other books by William F. DeVault
PanthEon
From an Unexpected Quarter
Love Gods of a Forgotten Religion
101 Great Love Poems (Hardbound)
101 Great Love Poems (Softbouiid)
INVOCATO
The Morgantown Suite Poems
ISBN #0-9659576-0-8
ISBN #0-5950023-1-5
ISBN #0-5952225-2-8
ISBN #0-5956540-2-9
ISBN #0-5952588-2-4
ISBN #1-41 16293-1-0
ISBN #1-41 16337-4-0
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
William F. DeVaiilt - The Complea! PaiiTlier Cycles
The Compleat
Pantner Cucies
William r. DeVault
All rights reserved © William F. DeVault
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any former by any means, electronic, graphic, or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the pubhsher,
ISBN #1^116379^-1
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
TABLE OF CONTENTS
IN THE WORDS OF A CRIMSON BEAST XVOI
THE MOUNTAIN POET SPEAKS XX
A TWIST OF FATE AND CONTEMPLATION XXH
A WORD FROM THE AMOMANCER XXIV
THE FIRST PANTHER CYCLE: 3
OUT OF THE NIGHT 3
BROODING EYES 5
WHERE ARE THE DAISIES? 5
TRANSIENT HEART 6
A CORRIDOR OF ANCIENT MIRRORS 6
NIGHT STALKER 7
THE SECOND PANTHER CYCLE: APHRODITE'S FOUNTAIN 9
APHRODrTE'S FOUNTAIN 11
MIRANDA 12
ENAMORED 13
THE DREAM 13
PLAYING THE GALLANT 14
TO INSPIRATION IN THE EYE OF THE PANTHER 14
THE THIRD PANTHER CYCLE: THE RAINBOW 15
THE RED 17
THE ORANGE 17
THE YELLOW 17
THE GREEN 18
THE BLUE 18
THE INDIGO 19
THE VIOLETS 19
THE FOURTH PANTHER CYCLE: I DREAMED A DREAM 21
REDEMPTION 23
INAMORATA 23
WEDDING BED. 23
JUNGLE PASSIONS 24
HEARTBEAT 24
TRANSHGURATION 25
SEVENTH MONTH 25
THE FIFTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE LEGEND CYCLE 27
HALF TRUTHS 29
STEPPING ON THE WIRE 29
IDOLS OF GLASS.. 30
THE GORDIANNUT 30
REBIRTH 31
/
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
SAND ANGELS 32
GHOST DANCE 32
POSSES3IVENESS 32
THE SIXTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE JOY CYCLE 33
THE P3ALM OF LOVE/THE LOVER'S PRAYER 35
REBIRTH 35
ECSTASY 35
CHILD OF LOVE AND ELOQUENCE 36
INEVrrABIUTY 36
THE PENETRATING ROSE 36
MEANDER 37
THE SEVENTH PANTHER CYCLE: ROMANCE IN REALTIME 39
WHEN FIRST I CHANCED 41
BAPTISM 42
4 A.M 42
MORNING 43
BEFORE YOU GO 43
THE FIRE 43
PATIENCE 44
THE EIGHTH PANTHER CYCLE: BETRAYAL 45
THE NINTH PANTHER CYCLE: A SLICE OF HEAVEN 47
CHAOS QUA STICK 49
SECORJTY 49
FIRST SIGHT 49
MORNING 50
INFLUENCES 50
PASSION 51
MUSING 51
THE TENTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE PENETRATING ROSE 53
INVTTATiaN 55
SHAEINGBREATH 55
THE PENETRATING ROSE 56
IMPRESSIONS 56
THE PRECIPICE 57
THE COMMUNION OF THE WARM WINE 57
MELANCHOLY/THE MORNING AFTER 58
THE ELEVENTH PANTHER CYCLE: SEVEN KISSES 59
INTRODUCTIONS 61
DARK KISS 62
WHILE WE ARE IN YOU 63
BABY KISS 64
A THIRSTY KISS 65
WET KISS 66
THE KISS OF THE REAWAKENING ROSE 67
THE TWELFTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE WEDDING CYCLE 69
PROMISES 71
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
SONNET: THEJOTIEtNEY 71
PROCESSIONAL 71
PURPOSE 72
RIVETS 72
SYNERGY IN WHITE LIGHT 73
FIRST DANCE 74
THE THIRTEENTH PANTHER CYCLE: PANTHER ON THE BEACH 75
THE PANTHER ON THE BEACH 77
RATIONALE 78
A KISS OF INTENT 78
MY HEART 79
SPIKE 79
SONG 79
PANTHER'S DANCE 80
THE FOURTEENTH PANTHER CYCLE: PANTHER EYES 81
PANTHER EYES 83
SIMPLE PLEASURE 83
THE KERNEL 84
WINGS 84
UNWORTHY 85
SCRUTINY 85
FELIOFIC 85
THE FIFTEENTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE GODDESS CYCLE 87
IDUN, NORSE GODDESS OF YOUTH 89
ISHTAR, EGYPTIAN GODDESS OF LOVE AND FERTILHY 89
BAST, EGYPTIAN GODDESS OF CATS 89
BRIGII, CELTIC GODDESS OF FIRE AND POETRY 90
APHRODITE, GREEK GODDESS OF LOVE AND BEAUTY 90
TYCHE, GREEK GODDESS OF GOOD FORTUNE 90
ISIS, EGYPTIAN GODDESS OF FERTILHY 91
THE SIXTEENTH PANTHER CYCLE: DARK AND LIGHT 93
CONFLICTS 95
WALLS 95
DEFIANCE 95
DRAGONRISE 96
UNION 96
TASTING THE FIRE 97
HOLDFAST 97
THE SEVENTEENTH PANTHER CYCLE: SOFT REFLECTIONS 99
EDGE 101
SUMMER DREAMS 101
SHINIKG EPITAPH 101
A KISS 101
AGAIN 102
THE THEATRE 102
PARTING AT THE AIRPORT 102
THE EIGHTEENTH PANTHER CYCLE: UNBORN MEMORIES 103
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
THE MEETING 105
THE CONFESSION 105
THE KISS 105
THE DRESS 106
THE FIGHT 106
THE BOOK 107
THE WEDDING 107
THE NINETEENTH PANTHER CYCLE: SEVEN WONDERS 109
THE PYRAMIDS OP EGYPT Ill
THE HANGING GARDENS OF BABYLON Ill
THE MAUSOLEUM AT HALICARNASSUS Ill
THE TEMPLE OF ARTEMIS 112
THE COLOSSUS OF RHODES 112
THE STATUE OF ZEUS BY PHIDIAS AT OLYMPIA 112
THE PHAROS AT ALEXANDRIA 113
THE TWENTIETH PANTHER CYCLE: FRAGMENTS OF DREAMS AND MEMORIES 115
THE DAY IS LONG 117
KISSES 117
HONEY EYES 117
THE MERGING FLAMES 118
THE WALK lis
WHENTHE SHOE FALLS 113
I FEAR 119
THE TWENTY-FIRST PANTHER CYCLE: FLOWERS 121
THE ROSE 123
DANDELIONS 123
THE ORCHID 124
HONEYSUCKLE 125
JASMINE 125
CROCUS 125
THE SNAPDRAGONS 126
THE TWENTY-SECOND PANTHER CYCLE: WINDS OF CHANGE 127
CALM 129
GENTLE BREEZE 129
STIFF BREEZE 129
GALE 130
CYCLONE 130
HURRICANE 131
SOULWIND 132
THE TWENTY- THIRD PANTHER CYCLE: CONSTELLATIONS 133
ORION 135
URSA MAJOR 135
HYDRA 136
CYGNUS 136
LEO 137
PISCES 137
CASSIOPEIA 137
iv
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
THE TWENTY-FOURTH PANTHER CYCLE: INEVITABILITY 139
I AM NOT GOD 141
I HEARD YOUR VOICE 141
BIGGER POCKETS 141
GENTLE SERENITY 142
BITTER WATERS 142
YOUR FACE IN MY HANDS 142
PANTHERS AND POETS 143
THE TWENTY-FIFTH PANTHER CYCLE: TENDERNESS 145
FRACTURES 147
CUBES Wrmm SPHERES 147
SOLITIIDE 148
CHAMELEON 148
OPEN SECRET 149
BUILDING BRIDGES 149
SILVER KISSES 150
THE TWENTY-SIXTH PANTHER CYCLE: FIRE 151
SPARK 153
TAPER 153
FLAME 153
BLAZE 154
CONFLAGRATION. 154
NUCLEAR INFERNO 155
THE FIRES OF LOVE 156
THE TWENTY-SEVENTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE NATURE OF LOVE 157
HONESTY 159
PATIENCE 159
TENDERNESS 160
PASSION 160
SPHUTUALITY 161
TRUST 161
ETERNAL 161
THE TWENTY-EIGHTH PANTHER CYCLE: GEMS 163
DIAMONDS 165
ALEXANDRITE 165
RUBY 165
TIGEREYE 166
SAPPHIRE 166
ONYX 166
EMERALD 167
THE TWENTY-NINTH PANTHER CYCLE: IN THE WORDS OF THE ANCIENTS 169
AERE PERENNIUS 171
SUNT LACRIMAE REEUM 171
INVTTA MINERVA 171
DUM VIVIMUS, VIVAMUS 172
HINC ILLAE LACRIMAE 172
OMNIA VINCrr AMOR 173
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
SATIS VEEBORUM 173
THE THIRTIETH PANTHER CYCLE: ASPECTS OF THE PANTHER 175
CREATIVrrY 177
BEAUTY 177
WISDOM 177
SENSUALITY 178
SENSmVITY 178
PCETRY 179
RESONANCE 179
THE THIRTY-FIRST PANTHER CYCLE: VIRTUES OF THE PANTHER 181
JUSTICE 183
FQRTITLrDE 183
PRUDENCE 184
TEMPERANCE 184
FAITH 184
HOPE 185
LOVE 185
THE THIRTY-SECOND PANTHER CYCLE: MUSINGS OF A TROUBLED HEART 187
LABORS OF LOVE 189
DIVINE WIND 189
DARWINIAN HEARTS 190
MASSAGE 190
COLDFIRE 191
THE PHILOSOPHY OF LOVERS 191
HELD IN THE SDPERSTRING WEB OF TIME AND SPACE 191
HARDWIRE 192
THE THIRTY- THIRD PANTHER CYCLE: IMAGES 193
1 195
n 195
m 196
mi 196
V 196
VI 197
VII 197
THE THIRTY-FOURTH PANTHER CYCLE: A DAY IN MY HEART 199
CONFLICTS 201
WISHES 202
RAIN 202
COLOUR DREAMS 202
INYODRARMS 203
HUNTRESS 203
THE THIRTY-FIFTH PANTHER CYCLE: DANCING DREAMS 205
THE WIRE OF DP^AMS 207
IN THE WRONG LIGHT 207
SPANISH GUITAR 207
JASMINE TEA 208
vi
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
PANTHER'S DANCE 208
IN THE PUBLIC SQUABS 209
LIFE. AND THE COUHAGE TO LIVE IT 209
THE THIRTY-SIXTH PANTHER CYCLE: UNDER PRESSURE 211
MAD WHEELS 213
DRAINING THE MUSE 213
DESTINY 214
AVATAR 214
A ROSE DISCARDED 214
DISTANCE AND DANCES 215
LOVING MY FRIEND 215
THE THIRTY-SEVENTH PANTHER CYCLE: MEANDER 217
THIRSTY WATERS 219
THE GREEN DRESS 219
PLEASURES AND TREASURES 220
A DREAM 220
I FELL IN LOVE Wrra A FRIEND 221
NOSES 221
GLASS SOULS.. 222
THE THIRTY-EIGHTH PANTHER CYCLE: PRIDE IN THE PANTHER 223
AT LUNCH INNEW YORK 225
THE READING 225
TRUTH 226
GETTING THROUGH THE DAY 226
CASTING ME OUT 227
THE PRIZE 227
DREAMING 228
THE THIRTY-NINTH PANTHER CYCLE: PASSION AND DELIGHT 229
THE KISS OF LIFE 231
GENTLE IMPALEMENT 231
THE SPIRITUALITY OF MAKING LOVE wrra YOU 231
HOLDING THE GRAIN 232
AGAINST THE WALL 232
THE FLIGHT 233
THE CONTEST 234
THE FORTIETH PANTHER CYCLE: ILLUSIONS 235
LABELS 237
AS A FRIEND 237
FAITH 238
LOGIC OF A PANTHER 238
LARGER THANLIFE 238
HUNGER 239
MOVING ON 239
THE FORTY-FIRST PANTHER CYCLE: REWEAVING THE TAPESTRIES 241
BARDDRAGON. 243
AVATAR. 244
vii
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
WITHIN THE SHELL 244
SERENITY 245
UNBORNCHILDKEN, "WEEPING 245
THE REALli OF DREAMS 246
THE FORTY-SECOND PANTHER CYCLE: SEVEN ROSES 247
WHTTE 249
PMK 249
YELLOW 249
RED 250
LAVENDER 250
BLUE 250
BLACK 251
THE FORTY- THIRD PANTHER CYCLE: ACTIONS OF LOVE 253
WORDS 255
EMBRACE 255
KISSES 256
CARESSES 256
SMILES 256
TEARS 256
WALKING TOGETHER 257
THE FORTY-FOURTH PANTHER CYCLE: AFTERIMAGES ^59
AMBUSH 261
EMBRASURE 261
TENDERNESS AT FALSE DAWN 261
THE CURVE OF YOUR FACE 262
WINGS OF GLASS 262
A HANDFUL OF WIND 263
ELEGY 263
THE FORTY-FIFTH PANTHER CYCLE: NO WAR IS EVER WON 265
IN TARNISHED MEMORY 267
LEAP OF FAITH 267
THE PRICE OF PENANCE PAID FOR PASSION 268
mSTIME 268
IN THE SILENCE 269
BOP 269
JOY INCARNATE 270
THE FORTY-SIXTH PANTHER CYCLE: SONGS OF THE PANTHER 271
PREDATOR 273
TOMORROW 273
BARD DRAGON 273
EYES OF SORROW, SOULFUL 274
THE SONG OF THE PANTHER 274
THE PANTHER COMPOSES 275
THE PANTHER LAUGHS 275
THE FORTY-SEVENTH PANTHER CYCLE: EXILE AND PASSION 277
DREAMS OF LOVE 279
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
BACK INTO THE JUNGLE 279
EMBRACE 280
BOTTLE OF SAND 280
MEETING OF MINDS 281
CONQUEST 281
DANCING 282
THE FORTY-EIGHTH PANTHER CYCLE: DREAMS OF IRON AND SAPPHIRE 283
SAPPHIRE LASERS 285
HEARTBEAT 285
LOST AND FOUND 286
WINGS OF A BLACK DOVE 287
COURAGE 287
ACLOCKSPRING 288
WORTH 288
THE FORTY-NINTH PANTHER CYCLE ANTIQUITY 289
INFINrrE MIRRORS 291
WINGSONG 291
THE BRASS BOX 292
SERENE HORIZONS 292
POETS, PRETENDERS AND PAGANS 293
THE COOKIE JAR 294
WHITE NOISE 294
THE FIFTIETH PANTHER CYCLE: IN THE LAND OF THE GODS 295
THE TEMPLE OF JOY 297
THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 298
THE WELL AT KYRIENAR 298
THE MOUNTAIN AT THE EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 299
THE ORACLES 300
THE ARENA 300
THE CASTLE 301
THE FIFTY-FIRST PANTHER CYCLE: SHADES OF HME 303
LONG WINTER 305
THE HOLTRGLASS 305
TWO YEARS 305
IF I WER£ MADE OF IRON 306
SCHEDULES 306
THE PATIENCE OF A POET 307
CANDLE 307
THE FIFTY-SECOND PANTHER CYCLE: ADORATION 309
THE MEASURE OF LOVE 311
THE EYES OF MY TRUE LOVE 311
HANDMADE QUILTS 312
SAND ANGELS REVISITED 312
PEDESTALS 313
NEXT KISS 313
CLOCKWORK 313
THE FIFTY- THIRD PANTHER CYCLE: CASSIOPEIA'S GARDEN 315
ix
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
THE LOW JDNGLE 317
DANDELIONS 317
DAFFODILS 318
APPLE TREES TO CLIMB 318
ROSES 319
BUTTERCUPS 319
WILDFL0WER3 319
THE FIFTY-FOURTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE HIGH DESERT 321
THE HIGH DESERT 323
RUMINATION 323
THE TIDAL DREAM 324
NUNC DIMnnS 324
ELOQUENCE 325
IN THE END 326
AB INITIO 327
THE FIFTY-FIFTH PANTHER CYCLE: AN AFTERNOON IN THE COMPANY 329
1 331
n 331
m 332
mi 333
V 334
VI 335
VII 335
THE FIFTY-SIXTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE SOUND OF THE FIRE 337
THE SOUND OF THE FIRE 339
THE SOUNDING STONES 339
COCOON 340
A VALLEY BEYOND MY EXPERIENCE 340
PAINIS LUXURY 340
WCTH GENTLE FINGERTIPE 341
LABOURS OF LOVE 341
THE FIFTY-SEVENTH PANTHER CYCLE: SEVEN CARDS 343
THE LOVERS 345
STRENGTH 346
THE PAGE OF CUPS 34fi
THE QUEEN OF SWORDS 347
THE KING OF WANDS 347
THE TOWER 347
THE FIFTY-EIGHTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE DEATHLESS CYCLE 349
THE REASON OF LOVE 351
PASSION FOR A FRIEND 351
DISTANCE 351
FRIENDSHIP 352
THE MUSIC OF VALHALLA 352
INTHE HIGH DESERT 352
LISTENING WITH YOUR HEART 353
THE FIFTY- NINTH PANTHER CYCLE: SEVEN VISIONS 355
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
IN THE TIME OF THE CALLING 357
LOVERS AT THE WELL 358
BARE FEET ON A DIRT FLOOP. 358
THE TROUBADOUR 359
BY THE WITNESS TREE 360
THE GODS AT KA LATE, 360
THE SIXTIETH PANTHER CYCLE: THE HOURS 361
DAYLIGHT MERIDIAN 363
MID AFTERNOON 363
TWILIGHT 364
MIDNIGHT 364
4 AM 364
DAWN 365
6 AM 365
THE SIXTY-FIRST PANTHER CYCLE: SEVEN WISHES 367
A SMILE 369
A KISS 369
A WINE 369
LUNCH 370
HEARTBEAT 370
PEACE 370
YOUR JOY 371
THE SIXTY-SECOND PANTHER CYCLE: JUST A MAN, JUST A WOMAN 373
EVERYDAY LIVES 375
THE SOUND OF DISTANT THUNDER 375
THEDANCE0FTHEH0UR3 0NAGREYDAY 375
SAND ONTHE FRONT STEPS 376
WARM APPLES ON A SUMMER DAY 376
THE OTHER BLUE 377
THE NEXT TIME 377
THE SIXTY- THIRD PANTHER CYCLE: THE WIND IN THE DESERT 379
TUMBLEWEED 381
THE WIND IN THE PANTHER'S FUR 382
THE SAND DRAGON AS FOOD 382
THE WIND AT NIGHT 383
THE INFINITE SANDBOX 383
THE DESERT WIND AT NIGHT 384
THE SIXTY-FOURTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE TEMPERING OF SADNESS 385
TEARS 387
LAUGHING AT LEGENDS 387
EMBRACE 388
RAINBOWS TOMORROW 388
THE PATCHING OF HEARTS 389
SERENITY LIKE DEATH 389
IF I MUST BE A MAN 390
THE SIXTY-FIFTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE SEVEN LESSONS OF THE PANTHER 391
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
LIFE IS NEVER SILEMT (LISTEN WITH YOUE. HEART) 393
PANTHERS SOMETIMES NEED THE SHADOWS (TRUST LOVE) 393
FAITH LIKE A POET (BELIEVE IN DREAMS AND DREAMERS) 394
WINGS OF JADE AND AMBER (SHARE JOY) 394
SHE DID POUNCE, SHE DID PLAY (PATIENCE LIKE A HUNTER) 395
LET GO THE PAIN (SURRENDER WITHOUT FEAR) 395
THE COMMON TONGUE (SPEAK PLAINLY AND WrraTTUTH) 396
THE SIXTY-SKTH PANTHER CYCLE: REFLECTIONS ON A FADING PAST 597
UNDEFINED 399
A STORY FROM MY YOUTH 400
THAT HALF A HEART 401
HALF A DREAM 402
FANTASIES 403
PILLAR OF SALT 404
MATADOR 404
THE SIXTY-SEVENTH PANTHER CYCLE: HEISENBERG THROUGH CRYSTALLIZED SOULS ....405
DRY LAKE 407
DWINDLING DREAMS 408
SILVER SPIDERS 403
PROUD LOVE 409
TENDER DREAMS 409
HAILSTONES 410
RENEWED COMMUNION 410
THE SIXTY-EIGHTH PANTHER CYCLE: LOVE WITHOUT REGRET 411
CINEMA 413
THE TOUCH OF LIFE 413
UMBRELLAS OF HOPE 414
4 AM REVISITED 415
WALKING LIKE WHEELS 415
KISSES 416
THE RETURN OF THE BARD DRAGON 416
THE SIXTY-NINTH PANTHER CYCLE: THE NEXT NIGHT IS FOREVER 417
SURRENDER TO THE KISS 419
TASTE OF BLOOD 420
A PULSE OF LIFE 420
ENTRY 421
THE RAIN WASHES AWAY ALL SORROWS 422
FEAR IN YOUR EYES 422
COMING HOME TO DIE 423
THE SEVENTIETH PANTHER CYCLE: THE CITY OF LEGENDS 425
EARLY ON THE E.OAD TO THE CITY OF LEGENDS 427
WTTHOUT REGRET 427
THIS HEART 427
IF I AM TO LIVE WITHOUT FEAR 428
I WILL WAKE UP TOMORROW 429
WATER FROM THE WELL 430
A PANTHER IN HER DEN 430
xii
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
THE SEVENTY-FIRST PANTHER CYCLE: PASSIONS OF A BLEEDING SOUL 431
THE DARKNESS 433
SHARING LIQUID 434
A NEW ENTRY 435
SEVEN TIMES 435
MERGING IN THE AFTERGLOW 436
DANCING LIKE DEMONS 436
TOMORROW 437
THE SEVENTY-SECOND PANTHER CYCLE: TRUTHS WITHOUT EXCEPTION 439
I WANT TO GROW OLD WITH YOU 441
I BELIEVE IN YOU 441
I NEED YOU 442
YOU NEED ME 443
I CANNOT LOVE AGAIN ONCE YOU HAVE GONE 444
I AM YOUR POET 444
YOU ARE MY PANTHER 445
THE SEVENTY- THIRD PANTHER CYCLE: THE COLOUR OF DREAMS 447
THE REICH OF SELF-DISCIPLINE 449
TOO liANY CLOCKS 450
AT GROUND ZERO 450
DARWINIAN HEARTS 451
WHEN TOMORROW BLOSSOMS 452
TRIPHAMMER 453
HOPE 453
THE SEVENTY-FOURTH PANTHER CYCLE: DREAMS AND VERITIES 455
KISSING WITH MY EYES CLOSED 457
PIODE OF AUTHORSHIP 458
WAS rr YOU? 459
THREE WISHES 459
DANCING ONTHE BEACH 460
THREE BECOMES TWO BECOMES ONE 461
I WANT rr ALL 462
THE SEVENTY-FIFTH PANTHER CYCLE: KINDA/SORTA 463
COMMITMENTS 465
PASSIONS 465
AWOQDENBOX 466
ROMANTIQUE 466
SAID WITHOUT WORDS 467
RETURN OF THE HUNTRESS 467
HOW WAS I TO KNOW? 468
THE SEVENTY-SIXTH PANTHER CYCLE: LIBERATION 469
THE FP^EDOM OF CLARITY 471
THE CHAINS OF LOVE 471
ORIGAMI PARDONS 472
A PRISONER IN EXILE 472
THERE'S A BOMB MMT HEAD 473
YOUR HOUR IS UP 473
xiii
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
A PROPHET IN HIS CUPS 474
THE SEVENTY-SEVENTH PANTHER CYCLE: REFLECTIONS ON A HAPLOID HEART 475
AND SO TOD AY 477
CURIOUS FINGERS 477
A BOX OF BLUE SKY AND WHTTE CLOUDS 478
ENRAPTURED IN THE MYSTERY OF rr 478
SEARED BY BLUE-WHITE LASER LOVE 479
A SINGLE THREAD 480
I HOPE YOU DONT MIND 481
THE SEVENTY-EIGHTH PANTHER CYCLE: DREAMS OF YESTERDAY 485
FINDING THE TREASURE 485
CROSSING THE RUBICON 485
DRAWING THE LINE 486
THE FIRE THAT BURNS TWICE AS HOT 487
WHEELS UP IN TAMPA 488
THE DARKEST NIGHT 489
LET rr RIDE 490
THE SEVENTY-NINTH PANTHER CYCLE: STATIC ON THE LINE 491
FLAVOURS OF RAGE 493
NEAR MISS IN A KISS 494
WHEN THE POWER FAILED 495
WALKING AWAY 495
THE BUTTERFLIES 496
PRETTY THINGS 496
FORCED TO MY KNEES 497
THE EIGHTIETH PANTHER CYCLE: KEEPING THE DREAM ALIVE 499
FLIRTING AGAINST HOPE 501
THE HOLY WATER FLOWS 501
AWOODENBOX 502
BUYING CHAIRS 502
SPONTANEOUS AFFECTION 503
ANOTHER THURSDAY 503
PANTHERS AND POETS AND PROMISES MADE 504
THE EIGHTY-FIRST PANTHER CYCLE: CURVES IN A WORLD OF RIGHT ANGLES 505
TONE OF VOICE 507
WORDS UNSPOKEN 507
FORGOTTEN MOMENTS 508
HESITATIONS 508
SLEIGHT OF TONGUE 509
LONELINESS 509
THE POWER OF SELF-DECEPTION 510
THE EIGHTY-SECOND PANTHER CYCLE: DEFINITIONS OF LOVE 511
BETWEENMORTAL SOUL AND GOD 513
BETWEENMORTAL SOUL AND SELF 513
BETWEEN WOMAN AND MAN 514
BETWEEN TWO BODIES (A RESPONSE) 515
xiv
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
BETWEEN LEGENDS 515
BETWEEN THE SHEETS 516
BETWEENPARENT AND CHILD 517
THE EIGHTY- THIRD PANTHER CYCLE: THE PRICES OF LOVE 519
SUSPEND EEJNG POSSESSIONS 521
PASCAL'S WAGER ON A LINE OF CREDIT 522
LOSING SELF 523
LOSING SANITY 523
WORDS FROM A WELL-MEANING EEOEND 524
SPRINGBOARD TO ECSTASY 524
RELEASING THE BUTTERELIES 525
THE EIGHTY-FOURTH PANTHER CYCLE: EXPRESSIONS OF LOVE 527
OPUS 574: THE NEED TO LOVE 529
OPUS 575: TEARS AT 4 AM 529
OPUS 576: ALL THAT I HAVE IS YOURS 530
OPUS 577: LEGENDS IN THE WINDOW 531
OPUS 578: WALKING THE ROAD, INPATIENCE 531
OPUS 579: GIGGLES ON THE PHONE 531
OPUS 580: THE BLACKLACE WINGS 532
THE EIGHTY-FIFTH PANTHER CYCLE: NEEDING A LEGEND 535
A PANTHER IN THE LIGHT 537
ORACLES 537
I BELIEVE IN THE DREAM 538
TOUCHING YOU 538
COALS REKINDLED 538
YOU WILL KNOW ME 539
LET Iffi BE YOUR HELPMEET 540
THE EIGHTY-SIXTH PANTHER CYCLE: ECHOES IN THE CITY OF ANGELS 541
SUNRISE OVER THE DESERT 543
THE PROMENADE AT THIRD STREET 543
THE SANTA MONICA MOUNTAINS 543
THE WAVES AT MALIBU 544
A PANTHER IN THE CITY 544
WALKING THE BEACH IN VENICE 545
THER0AD3 IN THE CANYON 545
THE EIGHTY-SEVENTH PANTHER CYCLE: A NEW RAINBOW 547
ROSE 549
APRICOT 549
SUNSHINE 550
CELERY 550
AZURE 551
MIDNIGHT BLUE 551
LAVENDER 552
THE EIGHTY-EIGHTH PANTHER CYCLE TRAVESTIES AND INJUSTICE 553
PARKING OUR HEARTS 555
CUTTING CORNERS 555
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
RATCHET 556
SELF PITY 556
TOKEN TOTEMS 557
NO KISSES FOE THE DAMNED 557
FAREWELL TO LOVE 558
THE EIGHTY-NINTH PANTHER CYCLE: SEVEN WORDS 559
SHEKELS 561
PATIENCE 561
PASSION 562
HONESTY 562
SILENCE 563
COURAGE 563
TRUST 563
THE NINETIETH PANTHER CYCLE: CLOSE, AWAY 565
CLOSE, AWAY 567
CLOSURE OVER A CUP OF JASMINE TEA 567
ALONE IN THE CORNER 567
SOMEWHERE ELSE 568
LINE OF SIGHT 568
NOT IN THIS LIFE 568
SHE ASKED MY NAME 569
THE NINETY-FIRST PANTHER CYCLE: PRECIOUS 571
FADING IMAGES 573
I NEVER KNEW I HAD THIS STRENGTH 573
FLICKERING IMAGES 574
NO CHOICE 575
A KISS BUYS ETERNITY 575
I NEED YOU 576
WALKING AWAY.... 576
THE NINETY-SECOND PANTHER CYCLE: THE THUNDER COMES DOWN 577
RUBY SLIPPERS 579
THE THUNDER COMES DOWN 579
TRUTHSPEAK 579
BRIGHT, BLACK 580
ILLUMINATION 580
HOPE ONTHE ROAD 581
DEFENSELESS 532
THE NINETY- THIRD PANTHER CYCLE: THE DREAMS OF GLASS 583
DREAMS OF GLASS 585
THE PAPER FULCRUM 585
EVERYDAY IN THE GARDEN 586
PINCH 586
I FEAR YOU 587
I DARED TO DREAM OF NIGHT BLOOMING JASMINE 587
A POET PACES THE PATH 588
EPILOGUE 589
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
In the Words of a Crimson Beast
Editor 's Note: After the affair of the original Panther liad pretty much run its course, the next
lover in the poet's sphere was a rertiarkable young woman who took the totem ofBrigit, the
Celtic Goddess of Fire and Poetry. This titian-haired Amazon was and is a writer who
collaborated with the poet on several projects and their relationship, while stormy, was more
amicable in the parting than his with the first Panther
We asked her if she would be interested in addressing this volume of works, and we are delighted
that she assented:
My name is Brigit and I've been told I am a goddess.
If I am, then I was conceived and bom in tlie shadow of the original Panther, the walls of
my nmseiy papered witli the famed Panther Cycles.
I am the Ciimson Panther, and have two notable companions: Tlie Black Panther and tlie Golden
Leopard. I have been asked to give my tliouglits on tlie works written to my predecessor {Tlie
Black Pantlier) and have gladly accepted the task.
The Panther Cycles aie amazing, beaiitifiil and painfiil. Even as the successor to the pedestal of
the Black Panther, I can truly appreciate the heart behind tlie poetry. One of my favorite works
is The Penetiating Rose. Perhaps you find it odd tliat one muse would find tlie work written lo
another so enthralhng. Though I am a fickle cat, I am an appreciative one and often am amazed
and defighted by works inspiied by other muses. As a matter' of fact, m defense of my
own oddness, I offer up one ghmpse mto my psyche. Wlien I discovered there was a certain
woman who thouglit that she was Brigit, rather than bemg indignant I was uproariously
amused. Given my tendency to find liiunor where there should be none, any otlier of my erratic
behaviors should be understandable. And with that infioduction, let me proceed witliout caution.
I had several occasions to speak with tlie original Pantlier. I foimd her m general to be sweet,
albeit very noimal. I dare say the word average and note tliat I find nothmg wrong witli being
such. I merely point it out because I find tiiat perhaps it was tliat very state of ordinary tiiat
pushes us mto a state of extiaoidmary. I found myself wondering what process goes onmside
the poet's mmdthat can take somethii^ plain and tiim it into something so fabulous. But then I
suppose therein ties the beauty of Wilham's poetry. He can take something others might
overlook and create something out of it that is impossible not to look at and in lookmg at it, the
viewer must draw in tlieir breatli and revel in tlie creation.
