My Electric Lady

I once named this as the most important poem I ever wrote, as it laid the groundwork for my life. Not a pleasant contemplation for me, but just as Time magazine names the "man of the year" based on impact, not virtue, so I must cede to the influence of this work, written 35 years ago. It will all be clearer in about 17 hours.

My Electric Lady

dance for me, my electric lady.
sing a song that gently soothes my soul.
tomorrow I must leave your world again, my love…
as I strive to reach this endless journey’s goal.

I once gave up my poor and mortal birthright,
so that I might touch the sky and see true things.
my love, I’m not so sure I would have started,
if I could have seen the pain this voyage brings.

once again, my electric lady,
touch me and bring forth my too-rare smile.
for the moment I am just another mortal-
and a little love will last me quite a while.

if we had only met before the present,
and what is gone had made me what I am,
a love would be that all who live might envy-
but I cannot come back this way again.

for the final time, my electric lady…
give me all that I may take within my vow.
tomorrow is my child and a gift to the stars-
and the night is just my brother here and now.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Be well. Peace. Love.

penance

The poet was 19 when he wrote this. Nineteen. I was trying to figure out how to tell Bud from Bud Lite.

penance

against the odds
against the gods forced on us
by friend or foe, we fight.
beyond mere will,
where weapons kill more than
just flesh, slaying truth and light.

we have been cast, as tumbling dice,
amidst the mortals who repel us...
who would sell us for a smile
from cold idols carved of ice.
we have fallen. and have risen.
and taken penance given, every mile.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

The poet's vigil continues.

the sorrow of past errors

I may be absent a lot, but I'm not gone!

Here's a tasty morsel out of the past.

the sorrow of past errors

I take my chances and taste the fruits
to see if they are bitter or sweet.
And though they prove bitter
for this am I wiser than those who never did eat.

But how I envy the gifted ones
who can tell with a single glance
if the fruit is poison or richer than honey
and never need take my chance.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Last Night

There are those who point to this piece as the poet's first sex poem, his first work with a nakedly erotic theme. It comes from the same era as "The Unicorns" and "Monument" (a long time ago). Those who subscribe to the "three identities" in William F. DeVault's work see this as the rise of "Androne", also known as "The Actor", that amoral, id-centric, but all-so-smooth tempter who lives an unsteady truce with the more creative and dominant "Amomancer" aka "The Dragon".

Rather than a seduction, it is a post-seduction soothing, calming a troubled young woman who suddenly regrets the previous night's surrender(s). It plays well being read both tenderly and as a "Hey, you weren't arguing last night" shrug off (I could actually imagine James Bond doing this piece to a "conquest").

In any case...

Last Night

you cannot go back.
last night is now dead.
and all that remains
are the stains on the bed.

do not seek excuses.
we all find regret.
it is part of our being,
like blood, spit and sweat.

and just as fluidic.
transient and moist.
evaporated pleasures
we deny were our choice.

though often I regret things,
curses cast at time
may wash away the bloodstains,
but never change the crime.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

heal wounds of moonlit baptism

An oldie and an interesting piece.

heal wounds of moonlit baptism

the words can cut, the spirit cries,
and by your hand the flower dies.

withered and dead, your heart alone hears
the mocking echoes of a thousand tears.

the hand can heal. the flower grows.
into tomorrow the new life goes.

for, though by sun and rain long missed,
the flower blooms when softly kissed.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.