at court would get too lengthy. Which it often did. My tongue would spin a poem of knightly valor and honor as my ears would hear Sir Whoever buggering a kitchen wench.



It figures the one time I tell the truth. The truth is definitely the most confusing of the virtues. The truth has caused much more hurt than has been a salve in soothing painful words. I never won a joust or a duel but my words have pierced hearts and severed heads. The court was my jousting field and my field of honor. None of the knights, not even Lancelot could challenge me there. The knights with all their gleaming chain mail, sharp swords, and blunt maces were mere toys as they broke against my iron wit. Arthur knew this and kept me at court to teach the knights the often forgotten virtue of humility.



I ask forgiveness. Although, I don’t expect it. And the fire from which you will purge my heresy or is it hearsay I forget; regardless the fire shall acclimate me well to my place in the next world. What doomed the greatest most just and fair nation in the world. And obviously much more fair nation then Emperor Lucius’ Rome.



There were few in the castle, both Lancelot and Guienvever were away. Nimue entombed Merlin.



All the knights were questing for the grail. It was only Arthur, Kay, and myself in the castle.



Arthur was pensive, he had heard the gossip about his young wife and the handsome Lancelot but these were rumors and he as king was above them. I was summoned to his chamber. He was weary. Arthur was never weary then. The world had never weighed on him as it did that night. With a shrug I tumbled and sang and sung him the tale of his battle against the giants of Geen. He couldn’t raise a smile, and then I asked the question that would doom us all.



What troubles you my lord?



“ Fool . ” he said sadly “ I need no game and I need no song. And please kind sir no jest ”



“ What would you have me do sir? ” I replied cautiously.

“ Speak plainly ” He said his voice near a stammer.



“ As always, “ I replied, “ My Lord ”



“ Does my wife love me, Dagonet ”



“ We all love you my lord. ”



“ Not as a king, but as a man. ”



“ I would not know the contents of a persons heart, especially the queen’s.”



With that he drew Excaliber from its scabbard and with a stroke brought it to my neck.



“ Does she love me AS A MAN!” he screamed at me. His eyes mad with hurt and doubt and



jealousy.



I paused gauging my answer, then I spoke. “ You are a king, and as such you have no parallel on this world. But you are not your own. As a man in this world is his own. His own body, his own blood, only his soul to God.”

“ DOES SHE!” He lifted me off the ground. Tears streaming down his cheeks soaking his bearded. “ I feel like a man,” He shouted

“Yes ‘tis true.” I answered.



“ Hurt and bleed like a man”



“ Of that I can attest my Lord” I answered.



“ And I will die like a man.”



“ True my lord, but you are a king” He dropped me and I fell to the ground. “ No one can love you



as a man , My lord, because you are more than a man. You are chosen by God to be above these things.



Love, my king is the apple in the Garden of Eden; for a king to possess love is to know all and be cast



from paradise. ”



There was a silence between us, and with a gesture from his hand I turned to leave.



“ You know I envy you fool, to be loved as you are.”



“ Envy is a sin that doesn’t well suit a king.”



“ Neither is the love of his wife.” He said to me as the door slowly shut behind me.



Soon after his suspicions were realized and the kingdom decayed from the inside. Like an overripe apple in an untended orchard. The worm called Mordred had eaten to the core. And with that the Lady of the Lake won the contest with Merlin. And I shouted Merlin’s true name to the winds because I knew then all was lost.



End of Fragment



That my dear sister I hope would be of interest to you. And if even a fraction of it is true.



Love my dear sister is the most transcendent and miraculous thing we humans share. And we can



even pity kings who live without it.





Love Your Brother,



Roger

Thursday, November 19, 2009

disappearing

the poem is spoken,
but it wasn't there,
an ephemeral token,
devourered by air,

surly shadow claw,
our things unseen,
imagines toothy maw,
that had never been,

a ghostly kiss,
it's impression still felt,
a lingering bliss,
to make one melt,

when gone is gone,
the memory won't fade,
for king, rook or pawn,
the image unmade,

i in memory dwell,
of the hurt before,
before the a wishes hell,
for the longings score,

so then I'll see,
the ghost of that past,
disappearing in me,
a loving sprit to the last.

so why is it,
the joys dissolve,
when hurts re visit,
and always evolve,

but in it's painful embrace,
it's no wraiths we fear,
when we stared at it's face,
only to disappear.

this poem may be spoken,
yet do not despair,
from a dream you have woken,
and the pretty words repair.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

blood and sword

Blood and Sword

of all the battles I have faced,
So many will not know,
No drink the horror erased,..
and from the carnage grow,

So many indeed did fall,
relegated to once upon,
but when you hear comrades call,
the song of the dying swan,

too many brothers I have lost,
and so few have remained,
paying madly the swords bloody cost,
for all the precious ground we've gained,

many a oppoent I have fought,
to meet some noble goal,
it's from the softer enemies wrought,
those ones that take your soul.