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Often when I read William's poetiy m the "Paiitlier's" honor I have difficulty associating the
words with the woman, but after coming to realize that he is very generous m liis emotions, I was
able to put aside what I knew as reality and see the works for what tliey are.
What are tliey? Li my hiunble opinion the Panther Cycles were written to an ideal as opposed to
an actual reality. He took emotions that were real and built around tliem a city of work tliat was
grandiose and beyond what reality had to offer liim . 1 also believe that his work is so universally
respected and admired because he speaks to some part of us that aspires to a greatness we have
not yet found, or have merely ghmpsed and wish for a fuller view of And so I beheve that an
ordinary woman inspued somethmg above and beyond simple noimality.
Being a writer , I luiderstand cieation from notiiing and on some occasions, creation from a little
something. But I have yet to undeistand the creation of sometiiing so phenomenal from
something so typical. And therein ties the beauty of the Pantiier Cycles. William has taken a
grain of sand andbiult a castie out if. A castie that I beheve wUl stand the test of time and be
admired by generations to come.
My frnal words before you dive into the (several) pages ahead of you:
In a world tuU of ughness, Wdham has given us a port of safety and beauty. To read liis poetiy
is to escape, if only for a tittle while. To be allowed to soai' ontiie wings of someone else's
experience is a gift that should never be taken hghtly. The Pantiier Cycles are full of Hglit and
pain, darkness and ecstasy. Anyone who reads them will be a better person for it. I wish you a
pleasant journey through tiie Panther's world and hope you will come away refreshed and
renewed.
Witii love,
Brisit
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Mountain Poet Speaks
Editor 's Note: Daniel McTaggart is a poet that William F. DeVault first encountered on the
Author 's Den website, and they became fast friends and collaborators. Known fr>r his rich and
empathetic "blue collar" works about the beauty of everyday life, Daniel's first book, "Midnight
Muse " is due sometime later this year
The book you are about to read is very brave and very honest. It is not so much a "diary of a
love affair" as it is an anatomy of a candle buniir^ brightly at both ends. It is the exploration of
a love affair so intense that both partners walk away biTishmg off the nibble of their emotions.
My name is Daniel McTaggart and I aiu an outsider to tlie world of tlie panther. I have not
known its intricacies, but I have seen the eyes of a man who has since been elevated beyond tlie
status of being mere prey.
I iirst met William in the Smnmer of 2002. He had been away from Morgantown, West Virgima
for some time and had returned to do a few poetry readings around town. The one at The Blue
Moose Cafe is where our patlis first crossed. And where I received my first ghmpse into the
pantlier's realm.
I had known nothmg of lus life till that point. But I was thrilled to meet a published poet fiom
my hometown. Perhaps tliatis how a dark echo of tlie Panther Cycles found its own comer in
my mind. I approached him and mentioned I was also a poet interested in bemg published.
Over the next couple years, we'd exchanged a few e-mails wliile he was living in L.A. He then
returned to Morgantown in mid-2004 and tliat was when our fiiendship took root. We would
occasionally meet at places around town and discuss poetry: what it is and what could be done
with it. The more we met, the deeper those discussions became. And tlie more excited I became
about poetiy. My output for that year alone outdistanced tliat of tlie previous two years
combined. But enough about me, now.
A few months prior to this writing, we were sittii^ at the Book-n-Bean m Fainnont when he
mentioned publislung "The Compleat Panther Cycles." I was biting into my bagel sandwich
when he pioposed tliat I write an intioduction to said book. I didn't believe lum at first, but his
penetiating eyes did not he. I knew then I was committed to reading more tiian 600 poems. And
then wiitii^ about it. An intimidating task.
This IS piobably tlie most ambitious book of poetry I've ever picked up, let alone seen. And I
knew I had to understand tlie pantlier before writing anytlung. From reading these works, I came
to realize tlie pantiier is a creatine motivated by emotions and wlums. Moving not out of reason,
butofunexplaniablemge. Like a housecat tiiat suddenly has to be in the next room. Aware of
the broken vase only after knocking it over.
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
In this book, you will find works that may make you smile, weep, or shift uncomfortably. An
example of tlie fonner is "warm apples on a summer day" fi^om the 62nd cycle. Tlie title is
worthy of Robert Frost. As for the poem, I could not help but draw comparison to Adam and
Eve. The major diffeience here is that Adam offers the apple to Eve. And tlieie is no serpent to
induce temptation. Any sm that may be committed by tliese two lovers will be done on their
tenns. Witli no voice of disharmony whispering into tlierr eais.
Of course, all the poems aie open to mteipretation. The relationship between a pantlier and her
prey IS fluid and so should be tlie meaning of each poem. They should each mean something
different to each of us with sunUarities reflected in eveiy reader's eye. You may like some and
hate others. But that's tlie nature of a relationslup that boimces between botli ends of flie
emotional spectnun. Which poems arehiglis and which aielows are deptlis you must dare to
plumb on your own. I wish you peace upon flie joy of yoiu' discovery. It should be an
interesting adventure.
Daniel McTaggart
"The Mountain Poet"
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
A Twist of Fate and Contemplation
Editor's Note: Barbara Holmes conducted what many consider to be one of the best interviews
with the poet, a few years back, for Emotions Magazine. In addition, she was for a long time
one of the managers of the Writers Club area on America Online and was a contemporary
associate to both the poet and the Panther during the affair that inspired these works
"I write, not from the conscious, but tlie preconscious. Then, in reading what I revealed, I see
what IS actually moving beneatli tlie surface. " - William F. DeVault, 1 998
One long weekend in 1996 he taught liimself HTML, and built his website City of Legends.
Weeks later we foiuid him crowned by Yahoo as the "Romantic Poet of the Internet."
When asked to write an introduction to his new book my first thought was overly simple. These
poems need no introduction, they speak for themselves. It is you, WiUiam, you tlie poet, tlie
man, the creator of this poetic world who needs mfroducmg.
To craft such a metropolis of cycles and sohtaries built aioimd, how you once described "karmic
snapshots", of experiences is truly one's gift.
William andlus world have been well characterized over tlie years. Helumselfis an exfremely
multifaceted individual. Well humored, frighteiungly intelhgent co-existmg aside a matching
ego. Yet in reflection one must consider this, is it tnily an overly indulged ego or siniply a man
who is exceptionally self confident in his sldll.
They've been equally compared as mysteriously captivatmg; keenly romantic, passionate, all the
while incredibly spintual. An "admired lover." I asked lum several years ago during an
interview which portiayal would be the most satisfying. He responded "I couldn't see only one
spectrum and live a life content. If I were forced to chose, I would chose tlie spiritual, as m the
end, God gave me this teiiible gift/curse and I owe all love and allegiance... But I would hope, in
wisdom, God would not do such a wretched thing tome."
In 1997 his first book "PantiiEon" barely touched the actiial 643 poetic antliology of Pantlier
Cycles. Wanting to include the most popular and to provide the reader witii a variety of styles
only 9% made it into final production.
What we have unleashed m the Compleat Pantlier Cycles is basic raw emotion. Powerful, pure
unedited tliought fiom tlie fiist word to tlie last. Well known to most, his style of not editing his
work comes from a impenetrable fonn of distinst. He doesn't trust his conscious mind to judge
his unconscious. The flow of tlie moment, tlie surge of unrestricted mspiration is what we find at
the end of his pen.
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Is this how legends are bom? One can only hope.
Continue on and unearth a lost soul, a forgotten memoiy, for it wiU be revealed through these
works whether you read for pleasure or purpose.
I am neitlier Goddess or Pantlier - But Fnend.
Barbara Holmes
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
A Word from the Amomancer
July 18, 2005. Ten years since the first of the Pantlier Cycles fell like beads of sweat from my
pen, written to a female colleague who had sent me her picture on tlie Internet. Something about
her eyes. Verysoulfiil. That was that.
Two weeks later I wrote the Second Pantlier Cycle. Tilings kinda/sorta took on a hfe of tlieii'
own, particularly after we spent a weekend togetlier in New York, just before the Seventh Cycle.
Having been in an luiliappy marriage for several years 1 was not too resistant when she expressed
her desire to be "moretlian a mistress"... so after a mighty war with my conscience I asked for a
divoice on Januaiy 1, 1996.
All hell bioke lose and 1 found myself penniless and forced into exile, away fiom my children, m
Los Angeles. Guilt over tliat drove her away. Then she came back. Then she went away.
Repeat. Repeat. It got pretty absurd. But tides make waves and waves make beaches and
seashores and a place to dream.
Through it all I expressed the moments in tlie Panther Cycles, until tlie final one, tlie 93rd, in
January 1997, four months after our final words.
These are tlie origmals, except for tlie 8tli Pantliei' Cycle, wlucli I destioyed immediately upon
writing. I had caught her m a tie about her relationslup with another man, and tlie writing of that
cycle, while cathartic, pioduced damnedably toxic words, words I would not want as part of my
legacy.
The cycles themselves run to 643 poems. Some pieces are romantic. Some erotic. Some siUy.
Some are very short. Some of greater' length. I am not completely happy with many of them, but
all are children of the moment in wlucli they were bom, as any proper creative expression should
be.
I will undoubtedly be criticized for not dedicating this volume to someone. But, to whom? To
the Panther herself? No. That might disrupt her tife and raise questions best left to fiitiire times.
To the abstraction of the Panther? No, because I beheve in my heart of hearts that there really is
a panther out there. To some otlier lover? That would be perverse. Best to let them be
themselves, notlung more, nothii^ less, notiung else.
Enjoi, and God bless.
William F. DeVault
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The First Panther Cycle:
Out of the Night
I have been asked, on more than one occasion, "Why a panther?"
It's not complicated. I hadjust recently begim experimenting with two elements in my poetry:
cycles, or sets of works revolvii^ aroiuid a common tlieme; and totems, abstract references to
people in my life, allowing me the fieedom to take a metaphor and ran. witli it.
When I told her I was going to write a cycle of poems based on tlie photo she'd sent me, and
askedfor a totem, she suggested a lioness. I didn't like it. Too maternal.
After a brief exchange (all in AOL Instant Messenger, I might add, as we did not actually speak
on the phone imtil several weeks later) we settled on a Pantlier. She was sleek and lean, there
was an intensity to her that befitted a melanistic leopard, and she told me of tlie black Speedo she
liked to wear wliile bicychng.
It's tliat simple.
I sent her the cycle (you will note I had not yet fixed on the "seven pomes per cycle" rule) and
she melted. And I figured that was that... I have always been able to take pleasure in tlie pleasure
others derive foim my woiks witliout expectii^ anything more fiom the situation.
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
brooding eyes
felicity and cuiuiing claws.
hunger in the hunter's jaws.
angel's heart and devil's prize.
the panther prowls with brooding eyes.
soulflil eyes and soulless dreams.
maddened by tlie new will's screams.
mortal, and yet, set apait
by what is locked witliin hei heait.
where are the daisies?
where are the daisies tliey promised today?
where are the clouds and tlie soft summer sun?
why is it over? had it begun?
and what aie tlie shadows tliat fall on my way?
aie theie no answers to questions of love?
aie theie no masters of dreams left awake?
is there no baiter for what winters take?
is there no justice for the blood of a dove?
at the end of the world, it all falls away,
falls into notlung? or somethii^ unseen?
aie the leaves on tlie trees in paiadise gieen?
and tliere do tlie daisies remain every day?
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
transient heart
O transient heait.
homeless and vagabond.
careless and sad.
gentle and mad.
the heart of a sinner, tlie heart of a saint.
a corridor of ancient mirrors
aniotations to a cipher.
affections from afar.
catcliing liglitning in a bottle
or religion m a jar.
the penance of the player
is the arrow thiough tlie heart.
Psyche steals her lover's aiiows
to play vengeance for her pait.
and tlie Muses (so amusing)
find great humor in this game,
spinning words upon a deathloom,
seUing stockings to the lame.
Bragi bleeds another rhyme scheme
and tlien sells it for a drink
fi^om tlie horn of Aplirodite,
with a dark flirtatious wink.
and tlris Venus, for her aidor,
is seen m the moonlight's ghnt
off the sheen of sweat-soaked lovers,
strikmg sparks without the flint.
and the spectral specters sobbing,
yet request anotlier chance
to mvoke daik Hades' melody.
and lead in a new dance.
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
night stalker
in tlie iiiglit.
in tlie jungle.
in tlie deptlis of sad despair.
there's a presence.
in tlie branches.
you can't see her. but she's tliere.
watclung closely.
taking measure.
aie you predator? aie you prey?
andif eitlier.
does she leave you?
does she seek to pounce and play?
and if neither.
does she hnger?
and tlien fall, into your trap?
will the hunter.
be tlie hunted.
when she hears tlie steeljaw snap?
will she struggle?
or surrender?
will she know, youmeannohami?
understanding.
like the pantlier.
that this fire can be warm?
it is quiet.
in this jungle.
if you listen, witli your soul.
and this silence.
calls the panther.
to protect it. and patrol.
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Second Panther Cycle:
Aphrodite's Fountain
A few weeks after the Panther Cycle, this one slid in under my preconscious radar. I didn't
know it was coming, I swear. It just showed up at the tip of my pen one day.
I sent it off to her, all the wliile thinking "Uh oh, this hasn't happened before."
In this cycle I began to insinuate elements fi^om her creativity and our ongoii^ discussions .
Mind you, at this time, there was still no real sense of anything otlier tlian a few random
flirtations. I was maiiied, she was recently separated.
Note, in particular "Miranda".
She was working on a novel and tliere was a chapter she shared with me that involved one of tlie
female characters m the story having rough, but consensual, sex with a handsome cop in tiie back
of his poHce cruiser. It was obvious fi^om the way she wrote it and the way she discussed it (and
that fact that she chose it to send me) that it was a sexual fantasy of hers.
How could I resist? You will find in many of tlie later cycles I incorporated her fantasies, botii
romantic and sexual, into tlie imageiy of my work. I had begmi feeding off of her desires.
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
10
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
Aphrodite's Fountain
I drifted, in a skeptic's trance,
beyond the spheie where shadows dance
and lovers pray for second chance
to merge hke spring-swift livers.
and in tlie jungles of the night,
two eyes weie theie, in broodii^ bright,
reflecting from an inner light
a hunger and a feasting.
the panther came m gracefiil stalk
to tlie foimtain where tlie ancients talk
of heioes who weep and victims who mock
the meinoiy of their passions.
and m the branches overheaid
there lay a sentinel m liis bed,
a diagon gold witli eyes of red,
enwrapped in ardoied patience.
liis wings luiflirled and blocked the sky.
he flew to tlie cat, and for a moment I
feared for hei death and knew not why
she did not flee in terror.
and tlien tlie wonder was enlianced
by tliese two beasts m courtier's dance.
they swirled as tliougli by fate entranced
aiound tiie sacred fomitain.
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
I did not watch, I did not see
if tliose two coupled neatli the tree
that stands beyond the wliisperii^ sea
of pain and dreams and madness.
at lei^tli they lay, entwined and spent
and left me wondering what it meant
that they should care to be content,
this panther and her paramom.
strange beasts were tliey, and still they lay,
beneath tliat tree so far away,
next to the font where angels play,
and smile at their communion.
miranda
you have the right to lemam silent.
but I love to heai' tliose pleasured siglis
that fade away, to tiien again arise
with every soft impalement.
12
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
enamored
with every iiiiaguiing of you I grow focused.
like thiougli a virtual lens 1 watch you in my mind.
andmyheait. and my soul, and I know you.
not in eveiy tiling and every way.
but there is a resonance here.
dark and teiiifying, like the sudden
revelation at the end of tlie first act.
sweet and exciting, like tlie venom
of a kiss that contains promises and oaths,
borne of tlie touch, the taste, tlie warmtli
that shelters your dreams and awakens
you at night to a lover who is not there.
yet.
the dream
she is there.
dancing like the flame of amatch. catching
the light off her soft ebon pelt.
the sheen is quite exotic, erotic, even.
the dream retains the tlienie.
the shared taste of fi^esh prey.
the madness of passions untempered,
but shaded by an honest reverence, fer de lance
striking, the wann wine venom.
and tlie effoitless, infinite
caress that lasts well into the next day.
13
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
playing the gallant
when you aie sad. think of me.
and know that I would make you smile.
at any cost, for, when I see
someone too worthy for despair to defile,
I must play tlie gallant, iiding higli
to slay the dark demons that would caress
only your soiTow. for selfish am I.
and want all of you, even your darkness.
to inspiration in the eye of the panther
you aie the midwife of my creation,
paiamour to tliat which is, fiom me, immortal.
I am but parasite to the beauty who has won
the eye of tlie poet. Odysseus to the siren's call.
to earn your favor, I would drink a vessel
fiom tlie geysers of yom' soul and curry favor
fiom a deadly jimgle luuitei', swift and sensual,
holding back my caresses as a Herculean labor.
passion spawns a pitifiil pawn, bound
in all his splendour like a chrysalis.
a worm to weave soft word silks, sound
to be draped upon you like a crafty lover's kiss .
14
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Third Panther Cycle:
The Rainbow
Now comes the first of the external allegorical cycles. I took the notion tliat a cycle should have
about seven poems, and the fact tliat the standard spectnim is considered to have seven colours,
and ran with it.
I had some fiui with tliis, and discovered that stalling fiom tlie theme enabled me to explore m
diiections I had not previously wandered. It was a liit witli her, and I beheve it was the first one
that I shared witli several of my online fiiends in the AOL Writers Club.
Some people have asked me about the angle of the final piece "the violets". That one took fiom
an old show business story about Blake Edwards and Julie Andrews. Supposedly before tliey
had ever met, he was quoted on a talk show as saying he wouldn't want to work with the "Soiuid
of Music" star because she came across so wholesome, as if she had violets "growing down
there." According to legend, she sent him an aiiangement of violets. They were maiiied, or so
the story goes, a year or so later.
It's amazmg what having a miiid for seemingly meanmgless trivia can do to expand tlie palate
that one wntes fiom. I always encourage my proteges to read eveiytliing they can.. .just not
poetry. I want tliem to have a broad wealtli of knowledge to draw their metaphors fiom, not
forever smging just one soi^ witli differing words .
15
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Also, note at the endof that piece, my first use of repetitive language for reinforcement... "and
dream/ of a dream of a dieam of a dieam of a dream." It makes for a nice tailing off at tlie end of
a public (or private) reading.
By now she had even taken it so far as to create a new screenname containing her totem. That
we were forever openly flirting in flie Writers Cafe wlule I was releasing these works to the
world did not seem to indicate to either of us that anyone would perceive us involved.
Love can be blind. Eloquent, but blind.
16
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
the red
niby-blue and scailet, crimson when you daie.
a flood of blood and fire, a shadow on your hair.
passion spun to lash upon oui' dieanis and hopes and prayers .
ember eyes are lookmg out fi^om in their cunning lairs.
the orange
fresh, sweet, like a succulent nioutliful of citnis,
tangerine and tart, tlie heait of the fiavor, savored
for a dancing pleasuie. tlie leisure of love, crisp
and inviting, biting, it covers your tongue with life,
and youi' senses dance like a sweet pantlier on tlie beach.
the rind and pith and juices, exploding, seiious
and playfiil. like shy lovers, holding hands when shed
clothes and inliibitions are on tlieii' mind, a liar's hsp
gives her away, and tlie fhckeiing jazz of tlie night, rife
with pleasure and promise and a flavour of hfe, witlrin reach.
the yellow
incandescent fiie of the sun and tlie stais
radiating in pure lines . unrefiacted. imdistiacted
by tlie albedo lieaits tliat never bum.
cold they are, and wasted, we have tasted
their fiiiit and foimd them wanting, haunting
our memories and poisoning our dreams,
we who bum shall sweep tlie ashes of oui'
phoenix riders from our shoulders and set
once more tlie course for tlie edge of the world.
17
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
the green
new life.
pure aiid pacific.
again.
children of tlie dawn.
alive.
love and monuments
to love.
the blessed blending
of lives.
two become botli one,
then tlu^ee.
the blue
on the fiostwmds tliat cut like daggers of steel
and peel back the fiesh to show that we conceal
ourselves beneatli these wann charades, afiaid
to end the midgame, defending tliis masquerade,
depending on the dreams of tlie damned, and all
I ask is a sliver of time, of piayers that fall
numbly fiom tlie lips of our memories, cold
and grave, lovers, like monimients, giown old
and their reasons for havii^ ever been are faded
like an mscription wiit in tlie air by j esters j aded
in their pursuit of the mockery bidden by tlie comt.
the courtiers and courtesans andkmgs of every sort
that twisted us and turned us to take a meny bow
in the dance of dark directions that contorts our eveiy vow.
and all I want is serenity, and you. and lost time
of yesterdays and yesternights, twihght blue the crime.
18
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
the indigo
the dance moves on and leaves tlie dancer,
weaiy and consumed, slicked witli sweat,
but hm^y for tlie next movement, pirouette
andjete. the pounce of an eclectic panthei,
given voice, given choice, m this daikhght
she chooses, maybe well, maybe not. the night
will tell the tale, but I will not. iii tlie glow
of hei eyes, the chase will end when she says so.
the violets
a tliousand dainty floweis, fragiaitt and sweet,
growing m a bed not given to recent gardenei's care,
needing tending and words of encouragement.
the master's hand, the touch of one who cares
what may spring from tlie biddii^ loam from
wluch spring these sweet flowers. I nuzzle
this luxuriant bed of subtle, fragiance and dieam
of adieam of a dream of a dream of a dieam.
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The Fourth Panther Cycle:
I Dreamed a Dream
She wanted children. Oiu' discussions had taken a more linked view, somehow considering tlie
possibility that we miglit actually meet. Tliat tliere might be soinethmg 'there".
One of the topics was cliildren. She was in her late tliirties and had never had cliildien, but
wanted them badly. She considered the idea of bemg pregnant incredibly sensual. By now we
had begim talking ontlie phone, and much of our talk was hermiagming what it would be like to
get pregnant, to be pregnant, to give birth, to breast feed.
And, I lurched into tlie fantasies, dead on. I foiuid her entlmsiasm, her excitement, exciting. The
final piece m this cycle is called "seventli month" and describes an emotional tableau of holding
her while she is pregnant and ns reveling m the entiie idea. I drew heavily on my own emotional
memory fiom my wife's two pregnancies (yes, I know, in some ways tliat is very sick, but I am
being honest about this) and the Panther's own intensively detailed fantasies.
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redemption
fiist dance, last chaiice
to turn away, people say
iiiaiiy thuigs aiid time brings
both joy and pain. I will remain
imtil betiayed by tlie dust flayed
by tlie fall of time, a lover's crime,
repented, forgiven, for love given.
inamorata
how beautiflil you are to me is not a question
I may answer, words fail and you are bright
and mcandescent, a flaming taper in obhvion.
1 draw my mspiration from yom' love, shadow
ofyourhght. memory of youi' words, piiest
to tlie need to worsliip one who stiis such awe
in my all too mortal soul, seeds of doubt? I
have none, and when tlie seeds of this love
aie manifest, 1 wiU be tliere to witness tliem.
wedding bed
sated and slaked, thirst and hunger boiind for now
in a cunnii^, sleeping smirk, short work of minghng
flesh, leaving an indelible mark on the paths we shade
and will follow to tlie edge of sanity, vanity must bow
to humility in tlie face of youi' passions, neives set tingling
by youi' very approach use and worship the vows we've made.
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jungle passions
like liquid ink.
a shadow dances a deadly daiice.
hungiy and hunter.
the panther is awake and will
take her feed of me now.
and I will not protest.
or resist.
for I hunger for her as well.
heartbeat
I hsten to youi' heait.
beatii^ softly in your breast.
my eyes are closed and I am lulled
by the knowledge tliat you hve
and love for me. the tliinnest part
of this is tliat to any test
I may put our love, this fading world
is witness to oui' victoiy in the love we give.
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transfiguration
in tlie wasteland of om' lives, there are vines
that wind us witli their silvery stems, binding
ns to the tniths and lies we have uttered and lieaid.
taking om' drink at tlie well of folly and in the cup
of both holy comnuuiion and poisoned dreams, drink
deeply the blood of my heart, fieely and of your wUl,
take your fill and I, I shall be transfonned by this,
brought fi^oni wretched wreck to mortal, then
tiansfigured in a moment of awakened passion
to immortal, and tlms I may join you in tlie stars.
seventh month
1 lay with you, my anns entwined about your quiet form,
my hands softly and reverently feeling tlie cmve
of the chamber wherein lays tlie labor of oui' love,
beautifiil angel, forged of our passions, summoned
by love, she rests and awaits her coming life.
and our commg j oy at her birth. I am at peace
withtlus. filled with joy that she is ours and
will live as a glorious testament to our love and hope.
and I feel her stir witlun you. and 1 weep.
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The Fifth Panther Cvcle:
The Legend Cycle
I have always found tliis a curious cycle. Not fully realized, but more reactive to what was gomg
on in my life and around me.
There had been plans for a large party of writers to gatlier in New York in tlie fall, but it was
suddenly cancelled. Seeing this the opportunity for us to finally meet, we seized upon the work
that had been done and I took over as host (despite the fact tliat I was hving near Wasliington,
DC, at the tune. ..which made it a logistical challenge.)
I had also been getting some vibes fiom a few people that maybe I wasn't really aware of all tliat
was going on aiomid me. People pointmg out tliat maybe I was not tlie only gentleman caller on
the Panther's dance card. I approached her on this, and she assured me tliat, wlule she did hke
the attention, she was not currently seemg anyone or plarmmg to see anyone wlule we were
evaluating our situation.
I took this at face value, despite my naggmg doubts, and pressed on. I was slowly getting myself
into a realm of deception with my real life associates and my family that was begimiing to eat
away at me. I think tlus comes out in the poetiy, as I try to keep the idealized relationslup on
mytlric footing and away from the nnmdane.
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One element that fiist reared its head in this cycle were the "sand angels"... a fantasy of hers was
to make love on tlie beach and I told her tliat would probably leave something like a snow angel
in the sand, a sand angel. From tliem on tliat became our code phrase for having been tliinkir^
about making love.
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half truths
cold and calculated.
the odds are not discreet,
sad and surrogated.
the world lays at your feet.
ttmeHnes and semantics.
riddles for the dawn
games we play in earnest
aie back before they're gone.
stepping on the wire
warm flesh and impendii^ memory
dreams cold and cut Hke fish in tlie biii.
sin. time spins a bottle full of venom
to tlie edge of where we've been,
do not expect my sympatliies
if yom' tale is not well told,
too often iion pyrite
is baitered out as gold.
and I am left witli tiie fool's debit
cashed upon my heart,
burned beyond remembeimg
where tiie game did start.
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idols of glass
tempest is not tnith. power is not fact.
and lies in tlieii' essence aie not tlie evidence of tact,
but of deception, peiception bmiied like lightnii^
intlie atmosphere oftlie higli heavens... wheie the gods play
daily. . .talking tlie talk. . .walking the walk
as they ghbly fade away.
the Gordian nut
severed memories.
the silver cord is cut.
I float away in reveries
befoie the Gordian nut.
for in it is the riddle,
and etched upon its shell
are the ciphers and sad sinisters
that pave a road to hell.
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rebirth
I wandered, content and memory purged,
my soul unblackened by the waters of time
and the tests of truth, reason had returned.
and so I found myself by that stream, the sweet
and bitter river by whose banks I had sht the tluoat
of the dreanihart. tlie nemicom.
and tliere, on the shoals of blasted sand and
edge of truth I saw. nothii^. time and picking
of the birds had left not a trace of that fragile
frame. I smiled a sad smile, acknowledgmg
the past and tlie clanty witli wliich it now lived.
when my reverie was broken, first by the voice
of a friend, new, but steeped m ancient familiaiity.
I hinied. and fell to my knees in blistered awe. I saw
a new nemicom arise from tlie sand, m fonn more perfect
than the fabled beast, speakmg with tlie tongue of a friend.
and I was sundered to my core by tlie mix of mad emotion
brought to my hps, to my eyes, to my heart by tlus event.
this phenomenon undreamed and imbidden. she stood,
at a sfrange distance, apart and yet intimate, and regarding
me the soulfril eyes, not of tlie slain prey, but of tlie
feeding predator, a new creation, a new totem.
and m my willful arrogance I touched this dreamhait.
this nemicom that has lead me to my Rubicon.
her wounds, a beautifiil statement of smvival. of sfrength.
and tlie sniggering empaths now weep in jealousy and wonder.
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sand angels
sand angels.
the wind blows tlie hollows flat in time.
and so shall it be witli you and I.
but not before this run is done
and we have lived oiu^ lives togetlier.
ghost dance
ghost dance, tlie banshee on tlie lawn
is gone now. her screams aie but echoes
and so is the wight, burned by the light,
returned to his barrow, to Hck his wounds
and dieam of a day when he might prevail.
and we creatures of liglit shall fight
again, imbent if battered, and together.
possessiveness
I am jealous and zealous for every instant of your presence,
please forgive the arrogance I feel in wanting you by my side
forever and at all times, irrational, but sincere, and pride
demands I call yom' love, not a bluff, a gambler's chance.
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The Sixth Panther Cycle:
The Joy Cycle
^
This would be the final cycle before we met face to face. Emotionally, it is all over the map, but
generally hopefiil, romantic and positive.
This was the first use of one of my signatuie phrases, "phoenix and golem". It reflects my
dualistic nature, as I perceive myself both a spiritual person, capable of rebutli, as well as a
soulless cieation, built to a task. But in being either or both, 1 am MfiUing purpose, so 1 am
satisfied.
I have started, by this point, writing of om' cliildien. The Pantlier had a specific dream of having
two, a daughter and a sun, and even had selected names for tiiem. The daughter, Cassiopeia,
figured heavily mto many later works, and was even an abstraction I comforted myself with
during the darkest times of my divorce and estrangement firom my real Hfe children.
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the psalm of love/the lover's prayer
I tliank you Lord
for the love tliat you have blessed me witli
she is gentle
and generous of spirit, kmd and loving
and fiill of Hfe.
1 tliank you and am luunbled by this woman,
who has set me
in her heait and offered to share so much.
rebirth
1 have been tossed ftoin raptuie to tlie cnish of
hfe so foul and gimding tliat 1 barely live, and yet
1 endure for sake of love, a hght, beautiful and sii^;ular,
illumes my night and shows me tlie patli to the edge
of the luiiverse, where waits hope and joy, twm beasts
shackled by tlieir duty, to draw the chariot of love
across tlie skies of radiant peace and lover's dream.
ecstasy
the sound of yoiu' voice sends echoes across my soul
like the demon-purging rhythms of tlie kodo drums,
vibrant and intense, tliese feeling spread the wings
of my twice-bom heart and give it the wind, it sings
like the voice of a multitude of angels, the wmd comes
and blows away tlie sand, but it leaves the image whole.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
child of love and eloquence
child of love and eloquence. I saw you today, floatii^
at finger's reach, smiling and cooing, yoiir motlier
stands beside me again and we await you. nothing
gives me greater joy than seeing your approach, nearer
and nearer you draw and I am hopeswept and wrapped
in an enraptured veil of peace and enamonuent. I wait
for your ainval, celebratmg with a song trapped
fironi an angel's voice and held immutable at hell's gate.
inevitability
eyes of brnnt honey and smile of feral love, could
I have found anyone, anytliing to bring me more pleasure?
not merely of the flesh, but of the heart and mmd.
you fulfill me and give me back that which I bartered
away a thousand lifetunes ago. I cannot remember
a moment in my life where I do not truly find
you there, or tlie commg shadow of your inevitability.
and you now aie my soulbride, everytliing to me.
the penetrating rose
a flower pierced my heart
and brought forth the blood of Hfe.
a dieam of love forgotten
a consummation and a wife.
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meander
I am phoenix and golem, soulless and reborn.
the son of memoiy. the father of dreams and fear,
look upon my fruits and know them by tlieir totems,
truth is my iron, love, my tmiic. and you, my soul.
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The Seventh Panther Cycle:
Romance in Realtime
When theie is a standpoint poem in a cycle or collection of cycles, I often refer to it as an
"anchor piece". . something you can depend on to hold it ont, up and solid.
"Wlien fiist I chanced" was one of tlie first anchor pieces of the Panthei' Cycles. As I shaied it
with fellow writers I received an unprecedented response. Words of praise, words of
encouragement and the occasional nude picture (some still weie not certain if tliere was an actual
Panther and wanted to get some of the romance mto their life).
