A Norwegian Mirage
In the year of 1825 the sloop Restauration left Norway, and headed for America.
After several months at sea, fifty-two persons arrived in New York.
Since then approximately 900,000 Norwegians have emigrated to North America.
Although settling originally in the area of Lake Ontario, in the 1840's Wisconsin became
the focus of Norwegian settlement, and it remained so until the Civil War.
It wasn't long before the men of the land discovered the allure of Norwegian women.
Known for eyes as blue as the Atlantic, hair as fine as spun gold, and lips
as silvery thin as the rim of a glass that you lift to your mouth when selfishly imbibing,
Norwegian women are considered a banquet of flavors and scents.
This is an auto-eulogy, as it were, of a foolish American man who spent
his life chasing a Norwegian woman. Unwilling to acknowledge that the heart
of this woman was still loyal to her homeland, he self-indulgently reached forth his hand.
| Dear Corner of Hope and Endless
Frustration: A "room with a view" is what I call the padded cell you put me in. When I looked into your eyes, the ocean appeared before me and oh how I wanted to dive on in. But you -- you were not one to stand still and I smacked my heart hard on the pavement. Painful memories. You were my Joy. So much promise -- so many promises -- made by me -- to me -- on your behalf because you would not make them yourself. You are the reason I leapt up and ran. Whether blistering sun or in the pelting rain I ran -- because all I wanted forever and no more was just to hold the vision which I saw in you with my hands. My empty, now wrinkled and arthritic hands. And now I cannot outrun your memory. Living was easy when I was beside you. Beside you -- why did I spend my life beside you? You were always making sure you were a simple step away. A step away from actually being touched, no matter how desperately I ran. And yet, merely to be beside you felt better to me than to be in the arms of any other woman. You were my Joy. Living memories -- they dance in my heart and you can't stop them. I will remember you with all the color and vibrance of autumn, spring, winter, summer, and whatever other seasons we shared together while apart -- and you can't stop me. I will remember the depth of happiness alive within your eyes for they are the precipice into which I mindlessly leapt. Your hair -- the dancing color of the fire that burned within me. Your legs -- long and powerful -- a racetrack to frustration -- which after seeing once I thrust myself towards with pistons howling -- you laughingly made sure I never quite arrived -- and now I stagger, wobbling and exhausted. Your smile, your stance, your stature: playful and whole-hearted you remain the picture of effervescent youth. I yearn for you today, yes still today. But I know that you are hot like pavement beneath the dancing ocean of your eyes. You are a mirage; a mirage that I am only allowed to view from a distance. And I will watch. I love you as much as the memory of Joy herself. I choose to toss and turn on my bed at night; your memory alive there with me -- and whether asleep or awake: regardless -- I see your face, I inhale your scent, I fall towards your lips, I reach for your hand -- and I remember.
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| (c) 2005 Stephen Martin |
These tales are written by me, the site is paid for by me, I own the copyrights.
I hope you enjoy them.
Write me at nudetea@gmail.com and put "Hey Marty" in the subject line.
The Ballad of Dyan N. Livven
There is no hummingbird, the fluttering of whose wings would
reach my ears as engagingly as the words that I have heard lift
from your mouth. There is no artist whose palette can color walls
as vividly as your tongue when you take
words and daub them on my ears.
Am I in love with you?
Do I know why?
A
blind man would see the answers to these!
But what I do not know is why it is that I am no longer allowed
to think of you this way! In a town so short on population, how is it
that I can hear so many voices shouting at me that love is wrong?
Am I so busy trying to prove my love for you that I have become
the one oblivious to the truth that you don't love me back?
Have the sound of your voice and the curves of your mouth
convinced me
that I am as enchanting to you?
Yes, your voice lifts up to my ears, but your eyes…I see your eyes
fall to the floor. Yes, your words fill the vacancies in my life
and yes, the sound of you approaching is like the arrival of the songbirds
at my porch. But your words are always spoken for someone else, and I am
merely he who overhears. Your pleasant visitations are only pleasant until
your eyes find mine, and I watch your countenance fall. You did not arrive
for me; I simply happen to be here too.
Stubbornly optimistic, I have faithfully, continually, and eternally
struggled to win your love by filling your ears with compliments. And I've
spoken every word in truth! But what is it that you want to hear?
Tell me, and I will say it. Show me, and I will become it. I have tried
at every yesterday, and I would happily try again tomorrow,
but the voices have overcome me.
Sadly, I am now convinced that it is not what you long to hear
but what you wish not to hear. I, like the buzzing of a fly, have
become a nuisance. This is the last love letter I will ever write for you.
Today, I try once again to please you, only this time it will be by leaving you alone.
The Ballad of Dyan N. Livven
©Stephen J. Martin
April 25th, 2007
My hobbies include writing poetry about the faeries, elves, gnomes, mermaids and magic of the Sebastopol, Bodega Bay, Sonoma County area.
Like to read?
I wrote Nude Tea which is available at online bookstores like Barnes and Nobles.
My
44 Summer Stories are available at WildChildPublishing.com
|
My Stories |
| Dyan N. Livven |
| Joey Slitherton |
| Remember The Children |
| A Mermaid Story |
| Mermaid of Zennor |
| Defender of the Last Elf |
| A Mermaid Song |
| WordPress |
| Blogger |
My Pages:
Home Page of course
Nude Tea 2 Not at all like the original Nude Tea ~ these tales are not for children.
The Ballad of Norman Knudleman
Robert Graves, Symptoms of Love
To Be or Not To Be, by me as well as Shakespeare
William Wordsworth, We are Seven
William Morris, The Sirens
Zennor, the Mermaid Legend