beyond the binds of blood and bone,
men cannot choose his mothers,
yet with lengths of iron and will of stone,
we can , sure as hell, choose our brothers

wall - e

Wall E

It on the plane to Seoul-Incheon,
I watched this film again,
and on it's themes though upon
same now as then,

He does his job very well,
and of items strange collect,
to crush the refuse that fell,
and "Hello Dolly" oft inspect,

then she came gleaming white,
more modern and sleek and tone,
Hiding in dust from blaster bright,
At last he was not alone,

so say it's a silly robot love story,
and I think the opposite,
it's the broken hero of this glory,
remebering none survive without it

love

Love who would thought,
A word so small,
Best when un-sought,
Could say it all,

A single syllable,
Oft hard to rhyme,
Can be quite billable,
If it charges us for time,

The word itself is a kiss,
A taste of soul touching lip,
For that intoxicating bliss,
We hunger for a sip,

The past is lost,
The future not found,
But its nature defrost,
When present fire abound,

So ego revel and enjoy,
And to the burning stars remind,
To your best self employ,
And to delicate love be kind.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

for Melissa

Her name in greek means bumblebee,
with all the buzzing about implying,
a taste freedom and of honey
is the joy she gets from flying,

as the tiny one about doth flit,
all bedecked in black n yellow fuzz,
that's the long and short of it,
and she flies .. well "bee-cuz."

in the time spent meadering,
she drifts to flower and hive,
spending no time pandering,
just a joy being alive,

so wanders the fey queen,
it's the journey that she'll see,
with no sting and wings unseen,
sometimes it's good to be a bee,

waiting for a baby boy - a request

fingers and toes both equal ten,
a healthy boy to celebrate,
my deep congrats to Jer and Jen,
soon you'll wish you were celibate

You spend your moments oft debating,
when time'll start and stop,
it's eternal seconds spent in waiting,
for your beloved's about to pop.

they say it is a gift of joy,
or has this poet mispoke,
as a greedy uncle I wait for this boy,
but will panic when her waters broke,

cries begin at first inhale,
and sadly and glady never cease,
for parenting duties will regale,
and say goodbye to restful peace.

all I wish is boy and mom be healthy,
the time will come when it comes,
for both parents and children are wealthy,
another Webb the world welcomes

Monday, November 9, 2009

a noir tale

“Drink’s on the table babe.” A good whiskey.
There were so many times I could have stopped it. Said no. Put an end to it. But she knew I loved the knife. Her skill in the cut and those eyes. I knew I was being manipulated. Deep in my soul. But then I would lose myself in her flesh and drive her crazy.
I knew the cuts would come. We both knew it was wrong. But we used the word love a lot for means of justification. She was in the shower. Her body had more curves than a python, she embraced just as fiercely like it was some kind of kill. She made love with a reckless abandoned and convulsed when the little death was on her. She could have any man she wanted. Curled raven locks feel to the small of her back. Her skin olive. That perfect skin when the races mix. . Her eyes which she often hid were a deep caramel. The kind of serpentine eyes that swallow you whole.
But I was dangerous. A killer. Damaged goods that could take the punishment of her departures. Her husband was rich. Abusive but rich. And the big house seemed to mitigate the pain. He was also cheating on her so he lost any moral credibility he would have had if he were an innocent victim of feminine deception.
I was hired by him to guard her. Protect her. Keep her safe from harm. The mist was rising out of the shower. She was clad only in the towel. She always hid her naked form from me. Shyly , almost coyly. She had her rules. But always wanted me to tell her I love her. She needed it in yells and whispers. The remaining wet clung to her. She wanted me to cut her. She took a long hard pull from the rocks glass.
“When…” She said with insistence.
“ Soon, luv, but you gotta get back to him.”
I inspected her for marks like in a slave auction. No bites. Nothing that can be questioned. She tried to kiss me.
“No..not yet.” I says.
“ When do you kill him?” She asked. The reptilian coldness coming through.
“ When we go to Nawlins. I got a crew down there. Simple. Easy. Just like the town.”
“You sure.”
I smiled my knowing smile. Now the time was right.
I brought her in for a kiss. She lingered. I was greedy. She was mine. But I knew deep inside she cheated on him. She’d cheat on me. Nature of the wildlife. She had never failed to get what she set those eyes on.
“ It’s an hour drive.” I says. “ Best get moving.” The cabin was secluded enough. And she been up here enough times to navigate in the dark. In the widening dark. My little viper went back out into the dark. Shedding her skin she went back to her safe life. She had her fill of danger for the evening.

That’s when it all went to hell.

I heard them. The men she hired. No sense of stealth.