This was tlie fiist cycle written since we met face to face in New Yoik (hence tlie "realtime"). It
was the first time I mvoked the "burnt honey" colom' of her eyes (tliey are a liglit brown, caiamel
colour, and burnt honey just seemed to be a natural image, canying sweetness and tlie damage
that comes fiom just being an umeahzed romantic.
The first poem to actually take shape in this cycle was "4 am" as itmateiializedmmyhead...at
4 am. . .in our hotel room. It is an accurate and earnest expression of what I felt in that moment.
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when first I chanced
when fiist I chanced to hear yonr voice
my heait stopped.
not for want of deatli, but because
nothmg can change
in tlie space between beats of your' heart.
and I wanted you
to forever speak my name, wrth reverence
and honest love
when first I chanced to look mto yom^ eyes
burnt gold honey
in colour, my breatli caught, tlie air
was no longer needed
to sustammylife. for myom' eyes
my world held, strung
on wires of platinum and steel and dieams.
and honest love
when first I chanced to touch your flesh
my life ended.
and began again, tlie minuet of hfe paused
and tlien continued.
and I was caught in tlie dance, intoxicated
by youi' warm hand.
by the sweet message in your smile, bold
with honest love.
when first I chanced to lay with you
the angels wept.
knowing what was in my heart, how could
they but regret
never knowing what passes between two lovers
caught in tlie sphere
where ends all reahty and tlie tintli is pm^e as
any sacrament.
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when first I chanced to speak of love
you smiled at me.
and touched me witli a hand that stole
my life, and spoke
with a voice that stopped my heart.
and looked on me
with eyes that cauglit my breath, and I knew.
1 knew. I know.
baptism
baptized in the merged sweat of lovers,
we seek our own comnnuiion. a reiuiion
of strangers in tune, but not in fact,
for we were long on this road tliat smotliers
the heart and steals all hope and emotion
fi^om so many, but serves to seal this pact.
4 a.m.
as you lay beside me m sleep I place my ear, gently
so as not to awaken you, against your flesh and listen
to tlie steady beat of your heait and the gentle flow
of the night air in and out of your lui^s. and I weep,
for 1 love you so much, and youi' peace is beautifiil.
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morning
the iiight-parched sky welcomes the fire of tlie chariot
of the sui^od as he cracks the line of the horizon, spurring
on his deshiers. and his lance of tlie hght prods us,
as we lay entwined on the cool wet sand of tlie beach.
and awakens us to the knowledge of what we have done.
and we are at peace with this, and one another.
before you go
1 hope I die before you go.
for 1 am not ready for a hfe without your presence.
God is not so cruel, surely he
must plan me a swift and sudden deatli, remembrance
of what we have held and been would
be beyond the endurance of Job and more hoiiific
than any mere ciTicifixion.
I hope I die before you go. just don't look back.
the fire
soft and gentle, tears of lust and tenderness.
sweet amalgam of my steel and your platinum.
mettle forged in the heat of desire, tiie fiie
that we stoked to a fiiry hke Megiddo. biiglit
and mcandescent, tlie hght we ht. each caress
servii^ as an added flame to the conflagration
we shared, and dared, undeterred, the choii'
of our sighs echoed in our temples, flirough the night.
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patience
I have stood in tlie fire, awaitmg yoiir salvation,
counting on yom' faith and youi^ love and yom^ grace
for so long, tiie flesh will be consiuned. but 1.
I will lii^er. for I know yon will retiim. no one
loves you as much as I do. no one shall ever place
as much trust in you as I do and will, no he
obscures this truth, that 1 am given over unconditionally
to any judgement, test or fate your love would grant me.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighth Panther Cvcle:
Betrayal
The story behind tliis cycle is short and not so sweet.
I was given mfomiation that, just days after oui' rendezvous in New York, the Pantliei' was
planning to enteitaui a gentleman caller at her home in Florida. Lideed, he was flying in for the
weekend.
I confionted her witli this iiifonnation and she fieaked out fliat I had found out. I told her she
could see whom she wanted, but that 1 was not going to thiow away my life on someone who
was not sure if fliey wanted me or just "someone".
She called liim up and cancelled the visit. He was a regular' m the Writers Club and took flie
cancellation badly. And, as he learned of my hand in it, he became a behind tlie scenes player
against me. Notliing overt, just things he'd say when 1 was not aroimd or email he'd send to
people he tliought should know "what kind of person" 1 was.
Anyway.
1 was so angry that 1 had risked so much for so Htfle (for a few tense horns it seemed she was on
the fence) and 1 wrote a cycle of poems about how 1 felt in tliose hours. I read them, then
destioyed them. 1 can recreate pieces of tliem m my mmd, but they were so toxic, so unpleasant,
that 1 could not bring myself to show them to the world, especially after the swift reconciliation.
But I marked flieu' place to remind me that things are not always what they seem.
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The Ninth Panther Cycle:
A Slice of Heaven
Sometimes you say somethii^ in a work and it doesn't strike you how dead-on it is to the
moment, until someone else reads it and the lights go on.
So it was with tlie piece "influences" in this cycle.
Wiitten just days after tlie Eight Cycle, as a healing expression of recommitment, I saw nothing
so different than the previous cycles. . .but tiie Panther saw different.
The line "your part in my hfe is undefined, but monumental" caused her to break down,
emotionally, and begin to cry. She explained that she did not want to have an "midefined" role.
She knew what she wanted. She wanted to many me and for us to have cliildien.
I told her that, wliile it might take a little time for me to extiicate myself fiom my cmTent
marriage, that I fuUy supported that.
And now tlie falling now made slick the fiiendly tiails.
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chaos on a stick
flashmg/slashitig/emotions trashily
reality for a slice of heaven.
a prayer for seven
when any prune number is nieanir^ess
in this gamble/ramble/shamble we make
of our Hves in the name of love.
in tlie shame of love.
security
anchor me witli your love, tliat I may stand against tlie winds
that blow us apart, heartfast and brave, I would adore you
near and afar luitil the ice fonns on my banen bones,
remember me in yom' prayers, to whatever gods such angels
as you worship, for I need your strength tonight.
first sight
1 locked eyes with you, that moment m the cafe,
when first we met. face to face, chance to chance,
no escape, captured m the glow of your laugh, prey
to tlie predator who will do me no hann. the dance
is not death, but elevafion to a higher plane, where
angels regard our sweet confusion with sideways stares.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
morning
I awaken and find you, to my delight, laying in my arms,
half asleep, burnt honey eyes staring softly into mine,
questions unasked, answers given nonetheless, sluning
with passion radiant and sublime. I surrender to your charms
and kiss those gently smiling lips, and once again lose
myself in the rapture of my senses in youi' embrace,
feehng the waimth of your flesh and your smilmg face
raising the wager of passionate prayers I can not lose.
influences
small hands, big heart, sweet smile, yourpait
in my life is midefined, but monumental,
you have refined and redefined my dreams, central
to tlie patlis I will choose, win or lose, my heart
is yoms. feed upon it if the need is great, share
with it if tlie feebly is upon you, but never doubt
my sincerity and commitment, my soul pours out
in pools of holy water to wash away your cares.
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passion
a daiice for two. tlie two become one, a majestic
private pirouette, cold fire of aii' and fantasies
given way to the heat of the wann wine and brisance
of newly refound joy. resounding like a catmon shot
across the bow of past lives, past folHes consiuned
in an instant of total absorption, shall I describe
how I feel in this instant, as it hangs motionless m
the ail' we shaie, in the dreams of tlie damned, the
penetiating rose retains its bloom and loses its tlionis
in tlie gantiet of shared affections, a monument
erected by blood and hunger, by hands and hearts
unwilhng to take tlie back seat, back row, back alley
routes so many would live with for a simple taste
of the confection tliat we live upon, and share tonight.
musing
1 hold you to me, and feel tlie waimtii of your body flood
my every sense with intense joy and well-bemg. seeing
you heie, feeling you with me, sharing your mortal blood
in tlus communion of the damned, looking foi love, bemg
all to one anotlier we caimot be to ourselves, honest, fair,
builders and shapeis. planners and warriors, standing
against the winds of tiie dawn, tlie stonns slam the air
fiom om' lungs and then speak our names, demandii^
our obedience. I cuise tiiem for tlieii' arrogance, we are
asynergy, a memory of tomoiiow. tlie essence is pme...
if not oui' intentions. I have tiaveled both long and far
to be with you tonight, and 1 will, for your love, endure.
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The Tenth Panther Cycle:
The Penetrating Rose
Okay, now for the first truly controversial cycle. Controversial because of the move towards
open eroticism in tlie works, although it was not fully realized until tiie next cycle.
Yes, this cycle was named for one of the poems in it, "the penetrating rose".
And, yes, the poem accmately describes an actual scene fiom our tune m New York.
Oh, don't be so shocked. I should not have been there, but I was following my heart (or, at least,
my hormones).
The fantasy was one tiiat had been conceived by me in one of our long, daikly fliitatious phone
calls and had immediately been seized upon by her as sometliing she really, really, really foimd
fascinating.
Note to tiiose determined to act tins poem out: Remove the thorns. I worked for a summer in a
flower shop, so I knew to do that.
Stiai^ely, one of my proteges, upon reading this cycle, declared it made her sad. The protege
who said that was in just a few weeks to be immoitahzed by The Goldenheart Cycles.
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invitation
subtle movements baiiiig uiisubtle hmigers. a kiss
is not always just a kiss, but sometimes an offer.
an appetizer, a call to feelings held distant
and regarded witli wounded disdain and a cold bliss
of witlidrawn life from the surface of a new lover
granting joy and confiision. and dieams unrepentant.
sharing breath
sharii^ breatli in the dimlight of another sphere, we are here
to make tlie new communion, vows broken, words spoken
with all tlieir repercussions explored, we have ignored
for too long the fire and tlie phoenix, we had stood afar
and watched witli love and lust and hope and tmst made
manifest m our souls, now flesh made conduit for time
that rockets towards us unchecked, but with us more
awaie of its ravages, and no loiter afraid of lost dieams
and oppoitimities. for, in the false dawn of parted draperies,
we have found the pearl of self-revelation, one. for that
is how fate forged us. and we have only now reahzed our
incomplete complexities, but incomplete, no more.
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the penetrating rose
the focus shifts to your hand, youi' soft hand, the hand
that brushes aside my hair to gaze into my eyes when
that is all we date do for feai' of showing the caids
of our hearts to tlie riverboat gamblers who charge
and bluff and cheat their ways across this game, with
film and cautious resolve, you guide tlie penetrating lose
to its vase, or peihaps, to a new bed, iich and nuitiuing.
where it will take root, and grow strong as an expression
of passion and love. I staie deeply into yom' bmiit honey
eyes and see the fiie in them, as paits tlie impediments
to tlie penetiating lose. I see your eyes. I feel your eyes
locked into mine, sending fire and pleasure hke some
great spiritual semaphore, a smgle sound escapes your lips.
and tlie penetrating rose slides softly into place, and
you bmsh aside my hair again, witli the soft hand that
guided the flower to its new home, where it takes root.
and blossoms as yom' eyes, hand, heart and flesh desue.
impressions
neivous. playfiil. warm. wiUing.
giggling, trembhng. exploimg. gentle,
tender, himgry. cautious, merging,
merging, sharing, caring, passionate,
mad. consuming, melting, flowii^.
bumii^. blendmg. bmiung. blending,
exploding, sweet, chaotic, dancing,
caressing, sweet, smfling. wet.
nervous, playful, warm, willing
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the precipice
I kiss you, gently, and watch the fire iii yom: eyes flickei'
and illuminate as you impale yourself, no hesitation.
just hinder and a desire to be fed. here, in this bed
of the penetrating rose, you beg tlie question of endurance
of hearts, of souls, of dreams, of flesh, and I have
not aU tlie answeis. but seeing you dance in tlie
gaiden, cauglit in tlie chaosfire of my passion, feeling
yomhrnigei. feeling you draw fire fiom me... seeing
the look in your eyes as you become a marionette to your
feial needs, dancii^ on stimgs of floodir^ release.
the sHppeiy slope of merging fonns and hearts is with us,
you nde your dreams and illusions, and I feel you melting,
nirming as more tlian fleshes merge, we verge on unity,
and, m a moment of flash and thunder, we leap fiom
the precipice, together, and are lost in ourselves, forever.
the communion of the warm wine
you smile that saintly simiei' smile
and beg to take tlie communion of the wann wine.
you would taste my life upon yom' tongue
and dieam of notlung moie than what is.
reality, thick and luxuriant, listening
for my pleasure, measurii^ it in mches
and ounces and the wann, lingeimg kiss
of the flesh, deep and dai^erous. and you
drink deeply and completely, and you smile.
seemg. lieaimg, feeling, tasting my pleasure.
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melancholy /the morning after
heie. in these plastic shells
we shape aiid polish and hone
to show in hght of day, bone
and flesh, nothing is shaied.
in tlie end, notliing is dared
but tliat which we discern
to be ultimately, to the tuni
of events to cushion our hells.
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The Eleventh Panther Cycle:
Seven Kisses
A rather complex cycle, built upon a theme: seven kisses .
Some of tlie pieces are clearly erotic, some are romantic. Stylistically I am all over tlie map, but
that happens often in tlie more thematic cycles, as I feel empowered to play with foim and style
when 1 don't have to worry about keeping them linked by more tlian the theme.
I haven't nm into a lot of poems about making love witli a pregnant woman. I thought tlie
imageiy went well and to be honest, it positively put her in heat. A Pantliei in heat is a tenifying
thing, on some levels
The release of this one was delayed to my inner circle, as 1 was unsme how they'd take the faiily
heady eroticism. I needn't have wonied. People turned back flips over this one, and I was
gettmg propositioned regularly by women onHne who thought they might be "the panther".
Note to fliture generations: The was one "Pantlier". . .she was a real, flesh and blood woman. If
you aie her, you know it. Otheiwise, it isn't you.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
introductions
except to God, tliere is a fiist time to all tilings,
so it was with us. fiuiibling. tiiiiibliiig. gliding
down like waterfall eddies into each other's grasp.
Hp to lip. eye to eye. a denim dress sliding
upward, hke a shield raised in surrender
and greeting, no wanner comrade made than
in tliat moment, no welcome softer, or sweeter,
or so, so anticipated, soft and iipe, I peel
the fabric skin away to expose the beckoning
fruit and take my fill as you take yours.
and two nervous smiles give way to pleasure.
and a memory undimmished by time.
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dark kiss
a warm kiss, low and inside,
sweet fire, desiie and himger.
a promise made of dark intent,
a gentle dental mental fiiry.
intensity upon intensity,
a terrible, wonderfiil fire,
higlier. liigher. flashpoint
and beyond, electiic and eclectic.
you serze. andserzeup.
too much, too much, like
a marionette on endorphin ice.
inarticulate pleasme turrung to fear.
feai^ and excitement,
a barrier breached, the pleasure
of surrender', you don't remember
when the wall was passed, or how.
just file charge, tiie surge.
the large swellii^ of nerve ending
army ants consummg your consciousness
like a swarm of pleasuring wasps.
another kiss of the waim. rt lingers
and the stingers drive home the venom
of ecstasy, and the feai' fieezes on fips
disabled by a cuiming lingmst's trips.
you float m blackness, unawaie.
thrown upon the shore, helpless
and uncaring. obMvious to tiie lover
who patiently waits for your retiini.
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while we are in you
a merged life, haploids joined to fonii newgrowtli
inside yoiir smooth, romided fonii. I kiss the ciuve
of the skin of the chamber wherein we are together.
and lead you once more to the place where silent oatlis
gave rise to new life, where we paired and daied
to show hope in tomoiiow and our love, tlie sheer neive
of lovers in this giaceless age, the dark weatlier
of the caieless night, gimding dust fiom what we shared.
I lay against you, and feel us in you. newHfe, merged
and glowing, synthesis and synergy, a one of us.
yom' eyes tell me your need for reassurance, your hands
speak vohunes of love and passion, mtimacy encouraged
in a time of great joy. passion and reverence, a touch.
abmsh. a smile of knowing lumger. a tender tluTist
of gatliering blood, wishing to lock us in fiised bands
of soulmetal and dreams, a moment tliat says so much.
I slide my angel hands down your hips and rest them on us.
the us that is within you. shared and conceived,
loved and living, tlie givii^ of tlie flesh, youi' song
is giacefiil and beautiful, for what is more sensuous
than a woman canying tlie child of tlie man she loves
and who loves her? what is more honest tlian lust relieved
by lovers swoni and given? what is more riglit than tlie long
and thrilling fire that engulfs us? now. and you are so beautiful.
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baby kiss
ten tlioiisand tunes I've kissed that moutli, seeing it drawn
in contorted passion and measure of pleasure, now, I see it taut
with an intensity of fulfillment, a birth of dreamer and dream .
in comforted pain and attainment of life, tlie star is caught
in your soul's web and brought foitli in a cliild's first dawn.
how rare it is to see such passion, were that I could stir fiom you
a smile as that which creases youi' face, exliausted fiom the effort
of giving ready flight to anew angel, bom of a love supreme
among meie mortals, reveient and impassioned, no mere sport
of passion, this cliild conceived as lover's seal between me and you.
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a thirsty kiss
she sleeps.
a newborn's peaceful
and honest rest, sated.
but you and I do not. not yet.
for there is fiie in your eyes
and a lover's kiss to reconcile.
face to face.
an embrace
that entwines us.
your dancer's legs lock about me.
yom' hands cradle my face to you.
your body receives me with
eagei' and pleased abandon.
I kiss the sweat from your neck.
and trace the trail of a slow, seepmg
path of whiteness from yoni' breast.
and plug it with my thirst, not stopping
it, but draining eagei' nourishment
with my lips as your loms diaw
eager nourishment from my flesh.
1 feel yom' pleasiu^e as you ciadle
my face to you. the tension in your thighs
teUs me all I need to know, and I
am thiisty for you and your love.
and dimk greedily, diaining you.
as you do to nie.
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wet kiss
a captive tiopical raiii, lush and cascading,
paiading down your flesh, drawing out the fatigue
earned in houis of earnest, amorous battle.
the ahen wetness feels so good, serenading
your flesh with new vigor and life, m league
with desire unrepentant, it renews flie call
to you and I to touch, to taste, to feel, to share
again this joy of discoveiy. in a wet kiss ofhfe.
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
the kiss of the reawakening rose
exhaustion, sweet and suiiple.
tired limbs, earning their rest and respite.
we lay, linked togetlier in all
ways, slow and tempered, consciousness split
by tlie gentle, regular breathing of lovers, sated.
the penetrating rose awakens.
slowly it presses foitli its stem, pushing aside
aU barners, seeking deep fen
to blossom, stietching out for the liglit inside
of a woman's passionate embrace, illuminated.
slowly you awaken to the bloom.
you marvel at tlie sensation of giowtli and reach,
as the rose seeks a proper room
in which to giow, in wliich to show its petals, teach
its lessons of passion and fiie penetrated.
you reach back to me and touch
my face. I rouse and am aroused by the renewal
of the binding, the bonds of such
an exquisite vase, enhancii^ tlie rose through all
the shared sensations of tlie fire consecrated.
my tired limbs aie reborn
and I puU you to me, burying deeper still tlie rose
withm its proper' garden.
and exhaustion has fled, and we kiss, again nose
to nose, hptohp. backtofi^ont. reinvigorated.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Twelfth Panther Cycle:
The Wedding Cycle
This cycle came at a time when we pretty much figured we knew what was going to happen over
the rest of our hves: I would get a divorce, we could marry, have two cMdien and hve happdy
ever after.
Man plans, God laughs.
But, regardless of any future reality checks, I wrote this set, spinning off of the visions and
images we were creatii^ m oni' little cloistered comer of reality. Never mind that I had not yet
asked for a divorce. Never mind that we had spent all of about foi1y horns in each otlier's actual
presences.
I had gone from, in a matter of only a handful of months, someone who had never used tlie tenn
"soubnate" in conversation to injectmg in just about everything I wrote, so certain I was of tlie
situation and its eventual outcome.
Man plans, God laughs.
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promises
the promise is made and the covenant sealed
between strainers no more, their passion revealed
in a reverent givmg and taking of bonds
forged m their name, in their hearts, by their hands.
sonnet: the journey
I have stood at the edge of eternity and watched the gravel
beneath my toes fall away mto the endless void, down
into the abyss, for so loi^ did I wander free and travel,
deemed mad by all who saw tlie decade's dance turn brown
the greenery of my youth, alone and arrogant, I fraced
the line of a sliinii^ path of cmmmg calculations cnUed
from my perceptions of Hfe and love and god. and faced
with mortahty, I laughed a hearty roar, and when called
by fate to answer for my sms, I took my cross with grace
and peace, knowmg that truth was a better companion
than anyone I'd ever known, until now. I turn my face
from tlie lonely wind and hold out my hand to askyoujom
this lonely quest, alone no more, for I have foimd wortli
in one who shares so much and I would share my time on Earth.
processional
ever closer'.
our souls draw ever closer,
boimd to end in a bmdrng
of a Gordian knot, bhnding
us witli joy we will remember
to remember.
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purpose
we aie not here for weakness relieved
but for stiength buttressed in a commonality
of affection and respect, this derelict
heart has found a shelter where his skills
may be part of the whole, a solution
not a problem, and for tlus, he is forevennore
grateflil and given, hfe lived for pmpose.
rivets
words of respect,
words that deflect
those awkwaid, often tunes
when our hearts' petty crimes
would rob us of our dignity,
there is an infinite affinity
between kindred souls, resonance
that exposes the most chance
of variance between hearts brave
and given to hope as honor's slave.
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synergy in white light
like a feedback loop of iiifiiiite power,
moment by iiioiiient, lioiu' by lioiu;
my power grows, focused like a pure beam
of coherent light, like the newborn scream
of nucleai' fire m a newborn star.
lancii^ out into tlie chaos night of
mortal weakness, the faihu^e shown in love
forged in fires too cool to tnie temper
the iron of oiu' hearts that would never
survive tlie memory of a love scar.
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first dance
to tlie outwaid obseiTer.
our fiist dance would have been an awkward affair.
slow and ponderous, we were
uncertain where to place our hands and anus, but where
we rested our limbs was not
as important as the quintessential why. for in tliis simple
expression of desire not
to proudly ignore souliuate found, we found our heaits giaceM.
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The Thirteenth Panther Cycle:
Panther On The Beach
^
I was now experiinentmg witli foniis I had only dabbled with before, most notably tlie French
sonnet form, the villaneUe.
But, look closely at the poem "the Panther on the Beach". There is a subconscious thread tliere,
apart of me sensing that maybe I was the only one certain of our joined fate.
Note also tlie reference to "La Belle Dame Sans Merci".
We all know how that turned out.
Foreshadowing was rearmg its ugly head.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
the Panther on the Beach
A poet's dieaiii and invocation of dark divinity
spun of the ethereal webs of chance and sweet mortality.
A futiue memory calling of tlie pantlier on the beach.
Forbidden and forever. Tlie rose, she grows just out of reach,
representii^ a resonant sweetness, nectar of a peach,
a poet's dieam and invocation of dark divinity.
So iimocently tlie Judas goat, la belle dame sans merci.
My blood, it bums in cascade turns, now in bondage to be fiee:
a ftitiu^e memory caUing of the panther on tlie beach.
Hardwired, soul to smew, as if tlie vengeful prophets preach
a fallen grace of lost face, disremembering what we teach.
A poet's dream and invocation of dark divinity.
I gaze, in rapt amazement, committing all to memoiy,
ragmg in a cage called propriety. A false dignity.
A future memoiy calling of tlie pantlier on the beach.
A visit to tlie edge of the enamored infinity.
Woven in words incarnate and the elegance of my speech.
A poet's dream and invocation of dark divinity.
A future memoiy calling of tlie pantlier on the beach.
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rationale
if sometimes I seem possessive
or suspicious, please forgive me.
itis no comitagaitistyou. Hive
for your love and thiough my eyes I see
no reason for one as wondrous
as you to love such as I am, all too
mortal, and sometunes, this marvelous
gift of yoiu^ love, bestowed on me tlu^ough
no worthiness of my own, makes me fear
that one day you will regain your reason
and see me for all my unwortliiness, not near
to all you deserve, and m tliis season
of senses reawakened, you will depaif
as you came, a hunmous herald of joy
unasked, tlie gem of wonder witliin my heait
that grants me the most perfect peace any
man has ever known, my derelict heart bleeds
to think one day I'll be insufficient to youi' needs.
a kiss of intent
you kiss like you mean it. as if every
touch and taste and wann embrace were
an expression of tliinly restrained tliirst
for the deepest draught of wann wine.
I return your passion, moved and very
ready to surrender all my restraints, sure
that I am willing to suffer the very worst
our merging could create, a brush witli the divine.
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my heart
I do not contiol my heait or iinise.
they take will of tlieu' own and amuse
themselves sometimes, by what or who they choose
for me to be drawn to. Fisher-king bruise.
spike
we lay, togetlier, serenity
reigning down on us m regal
splendoui'. it binds our pretty
words mto cniming constructs, fiill
of meanings shared, passions dared
and tlie rich illusions we piepaied
for such an occasion, shattered like
brittle glass on an upturned spike.
song
1 love to hear yoiu^ song.
sweet and transporting.
it fills me with longing
to shaie my hfe and biing
all my heart to stay forever
in youi' hfe's artistry.
to be with such as you and nevei
be less tlian what you need me to be.
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Panther's Dance
Two legs, not four, she takes tlie floor
tracing out rhythms of desiie and more.
The smiple, sinfiil giace of the pantlier's dance.
I wasn't looking for beauty in an elegant romance,
but she drew me m, by her chann, by chance.
Two legs, not four, she takes tlie floor.
Such lovely grace and spint, I'll sing forevermore,
and place it in liistory, this passion mto lore:
the simple, sinfiil grace of tlie pantlier's dance.
The Renaissance of Italy, tlie Golden Age of France,
both faded, futile memories, witlun tins lover's trance.
Two legs, not four, she takes tlie floor.
I caiuiot take my eyes from liei', a poor
martyi' an I to take liei', yet for this I implore:
the simple, sinfiil grace of tlie pantlier's dance.
Her feline lines and feral smile, impossible to ignore,
and tliat I be her chosen, a most blessed twist of chance.
Two legs, not four, she takes tlie floor,
the smiple, smfiil giace of tlie pantlier's dance.
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The Fourteenth Panther Cycle:
Panther Eves
The poetic cycle as tlierapy.
To me, this cycle is one of the most important to examine and evaluate. To consider, not just as
ait or literature, but as a minor or a lens tliat tlie Hglit of reality must boimce off of or bend
tluougli to emerge to the page.
The first piece, "Panther Eyes" is a well-wrought enough viUanelle describing her eyes .
But tlie final iiiree poems, tliere's tlie Master's Thesis waiting to be written.
"unworthy" frames me as perhaps an unfit suitor, my own doubts about myself, largely fueled by
my infidelity, weie eating me ahve. . .tlie next few montiis would ravage me, emotionally.
"scrutiny" is a simple observational work, examining a moment fiom oiu^ meetii^ in New York
when she left the table to find a waiter. She wanted lime in her Diet Coke, he had brouglit
lemon. I watched her as she moved away, fully aware that I would almost certainly be seeing her
fai' more intimately in just an hour or two, but admirmg her grace and beauty.
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"felicific" a vision of happiness, of good foitime. A vision of hei', watching Cassiopeia chase
butterflies on a sunny day. It was an image that made her always feel good, and I believe at tlie
time I wrote it the purpose was to calm her down, as her guilt feelings were beginning to gnaw at
hei, as well.
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panther eyes
burnt honey eyes, rich and rapturous,
a hunter's hunger made perilous,
eyes aglow with passion and deHglit.
smile affixed in soul's coherent hght.
framed m dark illusions of tlie niglit.
burnt honey eyes, rich and rapturous.
the moment the fire consumes us.
I camiot look away, flesh made porous.
eyes aglow with passion and deHglit.
later, alone in the swirl of bright
memories, I see your smile, so right,
burnt honey eyes, rich and rapturous,
sitting in a crowd of fiiends, to us
there aie more tlian words comiecting us.
eyes aglow with passion and deHglit.
all I need is your glance to feel tluTist
into file chaos of passionlight.
burnt honey eyes, rich and rapturous,
eyes aglow with passion and deHglit.
simple pleasure
shall I write poems of passion
that raise the peoples' fire?
shall icons of you I fashion
to stand, idols of desire?
or better should I freasure
every moment that we claim
and seek the simple pleasure
of a common home and name?
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the kernel
in tlie flimace of my desire, the infenio
will bum away all doubt of my tnitli, and you
shall be left with tlie immutable kernel comprised
of my love, haider than fallen star's steel.
and, in your timely examination, you shall know
the purity of my love, tlie heat, beyond blue,
beyond violet, and you shall be left witli a gem prized
above all mortal treasures, a piece of something real.
Wings
If I were to play Daedalus
and fashion you your wings
I would not build from feathers
and bind with wax and strings.
Instead I would seek butterflies
and beg them from my plight
to share with you their chrysalis
so you may, the winds, ahght.
For such is your perfection
you need no graver lift
than the scarcest liint of summeiwings
to bear Aplu^odite's gift.
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unworthy
I have always been what I should be
to brace youi' stiength and set you free
from all youi' demons and diversions, weak
am I, clay with flecks of gold, but I seek
to be what you need, accept me back, take
me for all my flaws and failures, flus snake
does no more wrsh to seek to brmg you suffering
than you would ask for such a false bartering
of intentions, do not reject me and I will see
yom' joy as great as it can be made, as my duty.
scrutiny
once.
when you were unaware of my scnitiny.
I watched you cross the room and I
marveled at youi' fonn and elegance
as you made poetry of sunply motion.
filling my heaft with inspiration
that even now, months later, I can
recaU with sweet fondness and emotion.
felicific
a vision, a woman, undoubtedly you
by hei stance and fonn and essence,
standing at file window, watcliing
a cliild chasing butterflies across
afield of wildflowers. and smihng
as the afternoon sun warms them
both, and the clouds are always white.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Fifteenth Panther Cycle:
The Goddess Cycle
When in donbt, go back to tlie thematic cycle.
For this one I chose from the goddesses of several ancient mythologies to depict aspects of the
Panther and women in general.
Mixed results, but this was a good exercise is seeii^ how well I could identify patterns, images
and tendencies that were stalling to emerge. Most notable? I was lying to myself The mere
choice of the theme should have warned me that the "deification" process had begun, I was
dispensing with the human woman and replacing her with something divine and perfect, flawed
only as a goddess would be flawed, issues of temperament rather than fragility or dishonesty.
Under tlie growing sfress of seeing my niaiiiage dissolve, and the subtle condemnation of some
who had seen through the ridiculously thinly veiled disguise, she was buckling, scared, feehng
isolated and condemned.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Idun, Norse Goddess of Youth
You share yom^ apples. Thoughts and dieams carved
of springtuiie desires, forged in the sun to giant me
my wagered immortality. Conceptuality set fiee
to giant me the life I would shaie, as a man starved
for the essence, tlie trutli of love and beauty bright
with promise and youtli. And I would take a bite.
Ishtar, Egyptian Goddess of Love and Fertility
Sands of time. Sands of crime against tlie pillais
of passion. Love wasted, never tasted from wells
cut in the sandstone of the arid deserts of Hfe.
The wmd blasts our souls and demands sacnfice
of our failed desires. Fires that bum in tapers
of wax and gold, stolen from the illmninated shells
of our still hving sarcophagi. The ritual kmfe
that peels away the withered skm as falsehood's price.
Bast, Egyptian Goddess of Cats
I have often wondered what it would be like to be
inabody fehnemnatuie. graceful, predatory,
like the cat-headed goddess I saw m tiie museum,
proud and beautiful, she is able to be free
on hei own terms, to hve. to love, herliistory
iiielevant hke a lover's dream uninvoked m fear.
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Brigit, Celtic Goddess of Fire and Poetry
yoiir words are like the sparks tliat light tlie kmdling
hidden deep witliin me, like a slumbering, flammable
giant, imaware of his liibemation until tlie awakening
in the aims of a woman both beautiful and capable.
Aphrodite, Greek Goddess of Love and Beauty
lovely you are. lovely and love-wortliy, like
acliild oftlie Gods, herself a Goddess. I am struck
speecliless and mindless and without will
by the power of your beauty, the duty of love
if to expose the truth magnified m tlie dove
of peace and the raven of mouiiung. the fill
of my soul by tlie hglit absorbed by tlie luck
of my eyes being open when you entered my life.