Then men entered my cabin. Three of them. I keep knives always within hands. Reach. But that’s what I do. I’m a knivesman. Small area. And the idiots brought guns to a knife fight. Naked as I was I dove for my barong. Big heavy bladed fillipino knives which my guro mercilessly trained me on.
The twenty one foot rule is my commandment. To put it simply. If a person has a knife and is twenty one feet away from you and you have a gun. You can cover the distance in 1.5 seconds. I closed.
First idiot was easy. A conveininet shield. A quick cut across the back of his gun hand made it useless. Putting his body between me and the other two. Sidestep through and a cut across his femoral artery. He’d bleed out.
Idiot two started firing. Their boy took the brunt. But in the enclosed space of my cabin. Idiot three was frozen. I closed distance. Brought the blade up under his sternum and hand assisted down. The purplish gift of kali spilled on the floor.And in one continuous motion. Spun throwing the knife. Idiot three looked more surprised than hurt. As the blade stuck out of his neck.
I gathered the remains and made sure they’d be unidentifiable. An arduous task. The poison I put in her drink should be settling in. Damn treacherous those mountain roads.
Her husbands money would sooth whatever pain I felt.

a few pocket fights

Pocket Fight 1

Opponent A – Thrust to head
Opponent B – Mid section swipe. Tuck
Opponent A – Left side dodge
Opponent B – Thrust to Head
Opponent A – Thrust to Sternum
Opponent B - Thrust to Groin
Opponent A – Duck
Opponent B – thrust to Left shoulder
Opponent A – Cut to right shoulder
Opponent B - Thrust to groin
Opponent A – Cut to left shoulder
Opponent B – Thrust to head
Opponent A – Thrust to Groin
Opponent B – Thrust to left hip
Opponent A – Thrust to left shoulder
Opponent B – Thrust to right shoulder
Opponent A – Cut to Left Hip
Opponent B – Thrust to right hip
Opponent A – Cut to left shoulder
Opponent B – Jump
Opponent A – Thrust to right rib/ kill


Pocket Fight 2

Opponent A/B – D pattern exchange drill thrusts
Opponent A – Cut to Groin
Opponent B – Cut to Head
Opponent A – Thrust to Left Hip
Opponent B – Jump
Opponent A – Cut to Left Shoulder
Opponent B – Cut to Left Hip
Opponent A – Collar Bone Strike
Opponent B – Thrust to Right Rib
Opponent A – Femroal Artery Strike
Opponent B – Thrust to Head
Opponent A – Left Side Dodge/Left Side Dodge
Opponent B – Thrust to Left Hip
Opponent A – Thrust to Right Hip
Opponent B – Collar Bone cut, Femoral cut, Thrust to Sternum/kill




Pocket Fight 3

Opponent A – Duck
Opponent B – Side step
Opponent A – Jump
Opponent B – Thrust to Right Rib / Thrust to Left rib
Opponent A – Throat cut
Opponent B – Rib Cut
Opponent A – Cut to Left Rib, Thrust to Right Hip
Opponent B – Cut to Left shoulder
Opponent A – Cut to Right Rib
Opponent B - Eye cut
Opponent A – Thrust to Right Hip, Thrust to Left Hip
Opponent B - thrust to Sternum
Opponent A – Thrust to Groin
Opponent B - Thrust to Head
Opponent A – Cavalry Cut to Left Temple/Right Temple – Kill

Pocket Fight 4

Opponent A – Thrust to Right Shoulder
Opponent B – Thrust to Left Shoulder
Opponent A – Tuck
Opponent B – Tuck
Opponent A/B – “W” letter pattern exchange
Opponent A – Cut to Left Collar Bone and Right Rib
Opponent B – Cut to Left Rib and Right Collar Bone
Opponent A – Cut to Groin
Opponent B – Thrust to Sternum
Opponent A – Cut to Right Shoulder
Opponent B – Cut to Left Shoulder
Opponent A – Jump
Opponent B – Duck
Opponent A – Thrust to Right Hip
Opponent B – Thrust to Left Hip / Kill

a short story - Lakeside

I remember them fondly, I thought to herself. I was in a brisk day in early November and the streets of Avalon ( Some call it Manhattan ) were filled with the throng of humanity. Their life pouring out of them. The tyranny of the clock cutting moments in precious breath. I looked in a window , the glass reflective. My eyes the lake which I am the lady. I remembered Lancelot the troubled by virtue and feet of clay. Dagonet the jester who had to tell his king the truth. That Gueneviere loved him as king first and as a man second. Marrok the one cursed to be a wolf. La Cotte a la Mail, the warrior who wore the armor his father was killed in. But most of all I honored them.
I saw them all. In the blade I had tattooed on my wrist, In the multi-colored scarf I wore. In the fang clasped in silver I wear around my neck and the links of crimson stained chain I wear as a bracelet. These were my knights. I trained them. Gave them sanctuary and called them when I needed them. Each had a touch of my power. As all the knights of the round table. I am the lady of the lake, the keeper of Excaliber. The hand that waits for shining armor and finest hour.
It was a good day. My long blonde hair fell about my shoulders and my lake which I keep in my eyes drank in the far off lands. But here in Avalon I waited. Waited for the king. I was hunting today. The last Pellinore was in the city. His quest finally brought him here. For I am the second lady of the lake. The inheritor.
Night fell on Avalon. The sky crimson and amber like a fresh wound. I could feel him. Pellinore and his family have since the beginning had one goal. The Beast. The questing beast. A creature they were doomed to never kill. Their family curse. I should know I cursed them.
The Pellinores were a brutal tribe of Caitiff knights. They served no lords but the hunt. They killed for sport, for pleasure. The eldest Pellinore was a hawker. He had his wolfhounds and his stable. He had his rougish knights tax his surfs to starvation and feed their daughters to his more unruly appetites.
It was a still night under a amber moon that gave their bloodline to me. Thrr times I had warned them not to hunt in my grove. Not to kill in this small patch of land. Where my animal kin and wayward knights drank of me. The eldest Pellinore hunted mercilessly. But his quarry was not bear, wolf or hart. I was a young girl of blonde hair and eyes of blue.
I was alone in the wood, when the knight snuck up on me and turned me around.
“ Just a kiss lass is all I ask.” Pellinore said.
“ A forceful hand does not ask.” I relplied turning my face away.
“ It is my right.” He pulled me to him.
“ And this is mine.”I clawed his face and pushed. The chase. Which is what he wanted was on.
I ran as his nighthawks spotted me and his hounds chased. His bows arrows whipped passed my ears. He hunted me. I hid and used the forests I knew so well. My sisters taught me the ways of herb and tree and water. But he followed wanting more than I would give him. He unhorsed and took to foot reveling in anticipation. Till I lead him to the grove.
The moonlight shone upon the lake and my blood kissed the water. And he came. Sword drawn and armored.
“ Nowhere to run, little one” He says to me through a rasp. Out of breath an hurried like an ungenerous lover.
“ This grove is sacred.” I say to him.
“ It will be tonight.” He gasped. He came towards me. Ready to take all I was. Virtue, dignity and then life. It was his rite as a lord. But he wasn’t a lord there. In the grove.
As he ventured forward I went into the water. It’s chill embraced me like lost family separated by war. Then as I inhaled the water in. It filled me.I died…………..

Then

It gave me strength I couldn’t comprehend. I was the keeper. The water flowed through me and as I opened my eyes. I saw him standing at the bank. Hawk on his arm. Hounds at his feet. And I rose and horror gripped his face. The coward backed away and stumbled.
“ A BEAST !!!” he screamed with trembling voice.
“ No more than you.” I said calmly.
“ I will hunt you till the stars burn out.”
“ Then your wish is granted but you and your blood will never kill me.” I said. And I sank back beneath the waves of the lake. They’ve hunted me ever since.

Tonight he will come to Central Park, the new sacred grove. I will be the beast. The creature of his nightmare. It was in the park he stalked me. The Pellinore family legend made them believe that only a sword could kill the beast. The creature they saw in their most private moments.
I changed to Marrok’s wolf and smelled the thousand fold scents of the city. And stalked the most recent scion. He wandered through the park. Hiding the blade under a long coat. Young and with just a little hint of madness.
I approached as the wolf and growled.
“ It is you. New Pellinore.”
He drew he had skill. He made chase and dodged into the wood. Once again taking human form. I borrowed the skill of Dagonet. The jester. Agile and acrobatic. I mocked him.
“ Young hunter swings away.”
His sword cut the air in a wide arc.
“ But tis the beast that holds sway.”
He thrusted into a tree. I came out of the shadows.
“There are many ways to miss.”
He swung I dodged and did a dive roll, standing opposite him.
“ So much sorrow for a forced kiss.”
He thrust again and hit a good hit. But La Cotte’s armor deflected it. Then without thought. I toughed the tattoo on my wrist. And the sword came to my hand. Lancelot’s sword. For I taught him the art.
The pellinore swung high , I ducked. Then cut straight down as if to cleave me in two. I parried with ease and kicked him in the chest. Air escaped him.
“ MONSTER…” He screamed and charged. A series of cavalry cut around his head and to my shoulder. Then a thrust at my eyes. I spun an cut across his stomach. He tucked in and over-swung going for the backs of my legs. I flipped over his blade and watched it stick in the dirt. Then thrust home. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t curse. He just fell. The last Pellinore of this generation. A decade of so. Another will come. I looked at him. And went back to the lake and the company of better men.