Tyche, Greek Goddess of Good Fortune
a twist of fate, the card turned to fill the open straight
is insufficient, sometimes, but not today and the trove
is mine, a tliousand fives worth of wealth m the kiss
of an angel of dark grace and the fire of Erin her soul,
a worthy paramour', a peei'. an imasked victory, lucky
at caids or lucky at love? I fold, for I have won all,
all I will ever need m tliis life, and an content.
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Isis, Egyptian Goddess of Fertility
whether the seeds of my love, nmtiired aiid perfected
the bosom of oiir twin-helixed heails and soiils, or the
geiTiiination of oiir offspring in youi' nmtiiring flesh,
I am awed by tlie shared moments we aie granted
in tliis life to make onr creation mamfest. I love you.
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The Sixteenth Panther Cycle:
Dark and Light
"dieams of goldeiiliearts and remnant of red" opens this cycle
A crack in the wall. It was at this time, during a particularly strained point at my relationship
with tlie Panther that I penned 'The Goldenlieait Cycles" which have been argued as a fittmg
rival to tlie Panther Cycles foi tlie top of my artistic pyramid.
Apples and oranges. Or lathei, jimgle cats versus Neil Yoimg songs.
The Goldenheart was a protege of mme who was m sharp contiast to tlie Panther and in our
discussions of poetic form and themes, she had touched a part of me that had remained luicut m
the eaily months of my lelationsliip with tlie Pantlier. Imiocence.
There was no illusion of innocence here. I was cheating on my wife, pieparing to ask for a
divorce so I could many my separated yet-to-be-divoiced giilfiiend I'd met on tlie internet then
bedded in a New York hotel (okay, amcehotel, but nonetheless...)
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While this cycle continued a string of well-wrouglit and introspective expressions of my heart,
the emergence of tliis single line should have flagged me tliat I was yearning for a purification, a
lustiation, fioin the guilt I was caving under. Tlie Panther was fading even faster tlian I, despite
a second rendezvous, tliis time in suburban Virginia, near' where I lived.
I was keepmg it togetlier by a tluead and my perversely inhuman cardio-vascular system was the
only tlung tliat stood between me and a massive coronary or a stroke.
I was in fliU amomancy now, invoking her favourite images and fantasies to keep her' near, to
give me some comfort, but she was more drained tlian I by now.
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conflicts
dreams ofgoldeiiliearts and remnants of red,
the cmlain drawn on an antique bed.
remembering what I tliought, remembering what I said.
we aie not what we were, but more.
the proof is in tlie shadows, tlie fiie in the dark,
the joy IS in tlie bitter tears, wept angry and stark
alone, we are blindfolded by fate, at the mark
where tlie cold bodies wash on shore.
walls
the walls come down,
blasted by tlie heat of our passions,
as the twisted bucks aawl and seek
to resurrect tlieii' fonu before
we can kiss again.
defiance
the wmds of time are not always warm and gentle.
they chum and twist, puffs of aii' to lieUish screams
that would rip tlie flesh from you in a mental
hurricane, category 6. and all the dreams
must clii^ to you, their nails dug in. stand,
take the blast, lash to the mast of ego
yoiu' desires, your dreams of a distant land
that was beneath your feet a moment ago.
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dragonrise
who are you, to awaken me?
I have slept longer tlian many
have Hved. and by choice tliis voice
has loi^ been silent, can you see
the shadows on my wall? a penny
for my thoughts would price
me out ofthemaiket. 1 would
wrap you in my wings when I
ascend, but 1 need them to catch
the amber winds of the dawn.
cling tightly and with me fly
to the cherished land, watch
dreams bloom when we are gone.
union
do you really want to love me?
I am miwoitliy so often, self-absorbed
and given to tlie excess of ego of my
gender and my art. 1 wiU never see
a mirror without my demons, barbed
fangs and nails clinging tightly, why
you would want tliis tortured man
is a puzzle to me. but you give me
love and seremty. a home foi tliis
vagabond heait. an holy band can
bind us, but no tighter than I wish
to be at one with you in an eternal kiss.
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tasting the fire
a statement of fact, lacking tact.
I am guilty as charged, my love for you
shall be my undoing, and that of so many
things, but I stand ready to taste the fire.
this passion foi you is no act.
others tried tliat con on you and knew
your disdain and subtle smile, imcamiy
yom' gift to see tlie tiTie natuie of desiie.
hold fast
hold fast to me, my love, for I need you.
yes, I said need, few men speak those words
in anything otliei tlian calculated lust, tnie,
but I am not any man. I have spoken shards
of the eaitlienware heart, spit in rainbow hue
and black and white, tlie night is memory.
and thus is it cursed by all who care to
pondei its implications, my soul's apogee
is bound to your orbit. tluTist mto the blue
of the lover's night, I feai' no evil, when
you passed the minor's test and knew
before I did, the names of om' cliildren.
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The Seventeenth Panther Cycle:
soft reflections
Perhaps the most reiiiaikable thing about tliis cycle is the stepping ont of my own voice, tlie write
a cycle made up entirely of foui-line poems. It was by design, I had noticed a tendency in recent
works to go to tlie excessively verbose, and I was trying to force myself to thmk in shoif biu^sts.
The last two pieces describe actual events fiom hei visit to Virginia, a movie we went to and oui'
farewells at the aiiport.
It would be the last tune I saw her in this hfe witli us on good terms.
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edge
I know oiily tlie very nearest edge of my love for you,
for so deep is it tliat I caimot see tlie faitliest piece.
I know it IS buried deep in my heart, like an arrow tlu^oiigh
my reality. I shift my focus and live a lover's peace.
summer dreams
my dreams for us are the flavour of the memory
of a summer's day. when the clouds are spun sugar
and tlie alien blue cheesecake of the sky, for me
holds nothing but hope and wannth and ardor.
shining epitaph
remember me when I am cold and memoried,
songs sung by fading friends and tliose who never
saw me m life, but I will be remembered.
the inspiration you give me will slime forever.
a kiss
I thirst for your beauty, my tongue is made dry
by your absence, and I would faint. I would taste
deeply of your Hps, and be mmdfiil of the reasons why
I dare not wander far. a nectared kiss, well placed.
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again
I would lie beside you, once again, to share anew
the wanntli and pleasure of our textures and om' heat,
in many ways your soul is all the sustenance due
my hungry heart, but it is m your arms I am complete.
the theatre
we sat m the dark and watched tlie fhckeimg pictures
tell a tale irrelevant to our lives . but witli your hair
against my shoulder, and our fingers meshed to captuie
the touch again of flesh denied, a stolen kiss, I dare.
parting at the airport
as we paited, a missed oppoitiuiity for a last kiss
stiU mocking on the aii', 1 considered how much I felt
in watchii^ you walk away, and 1 wept, knowing I'd miss
your touch and await your retiun. a tempered sadness welled.
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The Eighteenth Panther Cycle:
Unborn Memories. Poetry Written
by our Unborn Children
Did I get slammed for this one?
The self-indulgence of putting words m tlie mouth of imbom cliildren, cliildien not even
conceived.
The sheer insipidity of "tlie meeting".
There are times when 1 tliink I'm losing what gifts I have as a writer, after reading this one I was
sure I was fading in the shadows, as if my sins had torn my powers from me, like a Nazarite
shorn of his locks.
1 was writing more tlian I had ever written before in my hfe, as much as a cycle a day, and I
could not vent the poison witlun me fast enougli.
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the Meeting
did you ever hear the stoiy of how they met?
yes, a tliousaiid tiines. how father tliought all
the while he was talking to a man. how they set
to tlieii' debate on how to spell "Neandeitlial".
how they giew to respect and enjoy the minds
of one another, tlie way tliey reasoned
even when, in casual conversation, he finds
she is a woman, and is world is overtunied.
the Confession
loi^ before 1 was bom, a shy plu^ase
spoken, ahnost silent, a footnote
to a long and rambling letter of a praise
for a fiiend foimd dear, a dust mote
of affection, expressed and found fecund.
a fertile tliouglit planted in a field
of willing embracement. love beckoned
in a daring slight of memory, healed.
the Kiss
he told me once, about their fiist kiss.
awkward, and ambush, an elevator I beheve,
riding to the sky. a sudden impulse to seize
this mstant and violate all plans and scripts
to touch lips witli the woman he loved.
and stdl does .
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the Dress
I saw it in the closet, the legends aie tnie.
green and brilliant, short enougli to show
those dancer's legs (bold and powerful) to
all who had tlie comage to staie. I know
she bought it for hiin, to tempt hnn to
dance tliat evening. I'm glad she dared
to court his favom; or you and I, my
sister, would not be alive to share
this stoiy. or to, in oui' hearts, why
they did not dance tliat night, they cared
enougli to dance, but they did not try
for fear that eveiy eye would be on tliem
and know their secret, a stolen gem.
the Fight
I heard motlier tell tlie tale (though father does not speak)
of the lost poems, something about a discovery,
brought to hght late one night, tliat smacked of treachery
to his way of thinking and drove lum mad. the weak
bonds, still fresh, tliat bound tliem togetlier, split
and tore and he had to iip tliose pages from liis heart,
never before or since, takmg in his moutli the bit
of madness, and drawing the coach of hell apart
from all. father could not endure tlie pain and cut
himself off from his words, burning tliem Hke leavings
of aiefiisepile. smouldering, mouldering to shut
the flue of fading hope, and imiocents' giievings.
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the Book
words of his expression of love, sculpted witli liei aid,
boimd together to bind tliem togetlier, a serenade
for the ages, the pages not yet old enough to turn
yellow with age. yet with timeless fiie they bum.
the wedding
an anny of liglit, givmg tlieu' blessing, tlieir seal
on the nieiguig of lovers, destined to give birth
to you and I, my brother, my fatlier and mothei, feeling
all that they did and do, had little choice but bring foitli
their love in pubHc ceremony, tlie flowers faded and knelt
befoie motlier's radiance, and fatlier knew joy undenied
in tliat moment, he called it his birtluight, a passion felt
in tlie coiners of heaven. 1 have seen tlie pictures and cried.
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The Nineteenth Panther Cycle:
Seven Wonders
This one helped, a lot. I refocused, using a thematic stnictiire. Again, tliank God for all the
"Sevens" in hteiatuie, mythology and culture.
"Tlie Statue of Zeus" was a rare flash of himiour in my works at this tune. At tlie tune I had met
the Panther I had been writing an extemporaneous 'Top Ten List" column for the Writers Club
on AOL, every Simday Niglit in tlieir legendary Writers Cafe, so I was comfortable laughmg for
a moment.
It took a little research to get beyond the names of the oiiginal Seven Wonders, but all in all it
was woitli it and I learned a few tilings along tlie way.
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The Pyramids of Egypt
standing even against tlie blasting sands of tinie,
wliich wear away the face of man and liis creation,
my love stands, weatliered but defiant, a subHme
statement of our patience and dedication.
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon
The life giows and spreads out, twisting and vinii^
its way towards tlie aicing sun, prayitig to light
and tlie moishire-nch morning air. Like twining
lover's fimbs the stems embrace, supporting bright
blossoms of amber and ciimson and iiidescent blue
that spread tlieir fiagrance like a blushing memory
on an airplane. Knowing everyone can see the tnie
nature of your love, and marvel at the beauty.
The Mausoleum at Hahcarnassus
No crypt of stone or ancient wood shall hold our bones.
It would be sacrilege to our passion, a pile of stones
on a rainbow of glory, strangely out of place, defacing
our faith in the afterhfe. A memory's disgracmg.
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The Temple of Artemis
I bum the ofFeriiig in the brazier, as the priest has shown,
to summon the unage of love in the eyes of tlie goddess
of the feral creatures and tlie hunt. For I have long known
that my destiny is with a jiuigle cat, and to bless
this umon, 1 will seek the elder communion, that which
tells the myths of memories faded, jaded and serenaded
by bards and skalds. 1 will hold my aiiows and bewitch
this cunning beast into my arms, a passion divinely fated.
The Colossus of Rhodes
epic and silent, our passion shall stand longei
than the Colossus, m muscled aiticulation stronger
than that construct of the unage of Apollo, fallen
now with the movement of tlie earth, no sullen
set of cliiseled j aw shall communicate our desire,
but tlie immortality of words spoken in lovefiie.
The Statue of Zeus by Phidias at Olympia
I am glad we do not live in the time of the ancient Gods,
for Zeus was known for liis knack for spymg tlie most
beautiM and comely of women, and I would not like to
have to go toe to toe with the Kmg of the Gods, as he
would, imdoubtedly, kick my ass from heie to kii^dom
come, unless the other Gods said "Look, big guy, they
are in love.. .can't you cut lum some slack?", and tlien
the ambiosia would almost certainly lut tlie fan.
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The Pharos at Alexandria
I ciave iiiiinortality for our love, m the flesh, yes,
thiougli our cliildien, but also through the light
that radiates out from my soul when lost in serene
contemplation of our binding, oui' shaimg. oui' decision
to care to choose to love, like a pieicing incandescence
that cuts the darkness of despair for lovers, biiglit
and almost a Hvmg thing, tliis photonic link between
the somce of my affection and future generations.
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The Twentieth Panther Cycle:
Fragments of Dreams and Memories
I shook it off, the doubt, for a cycle and dove flill in. I recall vividly writing tliis one, willing
myself inward to embrace feelings and impressions that were free-floating in my mind.
"Kisses" is a quite pleasant expression, and has garnered a fan' amount of respect from readers.
"When the shoe falls" was taken from a conversation we'd had about my preparing to ask for a
divorce. She had expressed that it wouldn't seem real to her until it happened, that nothir^ could
come tnie luitil the wait for tlie "otlier shoe to fall" was over.
This upped the pressme to move ahead as quickly as possible with my divorce. Every day she
seemed more and more frightened that nothing would happen. I was the quaiterback now, and I
had tlie ball (and no, I didn't use tliat metaphor in any of the poems).
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the day is long
the day is loi^ without yoiir voice
to soothe my mmd and let me know
that yoiir love is not some illusion
1 siunmoned to make my life of woitli.
to love you is my best and sweetest choice,
despite all the obstacles over wliich I must go
to dispel the pain and the nervewrack confusion
that signals life and love and rebiitli.
kisses
how sofl yoiu' lips, as they sHde mto mine,
sharii^ youi' passion, like a consummate wine
decanted for my joy and in expression of warm
and willing fantasies, as I embrace yom' form.
honey eyes
I see the gold in your soul
deep behind tliose honey eyes
that were, on first glance,
a sweet and bright smprise. . .
having expected a dark
and soulful countenance,
soulful you are, and sweet,
so sweet, fire in every glance.
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the merging flames
I hold yoiu^ clenched hand,
not diawn in anger, but
consuming passion, and feel
the fire m your veins. ..it
leaps in jets of holy violet
and arcane crimson and
ignites my soul.. .driving
me mad and mindless. I bless
youi' love and share my
file, my desiie, as well.
the walk
a long and leisurely pace sometimes.
at other times, a brisk and ragged run.
but togetlier, whenever and wherever
possible, oui' Hves, in rain or sun.
when the shoe falls
we have waited for this moment, evidence
of commitment, proof of tlie stiength
of the fire tliat bums me daily with its
intensity and incandescence, we chanced
so much in loving, and, at lengtli,
we aie rewarded witli an opportumty wliich
we daie not waste, oui' dreams advanced.
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I fear
I fear nothii^ in this life more than losmg
yom' love. I would Irve if that were tlie case,
but it would erase so many dreams of takmg
this flue romance all tlie way to tlie embrace
of the grave and beyond. 1 would not falter
in tliis path, I would love and dream and dare
to kiss your soul, notliing shall, this need, alter
withm me. imless you choose not to be there.
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The Twenty-first Panther Cycle:
Flowers
This IS actually one of my favomite cycles. The images aie so mtimate to me, even dating back
to my mother's snapdiagons when I was a child, that it helped expand my vision of time and
relax me. I do not know what I would have done without this set of poems to soothe me.
The penetrating rose makes a re-appeaiance here, as does my perhaps too orthogiapliic
explanation of why I love jasmine tea so nnich (it tastes Mke a woman) and tlie afoiementioned
snapdragons .
It would not be mitil tlie cycle known as "Cassiopeia's Garden" tliat I would enjoy the flowers so
much again in my writings.
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the rose
I remember that mght
a tliousaiid lifetimes ago
when we lay, j oitied by tlie light
of oiir passions, the penetiatiiig rose
servii^ as budge and condmt
for onr hungers, onr needs.
onr open and honest love tlu^ongh it
feeding our memory, planting seeds
of revelation and obscuiement
of issues we did not wish to embrace.
the petals, their colour and scent
intoxicating us. a smgular vase.
dandelions
some would call them weeds,
but seeing our children tickled
by tlie explosion of windbome
paiatroopeis, I call tliem flowers
oftheliighest order, for if we
call it beautitiil, and know in
our hearts how tliey bring joy,
how can anyone else's attitude
bend us to tlie fiown of society?
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the orchid
I lay in fields of roses, tlieii' tlionis
binding me, grinding me to the dust
of my days, and the immortal dream
of orchids retmns to me. your face.
yom' face lingers, in upturned eyes,
dancing on the wind like tlie scent
of the orchids, exotic and sensuous,
real and iich and iipe and wondrous.
wondrous, so is yom' love and mine
returned a thousandfold, no game
is this, I do not take the harvest
of your heart so lightly as you may think.
you may think I understand your love
in ways I do not, for I am mortal,
and as I am oft befiiddled by tlie
simple beauty of the orchid in my hand.
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honeysuckle
perfiime on wind of change,
sudden and unexpected
like honeysuckle suddenly
made apparent, projected
fragrance on an holy wind.
1 do not pick tlie blossoms,
but let tlie fragrance live
on the wmd and wait for them
to drop into my hand to give
themselves in theu' own time.
lasmine
I drink my tea with jasmine
petals in it, so that I may diink
therichMqueur oftliem. men
may aigue the merits, you may tliink
what you will of this taste,
but it contents me and brings thought
me of you. I would not waste
your memory, fragiant and hot.
crocus
fiisthfe. first light.
the thaw of tlie soul.
the rebutli, the goal
of all creation, blight.
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the snapdragons
my mother had a gaiden in wliich she planted many tilings,
but most withered and died, except tlie snapdragons, despite
our best efforts (it some times seemed) to engage in floral
genocide while showing oiu^ friends how the jaws worked.
ignorance of beauty is not tlie crime, lack of respect brings
the guilt, we must turn our tlioughts inward, the distant mght
where we lay, in pledged commumon, is old bones, but for all
it's distance, it is real in tlie garden of time, and respected.
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The Twenty-Second Panther Cycle:
winds of change
"Feral hearts sing songs of victory" (from the final poem of tliis cycle) is ahne that has been
used in more than one review of my work. I have never qmte fatliomed why, aside from the
obvious sfrei^;th of the image.
This IS another tliematic cycle, but one where 1 experiment witli ascendancy, or the building of a
them . . .the strength of tlie winds get more and more mtense and we get ftuther into tlie cycle (I
latei do tliis witli fire, and I beheve there are otlier cycles of similar build).
Emotionally, this cycle rs all over tlie map. . .one of several written during tiiis phase in our
relationshrp, it reflects my own internal tunnoil as well as tlie hot and cool communrcations I
was getting from my lover. Guilt was desfroying her, at this point, so much that I should have
aheady seen the mevitable shattering of our relationshrp by it, but I was too lost in my own pain,
like a bhnd man trymg desperately to fight hrs way through the choking smoke m the bummg
house he is m.
Not sure of where to go or what to do, but knowmg that standmg in place was certain disaster.
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calm
in my most placid moments
I look inside my soul and see
youtliere. living and giving me
life in all its currency spent
in gambles and offerings
made to tlie gods of chance,
a sweet and simple dance
with all tlie hope it brings.
gentle breeze
just enough to stii' my hair,
like yom' hand across tlie table,
soft and meaningflil, a cable
into my heart, communicatmg care.
stiff breeze
wliippii^ across my consciousness, the wind
snaps the baimers on the towers of my keep
in shaip, ihytlun actions, your face upon them,
they seize my attention with every crisp sound
and pound my loving mind with trebuchet round
after roimd after roimd of all you mean, column
of hght and fire, you illume my shattered sleep
and giant me a pure grace when I have sinned.
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gale
howlii^ outside,
don't let it in. hungry
to blistei' you witli cold
and angry rain, like
lovers you forgot
the day after.
cyclone
turbulent and coherent,
like my soul impassioned
with your burnt honey eyes
and dancer's thighs.
I twist my passion
into a feral knot, hot
and corrosive, explosive
and expressive.
like a fieight train
of ennobling pani
twisting, blistering alone
into a lover's cyclone.
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Hurricane
in tlie eye of this storm
I wait for you. hoping against hope
that the rope that ties me to tliis tree
of life is strong enougli, long enough
to keep me here when tlie winds return.
and I will wait, as long as I can.
for I know that riding out tliis tempest
without you is bitter victory, and I do
not wish to diink the cup of defeat, today.
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soulwind
no leaf is stiiied.
none, tlie dark
serenity is total
and focused.
you have tapped
into the sonic boom
of my heart m moments
captured in your world.
I have seen our flituie
in tlie golds of a smiple
sky, held transfixed by
a prophetic constellation.
and when it roais, it
is deafenmg to all
but your voice, my choice
is made, and I will fly.
my wings are new,
but built fi^om an ancient
design left ravaged on a
distant liiU in fear and pain.
and I will not return,
never, to this graveyard
ofmy immortal soul, feral
hearts smg songs of victory.
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The Twenty-third Panther Cycle:
Constellations
This cycle was originally conceived as just aiiotlier tlieiiiatic cycle, poems Hiiked via a common
theme. . and so it remained.
Despite my fondness for things astronomical, and my paiticular identification for the
constellation of Orion, I just didn't have the gas to truly make this a standout cycle. I even went
so low as to make "Pisces" merely a letelling of a classic joke.
This was a strange tune, where I would not hear from tlie Panther for days on end, so intense was
her withdrawal under the stiess of our plans. This left we alone, ruddeiless and trying to fill my
time and cycles any way I could, resulting in the occasional underpeifoiniing cycle such as this.
That's not to say that none of the poems are worthy of praise, I was just not happy with the
finished feel.
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Orion
Huntsman. lam.
Predator for need
and want and nature.
Not sport. I comt
yoiu' favour not for
the j oy of conquest
or to test yom' resolve
and my chann . But I aim
myself with tiiie affection
and seek the sustenance
of your smile. And touch.
Ursa Major
The beai' m the sky points tlie way
for millemiia of lost voyageis, blown
off course by tricks of nature
and judgement lost m the mists
of a dawning awareness of truth.
So I set my course by the bear
and steer for the Panther's lair,
fully aware of tlie shoals and currents.
But resolute and willing to speak
infinite tniths and foUow destiny.
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Hydra
love is like a Hydra.
if it is truly that iiiytliic beast,
mere decapitation will not suffice
to brmg it down, the magic released
will sprout two heads for one, slice
upon slice merely empowers it.
emboldens it. motivates tlie monster
that hides m the open, fate showeis it
with powei beyond yoiu ken. captuie
it? are you mad? do not play with tliat
which could consume you witliout tliought.
give love its way and at least its flatline
power, imdisturbed, leaves you luicaught.
love is like a Hydra.
Cygnus
the Swan ponders in desperation,
hesitation leads to eartliward
plummet from the summit of fliglit.
and yet, he sings his song if loi^
denied his natiu^e and his tnitli,
proof enough of his nobility, if
only held m a natiue luichosen.
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Leo
the proud beast, released
by tlie dance of the decades
to predate among tlie common
creatures of tliis life, priest
of the last iites, playing charades
of forgiveness for human
failii^s. roaring defiance
in tlie face of the storm
and seeking out tlie vahdation
of his heart and soul, penance
torn, bom fi^oni the clotli made warm
by its owner's annihilation.
Pisces
1 bait my hook with poetry, like in the joke
where tlie old sage told lus fiiends, as he spoke
in a mouthiiil mumble, "my secret to lelate
in tlus regards, is the wannmg of your bait."
Cassiopeia
the darkness of yoiu' myth will live in soulful eyes
reflecting proud lineage and a heritage of passion,
carry yourself proudly, my child, and know that wise
men and women do not mock tlie gods of creation
without a champion at hand, and I stand ready,
luitil Perseus makes his entrance m the tlurd act,
to fill tliat role, as is my puipose and intent, steady
to tlie purpose of youi' conception against reasons packed.
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The Twenty-fourth Panther Cycle:
Inevitability
I remember what spawned this return to tlie ardent, a phone call.
She was panicked, frightened, convinced that notlung was going to work out and that all we had
been through was going to be for nothing, tliat we would not stick, so I qmckly wrote tins cycle
about how mevitable our love was, how powerful it was.
I found myself, on more than one occasion, hammering home this message to reassure her. It
was about this time she began asking her to reassure her tliat I was not leavmg my wife and kids
"for her".
I understand the psychology behind it, but I also felt it was terribly unfair of her to make me say
something to soothe her that we both knew was a lie. My marriage had problems, serious
problems, but this divorce was being plaimed, executed and contained under the duress of trying
to get us together for the third act (you know, the "happily ever after" and the curtam call).
I should have realized what that desperation meant at tlie time, but I had already streamlined my
psyche into siege mode and had made tlie offer to end all offers to get out of my maiiiage:
Everythii^, and then some.
I guess, in some ways, tlie name of this cycle cuts in more than one direction.
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I am not God
I am not God. I lack the omniscience and ommpotence
reqmred to make certain that all ends well for all concerned,
and I hold my faith in reasons often mocked and overturned
by tliose who do not see my soul and all its intiicacies.
1 caimot cuie this mesaUiance as one would a disease,
giving medicines of amiilulation and viial poisons chance
to work their arcane detriment on tlie innocents, tune grants
clarity to tlie seekers of truth, and all we can do is build
on our feeble knowledge culled from the pain tliat filled
us yesterday. I am with you, my love, forever hence.
I heard your voice
reflecting yom' soul, I caught tlie tone in your voice,
fiill of apprehension and fear, and love.
do not be dismayed, I am here. I could no sooner
sell my soul foi iiddles than timi my back
on yom' peace and passion, your patience brings me pride.
I know that you want what I want and need and call
to God to bless, in spite of all my faihngs.
love, just once, an honest love without illusions.
without the artifice of codependency and weakness.
bigger pockets
how can you love so much? my pockets aie not big enough
to hold all tliat you manifest, but as a mother does not love
less hei second child, or give only half her heait to a twin,
my capacity to love has blossomed witli your coming in.
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gentle serenity
I am at peace with my life. I have not sought to bring pain
or sufFerii^ to those who aie innocent, and always have tried
to speak the truth. 1 am unwoitliy of happmess, and love
is not a commodity I have any but a pauper's measure to barter
for. I have spoken openly witli God and listened, not in vain,
to tlie counsel of friends and tliose wiser than I. I have cried
in botli pain and j oy. and always given leave to all to prove
their innocence of accusations, and tasted kisses like holy watei.
bitter waters
a taste, misplaced, tlie waste of our hearts,
tart and succulent, we do repent, but not relent
our desiies, fires and wiies tliat mteiface
that place between seienity and divinity, where
we are torn asunder, from mider oiu^ hells it
tells that paradise is priceless and ours.
your face in my hands
all 1 ask of hfe is yom' face in my hands, to see
those bmiit honey eyes reflect my soul as I lase
with coherent passion to the kernel of your essence.
to bear the children of tlie muse your presence
provides me, to mstill a thousand hearts witli praise
of the gods of love, soul merged and free.
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Panthers and Poets
Panthers and poets. I did not design tlie tapestries,
but tliere tliey are, spread before nie m red and gold
and gieen and a fiery black brought fi^oni distant galaxies.
I would ride to tliem witli you, for I knew when bold
I quenched my tliirst for holy communion in your kiss
that this is where God meant me to be. tliis mislaid
destmy. I will find my patli, pickmg among tlie ruins
of those who can not, will not, daie not bless this parade
of the life aitists within us. but it is tnith of iron
and Hvii^ silver, and just this once I will diink wmes
the path oidained. fiie ennobHng cuttii^ of my open
heait will bring me down to my knees a fiiousand times
for Climes imagmed, but without yoiu^ love I well
camiotlive. and I will not. evenif shackled in Hell.
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The Twenty-fifth Panther Cycle:
tenderness
A transitional cycle, not so major as just expressive and fillnig tune and air. "Open Secret" has
an interesting message. Even tliough she had taken on a screen name witli her totem in it, and
we would greet each other in crowded chat rooms where everyone knew about tlie cycles as "iny
panther" and "my poet", some people just didn't seem to grasp the clues tliat weie theie and
would pester me for the identity of the Panther.
We were both in pretty bad shape at this time, emotionally, and a goodly pait of this and
sunounding cycles was taken up witlijusttiying to reassme her that all would be well.
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fractures
Tracing fingertips on tlie hot soft textures
of your skin. Liquid sin held togetlier softly
by membranes of tissue, an osmotic tap slowly
pulls tlie essence. Yoni' passion, in colloidal
suspension of lipids and saline. A coUoqmal
expression, an impression of summoned presence
made manifest in thrs act. A factor whrch presents
itself in a smgle touch. A wounded soul's fiactmes.
cubes within spheres
spaces we hide our hearts m.
places we place our secrets in.
traces of dreams we beheve m.
all boimd up in memoiies of graces
imeamed m tlie maimers we were taught,
unturned in our final burial plot,
imyeamed for in tlie quintessential spot
where we are bmied with om' love imspunied.
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solitude
the cold IS not all that bad.
sad
maybe.
but not the reaper's twisted grimace.
a two fisted violation
of the consecration.
a ft)rgotten promise and premise.
locked away too cracked to play
with under the Cliristmas Tree
of forgotten promises.
chameleon
I broker pain for pleasure.
trading my gain for the leisure
of the approval of the masses
instead of what finally passes
for sanity, the granularity
of holograms, focused, tlie haze
in kalerdoscope greys.
fading now.
shading power
and the illusion
of it, the confiisron
of it. a tower
of promises
enforced.
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open secret
silence m the shadows, greys perceived by only
by tlie casters of tlie rimes, everyone knows.
no one shows any interest in tlie wealth of stealtli
storming aioimd tlie tm sheet stage wlusperers.
closed eyes to hide behind, we stiunble blindly
over om' own diversions... our confiision shows
in tlie syntax of our conversations, a wealtli
of clues left for the bhndest of inteiTogators.
building bridges
sometimes in life we find the ground has shifted
and we have drifted into new temtory. Hfted
fiom our sheltering borders, we tense and cry
out with vivid fear and a strong desiie to deny
our ahenation. but the game is not played
in tlie plans we made, tlie sinister charade
of trepidation making icewater of our heat.
those who build bridges to make complete
the tiansition from yesterday to tomorrow
can make the inevitable into joy, not sorrow.
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silver kisses
memory will not fade or taiiush
the memory of yoiir lips, the vanguaid
of those kisses you gave me, melting
away all my doubts, shouts of waiiung
from my conscience's guardians vanish
in tlie vapors of expiessed love, hard
enougli to feel your desire, tlie venting
of restiaintin an embrace all-consuming.
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The Twenty-sixth Panther Cycle:
Fire
I know, anotlier thematic cycle, aiid not tlie best. But each one caiiies its own baggage,
sometimes subtle, sometimes not quite so.
This one inchides reference to "the Maglich toroids". Wliat is a Maglich toroid? Look it
up... sometimes we geeks and wonks use tlie metaphor and allusions that work best as we
understand the universe, forgettmg oiu' audience may not be quite so "clued in" on some of what
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Spark
flint, steel, dissimilar hard matenal.
struck. stiTick. stnick. for the single bit
offiieseed. some wasted, some tasted
by tlie kindhng and famied into ethereal
ghost dances, and tlms the night is split.
Taper
flickering liglit. illiuninatii^ a safe and small
cucle of comfort, we carry tlie liglit, high and proud,
on the end of a single wax spire, tlie fiie tall
against the crouched shadows of our fears, loud
against the photic silence of the night, feral eyes
reflect it back to us, and we see om predators
thiougli the mirrors over their souls, no smpiise
tomght, hm^y waves to crash upon our waiting shores.
Flame
within my soul, yom' love is a flame,
dancing on black pantlier coals I name
for your totem, do not fear tliis fiie
for it is fueled by a deepening desire
to see our love sacred and manifest
to stand tlie obstacles and fully test
our resolve and spirituality, bmnmg
with an unquenched heat, and tuining
the twigs of doubt to ashen powder
in tlie face of om^ passion's power.
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Blaze
There aie tunes when tempers flare
and tlie air about us empts with gouts
of Prometlieaii fuiy. Surely we caie
enougli for one another tliat tlie doubts
we wave as signal torches as we stand
in agonized unity will be remembered
as gained insight and not tlie twisted hand
of sinister sacrifice to be immolated.
Conflagration
Burning down an infinite row of bridges sold
to ford tlie sheams on a road to nowhere where
I really wanted to go. But the day was cold
and I was weaiy and lonely and someone there
was needed to carry the basket. And now I am told
that to return to who I am from whence I fare
I must lose the love of all I care for and hold
dear. And I must lay to torch to aU who care
for me to achieve all that I was forged to be.
Then hand me the torches and let me be fiee.
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Nuclear Inferno
You can never reach breakeven, tliey say,
the fires will fall away before you get
the power to a level reqmied for fusion.
But tlie secret is not in the converging
lasers or tlie Maglich toroids, but tlie fiiel.
Nothing achieves the flashpoint if the way
you seek flie fire is in putting in sweat
for the flaws in tlie hydrogen cores. Wlien
you find flie signatine spectnun eiuergii^
from tlie purest tritium, the reaction will nile.
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the Fires of Love
I didii't come tliis way on purpose. But here
I have to admit I am fiighteuingly comfortable.
We fit. If God carved me a merging mate, surely
he gave her soulful burnt honey eyes and a feral
pantlier's dance. A simple stance from chance
revealed me in want of this fiactuied fragment
of my spirit's hologram to dispel tlie haze
of confusion. If arriving late to the banquet
thrown in my honor is sm, tlien I am guilty.
Let the fires be lit and the flames point
the way, let every woman or man have a right
to tlieii' panther. Let flie dreams be illuminated
with tlie fated touch of lovers cut of single
cloth but obscmed by fate or foUy long past.
Stand on tlie parapets of the keep and watch
the firewinds of love sweep the valley free
of the debris of sad night songs. Sfrong
is the power of love. Made in the image of
God, we seek the divine spark fliat lights the
taper, tlie taper of hope tliat catches flie flame
to set flie blazing hearts to bum as they race
towards conflagration. And, when the hght
is made coherent m the poets dreams and
themes, and flie fuel is pure, the fiision
is achieved and we build to the fire of love.
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The Twenty-seventh Panther Cycle:
the Nature of Love
The nature of love. I was seeking, in this cycle, to speak to the very essence of what I thought
was drawing us together, to ennoble the affair in such a way as to reassure and elevate her above
her doubts and the criticisms otliers were levelir^ against her.
She was catching a great deal of flack fioni those who suspected or knew about us, it seemed
everyone was egging me on, excited by my writings, but condemmng her for bemg a "home
wrecker".
A little hypocritical, 1 should say. But, in our own ways, we were in the same bind.
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honesty
the natuie of love is honest.
for there is little room foi
the twists and turns of lies
in tlie corridors of a heart
made earnest in tlie vested
dreams and vessels that poiir
ont our hearts in follies wise
and souls no longer apait.
patience
the natuie of love is patient.
you must
take tune
to bmld
the case
and place
your faith
in God
that all
will be
fulfilled
in time.
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tenderness
the natuie of love is tender,
you must respect tlie surrender
of the baiiiers and acknowledge
the vulneiabiHty. you must pledge
before God and yoiu^ beloved to give
over yomself in gentleness and live
to share the dark seremties as well
as the quiet moments of that tell
you that words will not sufHce
to mend this suffering, the price
of love is restramt as oft as action.
in all ways seek yom' love's piotection.
passion
the natuie of love is passionate.
warm til given away to heat that bums
you up and down, and tlu^ough to the seed
of your bemg, fleeing sanity to sate
our darkest desires in tlie fiie that chmiis
our flesh mto a tsunami of released need.
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spirituality
the natuie of love is spiiitiial.
there is no way in science to measure
the force tliat bmds two souls in sweet
resonance, regardless of your final
views on theology, tlie exquisite tieasiu^e
of twinning lieaits to be complete
begs tlie question of divine mteivention.
trust
the natm.e of love is trusting,
hard this is, for the crusting
of the lieait ovei' the years
we spend casting our tears
into tlie living sea of dreams
can make us cautious, it seems
that we so feai' to be made
the fool we often paiade
around m paianoiac rage.
inventing our own cage
eternal
the natuie of love is eternal,
it does not fade in the infernal
furnaces of age and deatii, or dry
up in any season, no matter why
we may be imable to hold fast
to our dieams, the love will last
as long as theie is a measuie
of tune to record tliis treasme.
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The Twenty-eighth Panther Cycle:
Gems
A small offering of precious stones, this tlieiiiatic cycle. I liked selecting tlie stones to evolve the
works fiom, then letting myself fiee associate imtil tlie words caine to me.
I've never been one who makes the distinction diamonds = love (let's face it, that's a marketmg
move that people with a hell of a lot more money than 1 wHl ever have use to make more money)
but gemstones are beautifiil and can invoke different moods and thoughts .
Note tlie reference to tlie diess in "Emerald".
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Diamonds
the facets are cut, reflecting and refiacting
the liglit of our shared experience, distiactmg
us from paui and enhancing cm' dreams tomglit.
pure and perfect, first water and blue-white.
Alexandrite
hi tlie hglit of day we are more than fiiends,
but express it so subtly in the play of oiu^ eyes,
our gestures, unwasted touches of subtle
delicacy and passion but when day ends
and the darkness falls, we stalk the prize
of ecstasy in wild and passionate battle.
Ruby
ciimson. the pme coheient liglit
ofalaser. cutting with fire and bright
focus, ahungry kiss of hps stimulating
moie tlian mere photons, simulating
our merging souls in bright and clear
expression of our radiant hunger here.
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Tigereye
you aie watching me. you would deny it
but I see the subtle movements in tlie slit
of darkmtersectiiig the burnt honey stone
set m your soul, cutting to the bone
as you calculate the effort required to
make prey of tliis creatine, but you
didn't know tliat I was, as well, hunting
you. hungiy. needing, and wanting.
Sapphire
if my heait was as true as a sappliire
blue stone, emblem of fidehty, I would
not, could not feel more attached to you.
I love you, and want only yom company,
no stone is tliere I would rather openly
set m the diadem of yom soul than new
pledged love and eternal passion, blood
shall stay blue in veins merged in fire.
Onyx
black is my heait when in dark seienities,
where I give myself over to tlie despair
of my darkest demons, but I cut fiom these
times a precious ornament for you to wear.
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Emerald
like that dress of legend. I see you iii it
(when my fantasies are clotlied), lovely
and elegant, legs for days and the sweet
beauty you possess focused by the way
yoiu' eyes catch the green fiie. my desue
was held at bay, there witli everyone aroimd,
but I was taken witli your charms and proud
that every man took at least a moment to steal
a lupine glance at you. and wanting to dance
with you. as I would, later, with tlie
emerald clotli set aside, but in my heait.
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The Twenty-ninth Panther Cycle:
in the words of the Ancients
I have on my desk a tliesaiuiis tliat, in one of its many appendices, has himdi^eds of foreign
language quotes.
To create this cycle, I paged tlu^ough, lookii^ for phiases tliat caught my eye, caught my fancy,
then let the words come forth. 1 enjoyed tlie exeicise, immensely, and some of tlie works in this
cycle are veiy well done and evocative.
What do these pluases mean? Look tliem upl
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Acre perennius
words do nor erode or coiiode.
they lay the foundation for thouglit
and heart and tliat part of oiu' son!
reserved for the tiTith and tlie most
beautiftil of our illusions, tlie cold
metal of oiu daily shells will rot
away witli time and tempest, sole
heir to tomorrow will be dieams unlost.
sunt lacrimae rerum
everyday need not be daffodils in springtime.
joy sometimes must make way for the trampling
feet of tlie wmtei of our hearts, tlie lovecrime
and tlie paialyzing cold of fear eventually filling
our hearts with tlie measme of pain we need
to fiiUy appreciate tliose moiuitaintop visitations
when tlie tears are evaporated by the wmd. freed
of our complacency, we better grasp the transfigurations.
invita Minerva
by sheer coherent emotion, biult on the sands
of madness, I have foimd the colom' of music
and sung the songs of the rainbow, taking stands
against the dreams of tlie damned is a tragic
patli to lifeloi^ suffering, but with tlie bahii
of your eloquent kisses 1 will triumph, someday,
for 1 shall drag the chaos fi^om tlie hungry calm
and hml the die of honest passion mto play.
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dum vivimus, vivamus
like light, like life.
the sugarkiiife
cuts hack the strife
and to the bone
we stand alone,
our enemies shone
the way of pain,
the lovers' chain
the keeps us sane.
hinc illae lacrimae
I have never wanted to see you cry.
it cuts deeply and witli jagged, ragged
rends to my heait. cold and salty air
on the open woiuids tliat I forced
with my aiTogance and insecurity.
I do not deny your pain, rather
I magnify it within me. forgive me
if I am wounded by my self-imposed
exile, my self-inflicted wounds
bom of the knowledge of imtliought
words I have spoken to you
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omnia vincit amor
what higher pmiciple is tliere tlian tnith in tlie face
of love? driven to the depths of aninimolatmg despair
and tlie heights of ecstasy, shall we allow disgrace
to be our paramour? no. we must take tlie dare
in tlie face of all mediocrity, fear and self-doubt
to make a challenge to tlie muuons of mediocrity
and raise our lieaits and passions . to boldly shout
our amotations as we dare to claim oui' victoiy.
Satis verborum
the poet does not have a lock on tnith
or expression of same, there is a fonn
of communication that passes between
us when we embiace, comfortmg and waim,
that speaks volimies of eloquent sooth
1 camiot translate with mere words, filled
of joy and peace and hunger, I have seen
it spoken in your eyes. Ambrosia unspilled.
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The Thirtieth Panther Cycle:
Aspects of the Panther
A sincere attempt to capture some of the aspects that I saw in her (whether I really saw them or
projected them I leave to fiihire biographers) by expanding on them.
I believe that eveiyone has botli bad and good in them, and tliat we are all so nniltifaceted that it
is not difficult to focus on tliose aspects we admiie or find attiactive, in tliose we caie for.
The Panther was and is, not doubt stiU, a gifted poet, and tlie piece in this cycle entified "Poetty"
makes point of tliis, commg fiom several conversations when she expressed doubts about the
quahty of her works.
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creativity
hei' mind is a marvel to me.
wheels witliin wheels withui
strai^e foiir-diiiiensional spheres
that leave a trail that disappears
and IS reborn from wliim. m
the essence of creativity.
beauty
speecliless. I did not expect one
so intelhgent and wise to flood my eyes
with such shimmermg sensuality, reality
danced that mght, as I absorbed the concept
of an angel made incarnate, tlie state
of my soul timied mside out and back
to watched you walk away, tlien back
for a first kiss, and I melted mto you.
wisdom
you have this gift, annoyii^ on occasion,
to look inside a problem and find flie one
liidden tnith, tlie key to the conundrum
that has eluded me. greater than the sum
of your experience, there is a divine
spark alive witliin you. spiritshme.
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sensuality
you stii' witliin me the animal, the primitive
creature of the hungiy id, to bid you suiiender
youi' flesh to the alembic fires that would give
me over into you. ambrosian eyes tliat tender
the currency of love in a com I gladly take
and mvest in tlie fliture, a thousand ways worth
moie than anything I have to barter. I slake
my tliirst in tlie geysers of yoiir passion's birth.
sensitivity
you see my heait. and it matters to you whetliei
I am happy or sad. and beyond this, I have heaid
you cry over another's misfoitune. you will nevei'
seek tlie haim of anotlier person, and have stirred
yom' own life on more tlian one occasion to make
room foi tlie troubles of someone who needs your
tender consideration, like me, a stray you take
in and heal, now resting in tlie aims of tlie Pantlier.
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Poetry
you have the iinise.
oh, sometimes you doubt it,
but when tlie coffee house
pations stop sturing their
overpriced
decaf
to catch the hini
of a phrase you constmcted
and brought to me like a
child
showing off a
handmade kite,
you must know
bettei. I have
learned fiom you
and youi' work
stands on
its own pentameters.
resonance
you know my heart.
you have seen it and merged with it
and I suspect, were bom a part of my kanna,
like my poetry and my soul.
and as such, it would be a sm to
ignore this half of my essence.
this answei to my Hfe's riddle.
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The Thirty-first Panther Cycle:
Virtues of the Panther
When associates want to beat up on me for the Pantlier Cycles, this is the one they usually turn
to. Wliileitis admirable to embrace tlie virtues of someone you are in love with, in some cases
in tliis cycle (and I won't go into that) I was obviously not walking witli eyes wide open and
actually seemed to be describmg someone else.
That "someone" I have come to legaid as tlie abstraction of the perfect muse, the perfect woman,
reflected in many of my works that have been thouglit to be about a particulai' muses or muses.
I call her "Abstra".
Neveitlieless, much of what is in tliis cycle had its seed m my relationship with the Panther and I
will state that I said it, I meant it at tlie time, and that's my story.
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Justice
there aie reasons to wrath, we all
know them, or most of them at least.
within us all rages the beast
of reactivity, tlie call
to battle before we have found
the foe. my love has already
been given ample cause to see
me at my worst, but gives me ground
to speak my piece and in this way
spares me the piejudice of pain
left by otliers. she parts the cold rain
and kisses honest tears away.
Fortitude
couiage in tlie face of opposition,
the abihty to beai' a cross with grace
and dignity, tlie nobility of tlie iron,
flexmg only enough to, in tlie face
of pam and misfoitime, stay m play
to win anotliei' battle, fighting back
against the rabid rabble to stay
a regal beast against the fleas' attack.
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Prudence
Whatjimgle cat
caimot
creep qmetly
up to its
prey.
Then tag it with
claws
like cupid's arrows.
Then playfiilly
dance away?
Temperance
Life IS a feast, but tliis beast
does not gorge herself, lest
she be sluggish when tlie wish
for new prey is manifest.
Faith
I have seen the Panther praying in the glass.
Her every sense attuned to tlie passage of God
in tlie wind, her spirit dancing as her sweet
serenity radiates her awareness, placid and acute.
The open sky is like a chapel's arch at Mass,
fittii^ tribute to tlie soul and its creator. Odd
that mortals should seek truth in artifice, eat
scraps and leavings when tlie tiees are full of fiiiit.
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Hope
when there was nothing left to resurrect,
she stood beside nie. tliis feral hiuitress
that even best fiiends had warned me back
from daring to ally myself with did impress
me with her vision, and when I was aacked
and bleeding from a tliousand spmtfaUs
she hfted me up witli her words and tacked
the pieces back togetlier, to heal the walls
withm me. she is not immmie to despair,
but finds her strengtli when it is needfiil
to lift a friend, however ephemeral, raie
is a bird with wings so grand and beautifiil.
Love
I have heaid tliis word in a thousand voices,
but so often witli so little so tliat it seems
almost a blasphemy before fair Aphiodite.
When my love speaks it, it carries the choices
she has made to be by my side, it holds dieams
that once were stillborn, a piayei to tiie almighty.
And passion in rainbow colours that is twice as
bright as my grandest fire. A poets best themes
aie woven of such inspiration and destiny.
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The Thirty-second Panther Cycle:
musings of a troubled heart
Origmally I thought tlie "tioubled heart" fiom tliis cycle was hers, as ui tlie tuiieline tliis was
diirii^ tlie peiiod of time when she was puUmg away for tlie first time, suddenly emotionally
distant (then, suddenly, nislung back).
In part this was an attempt to reassure her of oui' solidarity. The problem was, even I was
sliowmg the signs of the stress, the guilt of my impending divoice pounding on me fiom moment
to moment.
In many ways, this was an attempt to reassure me, to nse above the day to day blistering I was
endmmg fiom those around me who thought I'd lost my mind. I was, in my mind's eye, a
plioemx, self-immolating m order to survive the next turn of tlie cards of fate.
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labors of love
for we have piilled
down
the skies and made tliem onr own,
repenting for sins we cannot atone
in complete modesty,
for we find cm' motives
pure, if puzzling.
dragon nuzzlii^
pantlier. an answei
to a riddle luiasked
and made a task
worthy of Heracles .
nor for a mortal man,
but I am game
and tlie sad shame
of cowaidice
is not foi me
at any price.
divine wind
we can tell, we know
what tlie hell, we go
to tlie top. om' fates
kill this crop, the hates
planted here, bytliose
held in fear, we chose
poorly once, but time
sheds the Hght. our crime
magnified, om' right
to shaielove. and light.
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darwinian hearts
passions pressed agauist the wall
like lovers too anxious to wait for gravity
to consummate their union, tlie fall
of more than barriers of fabric, energy
modulatmg to match the resonant
frequencies of a soulmate. kisses cut
from ice sculptuies boni of our anogant
illusions of love, saimshaw intiicate
and illegal, poacheis in tlie heart preserves
posted long ago. but tlie honest mstinct
to love is immortal, and om' patience sweives
into the stieam of life to prove us not extinct.
massage
my hands, with sfrengtli and tenderness,
melt mto yom' shoulders and draw slowly
the toxic stiess from you. a single kiss
to the nape of your neck and tliis lowly
vagabond heait resumes his rhythmic
rub. soft and warm is your neck, a part
of you so lovely, made wanner by metliodic
sfrokes of my palms, ftngers and heart.
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coldfire
zero based emotions,
we measure om' hearts
from tlie intersection
of past and present,
dreams impleasant
not wakmg us
bnt takii^ us
past tlie invocation
of memories, we start
the fire m void devotions.
the philosophy of lovers
held in the superstring web of time and space
yesterday was an illusion,
aside from evidentiary resonances
and remnants, tomonow is conceived
from tlie seeds we plant today, one
by one by one. the savage dances
of past mistakes relented and relieved.
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hard wire
coming tluougli tlie new machine,
a modem's wail like a banshee's keen.
dreams now spim in words on white.
a cold connection in the night.
file, subjugating now om' will,
wine tliat flows where glasses spiU
more tlian tlieii' contents . secrets
shared m private piiouettes .
images absorbed in coated glass
to ilhmimate with faultless class
our thieady desiies . passion shaied.
fates dared, and fi^agile souls bared.
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The Thirty-third Panther Cycle:
Okay, the isolation was getting to nie. . and I was desperately trying to bnild, witli words and raw
emotion, bridges to a coming day and place where 1 would be absolved of my sins, forgiven my
deceptions, and blessed for my steadfast love. Okay, I was delusional. But, fiercely and
steadfastly so.
In tliis cycle I souglit to weave imagery, never my strongest suit as a poet, but the effort was
cieditable.
Some were of things that had been and I wished to recaptiu^e, some were thii^s that had yet to
be, but she had sworn to me, or I to her.
And all fell to the coming winds.
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L
and when in words once judged absmd
we have heard
oiir dreams unbound,
we find oni' paths will nialce us laugh
in sad wratli
of love unsound.
the dreaius now make what we would take
for the sake
of our sweet piize
inconsistent, if we repent
and relent
oiu^ love's disgmse.
II.
ciiiuson amber, the tears of aNemiconi,
lubiicant for the whetstones on wliich edges
aie honed, sins atoned in penance stillbom
in tlie cauldrons of passion, broken pledges
like broken wings of a wiiiddiagon. the skies
remain, but the laiii of tlie sticky red tears
leaves an immutable monument that pries
away tlie daik capstone entombing your feais.
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III.
a game of shame and magic,
a hidden destuiy.
a finit both sweet and tragic
plucked from a fabled free.
eyes now frlled witli the vision,
a lecogmzing staie.
the loveis dream a prison
both base and debonafr.
IIII.
we challenge, and we daie not bHnk
in tlie face of the fire, m tlie name of tlie Hnk
that combines us to one, our sacred task
is to answer tlie questions most would not ask
for fear of the power of trutli to desfroy faces
held as more tlian facade, to fill tlie places
we keep hollow with ashes of fallen dreams
baked in their fusing fires to silence saeams.
there is a subtle message in the comfort of your kiss,
a signal tliat anotlier man might, to lus own loss, miss,
a teUing of a stoiy and a spirmii^ of a thiead
that daises and entangles all who, in tlus one sense, bled
for the readmg of the riddles, daik mysteries unfiiought
in pondering tlie puzzlewebs in wlucli we all are caught.
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VI.
we have been apart so long, a diop in tlie temporal bucket
next to the times spent wandeiing past wildernesses,
but still I ache for yom^ embrace, tliere is a comfort I get
from looking into those eyes, biunt honey and rich fiie
flowing Mke tlie magma of an intemperate soul, tliey set
my soul aflame and beg me to act to leap the cold crevasses
of our arctic desert, time marked, nights wasted, a ducat
of wood painted with metallic gold to lure us into blind
and fooHsh meanderii^s. but barter enough for Pascal's bet.
VII.
I stood, like a casual bystander caught in some
elegant sfreet drama, and watched you with great
cuiiosity. Your attention focused, Mke some true
master of a bygone age as he mixed his hues
and stioked the canvas with an eye towards
expression and immortahty. Your hand pressing
the brush witli confinned fiimness and the grace
of practice and an artist's soul. Majestic lines
to summon deep emotion and admiration were
invoked and you staied, wifli the artist's eye
towaids perfectmg the work. You shot me a
sideways glance to ascertain my level of
deHght or apprehension and, seeing my
smile of approval, began the otlier eyebrow.
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The Thirty-fourth Panther Cycle:
a day in my heart
A gentle cycle, this one, an expression of a serenity. But, it was actually a stretch, a moment
between such tliouglits where things were looking shakmg, trymg my best to re-invoke tlie
emotions.
The stress of eveiythmg had been very rough on my panther. Rmnours were flying around
online, rumoms that pointed at her, accusations of her breaking up a marriage, much as her own
parents' maiiiage had broken up when she was young. She was ragged, emotionally, and had
foimd a Mend, anotlier woman, who was tellii^ her it miglit be best to cut her losses and dump
"tlie married guy".
But I still believed m tlie improbable. That's what real Romantiques do.
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let's play, sometimes like children,
with an air of joy and discovery,
colours, soimds. scents tliat wend
their way thiough om memoiy
to leave an mdelible tracery on
onr lives foreveimore. or more
like the growimps we pretend
we are, forced by time to shore
onr biicli bark canoes and stroll
baiefoot and open-heaited through
the dark forests of our souls,
the joy of life transcendent and tme.
conflicts
to many who observe us
we make no rational sense.
but tliey have never seen us
hold one anotlier or felt
the electiicity that arcs
between us when our eyes
lock
and run togetlier,
drawing ns to stiike
sparks
like flint and steel,
into tlie tindei'
of immortality
and passion
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wishes
I would, if I could, kiss you right now.
it would be youi' say as to whetlier
it would be a gentle bnishiiig of the lips
or a fiery merging in tlie fiie of desiie
fanned by our enforced separation,
but I would kiss you. and hold you
for as long as you wish nie to.
rain
you love covers me like the slick
of a summer downpour, fresh from
the ocean.. .the scent of tropical air
ei^;ulfing me and tianspoiting me
as the moisture brings a fickle
purity to my foim. the storm
awakening me to tlie day, aware
of all the rainbows only you see.
colour dreams
I did not dream in coloiu^
until you confessed your love,
it was as tliough a great and
hidden dimension, once obscured,
had burst forth like desert
blossoms after a sudden storm.
and all tlie world took on tlie fife
radiant in your fransfiguiation
and blessmg to my soul and fate.
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in your arms
there is no place of greater contentment tlian in yonr anns.
no fear can touch me. no sorrow betiay me. no darkness
calls to threaten my joy. I suffer not when in youi' presence,
look, can you not see that it is this bastaid time and space
that holds us apait tliat is the seed and sprout of all misery
we have encountered together? let us sever the bonds of
distance and share breath again, for I miss being in yom' anus.
huntress
have you, at last, found
what you are searching for?
and, if this is the case,
will you lii^er and explore
with me the lovely
topography of our fates, blended?
I would ask this himibly,
for you must decide if yoiu himt is ended.
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The Thirty-fifth Panther Cycle:
dancing dreams
Yet another uigent, mgmg cycle. A desperate attempt to rekindle tlie sense of magic. Om'
conversations were becoming tortured... she was fiightened and guilt ridden, I was just
friglitened, trying so hard to make sure everyone got a happy ending.
Some of my most nniversaUy beautiful and loving works may be foimd here, expressions of
resolve and passion and patience. "Jasmine tea", "in tlie pubhc squaie" and hfe. and the coiu^age
to Hve it" all express an luiflagging romanticism that was consuming me as my world flickered
and faded aiomid me.
1 wasn't focused on survival, by this time. Most people fall back mto smvival mode. My fiist
instinct is to get everyone else to tlie lifeboats. So, here I was, lolling myself trying to reassure
her and make sme that my children and my wife were taken care of, all the while feeling my
flesh peeling away in tlie flames of my own failures of judgement.
And the dieams just kept dancing.
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the wire of dreams
I did not know what tears were luitil one day
when I felt alone, for you were not there to
raise my spirits and let me spread my wings
onthe winds of Hfe. the knife never came
and I am hberated by yonr honest persistence,
resistance is not flitile, even if aU you gain
is the nobihty of knowing you fought for
principles higher than most can even
believe in or conceive of tlie wiie of dreams.
in the wrong light
diamonds taste like glass.
if you look at tilings the wrong
way, they say the wrong things
and wii^s are useless luiderwater
except to tlie stmgray. a future
imreaHzed is a mad vision,
an honoiable piomise is a prison
if you don't know tlie way
to taste glass and diamonds.
Spanish guitar
your voice registers to my ears
as a well -played Spanish guitar,
moody and briUiant, an eloquent music
to Hft my spirits above tlie tragic
bum and chafe of tins world, fai'
from tlie wash of mortal tears.
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Jasmine tea
you taste like jasmine tea to me.
warm aiid rich, tiill of promise and
a taste tliat lingers on my tongue
as the exquisite stingers diive me
to aching, arching, exquisite agony,
wantmg just another soft sip
from tlie lip. from tlie liip.
panther's dance
you dance hke a cat on tlie prowl, your growl
not a threat, but a promise, a hungry kiss
and again you spm, frapping my eyes m curves
cut to split tlie wind and steal my breath,
grace, and a dangerous face with a smirking
smile that shows passion lurking aroimd
every bend, a friend, yet so much more.
and I try to resist to the core of my being,
but looking mward, I am seemg you there,
waiting, and baitmg a tiap I am aheady
held helpless and happy in.
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in the public square
as loi^ as I have you and two coins
to nib togetlier, it won't matter whether
or not tlie world approves, I've got the game.
I've got tlie name we whisper when no one
else dares to Hsten, but would love
to hear us say out loud, m plain sight
when the night is long and the shadows
liide the mcamations of tlie nunouis
we laugh about, and cry about, and
even used to he about to buy a
half measure of privacy for a
private affaii' in the public square.
life, and the courage to live it.
the radiance of life grows
from your soul, illuminating
my existence and making me
long for the walks on tlie beach,
sand between my toes, pausing
only to leave sand angels where
we make love in tlie tidal rim
of the infinite sea, wluch we
have cast oui' love upon in
coinage and desire.
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The Thirty-sixth Panther Cycle:
under pressure
I finally gave into the pressure, the stress, and wrote of it in this cycle. "Clinging like a mad
dragonfly on the side of a 747" was a pretty accurate image to my life at tliat point.
I was resolute, but resolve m flie face of fiactuied judgement is not a virtue. I was hying to be
strong enough for everyone else, and eveiyone else was just telling me to lay down and give up.
1 went so fai' to ask the Pantlierif she wanted out. She asked me to tell her tliatshe was notflie
cause of my divorce. She begged me to tell her that. She said she couldn't live with tlie guilt.
So, Ihed. I told her that she wasn't the cause. Sheknewit was alie. I knew it was a lie. But,
as a small child who is told a fairy tale explanation of something horrible happening before their
eyes, she was consoled.
And I was more alone tlian ever.
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mad wheels
in tlie silence, my soul explodes m a fountain
of file and showers of electric spaiks tliat
ignite tlie tinder m tlie box of my vision
of who I am and what 1 am and where 1 fit
inyour miiverse. tlie blessir^ and the cm^se
ofthepoetsonl. to know tlie essence
of love and hfe and God, but to reach
with fingers numbed to the cold presence
of moitahty so that I can never teach
these truths to tliose my kismet chose.
draining the muse
lancing tlie festering emotion
piled deep
and dark.
stressing tlie soft tissues
it has infected,
improtected,
for the poet gene
leaves it naked
to its parasites.
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destiny
The tnith is eimoblii^. Higlier tnitlis tlian
most can grasp, a principle at stake, like
Joan of Aic. Bnt no polarizing pontificate
will light this pyre, and there will be no
bonfiie for the marslunallows we began
to toast on our passion fiie befoie we liike
up our w alkn ig boots and keep moving, fate
only providing a map. We provide the go.
Avatar
Chnging hke a mad diagonfly to tlie side
of a 747 on taxi, I don't really know
what will happen when we bank and climb
into the skies undreamt, but tliere is pride
that I have held on tliis long. 1 show
my scars, but I call no quaitei, no time.
A rose discarded
it's purpose done, tlie lose lays cast aside.
the dance is finished, and deatli and decay
are inevitable, no moie to serve to slide
its fiagrance between the common day
and tlie infinite night of a never forgotten
tryst, a wistfiil kiss and a song I sing
even now as I pen these words, when men
recall this era, fiiey will know the stmg
of never loving wifii a dieam tliat did bmn
and will once again, when roses return.
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distance and dances
I camiot kiss you goodnight tonight.
I caimot hold you close and tightly
meld my sleepmg breath with yours
as we dream together, visions pure
andplutonic. memories we shaie
in a fliture life, time that will bear
down on us like a welcome train
carrying us on a honeymoon m Spain.
loving my friend
1 camiot imagine not being your friend
forever, your mind is so Hvely and I
can sit for hours and listen to you speak
of nothmg and everything as you bend
the clock with weaimess . 1 would lie
to say I do not love you witli a deep
and abidii^ passion for yom' absoiption
of me like two raindrops merging on
a fresh-waxed car. botli friend and lover.
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The Thirty-seventh Panther Cycle:
meander
A series of fragments to my view. Tiying to fill gaps. Trying to keep dancmg, even when the
music wasn't playing.
I was allowing myself to bleed to the page. Words himbled out of me like drops of blood and
senim, trying hard to cleanse tlie wounds. Fragments that might not have otherwise been worth
tianscribing fiom heait to mind to page.
That's not to say these are not good. Indeed, they are. But also you can see the nakedness of
them, the way the coloms have not been blended, but build in thickened lines of pigment and
bnishstroke textiu^e.
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thirsty waters
I want to feel those precious fingers of you giipping me,
slipping nie the secrets of your desiie as you enwrap me
in your flesh and drink down the thirsty waters that bum
like an mfemo of merging essences, dreams that turn
to tlie edge of reality, then suck us in to assimilate
one another like a pair of symbiotes when they mate.
the green dress
wow.
I was dazzled and proud,
but could not aloud
teU you what I thought.
too hot. way too hot
were tliose pictures that
flooded my mind, cats
in chaotic nit
andflie emeiald
drape that curled
about you like my eyes
in delicious smpiise.
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pleasures and treasures
I feel you take the helix shared
in passionate coupling and pirouette
my essence with yours, ensnaied
and absorbed in sudden and wet
exchange of pleasures and treasures.
a dream
standing, both of us on the same side
of that wliite picket fence that one time
seemed so far away and wrong, pride
and principle kept us alive imtil tlie fine
details of our affections could be cut
into tlie metal of our souls. I still cany
your heart withm me, as you mine, but
it is so merged witli lue that 1 barely
can tell where my flesh ends and your
sweet and gentle essence begins, and we
look down and see om handiwork, fom'
years old and smiling up at you and me.
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I fell in love with a friend
old story.
guy meets girl, but because of tlie inediiun,
he doesn't know he's a she. and tlie siun
of their experiences make tliem into fiiends.
but this is not where tliis stoiy ends.
nope, no way.
in time, when tlie smell of tlie sea rises
to tlie late summer winds, he surprises
Imnself with his own words and discovers
a lurking passion and affection, lovers
destined.
noses
our noses sometimes give us trouble when
we kiss, for me it is because I hate to
break my gaze into your soulful eyes, few
things m tins life mesmerize me as being
face to face, flesh to flesh, hp to hp
with tlie woman I love, sharing breath
and dieams and destinies tliat death
will not deny me. and forgiving the noses.
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glass souls
glass souls break
and we take
the fragments
and glue them
back to seem
together,
but tlie heat
is reqmred
to fiise tliem
perfectly.
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The Thirty-eighth Panther Cycle:
Pride in the Panther
A series ofmetaphoiical and allegorical expressions of actual events. Having a drink m New
York. Her, tellii^ nie about a publication ciedit, or confessing an infidelity.
Again, I was doitig all I could to shore her up. I knew I was locked m on tliis trajectory, 1 was
not certain of hei', and was tiying to reassure her, to bolster her confidence and ego.
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at lunch in New York
a memoiy emerges, tliree of us at lunch
in a strange restamant near' where we thought
Irttle Italy was. waitmg for the waitiess
who looked Mke Ohvia Newton-Jolui's older
and less clever srster to brmg us the
impossibly fouled up orders. I sat
and watched witli perverse pride as
our obhvious friend took every
opportumty to shoot a Siamese cat
look of adiuiiation at you, lost
in your sandwich, he did not know
how much a compMment he paid me
as well, and perhaps would have
felt like our waifress did when you
put on your busmess face and went
in to straighten thmgs out.
the reading
I wasn't there, damn, nearly a thousand
miles away and havmg to listen to your
post-mortem. I love that poem, it changed
my life and gave me a new star to pour
my dreams out to. and now you read it
to a room fiiU of sfrangers and fiiends.
some rU never get to see, in that split
instant of understanding, or if it ends
still an enigma to their experiences.
1 would have miderstood. no sign of fear
in yom' words, and much tnith. traces
of gemus. 1 wish I could've been near.
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truth
it hmt.
gettmg my soulteeth piilled
without anesthetic.
but you handled it well,
asking to speak to nie directly,
no words typed on a
screen of glass and liglit.
and you told me, you
could have obscured,
but you recognized
what was at stake.
and you showed me
what you are made of
when the chips aie down.
even when they are your chips.
getting through the day
there have been days.
more often tlian not, my fault.
where tlie sedentary greys
go black witli sadness and halt
the ability to fiuiction
in tliis woild. but you have managed
somehow to function,
even with a heart tliat is bandaged.
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casting me out
there have been times you have needed to
cast nie out of Elysimn, back to Valhalla,
where one of my temperament is more to
the tastes of tlie gods. 1 fiune and call a
disemboweling of the cliicken, and rage
becomes my weapon and words bmiung
with venom and anguish strike tlie page
and iicochet into your gentle heart, wings
of glass prove metal m tliat mstant as you
rise away and above luitil the berserkei'
fury in me calms and I show you the tnie
affection you need and deserve fiom a lover.
the prize
you called and told me of it.
so excited
like a cliild witli an A+
on a really tough spelling test,
you said it was no big deal,
but I could tell what it meant.
someone somewhere had
seen yom' heart on tlie page
and felt tlie tmtli in your
words and placed a iibbon
of approval for all tune
to mark those words
in his or her heait.
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dreaming
havmg been tliroiigh the stagnating life all mortals
are subject to, the pantlier has risen from tlie muck
and gloomed herself to the glistening, inky black
coat that is hei camouflage and distinction, all
that she is, she point towards the horizon, dieaming
of Hves unlived, children unborn, a train ride
across Europe in tlie company of her proud mate
(who leaves liis Viking hebnet at home to state
he has retired from war now tliat so much pride
has been fulfilled), and new horizons aie still calling.
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The Thirty-ninth Panther Cycle:
Passion and Dehght
I was trying to send her off with a little fire in her. She was heading to a writer's conference
(supposedly m the company of her disapproving best friend. I'll never know for sure.) and
would be out of touch for a few days.
I was about to fravel to Pennsylvania and finally meet, face to face, the Goldenlieart. 1 had to see
if my most grand illusions were out of control, 1 had to meet the one person who had stined my
creative juices as much as had the Pantliei would affect me tlie same way.
So, I lit the fire under a cycle largely made up of sexual fantasies we'd shared. . .and tmsted
they'd not be wasted on her.
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the kiss of life
toucliing you witli all my flesh and feeling the meshuig
of our essences, tlie presence of our love overwhebuing
all fear and tunidity. tlie heat makmg complete hearts
of our twin halves. Aplirodite lauglis and is pleased by
the fire m om' kiss. I miss tliis and would taste again.
gentle impalement
softly, slowly, a reverential
taking of me into you. a gentle
merging of lost souls, providential
iiiour time of love, a sacramental
sharing of pleasure and our eventual
coupbng of bves to create anew soulfall.
the spirituality of making love with you
there is sometiiing tliat touches me when we are unified
in tlie flesh. I cannot describe it, for my words aie weak
and I dare not speak in shadows, lest you tliink me tried
and found wanting as a witness to your inner beauty, speak
for me, my hmbs, my mouth, my hands, my sex and pride
will teU you what humihty camiot. tliere is notliing I seek
more holy tlian your love and our joining to take om' side
against the world, within your anns my soul is at its peak.
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holding the grain
my fingers play across tlie fields of dark giain.
witness to tlie fertility of tlus field. I would plow
this soil under and plant deeply witli summoned pain
the seeds of my surrender into youi' earth, now
is when I need you most, a toast to the rain
I shall water youi' field witli and wait to see how
well file seed spiouts. and if I need sow, again.
against the wall
I would finish what we started,
you, yoni' back to the wall, your
desiie playing acioss your face
in a moment of pleasant shame
and carnal hunger. I would Hft
you up to impale yomself upon
me and feel you buck and ghde
your ride upon my penetration.
I would press my Hps to yours
and feel youi' catcliing breath,
the deatii of all bamers tiiat
held back tiie dammed future
we are destined for. feeting
yom' surrendei' to my conquest
of your flesh and acceptii^ my
expression of enntted passion
as you smile tlie panther smile
and give me your soft trilling
purr and giggle of pleasure
consiunmated. yet not sated.
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the flight
you tumble giaceftilly, fully aware of
the gleam in my eye, my dream of your
body laid open and face down upon the
fabiic of tlie caipets. your breasts
brushing the rough fibers as I split
your thighs witli my hands and take
you, fiom beliind....
you feel the coaiseness of my hair
against your soft buttocks and gasp
withtlie power ofmyhur^er...the depth
of my thirst to phmge into the well
I have drank my fill of in a thousand
dreams and daikhng prayers. I hear
the sounds of my moans and grip tlie
carpet tight as you feel my final
thiTists into you, bursting thiough
the mental barriers ofreseiTation
to flood you with tiie rich perfiime
ofmy shaiedlife. and you feel my
teeth at tlie back of your neck, mad
like a mttii^ leopard witii its mate.
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the contest
my dark kiss against youis?
how delightM. a wortliy challenge
to two souls whose fleshes have found
as much joy as our twinned heaits
and souls have. I will diink deeply
every drop of moistuie from you,
slowly suckling the very taste of
you until you feel tlie flow of yom'
senses into me, wliile you take your
fill of my warm wine, and, as flie lulls
crest and tlie test of endurance grinds on,
I will make you mad with ecstasy and
passion imtil you feel yourself dance
amoung the dark stais of an infenio
of pleasure, grippmg with tense fingers
and releasing your passion sHcked tongue
from its perch to drift away in pleasure,
as I tiemble with the last vestiges
of my own consciousness.
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The Fortieth Panther Cycle:
Illusions
There is tliat moment, when tlie walls fall down and you are so cnished beneath tliem tliat you
can't breathe.
Just moments before I wrote this cycle, I had been cast out. Li a few terse words the Paiitlier had
told me it was over, that she couldn't take it all. I was devastated and angry, twisted and
desperate.
Dead man writmg.
I had akeady negotiated a sepaiation agreement tliat would pledge me to eternal poverty. I had
lost nearly all my friends (tliose few who came to me to offer tlieir sympatliy were told to support
my soon to be ex-wife instead, tliat she would need their emotional support).
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As soon as I himg up with her, I wrote this. Tlien I laid down to sleep and had a tormented
dream that broke only when tlie figure of a small gul appeared in it anieassuiedme tliatall
would be well. 1 took it to be Cassiopeia.
When I got up tlie next nioniing I asked to be taken to tlie hospital, where I checked myself in to
the psychiatric ward. I know 1 would never really hmt otlieis or myself, but I recognized that I
was exliausted and lost.
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labels
we draw upon om^ heaits to tell us the tiiiths
we dispute with tlie labels we camiot reflite
for they are learned and apphed in wisdom
and in pain, stain and rej ection, and from
this we provide our own emotional
buttressmg. it has been this was from final
call to genesis and fore again, the war lost
in silent sfrategy made by generals who tossed
out tlieii' agendae and left the field feehng
benumbed and broken, pawns left reeling.
as a friend
as a fiiend I momii tlie loss of your love,
whether it ever tmly was as I imagmed,
or if I merely was a fransition to prove
to you fiiat love was possible while the end
of your sadness was held accoimtable
in words you shared witli otliers, children
left in tlie celestial pipehne to dangle
in words never meant, the desolation.
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faith
and m the end, not even tnist.
not even the gentle respect thmst
so hard in tliose October fiuiiaces.
wings folded and the necklaces
of dreams imconsummated tlirown
down to strike the floors of cm' own
perfidy, the knifeblade handled sword
falls back on its master, the cord
is severed with casual bemimbment
and I am set adrift in a flaming finnanient.
logic of a panther
you were ever the logical one. seeking validations
for your feelings, tiying to apply the shell science
of psychology to the vagaries of tlie heart, stations
taken, 1 always knew youi' deceits when they chanced
to make no sense, and yet, I smiled, for here was one
in such deep and soulful pain and gentle concern that
she needed tlie time and space to find her way. gone
now is facade, howevei' played, proven but an alleycat.
larger than life
I do not feai' being epic,
indeed, my life is bmlt
on the necessity, fate felt
and lonely. I have killed
my soul, and betrayed many
in this game of ascension,
left with pirated questions
and a sad laugli of irony.
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hunger
the luuiger is not slaked by tlie dance
of words across my reality, tlie chaiice
to live aiid love betrayed in backroom congiess
and mocked m subtle sidesteps. I bless
my God who warned me tlms and prepared
me for this, the oracles assmed I faied
better than I might have, the hunger
fades not and in otlier aims shall pantlier
take her rest wlule I am left to tliirst
on the rocks of a Salt Lake sandbai', cursed
to love with hope and not timidity.
words stiTick down m aggressive passivity.
moving on
adilemmaunfolds. will loving again
make mockery of what I have felt. I do
not know, for the pain is might and when
I look inside I see the vision of tlie two
daik pantheis, the bloody dove and demon
clutching the mockery of the twinned heart.
I will mourn for a season, but having gone
beyond the PiUars of Hercules, make a new stait
and now made wiser by schoolyard politics
make my way to the altar of tnith unsemantic.
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The Forty-first Panther Cycle:
Reweaving the Tapestries
There is a point to one of the Laws of Thermodynamics. The one that says that nothing
is ever created or destroyed, just changed from energv to matter or visa versa.
Within days of the fall, 1 was back on mv feet. The onlv really rough spot was the first
of my three days in the hospital when a nurse walked by with hair just like the
Panther's... it was too vivid and bizarre.
1 checked myself out of the hospital after making sure in and of myself that I was going
to be okay. Within hours of that, I wrote this cycle, and gave myself a new totem: The
Bard Dragon. I guess 1 felt it was about time that 1 got a fantastic creature for my
symbol in mv works.
In any case, these poems showed a determination to wade out of the emotional mire.
Indeed, it was only a few days after this that the Panther contacted me and asked for a
second chance.
And thus began the new cycle that would be the pattern of our relationship for the next
year or so...
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pulse point
hei' heart is all tliat beats within me.
and when tlie pulse points are faint,
I paint my face ashen and withered.
the som'ce of all the gieatest joy
receding m the veins of time, many
are my sins, and I am no mortal saint,
but God has blessed me, sadness cured
and hope made manifest for eternity.
BardDragon
wings are not standaid equipment on all
aeatuies of tlie fantastic reahns of life.
the BardDragon must come to miderstanding
with tliis, knowing that jungle cats may
only make leaps of faith and not soar on
leather wings, and, for a season, to MfiU
as best he can, oaths made in honest love
and passion, he must fold his wings and rest,
prey to the pickmgs of tlie wolves of fear
and tlie canion feeders so long avoided,
he shreds the membranes and settles m
for the longest night of his existence,
praying against the darkness of his own
trepidation and insecmity. for nowhere
in this umverse will he find another beast
as regal and beautifiil, possessed of soul
and voice of dieams flowii^ in sadness
tempeied by love and honest emotion.
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avatar
I have seen tlie avatar.
seen her stand asttide my
soul, sharii^ her love in hopes
and future memory far
beyond mywildest dreams, sky
of gold reflecting tlie slopes
of her radiant beauty,
invokmg my heart's duty.
within the shell
within tlie spidering cracks
ofbroken hopes, joy is found
in the rebrrth of love drowned
in sorrows and the poisoned jack
of forbidden fruit, now miboimd,
dreams may yet rise to confomid
the smgeons at Lazarus's grave,
a simple faith, a curTency brave.
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serenity
and when I am tired.
and uninspired
to live my life beyond
the momii^, dawn
holding teiTors dreamed
in a toituied scream
into a pillow, I recall
the words so small
they fill the umverse
andhfltlie cmse
of fear from mymadness.
and I am blessed
by yom' love, and raised
for the coming days.
unborn children, weeping
having dreamed tlie dreams, I must honor
the love of futiu^e hves and take my ragged
feet again to tlie patlis of silent echoes
as I seaich in vain for the source of cries
of sadness, no flutterbyes will conj our
a smde fiom your lips without a snagged
piece of psyche twisted in epic tlu^oes
of lost love, yet luisuiumoned. time denies
so many things, but it is yet fuitlier
down this road where I may rest, haggard
hopes and baby kisses, no one knows
as I do. there is nothing that love denies.
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the realm of dreams
I am regent in the realm of dreams.
and I will take my tluone and iiile
with wisdom you have given me. stieams
of awakening imderstanding. crael
words I have cauteiized from my pam,
lashing out m suffering at an innocent
lover, held too fai' for unity, the chain
was too short to escape and arrogant
self-pity was my sin. but m tliis realm
I rule, and I shall chart a new hebn .
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The Forty-second Panther Cycle:
seven roses
Another tliematic cycle. I guess I couldn't ever get enougli of tliese.
While not a flill dozen, tlie seven roses gave me a chance to express various facets of the moment
and tlie vision, fiom white tlirough red to black.
Yes, I know, tliere are no trae black roses, but I worked briefly in a flower shop m liigh school
and knew of the sprays they used to touch up flowers and foliage. Tlie black rose had been my
symbol for years, a symbol of intensity and focus, of beauty even in the daikness.
1 was amazed I was stiU writmg, even as I pondered my fate. I had bought my way, Mterally, out
of my first marriage, and eventually, after the Commonwealth of Virginia added tlieii' share onto
the heap, found myself owing more a montli in maintenance and support than I was bunging m.
Homeless, hopeless and loveless, sometliing had to break. And I knew it wasn't going to be me.
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white
a gentle thought, respect and
admiration given and taken, love
shared and nurtured in a season
yet invoked in dreams caught napping
like kittens, eyes closed in youth,
the tnith of om' adiniiation set
dancing hke gulls nmmng from
the foam of an encroaching sea
of the curious and the fiirious.
pink
modesty forbids
I speak of kisses
warm and intense, threads
of affections twist
aiomid and bind joy
in a chrysalis
of bashfiil loveplay.
an encroacliing bhss.
yellow
when the fires bum to hot for us to dare,
to care to touch the iion of om' cauldron'd brew
of new memories and old prayers we float
on boats m the stieam of life, om' umty
will be in om' kmdred interests . we can touch
so much of one anotlier in thouglit and deed
with need of no invocation of our passions,
and one day reopen the petals to drink nectar
we are saving for a more propitious time.
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red
red as the blood in her vems, feeding her soul
the desire, the fiie, the entire symphony of emotion
she dances on the beach to. tlie crimson bowl
that catches tlie sacnfices she has made in motion
with tlie jm^e winds she cuts in dark control
of her glim and playful pmsuit of a new predation.
lavender
a hint of the soft solferino of youiHps,
beckoning me in innocent insmiection
against the tides of self contiol that grips
me not fiimly enough to avoid tlieir confection.
blue
mytliic.
like a nemiconi
cavorting m a field of blue roses.
legend.
like a dieam panther
taking my soul and making poetiy.
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black
if my propensity
for intensity
drives you away
I understand
for this mortal man
sometimes plays
with an edge dark
with his own stark
visions of an errant
martyrdom, tlie bloom
must rend tliis gloom
to grow sweet and radiant.
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The Forty- third Panther Cycle:
actions of love
This was the first cycle after the great fall tliat I really thought showed me back on the track. Not
emotionally, as I know what I can endme in that sphere (I'm emotional, but diu^able) but
aitistically. I was getting my feet back imder me and reachir^ for eloquence again.
I tliink the public response to "kisses" was remarkable. A worldwide sigh. Everyone was
rootmg for me to hang in there, telling me to keep the course and keep the faitli, tliat she was just
"confiised" and no woman could walk away from all I brouglit to the table.
Well, maybe I needed to explain things to tliem more clearly? Or maybe tliere are just so many
people in this world who honestly and totally do beheve in love?
I'd like to tliink that.
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words
more than just the words
spoken in proper order, tone
and timber of voice soft and lofty,
the integrity of what is heard,
the edge we delicately hone
on onr blades of tnist, freely
wielded and yielded to frll
a lover's heait witli a sense
of the ambrosia offered
in tlie lover's Hving will
iinbued with words in suspense,
awaiting promise raptured.
embrace
lean in my arms and accept
my shelter fiom your dark moments
and I will allow your shadowdance.
I would not steal your deep romance
with tlie dreams of sorrow, preventing
not your inspiration. I accept
your emotional integrity, but would
feel you in my arms and share good
warm til and pleasiuing pressure
as I fold myself in your essence.
the stiength I draw from you lends
me great serenity and subtiy bends
the tight to halo you as a presence
in tlie pantiieon of dreams of pleasure.
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kisses
I miss yoiir kiss
and want it back.
caresses
the gentle touch of one so tender
is like lightnii^ in my soul,
iUiuninating and electrifyii^
my every neiTe with energy pure
and perfect. I return tlie touch
and lend my love a rechaiging
of the ecstatic static of pleasiu^e.
smiles
the way you cock youi' head when you smde
at me. it hngers like cut stone imagery left
upon the sepulclue of my love, wherem lies
my halfhearted atteuipt to fly, stnick down
like Icarus in the sun of sorrows, too high
to hold my feathers, too low to escape tears
lapping m waves at my feet, sweet and final
tears
whether they be sad or glad or mad or bad,
the tears you issue are Hke liquid gems,
radiant and priceless, honest and reckless
they shower tlie unfeeling earth and leave
tigei stiipes upon a pantlier's sweet face.
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walking together
I will never be alone, for m my heart I cany
the memories and majesty of you. I'll marry
myself to what tlie fliture should have been
and live witli the repercussions of once again
dreaming beyond my means, by my side
is but a phantom, a zujembie bride
cut of the pride I felt m yom' elevation
of me to the plateau where, in celebration
of hfe and love, sadness and joy, panthers play
their games of life art and chase pain away.
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The Forty-fourth Panther Cycle:
afterimages
These were healing words. Expressions of love, of hope, of memoiy.
I am blessed (or cursed, if you will) witli an emotionally photograpliic memory. I can invoke
emotions I've known m the past, and even find new emotion m old experiences. As a writer it is
apoweiMtool
As a spmiied lovei it can get pretty rougli (editing this volume has been bnital on me, I can
assure you, but it has helped me to get over some otiier issues in my fife, sort of an emotional
self-mutilation to take conhol of your own pain).
I still hope to outhve oi outwit the prophecy m 'Vings of glass".
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ambush
life held in a light and lovii^ embrace
pauited mto a proud and patient silence
held captive in a haploid heart sent skittering
across the ancrent arches of our mystery,
enigmatic and pragmatic poets automatically
sharing secrets sold in silent pantomimes of
legends that lend tliemselves to lachrymal
endorsements at the end of om' eternities,
cold water poured in a cup of hot tea
made molten by a kiss tliat still is tasted.
embrasure
warm hands touching, clutcliing
offered rewards for lovii^ without legard
for the shards of broken cookie jars
we dance upon, children held in hmbo
wliile the supple dance dips imder tlie bar
and tlie alchemists recommend base metal
for a golden heart misplaced in disgrace.
tenderness at false dawn
even in your shadow
the ail' is waim and 1 can form
my own following of meandering
dreams held captive for a restive
prayer played to the finish, true
words spoken harslily. tlie dark marsh
of oiu^ momiung in the momii^
of a diapery diawn aside at ten.
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the curve of your face
the wmd regrets its duty
every mommg, to slide aside
ratlier than hnger on your lips
like a kiss forever frozen
on a sculptor's visioned beauty.
wings of glass
the sands of time are smelted into
crazy-daisy patterns of crystal forms,
frozen in the heat of the winds
sweeping across my memoiy. dreams
spimiii^ ice cream drippings into
angiy flechettes tliat teai' souls
and awaken the darkness witliin,
fear
like a child
in a quiet house.
waiting
for morning
when there is no proof
yet perceived of a benign deity.
faith
in tlie hands
of the infidel,
tool
and a weapon
for a commg stonn
where tlie wind will lift me
and I will not know peace
again, in tliis life.
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a handful of wind
my legacy will be words
and second generation echoes
in tlie words of others inspired
by a sad and mad Sisyphus, birds
that fly witli razor wings as blows
the hurricane 1 reaped in fired
flimaces where 1 walked tliinkmg
myself accompanied, then blinking.
elegy
1 want to dance,
but my legs are weak
and my words speak
of alost chance.
an epic stance
taken in tlie wind's face
when 1 dared embrace
a panther's prance.
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The Forty-fifth Panther Cvcle:
no war is ever won
This is a crazy qiiilt of a cycle, fiill of dark images and playful wordsniithing, I think it represents
well how all over the emotional loadmap I was at this time.
I was facmg, due to tlie financial burdens of my divorce, a need to find a way out of my
situation. I didn't write about tliat m my works, as I still considered healing the Pantlier and
reumtii^ witii her more important tlian my own survival (part of tiie divorce was a half million
dollar fife insurance poficy onme, made out to my ex... so if I didn't survive, at least they'd be
cared for.. .and I wasn't any of their favourite persons at tlie time, anyway.
But I kept focused on the person I'd pledged to, finn in my belief tiiat once she and I worked
thmgs out, things would fall back into place in all otlier ways.
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in tarnished memory
in tarnished memoiies made mockery
by om' weakness, left on the nightstand
like a wilting rose, discarded and unregarded
as we move to other sport, we contort
our dreams to match oui' patlis and laugli
with self-deprecating hiunour at the iTunours
we can validate only in silence, the violence
of tune, worked on us all. the seconds ticking
and tlie phone ringing a iiide song, bunging
imknown answers to dancers too far apart
to ever touch agam. and, as such, in pain.
leap of faith
all love is a leap of faith, whetlier bom of honest passion
or fashioned from our own desperations we deny, we fly
in tlie face of past follies to risk our frail frames m tlie sky
of a hunter's season, reasons irrelevant, lovers made sentient
by a tliiist for God and continuity, the beauty burned away
by tlie liglit of day as we are made Nosfeiatu by our fear.
the mortar of hope placed against tlie clay of tlie poet, golem
animated by the solemn tnith of stiengtli peiceived tlirough
burnt honey eyes, hfe denies us our timidity if victory
is to be more tlian a philosopher's stone at tlie pawnshop
where we stop to raise stake for our Pascal's wagei.
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the price of penance paid for passion
the integrity of love in tlie heart of the romantic
is a maddemng thing, it brings out tlie tragic
spectacle of nioital man made naked and epic
in tlie winds of an embrace and an abandonment
by all but liis darkling sanity, profanity spent
in a dark room, waitii^ for the worms now sent
to consiime the last morsels of fading light
once bright witli the promises of a lover's delight
in a dare taken over three deep breaths, wliite
stained red, fading to blown and pmified in time
by unknowing souls paid mmimmn wage to clnnb
the staiis and sweep away the crmnbs of crime.
it is time
yom serenity baiely ripples,
like a pond at siuuise reactmg to
a distant fiog's graceful swim,
as you wake me to take me
befoie the evidence of love.
I hold yom' hand and speak
the woids rehearsed moie times
than eitlier of us dare remember
as the merging melts and spawns
a legacy of triumph and patience,
even a hard-boiled egg takes time.
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in the silence
in tlie daikiiess of your creative serenities, I am with you.
I have looked into yom' eyes at poet's tune and seen tme
divinity biu^st from you like a iipe seed pod perftirming
its duty to future generations, there is a bitter ring
oftiTitlito the sound of tlie bells I strike in an insuiTection
against the joy you wrap me in whenever I hear one
more sigh thiough your sweet hps. my pockets aie laige
but empty now. a maityr to the magic of romance, charged
with imfailing love and a desiie to be sHent in your presence,
if even buned deep witliin the eaitliwomb. embracing silence.
bop
a poet's chance, sold.
a panther's dance, gold
like the jasmine I taste
on your hps. sweet.
and youi' hips . . . .beat
a rhytlun I have chased
down this road, caught.
easy load, not
looking for di^eams misplaced.
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joy incarnate
love, it always stands triumphant
even when the lovers fail.
I am not a victor always,
but my needs, iti truth, must pale,
we are faced witli such illusions
proud delusions of om' pain,
we must learn to rise above it
and om' destinies reclaim.
In the counsel of the masses
we will find no relevance.
Love is foiuid in poet's promise
held inside a pantlier's dance.
Diinkii^ draughts of hfe and promise
joy and peace and cliildien strong,
we find our proof m subtle raptuie
tnitli within tlie pantlier's song.
Ecstasies we will fiilfill yet,
tapestries composed in white.
We will find a way to vic'fiy
like a taper in the night.
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The Forty-sixth Panther Cycle:
Songs of the Panther
By this point we weie conimumcating regiilaily agaui.
She admitted being of two minds, with many forces in each campt. It seemed to basically come
down to her gmlt over my divorce (and tlie criticism of her friends for it) and hei' passion for, if
not me, at least "being tha Pantlier".
So, I did what I am good at and sat down and composed a cycle that helped refine and define fiie
identity of the Panther of my works, the image, the abstraction.
I can't speak for the rest of tiie world, but when I have an avatar; an abstaction, to live np to as a
role, it strengthens me.
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predator
I shall choose my prey, today
and take my feed and fill.
I shall choose my path, and laugh
or cry as smts my will.
I shall choose my dreams, it seems,
lest they come to choose me.
I shall choose my life, and strife
shall be, at lengtli, set free.
tomorrow
tomorrow is a day for sun
and yesterday was tlie rain.
the weather comes for everyone
and gives both gam and pain.
and lovers walk m silent pairs
and part to walk alone, memoiy
kisses the morning sim, and dares
to come to set me fiee.
bard dragon
a curious beast
a ftuious feast
and bones that never fade.
a passionate bhss
in a haploid kiss
and a pleasuimg pain's parade.
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eyes of sorrow, soulful
soulflil eyes, like a web
of daik burnt honey, dripping
from a scorched nest, testmg
the resolve of a lover shadowed
by his own baggage, sorrow
in a thousand hues descends
and bends even smiles beneath
it's matriarchal gravity.
the solemnity of hope.
a way to cope.
the pull rope
to tlie Clacked bell of
patience, lewaided.
the song of the panther
a voice like a haven from deatli,
breath passed tluough a soul
dancing in pain, in vain to escape
the rape of time, the field
of orchids is not yet in season
for the roses are still
omnipresent and pleasant
enougli. petals testii^ the
mettles of us all. a choice to
voice sorrow and a cmious
question that belies resolve,
to solve the iiddle
of the sphuix I met
in a quiet restaurant
when I touched tlie face
of God.
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the panther composes
the pantlier composes herself
and writes it down, words
on a page. . . sage and honest,
reflecting a worldview of
inevitable sadness iUnmmated
by moments of joy and passion,
she fashions a totem from a cat
to a killer, dark and deadly,
whose claws can pull a dragon's
heart in pity and remorse, power
in tlie metamorphosis, beauty
and a soul deeper than any phimbmg
of despair may evei' reach.
an angel, revealed.
the panther laughs
the pantlier lauglis when the mood
takes her. tlie essential food
of hei feast is sadness, but I
have been blessed to see her eyes
grow large with pleasme
and take tlie treasure
of this soft and sensuous
giggle of dehght
to perfectly hglit
the attic wherein
my goblins labor
to understand love,
not m vain.
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The Forty-seventh Panther Cycle:
exile and passion
Thepassion was obvious. But the exile?
There was a duality to that. Partly tlie exile from her while she worked through her guilt and
feelings. And the otlier part was, in order to hve up to the obHgations I'd made to my family, I
would have to take ajob that was being offered to me in Los Angeles, 3,000 miles away from
my cliildien, almost as far from my agmg parents and my family and all my professional
netwoik.
I referred and still sometimes refer to this as being sent into exile.
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dreams of love
imiinitable. cut from stone
made warm by a smgle word
uttered after tliree deep breaths,
alive and forever locked
in legend and memory, a
boomerang kaima, paths
paiting as ill a sad prophecy,
denied but invoked, hope
held regent, love, love and dieams.
back into the jungle
there is peace on the savannali
but no panthers, and I have
had my soul forevei fixed on
the Soutliem Cross, pomted
by Cassiopeia and a time plucked
on a cliild's mandolin, and I smile
as the leaves part, for tlie darkness
of thrs feral himtress's territory
is the one place I feel at home
and at peace witli all I am.
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embrace
I will cry the next time
I feel yoiir honest aims enfold me,
hold me, scold me for being so long
away, for I know no otlier
lair where my heart may rest,
tested and contested between
heaven and hells forged in
a heartbeat contemplated
at four in the morning, a
warning, and a summons and
a prayer for time and luiderstandmg.
bottle of sand
one night I will drink to you
on the beach, alone, but never
truly so with your heart firmly wedged
in my chest. I will sift tlie sands
of that peacefiil ocean into tlie
drained vessel and have it borne
to you. not as invocation of
aloneness, or of barrenness,
but to let you know tliat on that
sand I made toast to you and
dreams of sand angels yet impressed.
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meeting of minds
where will a man, made god in his own mind,
find a peei wortliy of liis muse? can he choose
liis heart to follow, or does the resonance
of fate or destmy or chemistry or god knows
what else might be to blame or bless, pick
liis dreams for liim. I care not. I merely
know I have found it. and will sit here, my
heart on my sleeve, my words on my tongue
and a taste for subtle laughter in my eais.
conquest
it is not meet to conquei tliat which you love,
for it has already conquered you. stnve instead
to be woitliy and honest, self deception leads
only to pain and sonow. I have not taken
well my own coiuisel, but knowii^ I am mortal
and bHnded by youi' beauty, tiuuideistiiick
by youi' voice raised in song and twisted
to a strangled cry by yom^ passion, I will
take my seat at the foot of Atliena and
tiy once more to be what is requisite
for my life to be worth Hving.
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dancing
will I ever dance witli you to the song
of the seal, words gilt upon our base
metal hearts to guide us into fires
still not fiiUy contemplated? fate
mocks US, then locks us into joy if
we show an iota of courage and
faith that the wiaith now immaterial
camiot touch us witliout our
wilHng it. killmg it is impossible,
for it is insubstantial, so let us
ignore and share tiie dieams
we forged a thousand times over,
one day. if not soon, one day.
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The Forty-eighth Panther Cycle:
Dreams of Iron and Sapphire
This IS a crossroads cycle, a mix of new and old miages, new and old emotions.
The "neniicom" of wliicli I speak is a heaikening back to 'The Nemicom", my first lover. I love
to coin words, and I later had coined tlie word "Nemicom" from "nemo" and
"unicorn". . .literally "no mortal unicorn". To me it was represented by a black uniconi witli an
ivory or silver horn, and it meant someone or sometliing you loved so intensely you
mytliologized it.
You know, hke a Panther.
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sapphire lasers
niby IS for lasers,
but it was a beam of light
bom ill sappliire gieen
that cut tlie shell
of this behemoth,
wakii^ the dead
ill diead
of memories tliat fled
before the aurora
of a subtle smile
sustained in soulfiil eyes.
heartbeat
one day
I will lay my head agam
again your soft back
and Hsten to tlie reassmance
of your heart,
beatii^ out a rhytluu
clocked by God
to let me hve
and love at a level
unimagmed before
you moved my hair
with your hands
and made me promise
names to our fliture children.
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lost and found
I lost myself
for a season,
beyond reason
and rationale.
yom' love fed
me so perfectly
I wanted nothing more.
I hamited a distant shore
in Hghtliouse lanterns
that you turned from
in fear of tlie rocks.
and I understood.
and Ht tlie fries
on the beach.
not with our love,
but with my words
and heart
and stiength,
rediscovered
in a room
where I was watched
by tliose who never loved
enougli to smrender
their sanity.
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wings of a black dove
the nemicom came to me
inanewfonn. warm witli
promise and power, a flower
of black silk, milk sipped
greedily fiom nursing breasts
to test the passion that fashions
a monument immortal, but feeble
in tlie face of a black lace fan
of wings rising from tlie bold
shoulders ofa panther franscending
the groimd, ascendmg to boimd
with die di^agons in tlie skies
where dies no legend.
courage
life calls us to couiage and comprehension,
embracing ourselves and oui' apprehensions
about omselves and oui' dieams, we wake
from GUI' sleepwalk and sleeptalk and take
stock of GUI' options. I will make my iron bend
in tlie hunicane of your need and be the friend
you would ask of me. no task of me denied,
I step aside and put away my dreams, witli pride
that you would even tolerate my petitions
of love and desire, memories of brave decisions.
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a clockspring
I understand your loneliness
and only wish I had the answers
you will need when your evolution
reaches the next bardot. 1 know
them, mostly, but aiu inarticulate
and feeble and my affection
disaedits my wisdom in your
eyes, truth in tears and tensions
reset for a fliture clockspring.
worth
shall I measure you by mortal standards.
I tliink not, lest you become arrogant
and tlie air be filled witli errant Hes
andjealous venom, those who would
deny you your due so tliat they may have you
ontheir plane of existence, resistance
to greatness is the hallmaik of any
democracy, but you were not shaped by
the hands of a democratic God, but one
wilhng to test the edge of tnith and beauty
with elegance, excellence, and a panther's dance.
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The Forty-ninth Panther Cycle
an tig nil
These poems, all of them, speak of items or artifacts of om' relationship. Some real, some
imagmed, some abstract representations.
The brass box was real. Tlie cookie jar was a reference to the poem "bare feet on a wooden
floor" which was the final act of "the Goldenlieait Cycles". Yes, it was somewhat perverse to
take the images I'd given over to tlie Goldenheart and recycle tliem for tlie Panther.
But I tliink in tliis we see the evidences of the abstraction of my affections at tiiis point, tiiat I
wasn't writing to one woman, but to an archetypal lover.
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infinite mirrors
I look inside tlie infinite mirrors
and see reflections botli forward
and back, a catalog of horrors
I would not have survived witliout
the strength lent nie by a noble
friend, costing her the peace
of mind she souglit. cauglit
in a clouding web of twiliglit dreams.
wingsong
black lace wings,
dragonfly wmgs .
fitted to a great beast
who,
in time,
will learn their use
and seek again
the skies of dreams
locked away mider
kudzu vines of pain
and guilt and regiet.
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the brass box
it sits m silence
on the shelf where
once sat a Cliinese
fan. containing
what IS left of dieams
waiting a key
entrusted,
incrusted
with splintered
emeralds.
serene horizons
looking out, in silence.
warm tliouglits
I tliouglit
were mine alone.
but somewhere
someone
thmks tlie answer
and IS merely
too distant m space
and suffeimg
to answer
the riddle.
a dancer
on the sands
of memory.
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poets, pretenders and pagans
poets are tlie smallgods.
sometiines they aie
usurped by pretenders,
sad souls speakii^
quick enough and loud
enougli to share tlieii'
practiced spontaneity
and scrimshaw,
but the divuie spark
isnottliere. where
they speak, tlie weak
aie swayed to stay
their look for tnie gods.
and remain pagan
outcasts, cauglit in the
philosophy, not the
revelation.
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the cookie jar
it did not break.
I did not know it could take
a fall fioni so great a heiglit.
grand is my delight
knowing that tlie ceramic
skin over this romantic
soul is more resilient
than first thouglit. spent
crumbs spicing tlie aii'
whenever the lid is opened,
but sometimes we pretend
not to caie what is inside
out of hmiger and tlie pride
bom of fear, fear tlie oatmeal
raism prayers will not find real
satience intlie jar. and so
we will starve, alone with no
hope, just memories of ajar,
kept empty, kept far.
white noise
our perceptions are wlute noise
to cm' affections, we laugh
and cry for the same actions,
take days or weeks or months
apart, if our hearts have taken
a dive in the img for a payoff,
many fear to fall fiom a great
height, a night 1 would not have
assented to foi a handfiil of dead
petals and a dream in tlie dark.
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The Fiftieth Panther Cvcle:
In the Land of the Gods
Welcome to Kyiienar.
In this cycle I began to weave a complex tapesty of legends and myths of alandtliat existed as a
place wheiethe Pantlier and 1 coiild be togetlier. Wliere lovers werejudged by their love, where
poets spoke m epic emotion and were not cmsed as fools.
It was a Utopian rdeal, but it was a place forme to retreat in tlie aftermatli of so many losses m
so short a tune. Now thousands of miles away fiom tliose closest to me, sittir^ in a hotel room
in Century City. Most nights my only comfort being my computer screen and the words of
friends whom, for tlie most part, I still alive yet to meet face to face.
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the temple of joy
behold the iTims.
study tliem carefully.
they stood before you and I
foimd them one evening,
locked in om' game of
masks and charades,
if you listen, careftdly,
the wmdbonie serenades
can still be heard,
follow tliem to tlie gates
of wliipped qmcksilver
and you hear them yet,
echoes played by gliosis
that yet have flesh
and yet play amoung
these ruins, fortius
temple is not tluown down,
and gods never tnily die.
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the altar of sacrifice
offerings brouglit at twiliglit
from tlie beaches where we saw
dancing creatines of legend
play in tlie surf, tlien inn
into the woods, first two.
then one. then three, we see
the frails followed by tlie
daik-skuUed followers
of the rhyming wynn,
and fresh scratches
where new words,
amotated in tlie surf,
have been cut mto this altar.
taller than tlie sky.
the Well at Kyrienar
the dry well, ever dry of water,
butnotofjoy orpmpose.
made as a monument to a daughter
who chased tlie winged faeries
in tlie clearing, neaiing tlie curve
of the songs at their apogee,
if you stand at tlie rim and sing
the ancient songs, you will hear
more than your voice return,
for Cassiopeia's faenes dwell
in the dark when she is away,
and play munible-tlie-peg
with sphnters of sapphire
until she gets home from school.
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the Mountain at the Edge of the Jungle
no one knows if fate
or random comcidence
cut this mountain out of the sky,
like a biscuit diopped in lazy
plummet, here at tlie edge
of thejimgle of legends,
but it was foituitous .
for it was here that souls
met in tlie wet war of words
and teais and dieams that caused
a race of myths to build this
city of onyx spires and sapphire
palaces, one last dying gasp
of a race of mortals not ready
to taste tlieii' own divmity.
dreams of love and peace and
ultimate truths, tied up m
a dragon that never was and
a panther tliat could have been.
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the Oracles
thiee statues of stone
stand at the lip
of the volcano
of madness.
each one speaks
in his own turn
and you learn.
nothmg.
words tliat are but
tattoos on the tongue
of the fool who repeats
them without comprehension.
the Arena
Quixote fought tliere.
and, I have been told,
Cyrano bested his personal
best of one luuidred foes in a night,
laughing with tlie delight
of a child catching fireflies.
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the Castle
she dwelled tliere for a season.
and, finding it fit, yet anotlier.
but soon she wearied and went
on. and tlie Castle, just at tlie edge
of the land of tlie Gods, fell into
sad disrepair, but, when she had
grown her black lace wings and
strei^th and reason and the urge
to build on thirds witli some
resonance became a new thread,
she had rt refuibrshed. and she
would daily wave fiom the highest
towei' to the herb merchants
in her courtyard and go down
to taste tlie essences of whim.
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The Fifty-first Panther Cycle:
Shades of Time
The clock was my enemy.
And I was its most determmed nemesis.
Pateince is the final virtue learned, ont of necessity. It is in waiting for it tliat we learn it.
This cycle spoke of time, in many ways, but there was always a sense that my patience was
thinning. The dysfimctionally brief moments we had spent in Tampa as I flew to Los Angeles
had been bracing, but ultimately more strange and satisfying. Months later she could not even
remember the gifts 1 gave her that day, as she stared out my hotel room window and told me she
couldn't imagme a fiituie witliout me.
And here I was, with nothmg. Not even really pronnses, just time. Mocking me.
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long winter
it has been so loi^ a winter, witli oiily moments
of warmtli. scarcely a word spoken, no token
of respect for hang on my wall next to the trophies
of sharks and meadowlaiks, pale himters next to
the feral creature I wish was here, but snow
has piled too liigh to see over and tlie cloverleaf
and spiiit-tliief have conspired to liide tlie siui
which runs away fioni me, enigmatic and sad.
the hourglass
1 broke into the wall today, tliat wall of
jagged green glass, haid as an axe head
and opaque witli age and arrogance, the
splinters tore my flesh and lodged iii
my soul, but I had to see how much,
how much sand, how much sand was left
in tlie damnable hourglass, and tlie
answer terrified me.
two years
two years told in a wink and a smile.
the style of the assent is not a demal
but it brings back memories of words
and action more tlian a knowing smile.
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if I were made of iron
if I were made of iron
I woiild wait forever for tliose
black lace wings to giow back,
rust would merely lattice me
with reds and browns, to soften
my image and lend chaiacter.
but I, too, am merely flesh,
and standing m the sahne reign
does moie than rust me. it
slowly steals what httle
life remains.
schedules
we live by schedules,
we set the clock and rock
back and forth to the rhytlun
of our impendii^ demise, hes
told to steal j oy while we
run the other way. honest
lies we learned from friends
and teachers, so afraid of dieams.
we welcome tlie alarm clock.
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the patience of a poet
the patience of a poet nuis hot and cold and cleat'
and mmky. the unlucky souls who hve in glass coffins
never luiderstand tlie pleasiu^e of tlie passion of being
intemperate, we do not wait for the mediocrity
that everyone polishes to put on their mantles,
but hght candles that bum tluee wicks.
candle
fists fiill of icmg, crowing like a rooster
on a booster seat, Cassiopeia finds tlie ftin
in undoing two hours' decoration in an
instant, one candle, for this moment,
a tliousandyeais stood still, and tlien
began again its march when tlie candle
went out. and a baby giil squealed
on her birthday.
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The Fifty-second Panther Cycle:
Adoration
Thegenie was out of the bottle. She used the word again. You know, love.
She said she just needed time and space to find herself, her way, some sense of forgiveness for
her hand in my divorce and we would be together again.
I ran up a phone bill the size of a small coimtty's GNP calling her everyday, and we'd talk for
hours. Well, I'd talk, she'd hsten (hey, she said tliat's what she needed, so I obliged. . .yes, in
retrospect it did seem a little one-sided).
She began talking about us marrying, and having children, again. Two of them, a boy and a girl,
and of her commg to Los Angeles 0ier business was one she could easily move, indeed, she'd
probably do better in LA tlian Tampa).
I was not completely sold, but encomaged enough to begin writing more optimistic pieces.
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the measure of love
iiieasiu^e my love by tlie size
of my heart, by tlie roads I have walked
from tlie veiy start of oiir tmie
together. I am not tlie last man
or the best mail or the man you
would have chosen a year ago.
but I have proven my heait and
thickness of the soles on my boots.
the eyes of my true love
I look into tliose burnt honey wells
that I am destined to look mto
all the rest of my life, in joy
and m pain, mthememoiy ofthe
stam of all smvival. and I see
magic, anincantata ofdeific
beauty and majesty unaware.
I would dare anything to close
the space between my hand
and tliat face m which rests
the eyes of my tnie love.
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handmade quilts
my mother will make handmade
qiiilts for oui' children, if tliey are bom
before she is too old to stitch them,
thread pnUing together patches of
old clothes, colourflil and meaningful
like two Hves, lived well, now
stitched togetlier by brave hearts
what want to keep onr children
warm and safe at night, and keep tliem
alive m our hearts so that they may one
day lay between us and dream, under
a handmade quilt.
sand angels revisited
in my heart I walk along a quiet shorehne.
dawn of anew day. and the tide only now
is coming in. I see the ciu^e of tlie sand.
last night's sand angels, a lifetime ago,
before me. and the morning tide creeps
closer to try to wash away the even tlie
memory of yom' passion, and I will stand
between tlie sea of time and allow myself
to drawn in the cold waters of pain before
I will allow tlie memory of what we once
were to be lost, lost to the waters of time.
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pedestals
I do not have use of pedestals.
they would put you out of my reach
and I have to stand on tiptoe as it is
to have a prayei' of a hope of a dieain
of a chance of being standing when
you finally descend and bless
mortal man with your love.
next kiss
the next tmie you kiss nie.
really kiss me.
I want to heai' more tlian
a sigli. I want to hear
yom heart open up and
the fire transmit
itself to your lips and
hear my name
on the voice of a lover.
clockwork
I am always fighting against the box
you put me iii.
but tliat IS okay.
for I have heaid tlie voice
of god and know tlie colom'
of the sky on worlds
that no one has ever been to.
and I can dream that one day
I will be more than a convemence.
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The Fifty-third Panther Cvcle:
Cassiopeia's Garden
We had a senes of long discussions of our fiitiire cliildien. Ninety percent of those discussions
were her talking about the daughter she wanted to have, named Cassiopeia, and what she'd be
hke.
So I wove her a cycle of poems about our daughter and her garden.
Now, I nonnally despise my shorter pieces, I'd ratlier go ape for twenty or thirty or tlnee
himdred Hnes. But 1 have to admit 'Vildflowers" really gets me every time I read it.
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the low jungle
the thatch of grass is like a jm^e
to two year old toes. ...tai^Mng
and tripping even tlie best intended iiiii
for the flutterbyes . falling down to see
the startled honeybees take wing
to bimg you tomorrow's breakfast
spread for yoni' raisin bread.
dandelions
daddy taught her how to make
the dandelions explode in a puff
of air. a thousand httle dancing
ai^els, lookii^ for a place to land
to make a thousand more angels
each. Hke love in the heart
of this cliild of my heait.
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daffodils
as she cuts tlie stems of tlie
daffodils that grow by the house,
mommy sings to herself a song
I can never hear the words to,
but it makes her smile.
and I will sing it witli hei'
when I am old enougli
to know the words and know
what tliey mean. I have my
motlier's eyes and she holds
the daffodils to my face and
smiles and talks of my eyes
lookmg like honey, and we
giggle a lot.
apple trees to climb
the green and gold and red
fruit hang just out of my reach,
even on tiptoe,
but I am leainmg to cHmb
and soon they wiU be mine,
all mme. and I will
eat apples still warm
from the sun.
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roses
I look out my window at night
and see daddy and mommy
taking roses from my rosebush
and cuddlir^ as tliey talk
in quret vorces and see them
kiss like I miglit get tlie brother
I asked ftir tlus Cliristmas.
buttercups
the buttercups butter up
my yard and make it
pretty on days when the
green grass is boring and
the Sim shines ofif them
like sliiny glass beads
of sunshme caught in
the green skies
of my heaven.
wildflowers
fistfiils of colour
to give to my mother.
to show her I love her.
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The Fifty-fourth Panther Cycle:
the High Desert
Living ill Los Angeles, I drove out to Joshua Tree and fell in love with tliat area, witli tlie high
desert.
Everyone had warned nie about the Santa Ana wmds and how tliey'd make me feel bad. . .but
instead they fed me power like a high voltage hne.
1 loved the hot wmds and tlie plaintive moans of the wind m tlie bmsh and the little lizaids that
ran aroiuid (I decided that they were baby sand dragons).
She was, at tliis time, tiying haid to get a handle on herself She kept saymg she needed to find
herself, that to be light for someone else you first have to be right for yourself (I take tlie
opposing view, tliat in our love foi otliers, we find ourselves).
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the high desert
there.
in tlie heat
and tlie hght.
the cnicible
of God where tnitli
is all that is left
1 will find
the answers.
I am not the Clirist
so my trutlis are not
so profound for it
to take forty days.
merely tlie fiie
as I walk mitil
my limbs fade
and burns away
my impatient
heart.
rumination
and when
you find yourself
will you still be
someone I can love?
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the tidal dream
there's a dreaiii that I have that keeps waning
then roaring back with a blast
it keeps thiowii^ nie into a flitiue
that is built of an enticing past
only realized for an instant
then snatched from my empty hands.
built upon roses that penefrate
and miages left in the sands.
I nonetlieless stand as tlie acolyte
until the end of the twain spirit's night.
nunc dimittis
never knowing
just what it is
nunc dimittis.
never showing
what he misses
nunc dimittis.
passions glowing
and the wish is
nunc dimittis.
coining, going.
the end, it is,
nunc dimittis.
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eloquence
I asked for love and it was granted,
handed me like a merciiry-tiiggered
themionucleai' device, witliawrnk
and a smile God said it was iiime
to deal witli as best 1 could. Oh, good,
just what I need. . .riding close enough
to tlie edge I can feel tlie gravel beneath
luy wheels in that childhood niglitmare.
waiting for tlie doors to open and see
what makes me screaiu. notadieam.
but I rule my heait, or so the illusion
goes. I chose to harness the team
of horses of greatest power and tnist
one day I might control tliem. and for
a tliousand reasons they lead me down
a load I can tliink of a tliousand reasons
1 should not travel, my sanity unravels
and I am left to tie tlie last sweater
thiead off to tlie pillais of tlie temple
of Aplirodite, in hopes that, in this
world of honest ignorance, there is tnitli
left in my left boot, to be poured out
like water after a walk in the puddles
left by a rain tliat won't be back luitil
a season on a calendai' I do not have.
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like a cyclone dancing in the fields
and all I can do is hope tliat tlie compass
points this way it finally makes
its cut. for when all is said and done
I am tired or bemg a scarecrow
in tlie fields of love and devotion,
not so tired to qmt, for I am made
of sterner stuff than fiiat, I will let
my anns wither and drop before
I turn away fiom my heart's duty.
and I will let the skyshaiks pluck out
my eyes and tear tlie straw that once,
above the busy streets in tlie apple
orchard, was not straw, but iron.
in the end
in tlie end
will tlie epitaphs
read merely that we
so outsmaited ourselves
that we could not
find oui' ways back home?
or was it tlie patient
impudence of impiTident
certainty, knowing tlie
kaima was in tlie bank,
we felt the anogance
of our cowaidice was safe?
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
ab initio
from tlie begimiing
I knew what was before me
the fates oft ignore me
when I take my wirmmg
hand and present it
to tlie croupier to pay
on the impossible play
just won. the gambit.
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The Fifty-fifth Panther Cvcle:
an afternoon in the company of a Sand
Dragon
This cycle is best explained in context tluough later cycles and their annotations, so keep your
eyes open.
1 do make note of the fact tliat I got bored of coming up witli titles for the individual poems and
substituted Roman numerals.
Also please note tliat I did use the proper Roman numeral form for "4" of "1111", not "IV", which
1 understand is a modem invention
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
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L
Why ain I here, you ask? I see tlie cock
of your leathery head. . . tliat questionii^
look of challenge. I wiU tell you riddles
and share wrth you my water, here, liigh
above the ocean m this sea of sands and
stone, alone we are. and I can answer
you, free of judgement, and tell you
of legends and lovers, of panthers
intlie juices of the soul, dusts
of tune and crunes of tunidity.
IL
you ask me of my purpose,
how so? do you not understand
the need for serenity not forced
by tlie hand of madness, but to
see tlie patli between the rocks?
clarity evades me sometimes
and my own crimes beg answers
1 do not always possess. I confess
to my sms, but wrsh to visrt not
the valleys of judgement, bmlding
beauty on failures admitted, love
is not always the quickest path
between two lines and I laugh
at how swiftly so often we
outwit ourselves, lost m the
pride of our weaknesses.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
III.
what do you know of love?
rest youi' feet m tlie shade
I provide and let me serenade
you witli words without melody,
an emeiy board to the quick
it is. dieams spilt in gmlt
and terror, no eiior in love,
but ill flight from it. like
seeking shade m tlie cold,
bold passions demed only
make the heait sick, slick
demals and tlie martyr's trials
self-enforced in the course
of making ourselves unliappy
for a purpose miproposed.
do not look at me like that!
I am not some cluttering
desert rat, caught circling
the seeds left at tlie base
cactus, practice of self-denial
places on tiial tlie tmtli
of our passions, yes, we
are mad, after tlie fashion
of all who tlunk too much
to feel too honestly.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
mi.
I would like one day, my sandy friend,
to bimg my cliildien here to meet you.
peihaps by tlien your wings will have
sprouted, I have never doubted but tliat
you aie a sand dragon, and it is only
fitting you meet my cliildren. sitting
as the sun shdes on its invisible rail
across the sky of impossible blue, we
will talk of dreams you are feeding me.
I see it in youi' eyes, do not deny it.
it was you who called me here, remember
how you stole my sleep? and now
I share my water, pouied out to
give you precious moisture, while you
teach me introspection and comage,
two gifts I had lost, with my Hfe,
to tlie winds of feai' and separation,
no hesitation, had I it all to do
again, tlie only change I would make
would be in not coming to her side tlie
moment I saw she was sad. months
lost, maybe the patli. and with no
backup for my seed, tlie quiet fear
that one day, the dreams will be ended
hke a chandelier, cut suspended
to crash into my heart and give her
reason to seek another.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
when yoiir wings arrive, will they
be crow feathers on leatlier, as mine,
or will they be the black lacewings
of a panther-nemicom? 1 have worn
my dark membranes proudly, though
often they weigh me down when
I have flown too long
too far
too hard
to hft myself up anymore.
and so I may need you to carry me.
give my daugliter Perelandi^a tlie
wisdom you have learned in tlie
wilds, give my son Elric tlie secret
of breathing fire in tlie nights,
give my son Dante tlie strengtli
to iTin beneatli the sun of tlie
higli desert, give my daugliter
Cassiopeia tlie grace to dance fi^om
rock to rock across tlie ridges
ofthelugh desert, and show my
son Caspian tlie way to tlie caves
of dreams, wherein you wove
your wings and sang to me as
I sailed seven miles above.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
VI.
the water is evaporating.
the fiitility of livii^
in tlie sand, banned from
the greenery, the scenery
of desolation, pocked by
ten thousand homes of the
rats, the snakes, the spiders,
the sand dragons, and legends
of file in tlie branches
of the Joshua tree.
VII.
The sand beneath my shoes
makes noises louder tlian
the wmd in the arms
of the succulents sunomiding
me with their prickly anus.
and I am not lefreating,
but letumii^ to my world,
sfrongei and surer, the truth
of the sand dragon etched
in my soul, survival, and
simple questions best answered
one word at a time, and only
when the watei' is still wet, and
not bound m clouds held beyond
our reach. I wiU captiu^e clouds
for you, and make tlie rain,
that you may dance with me
and tlie sand dragons, and tlie
children tliat we love, all the
children, tliat we love.
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The Fifty-sixth Panther Cycle:
the sound of the fire
A great yeaiiimg is foiuid in these words.
Our daily talks were keeping me fed, but only to the point of not starving, emotionally. I began
again to play Amomancer, a weaver of speU with words of love, to imagine a great flihiie with
epic adventuies and beautiftil children and laymg in each others' arms, unashamed.
Note tlie reference to daffodils in "witli gentle fingertips". She'd sworn to me that we had just
passed thiougli a wintei of om' lelationsliip and spring was ahnost upon us, and tliat tliere would
be "the daffodils" to annoiuice this spring.
I foimd for hei a small china pin dish at a yard sale, decorated in daffodils, and sent it to her, as a
symbol of tliat promise.
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the sound of the fire
sitting here, awake, absorbing the day
as you slumber, regaming yom' stiength
for the next assault on Irfe. hills callir^.
roads to be cut in the stoneheaits of tliose
who live in fear and would drag us down
with tlieni to live nioital lives. Atlas acts
as a wedge to keep the sky from touching
the ground, liis hands burned where ApoUo
ran his chariot too close one day. you
turn m your sleep, and you curl like a child
into the lap of dreams, and 1 can onlypiay
that I am in them and tliat they aie as real
as mme were and one day will be again.
the sounding stones
silent aie they, incapable of articulation,
but tlie wind thiougli tliem makes music.
and you are tlie wmd through my heart,
aeatmg moumfiil and loving and playful
sounds tliat echo thiougli tlie lugli desert,
sounds that leave the listener changed
forever, your love cut these courses
and tlie passion I feel for you foices music
eternal from them . and I am imchanged
except by youi' passage tluough me.
and m the eyes of those who daie listen.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
cocoon
you diess yourself within your cocoon,
spoon-fed oatmeal and sips of herbal tea.
we know your blossoming is inevitable,
but you can feel tlie wings emeiging
purging out the sadness to make waves
on the wmd. and 1 can only watch, impatient
to lift tliat hem . prayerflil to be the mirror
in which the narcissus of your soul
will seek to stare at wings of black lace
that trace tlie destmy of lovers foiever.
a valley beyond my experience
a valley beyond my experience waits for me
to explore tlie seams of its stone and learn
the names of all tlie plants that dot the walls
of terra cotta and granite, if I pace like some
schoolboy, anxious for tlie bell, know you that
I am only anxious to see the smi use ovei'
the castles built from afar, before my eyes fade.
pain is luxury
havmg fallen and twisted my ankle,
but still miles from home, tlie desert
sun rising to strike like an hammer, I learned
that pain is a luxury, to dwell m it means
to give up life and love, tmtli and joy, and die
beneath tlie ten thousand blows of firesteel.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
with gentle fingertips
with gentle fingeitips I stir the still-cool soil,
praying to see tlie fiist sign of the daffodils,
praying they are strong enougli to survive my
impatient putteimgs. for I so miss them.
labours of love
and as I hold your hand and gaze into tliose
burnt honey eyes for the ten tliousandth tune
I see tliem narrow witli effort and wonder and
realization as the cliild of tlie haploid hearts
enters the world and utters her first poem.
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The Fifty-seventh Panther Cycle:
seven cards
I have never been one for tlie casting of nines, or accepting that someone can, witli a deck of
cards or a book of ancient Babylonian relrgious sigils, determine your fate for you.
But, I had a friend who wanted very much to read the Tarot for me, and I let her. And these were
the seven cards she pulled.
I lave it to those who have followed my life and movements smce then as to whether or not there
was either any validity to tlie reading or if even 1 subconsciously reacted to it in such a way as to
make some tlungs more or less likely in my Hfe.
I did find out, about tlus time, that she had been to seek a storefront psycliic, just before she
broke things off for the first time. According to the tale, tlie psychic told her that she would
marry within the year a man who was a writer.
And that his middle initial was "J". Which was why she had origmally decided to dump me. If
this IS true, it's a grievous handing over of so much responsibihty to a forty dollar prophet.
1 never did ask her if the story was tnie.
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the hermit
solitude, thenide
awaieness of isolation
held fast in tlie last
breath of shared atmosphere,
a wall of stone and wood
fastened witli pain and enigma.
and tlie angiy wind of words
made penance m the silence.
the lovers
legends on the beach,
now out of reach
to all but tlie few
willing to embrace
sometliing more than
the sting of surrender
to tlie daikness of pain
left as a pebble in a shoe
on the road of Hfe.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
strength
whether an ilhision or not.
my shength is yet what
I thought it to be when
the fire resided within me
and I can finally see
the pmpose to tlie exercises
withm my soul tliat built
me the way I am. strengtli
for anotlier's needs, not
my own. bone polished
to tusk of adamantimn
that you may have a sword
worthy of your destmy.
the page of cups
wildcard, tiy hard if you wish
to spiU the wiiie but it will
be notliing but a second act
in the hiptych. washed away
in the resolve of the diamatic
resolution wheie the audience
leaves, sated, fated to remember
this perfonnance witli but a sad
smile for the bit parts.
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the queen of swords
deep the blade reaches, but tlie seed is intact.
in fact, tlie pain forces a new geniiination,
a termmatron not of hfe, but of tlie frailty
that nearly did me in. twist it not witli mahce,
but to focus me upon your presence, draw my fire
and desire with your attentions, painful as they
may play upon the stage of my heart, and I will
take my fill of my own wounds, waiting to live.
the king of wands
sparks incandescent.
staves iridescent.
living in tlie present
to make room for the fiitiire.
dreams, the best teacher.
the tower
I rode mto hell, once, dai^k coiiidors painted white
to hide the festering sorrows I had to face, to race
the red drops of tears leavened with pain, now I find
I must dismoiuit and clnub the dizzying rails that circle
to a sky I never met before, a wai' I never wanted, haimted
by truths too bittei' and brittle to smile upon me, fiee
to wreak havoc Hke homids let to nm in tiie woods
where tiie pantiier sleeps, where the panther creeps.
and where I will be, once tlie tower falls beneath my siege.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Fifty-eighth Panther Cycle:
the deathless cycle
When I wrote 'listening with your heart" I wept.
Because I knew it was true, and light, but sorrowful. Despite my desire for us to be together, I
knew the deck was stacked in uncertain ways and that there was an excellent chance we would
never be together as lovers again (liey, my middle initial is "F"). . .
But I did want to let her know tliat I would hve witli what she chose and be glad for hei
happiness.
Isn't that what love is about?
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
the reason of love
we caimot tiiiiik faster tlian we feel with om' hearts,
but om' arrogance and conceit will always drive us
to seek to outmn tlie hght. stnigghng as though
we know something we cannot beheve, as if we grieve
for a tnith of ancient days, but only recently discovered.
passion for a friend
1 dreamed a dream again, a dream of passionate
friends, locked in an embrace of hunger and joy.
hp to hp, heait to heart, flesh to flesh, carpet bmiis
and tlie exquisite taste upon your breasts, fresh
and waim like you smile in a doorway a lifetime
ago. a forgotten dime ago. a leopard changes
spots in the season of apanfliei'. black on black,
we stack the truth in gunnysacks and cairy it
like pieces of a cross awaiting assemblage
the next tune, face to face, daiing destiny.
distance
we aie all strangers to love, we camiot shove
past it with any hope of siuvival, a revival
of the conflicts of time and intemperance.
the elegance of a dance in a black dress
superseding even the fall of emerald sequins
like a virgin's tears tlie morning after.
351
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
friendship
a stuidy base is no disgrace
to arelationsliip. it is only
pamfiil when struck on tlie way down,
but soon, the bruised soul may stand
again and try the handstand that got
him shot down in tlie first place.
the music of Valhalla
a voice echoes in tlie halls,
proud and pained, words of kisses
and roses and graves, the truth braves
us all for a solitary minuet, a surrogate
across a continent, and as long as
the masks come off when the dance
is compleat, a playful retreat
to survive the coldness of the
niglitmist m the equinox's sprii^.
in the high desert
in tlie higli desert, all thmgs are possible,
sand dragons come to make piomises
that seem beyond hope, a rope becomes
a serpent, and tlie seipent, a staff to be
carried by an holy man as he leads
to tlie Promised Land, or just another
goddamned reservation.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
listening with your heart
sometimes words aie never spoken,
but tliey are meant, bent tokens
and fallen totems, the calling diadems
that crown the regents of oui' champions.
and on beyond our accepted limitations
is the tnith and we must merely wait until
the tree bends in tlie wmds of time, then
reach for it. and pray our fillers still
have the stiength to seize. I do not know
what comes, but if it pleases you, I will
endoise it and dance at the wedding
of the woman I love, even if it is not mine.
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The Fifty-ninth Panther Cycle:
seven visions
Did I mention tliat we woiild be traveling back, from time to time, to Kyiienai?
Well, Sony. . . I meant to warn yon.
This cycles is a series of images, nested in fantasies and mythologies, with even a rewiite of my
piece from "Tlie Goldenlieart Cycles" - "bare feet on a wooden floor" as "bare feet on a dirt
floor", trying to franspose the sense of love into yet another milieu.
While far from the best of the cycles, this one piesents a breather, a crystal tower of sorbet
between comses of sfrong flavour and rich texture.
Bon appetit.
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the fields beyond Solferino
he lay. destined aiid defeated, blood once proud
with tlie dreams of love, now rivulets of regret, no
body for the pyre, no kisses for the consecration,
desecration complete as tlie spear pierces liis heart
and tlie folded ainotation tucked away to mclude
in tomorrow's dispatches, foimd only by the ravens
and tlie wonns. red violet banners waved to celebrate
a battle won. a war won. a love lost, and only
known if burnt honey eyes watch the returning coliunns
for a man too honorable to stay away ftom courage.
in the time of the calling
nmners left to stand on sands far from the slaking river,
giver of dreams, giver of hfe. giver of gifts once cherished,
now perished m the remnant of drought, stout hearts
bursting to caixy witliered Hmbs to tlie land of the dancmg
ancestors, fields of golden flowers a mirage on a horizon
beyond the tempest and file memory, fading, fadmg.
fading, family fleeing to hope, tlie four made one in
comage. made thiee in the darkness, two by thirst,
one by flie fiie of the desert sun. and none by despair,
withnolove. no hope, nodieams. no hfe. fallen
on the sand and waiting for tlie pain to fade.
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lovers at the well
kisses like candy set in handcut wooden bowls,
torches unlit to hide in the darkness, stolen
embraces, traces of love, faces touching
the wind, once skuuied knees, now merged
souls, cliildien to matuiity, purity of passion
by tlie well where they played not so long
ago, pretendmg to find fascination in tlie stones
the peddler kicked wlule calling out liis waies.
copper knives and wooden bowls, mixing miscliief
bare feet on a dirt floor
I ate an orchid today, (to settle a bet between my little one
and my woman if I could or would.) tliis hunter is not so ancient
that he has forgotten tlie value of play in tlie stalking wild
of a forever new world, this woman has been patient,
but loves and lives for and with this world, and late
at night, while om' babies sleep, makes ritual
with me in tlie large room, dancing strange visions stored
in medicine bowl hearts, imbroken. bare feet on a dirt floor.
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the troubadour
he plays each night in the coiirtyaid.
songs like distant winds in tlie niins.
words like a lover's kiss, sweet and hard.
songs like distant winds in tlie niins.
laments and passions, dieams of hght.
songs like distant winds in tlie niins.
memories of pain a flower's delight,
songs like distant winds in tlie niins.
to tlie veiy step of the lady's tower,
songs like distant winds in tlie ruins,
he lingers there, in tlie midnight hom.
songs like distant winds in tlie niins.
unless rousted by guards at the Lord's shout,
songs like distant winds in tlie niins.
he plays until lus voice gives out.
songs like distant winds in tlie niins.
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by the witness tree
he waited by tlie witness tiee. tluougli the mglit.
she did not come until tlie light stole fiist flash
across the fields of daffodils made radiant by verdant
fields beneath her tread, like tlie goddess of the spring
brii^ng the waimth witli her. had you seen Imn
an houi' before, you would have tliought him dead,
but as tlie flowers bloom before her, so does his heart
and tlie pait of liim fliat always held a sHver of her
awakens to the call of the feral cat. sleek as kisses
fiom an ardent lover, proud as a poet on flie cusp
ofinspiration and pain, soft as the sound of a lovers
heartbeat as she sleeps, let her sleep that she may
have the stiength to love again and come m spring,
when all things are possible, even the impossible.
the gods at Ka Latil
no one remembers the names of tlie gods once
worshipped in tlie youtli of our race, ruins signify
great temples and worn and weathered monuments
that took slaves a generation to assemble, tiemble
before the fate of all stone, to be flirown to dust,
just know the names and celebrate tlie words heard
raiely enough. tiTiflitiTimps labours, the sacrifice
was too steep a price, a virgin a week, blood spilled
fiom innocence that tlie cymcal may prosper, flaccid
merchants in the temple selling parrots and pillows,
gems and jaguars, idols of god that we can't even
recall the names of amotations written in lost
tongues so tliat future generations will never know
who lived and loved here, but in their time, tliey
stiU were gods over all fliey domained.
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The Sixtieth Panther Cycle:
the hours
This was written during one of the parting times, when she would grow impatient, or a friend
would frx her up witli someone and she would stop talking to nie for days or weeks at a time,
only to come back.
I don't know why. Maybe she really did love me but was imable to reconcile herself witli the
breakup of my marriage.
Maybe she was insecure and I was a safe haven.
Maybe she couldn't not be the Panther. Even though, at this wilting, we have not spoken in any
form in years (I heard of her marriage through a third party, months after the fact) a few months
ago I heard she still was usmg the screen name she adopted as homage to my works and my
passion.
Maybe a pantlier, like the leopard, is fixed in colom' and pattern.
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daylight meridian
shadows as compact as they can be.
I sit beneatli the tree and wonder
where she IS. what she is doing. I hope
she is happy and well and that, from
tune to time she sees me heie.
beneath tliis free, and for all
the fire and brimstone and iron
and ice and day and night and love
and fear and hate and cold equations,
knows tliat I am thmking of her.
mid afternoon
how many days have 1 stopped when I saw
the instant approach, an anniversary m seconds
and mimites, not days and years, sometimes
qnesfroned, sometimes challei^ed, always
answered well, a dooi opened and closed,
signifying passage, not an easy hall to fread,
not a comfortable bed all the nights since then.
bnt still woithy of tlie mention and the memory,
forever.
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twilight
she wrote a poem, once.
beautiM and perfect, as she rs . . .
a laugh withm a tear' withm a dream
withm a fantasy resplendent, dependent
on my arc. and so Ilaimchedmy soul
like a balhstae buUet, and stayed where
I landed, deep in a jiuigle I will always
stay in. even when driven to tlie edge.
I will travel in tlie company of lesser beasts
and drink from stieams where tlie waters
are quenchmg, but not sweet, beat the bushes
to flush quarry to kill wit verbal sling, sing
songs tliat echo in tlie valleys beyond Lur.
and watch my panther dancing on the beach.
midnight
the days change, sfrange how they aiTange
themselves to make liglit of the night, bisecting
it. directii^ it to be defined in two days, not one.
will tomoiiow ever be here. Itiunk. but sometimes
at midnight the clock sfretches like molten taffy
on an apple witli only two bites fiom it. and I
hunger for Eden, yet I will wait for the season.
4 am
I wake at 4 am and listen for your heart,
but it has fled, and you aie in anotiier bed.
circumstances favor a prepared heart
and I cannot restart an insistent heart.
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dawn
if you stietch joy for thiee tlioiisand miles
it tears aiid splits and bleeds and aches.
imtil all that is left is a ragged woiuid.
stunned silence, the violence of passion
shell-shucked hke an artillery peanut,
tasty morsels baiely remembered,
ei^endered dreams are kept aHve for now.
but only by those witli tlie staiuina to dream
of tomorrow, beyond soiiow. beyond sohtude.
6 am
fresh from youi' reflection in tlie morning mud.
sweat sheened, preened by tlie wind and efforts
to perfect those Hflie Hmbs and that elegant back.
hair tossed and matted, like a cat not quite done
with tlie glooming. I heai' your voice, bright and sweet.
and remember it like the smeU of burnt honey
the night flie candles burned down to flieir wick
and we could not stick aioimd to keep tlie lights
on. a butterfly reborn a slug sighs and falls when
the wmgs are spread but the wind is far away.
and tliere is no answer anymore at 6 in tlie moinmg.
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The Sixty-first Panther Cycle:
seven wishes
Seven small things to wish for. Images of love and contentment.
The final piece of tliis cycle, "yom' joy," is the bomb in this bushel basket. I can not teU you how
many wiiters have told me that they wept when they read it. I still do.
Otheiunages spiling to mind and pen. Her distinctive wmk. So obvious, but endearing. A
lunch we had m Fairfax. Her suede sldit.
To quote Roy Batty. . . "I have seen things you would not believe."
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a smile
little more than your smile, a friendly smirk
sometimes a gateway to a giggle or a langli.
head cocked, eyes bright, the Hghtiiess of mood
dispellii^ clouds that sunonnd you, that have ground you
imderfoot. like bells in the frig, like light
intlie daikness. like memories. Hke tlie smell
of moiiung oatiueal, earned in the drizzly haze
of anotlier morning. ..pressing for joy.
a kiss
no clumsiness, no fear, lips wann and ready,
open to admit moie than air and softness, to
allow two souls to sMp freely between two bodies,
the polish to tlie gem. thehght of day. we play
like tigei cubs, earnest and happy, soft and passionate.
a wink
it means somethii^. any man who sees tliat wink
of yours is frapped. slapped from his reveries and boimd
to follow like a puppy on a string, who can resist
a panthei's playfiil invitation to come closer, closei.
near enough to touch, to comfort, to share, to dare
to ask foi more tlian a warm touch. fiiU of life.
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lunch
to talk over a salad and mugs of tea. like in tliat
restaurant in Fairfax, or tlie cafe in Little Italy
where the service was so poor, but it didn't seem
to matter so much as long you wore your suede
skirt and there was a flower shop down the stieet
where I could buy roses of intention, lingering
of moutlifuls of food and eyes full of love and di^eams.
heartbeat
to once again press my weaiy head against yom' back
and take m the soimd of youi' heart, holding the line
between hfe and death, between a world of joy and love
anda world without legends, without panthers, witliout
a love that sigmfies all, vahdates all, liberates all. to feel
the tears course down my face witliout a man's disgrace
at being touched, like fingertips on a distant screen.
peace
to know what will happen aroimd tlie next comer, to know
no fear, anymore, to hve without regret, to be able to bet
all I have and tmst tlie croupier is tmly cognizant of what
she holds in her small, cool hands, confidence bom
of love, of hope, of tmst. of destiny audits acceptance.
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your joy
my grandson climbed into my lap and held ont a book
to me. weatliered witli age, each page burned into my
memory like an immutable brand, he asked me who the
pretty lady was, whose pictm'e maiked tlie frontispiece.
I bHnked back a few tears, shed a lifetime ago on a
battlefield where I was too busy agonizing over my role
in tlie conflict to take the point, as was my puipose.
I told liim tliat she was just a dream I once met and
made happy for a season, tlien I sent lum to play.
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The Sixty-second Panther Cycle:
just a man, just a woman
Sometimes when we spoke or chati:ed or exchanged emails, she expressed frustration with the
role of being ail icon. An absfraction.
She once asked if a day would come wlienit would just be two people, sitting on a porch, eatii^
apples and talking about "tilings".
This came out of that, a cycle of images meant to express tiie beauty of ordinary people sharing
an exfraoidinary love and lives togetiier.
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everyday lives
we live everyday lives,
love like eveiyone else,
maybe a shade more epic
and mtense tlian most,
but honest and grounded
in oni' sense of where we
aie and where we belong,
together.
the sound of distant thunder
sitting out, watching the stonn pass on the horizon,
listenii^ to the soimd of distant thunder out of
synchi^onization with the flickering folks of light
that dance between the grey lint clouds, sippmg
iced tea with lemorseless greed as the diy air bleeds
the day away from our pores as God's artillery roais
defiance to the dry eaitli and pelts it witli watei.
the dance of the hours on a grey day
tune held ransom by a sudden tempered sadness
poured out like spilled oats on the floor
by impatient hands, soft and siftii^,
lifting tlie edge of the darkness just long
enougli to let me inside to cradle you
in a beai-like hug, tnie and gentle,
sentimental fool tliat I am, letting you ciy
youiself out to make way foi tlie rainbow
tomorrow, when tlie daffodils and roses
meet m the vase of a haploid heart.
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sand on the front steps
I sweep aside the sand witli tlie old broom,
heirloom of a summer not so long ago when
I bent more freely in the effort, but I hear
the rustle of tlie skirt you wore once to
frut with me outiageously even tliough
you already owned my heart, and the sand
is not so heavy, and tlie broom is easy,
and my heart is liglit witli love and memories.
warm apples on a summer day
picked fresh
from tlie tree
that nurtured them.
like your love
in my heart.
I take a crisp taste
and offer the rest
to tlie woman I love
and will one day rest
beside in the ground
beneath tlris tree
and tlie memory of
this gentle world.
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the other blue
you knew
when you let me
play with the palette
that I was not the aitist you were.
but since you are
a remaikable poet
I feel tlie need to try
to keep up with you.
so I make sometlimg
that could almost be a sky.
using tlie wrong shade of blue
to keep the illusion,
but you just laugli
like you did in the cafe
at two a.m. when you saw
me playing too much the fool
but loved me anyway.
the next time
the next tune I see you
I won't let you walk away,
and if you choose to. take
whatevei' weapon you can
and slay me first, a mercifiil deatli
ovei tlie slow one otlierwise.
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The Sixty-third Panther Cycle:
the wind in the desert
Yes, I was tlie crazy man witli the half-empty bottle of Evian.
It was my practice when I drove up into the desert to take along a bottle of Evian and, after I
found a rock away from the road to sit upon, wait until the desert lizards showed therr faces, tlien
pour a puddle of tlie water mto the shadiest spot I could frnd. They loved it, and I loved grving
them that joy.
To me they were and are sand dragons, cousms to tlie bard dragon who needed just liis hours m
solitude to pull togetliei' tlie threads that were unraveling as he stared into an uncertain fate.
The Panther was and is an artist, and a photographer, and we had discussed when we were able
to be together again having a house out m the desert, near Joshua Tree, and how I, as a writer,
could stay home with Cassiopeia wliile Mommy went off to photograph some old niin oi
whatever. Some of that found its way into here, as well.
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at dawn
filled witli tlie promise of a day
never before seen on this earth.
the birth of new life, priceless
and perfect, hope made memory
made legend made hope again,
when the dreams return with
the momii^'s first wind.
tumbleweed
scrap of sciTiff
propelled, homeless
and heartless,
seekmg root
with roots dried by
lost grip. sMppii^to
the edge of tlie desert
to witlier
forever
as an object lesson
for too long adnft.
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the wind in the panther's fur
on the ridge overlookmg
the twisted tiee tliat represents
eternity, the panther cools
herself in the wind as the sim
raises tlie tips of her ebony
fur to new heat, sweet and dusty
scents entice hei' senses,
defenses to be conquered
and trails to be tiaveled
before the end of the day.
before the losmg of the way.
the sand dragon as food
the paranoid hawk returns
to feast on the skittering
Hzard who thought liimself
a dragon because some crazy
man witli a half empty bottle
of Evian told liim he was . Only
Moses should ever have paid
attention to voices on the wmd
of the desert heat at higli fire.
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the wind at night
the sweat of tlie day is gone.
on beyond the howling in the rocks
where a thousand years ago a priest danced
prayers unanswered by a god he imagined
gave a damn if he died of thirst, cursed
to haunt the valley for all eternity
luitil he learned the light steps.
and it cools me to sit here, in
the Hglit of the stars, and dream
dreams just as damning.
the infinite sandbox
I picked up my Mttle daughter from
out of tlie infinite sandbox that is her backyaid
(deserts do have tlieir appeal) and told her that
Mommy would be home today, filled witli stories
of distant lands not as exotic as the smell
of the mesquite and the sound of the wind
in tlie needles of tlie cactus at mghtfall,
but beautifiil nonetlieless, and tliat next time
we would go with her to watch liei' stand
next to scenes we only see in National
Geographic, but none as beautifiil as
liei' Mommy's smile when she sees how
much the child of her lieait has grown
in two short weeks playing
in the infinite sandbox of her backyaid.
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the desert wind at night
sometimes at iiight I lay awake
and can baiely heat' the soimd
of the deseit wind in the eai'
not pressed against your back
as I marvel, yet anotlier night,
at how beautiful your peace is.
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The Sixty-fourth Panther Cycle:
the tempering of sadness
A friend once said that tempered sadness is the springboard to ecstasy.
I don't know if tliat is a tniism or an excuse for bipolai' behavior, but I'll take it at face value.
This IS a sad cycle, expiession of quiet sorrow and acliing regrets.
What caps it is the oathm 'If I must be a man". A long time ago 1 walked away fiom tlie first
great love of my hfe when she asked me to put aside my poetiy. Tliis even after I wrote "my
electric lady" which was about the regiet I would feel, but the choice would make, if I had to
choose between poetry and "my poor and mortal birthright" so that "I could touch the sky and
seetnie tilings."
And yet, here, ahnost two decades later, I was sweaimg to leave it all behmd, to renounce my
identify, in tmtli, if that was what it would take foi us to be reconciled.
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tears
soft and bitter, brittle, bom
of dreams broken like fiozen
taffy struck a solid blow, low
and ascendant, dependent
on prayers that reside m the hearts
of those tender enough to love
even the unworthy, proof protected
in tlie fall of saline ram, ringing
upon the tin roofs of om' heart's
cottages, set in the fields of love.
laughing at legends
as the tailor, 1 must now protest
the mockery of the Emperor's dress
and his proud carnage swayed by
the revelation of charade on tlie pait
of me. clotlies cut and stitched
fiom moonbeams, left to dry
on the rocks by the stieam
of consciousness, silkworks
and tlie taste of bmnt honey
left in tlie pockets for a ramy day.
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embrace
I would hold you, if you would let me near.
askii^ notliing, but needu^ everytliing,
silent but for sobs wasted today.
for we aie all in oiu^ shells iniu^ed
to tlie pain of others, as in oui' ears
our teais
bum the loudest
and tlie proudest
of us must face
the path alone and mocked
for having dared to love
and stood by liis vows.
rainbows tomorrow
there will be rainbows tomorrow.
and tlie next day, but not now.
now is the time for mourning
lost Hes and illusions, balloons
burst by tlie worst means
possible, but we are strong
and feral creatures, whether
wings of raven's fletch or the
blacklace membrane of the
dragonfly panther, and we wiU
soar again, and maybe not to
tnumph that day, but eventually,
for we aie woitliy and wiUing.
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the patching of hearts
souliiiates
left to fates
to meander
in fimtless pani.
the savage stain
magnified
by ignorance
and darkness
as the dinosaurs
of Venus come
between us.
serenity hke death
to hold the panther again
I must learn a seremty
like death, tlie breatli
draw shallow and slowly
to not disturb her heart's
slumber as she heals,
not again to the level to love
like a common creature, but
back to the edge of tlie
amora where once she
danced in glee and joy.
destroy my soul and she
will build it back a thousand
times with a smgle smile.
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if I must be a man
If I must be a man to win back
that wliich I have lost, someone tell
me now, tliat I may accost
the cowaidices within me
of no longer wearing scales of gold
or hftii^ raven wings to tlie sun.
one by one, my baiiiers have
cracked and fallen, and I have
no use for tliis facade if it costs
me all my Hfe and joy. someone
tell me the price of penance
to regain tlie love I lost
thiougli no sill of my own.
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The Sixty-fifth Panther Cycle:
the seven lessons of the Panther
"Tlie common tongue" is one of my favomite works, expressing an issue I have moie than once
encounteied in this Hfe.
I have been accused of bemg too eloquent, my vocabulary too large and my tendency to take a
simple thought and spin it into symphony of words sometimes getting in the way of being
imdeistood.
But all of tiiese works weie attempts to express thmgs I had or should have learned from the
Panther, or from my relationship with her.
No one has ever accused me of being the quickest study on haid experience, but at least I could
express these things.
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life is never silent (Listen with your heart)
a tliousand times you kept me near with words
unspoken, promises unbroken except by a temporary
deiaibnent. and yet, each memoried impalement
drove hard against my soul, promises made by
a panther hungiy to lay kittens at the feet
of the woild, hungry to share her milk with
the child of hei heart and tlie son of her soul,
to wrestle playflilly tlie lover who cut her totem
from stiips of black clotli worn as she raced
the wmd to piepare her self for tlie wedding
of soulmates in tlie chapel of dreams, and I hear
the music from time to time, kissed roses
blooming upon penetiating tlie saciaments
drained in dooiways to lieaits hai^dened
inpiide. having to close our eyes and open
our hearts to dieams we can both face freely.
panthers sometimes need the shadows (Trust love)
having lived my life m tlie slummering, sometimes
obscurii^ light of a slummering fiiestream of emotion
fed on hghtning and self-mimolative emotion, I could not
imdeistand her fondness for shadows. I read it as a
reaction of rejection, not protection for a fragile
heart yearning, burning foi love and dieams that 1 had
jomed with m a haploid instant of transcendence,
but I needed to learn to frust. to reahze that merely
liei vanislunent into tlie shadows of soitow was not
a banislunent from hei heart and head and arms and bed,
but a need to bleed in peace and release her saline rain
to foim streams of consciousness forever beautifiil.
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faith like a poet (Believe in dreams and dreamers)
you planted tlie seed witliin me, caived with the genetic code
of all the tomoiiows you cannot yet see. but here, on wings
reopened by a kiss on an elevator, 1 can sail above the days
you count luitil the swiinnieis dive again and the fluids
of our souls mingle to make a new comnuuiion, and see the
tomorrow you bound me to witli fantasies more real
than tlie feehngs foi tliat wliich already lived, and so great
was the beauty of tlie vision you cut into my heart, 1 would
mourn tliem hke my children if tliey never lived, and the
power of that emotion is beyond anytliing I have ever felt.
the power of belief iii a beautiful dream of destiny and love.
wings of jade and amber (Share joy)
Imiflirl tlie jeweled wings of rejoicing.
the somid you made when I first said 1 love you,
crystalHzed into a stone of infinite beauty.
the duty of affection, worn Hke a millstone to many,
but m the hands of tlie amomancer, a tool of levity
and levitafion, to raise the shaft you cauglit yourself
on in practiced passion seeking to find the fount
of biitli and rebirth, tlie woitli of dreams between
two bodies, as I birthed you, you birthed me and we
together are a web of souls, dancing on tlie lattice
of your gloiious wii^s of light and beauty.
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she did pounce, she did play (patience like a hunter)
out of the darkness
comes
nothing.
for she waits
luitil the prey
is close enough
that it is all a nimdgame
and tlie prey
will play another
day but this time
at a safer drstance.
let go the pain (Surrender without fear)
you caimot hold long to tlie pain before
it bums hes into yom eyes
and you are left blind to all but
the illusions.
awaken like a kitten,
eyes fresh to the world and able
to tell a saucer of milk
from aratfrap.
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the common tongue (Speak plainly and with truth)
the oithography of poets
belongs in poetry.
not in words spoken
in pain or anger or fear
of losing something or someone
held so dear
that you feel death upon you.
that is a time for the baby steps
of simple words, where commonality
is more likely true, a basic
toi^;ue where tmths are not
gaibled amid tlie noise of well meaning
friends who read letters hke
Rorschach tests and listened tliat night
you raved luitil late, finding hate
in woimded love and bitter tears.
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The Sixty-sixth Panther Cycle:
Reflections on a Fading Past
I am of two minds on this cycle. One tlie one hand it has "that half a heart"- for my money one
of the best works of the entire tapestry of the Pantlier Cycles.
On the otlier hand we have "a story from my yontli". TiTie story, needing to be related to our
ownHves, but somehow I just never hked it, never hked it of and by itself and certainly not as
part of the cycles.
I guess it IS like a kiss. Ifyoulovetliem, and tliey kiss well, you might overlook tlie fact that
they had onions on tlieii' sandwich.
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undefined
I remember how you wept
when I spoke tlie words
to you. undefined
the role you would play.
it made you walk to the fence
and ask for a dictionary
that you might feny your heart
to a safe place, an embrace
between lovers destined
and damned. I am here now,
at the fence you built.
where sits tlie Raven.
and you left a note for me.
"major, yet imdefined"
cryptic words before a dance.
deadly words tlie moiiung after.
the mourning after.
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a story from my youth
when I was yoimger than now,
my parents had a small dog.
a Pekmese name Chaily.
my brotlier David loved that dog,
as he did and does all animals.
one day I found Charly, howling
mad, seated in tlie back loom,
his jaws tiembling, liis eyes
protniding like a caricature
of disease seen in to many
Satuiday morning caitoons.
and I closed tlie door and warned
all to stay away wliile I called for
assistance. 1 knew, 1 knew
that he was beyond redemption.
needing put away for liis
and oni' own good.
but David slipped m and foimd
the problem,
a lock of ear hair tangled
in a long claw.
pain and frustration.
and he slipped tlie catch.
and told me to hai^ up the phone.
because, in his willii^iess
to look beyond my feai'.
he fomid tliat destniction
was not the answer,
merely an open heart.
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that half a heart
I wonder if you still have it
biiried in your breast
or is it on a shelf witli
the shirt I gave you. the legacy
of seaicliing love retired
having foiuid the prize like
Moses at the Promised Land?
40 years in the desert to be told
that I will not pass.
aie the daffodil cup and the
crazy ceramic wizard holding
niglitly discussions?
or are they
with tlie boxed knick-knacks
held in impossibly tiny hands
as we made love.
in oui minds.
in our souls.
in om dieams .
in our lives.
in our pasts
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half a dream
I did not see yom' face
at the window where I placed
the candle, sometliing was
there, hair dark and perfect.
soulful eyes of burnt honey
to steal my soul.
no, make me whole
from tlie coma of my heart.
a resunection laid
on a lullaby back
to be earned
tobemaiiied
or be bmied
with tlie dreams
no loiter woitli havmg.
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fantasies
how many dieams daily do I launch
of you and I, fiiends. lovers.
like the kiss I stole on tlie elevator...
well, you handed rt to me,
but I felt Hke a rogue.
I guess I needed you.
and when the secret
flew past my face and
the bongo played its part,
was my heart fliUer tlian it is now?
ciTimbs left on a plate
in Soho at two in the morning.
a meal regretted.
I guess I loved you.
breakfast delivered
to shaie with conversation
and reclamation of dignity given up
lite blood to arose, toes
that touched the floor of my soul
like a morning discovered
at 10 am. tlie sound of your
heart now etched indelibly
in the ears of a poet.
I guess I had you.
butterfingers that I am .
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pillar of salt
one day you will, inadvertently,
forget to turn aroiuid
to watch the consiunption
of this city.
and tliat time
you will be free.
my love
will go with you, like spaie change
in tlie bottom of your makeup bag.
forgotten and uimeeded.
then spent
casually on a pack of gum to get the
taste out of youi' mouth.
matador
when they pull
the post
and tlie bull
is host
to my fears
will the tears
not yet shed
words unsaid
for so loi^
make me strong
enough to rise
to rron skies
when I know not if flight
with bimg you back
or give you leave to go?
404
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Sixty-seventh Panther Cycle:
Heisenberg through crystaUized souls
More mystical or metaphysical than romantic, this set has some sharp and vivid miagery, and a
return to an introspection ratlier tlian a reminiscence.
The first piece "dry lake" came to me while flying back to Los Angeles after visiting my cliildren
in Virginia. This was always rough on me. I loved and love my cliildren, and 1 know the
divorce was very rough on them and unfair to tliem. I regret that, and wish tliere was sometliing
I could do or say, some penance I could perftjnn to make tliat all riglit for tliem.
But on tliis tnp tlie sky was quite clear and out the plane's window I saw a dry lake bed iii tlie
desert... and before I knew what was happening I had started scribbling this cycles in a legal pad
notebook I always tried to carry with me for just such occasions .
405
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406
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dry lake
in flying over tlie desert
I saw the dry bed of a lake.
the metaphor struck me like
a New York taxicab needing
a brake job. perhaps by
accident, but nonetheless . . .
once teemmg witli life, witliered
by heat and evaporated di^eams, but
leavii^ boiuidaries of what was,
to spring to life again
when the rains may return, Mke
love long denied.
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dwindling dreams
dwindling dreams
as my hemophiliac heart
slowly, mexorably
drips towaids silence.
the vile violence of neglect
slips hke assassms
into the cold, golden shadows
after tlie test is failed.
the test of tlie kmfe.
all too well the error
of my life, hencefoith
to Hve, not as a poet.
but, as a man. stiipped
to this walk and to stand
in tlie safer and saner
patlis of mediocrity.
silver spiders
seven silver spiders, dancmg in a septagiam
once woven of eclectic dramas played to slam
windows shut tliat you said blew us away from tlie tack
of our hearts' voyages, baggage, hke a gnimysack
filled with things held dear, yet painfully, slowly moulding
with the naicoleptic fear of munbed pleasme, boding
failure from within our prayers, mourners stai^e away
a Chiistmas toy lost two weeks before Valentine's Day.
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proud love
and if allowed to love as proud
as my heait calls me to, tlie
pride inside blossommg in reverent
glee, my poetry's day of Pentecost.
when words spoken in a foreign idiom
suddenly make sense in a revelation
of love, a celebration of love.
a consecration of love in wliich
we both prove the worth of souls
leftover ftom a tliousand failed
past lives, poisons purged in passions
mged like tlnee deep breaths
that tiansfigured tlie world.
tender dreams
I have shared my tender dieams with many eyes
and ears and hearts and miiids. tliere are no hes
behind my passion for you. tnie to the mark, a sling
propelled me high m a ballistic aic to you, to bring
a taste of lovei's candoi to tlie Pandoia chest
locked away by doubt and despair. I dare to wiest
the liigh abandon from your avatai' and take
into me his identity. I do this foi tlie simple sake
of your love, for if a man seekmg to be divine
cannot court your favour, perhaps it is at last time
for the spark to fold itself, mold itself into a sphere
of human emotion. .. .that I may, at length, draw near.
409
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
hailstones
the Panther laid a gentle snare wrtli
the touch of her hand to my hair
in a moment when I was so spellboimd
by soiilflil, bmrit-honey eyes, tliat I
could do little but weep m despair,
precognition telling me we were doomed
to never share more tlian a saddening tryst,
words kissed fiom the sky in wet regiet
like hailstones on a hot Florida day.
renewed communion
my arms encircle you to lay my
healii^ hands on tlie small of yoni'
back, back m my aims, youi' dancei's
legs embrace me and yom^ body ghdes
to encase ine in tlie womb of your passion.
I kiss the shuddering from you as
the impalement takes it's toU and
you, with failing control, hold back
the months'-dammed hunger to drink
from witliin me the sin we share
in caring for one another. I kiss
the soft and risii^ pink meimgues
of your breasts and softly suckle
as if to draw strength fi:om your
warm fluid, a new id forms and
merges through us, merges to us
and sphnteis the lock once set
against us as you feel me give
up the warm wine in a renewed
communion of lovers forevennore.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Sixty-eighth Panther Cycle:
love without regret
I am still amazed when I look this far into the cycles and see new imagery and thoughts.
Someone once told me that romantic poetry was dead because tiiere are only a finite number of
ways to say "I love you".
Guess tiiat guy was wrong.
Here I go, speaking of love, both in the abstiact and in images from both the past and oui'
fantasies of our fiituie together. A bit all over the place, but still a good run of words and
thoughts and emotions.
I wanted so bad to feel love witliout regret, without feeling like I was domg something wrong.
411
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412
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cinema
dreams dappled like the back of a pony
seen in a long-forgotten Disney film
where tlie heroes always won
the villains always lost
and lovers only kissed.
and tlien, only in the final reel.
I feel sometimes caught between
the sprockets m tliat proj ector,
imable to change anything
but tlie showtimes, as tlie wheels
turn and the light bums the images into
the minds of the onlookers, never knowing
that the hero is really tlie villain
the villain is really a nice guy
and tlie lovers did more tlian kiss
last night in the dark of a theatre.
the touch of life
your hands.
like God on tlie ceiling
of the Sistine chapel.
givmg meMfe.
giving me hope.
redempfion through grace
and tlie kiss of an angel
too long in a distant heaven.
too long between communion sips
fi:om tlie hps of a feral woman
made legend
by my words,
but only speakmg tlie tiTitli
of what IS mside.
413
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
umbrellas of hope
perhaps they are not sturdy enough
to endure tlie winds we tlu^ow at tliem
in foohsh pride and aiiogant self-doubt.
but we must pop tliem out and take oni' best
shot at keeping us free from tlie rain,
gales of tender tears, spent on lost frails
following will-o-wisp illusions tliat pronnse
pleasure without pain, dreams without waking,
giving without taking, medicine show theatrics
as the rain is made by God, not man.
not even poets call it, we merely know
how to read the clouds, and promise
to be tliere to sweep the mud from
the sidewalks of youi' soul so that clean
passage is possible again, maybe this tune,
maybe not. maybe I'U never agam know
the colom' of tlie siui. but 1 remember well.
414
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
4 am revisited
last iiight I awoke from a soiuidless di^eaiii.
luimemoried. my mind clear as liglit in
imtiammeled sky. and I did not ciy out.
1 did not grimace witli the loneliness.
I merely tmned inside myself and listened
with tlie heart you helped fashion me to witlistand
the dark passions to be unleashed by your
passage tlu^ough my hfe.
and I heard soft echoes.
a heait tlu^ough a lullaby back,
a gentle sound, boundless with joy
that tianspoited me back to time
befoie compHcations.
where I will go again.
and hve.
as only lovers may dare.
walking like wheels
an eternal cycle of one foot in front of the othei'.
a dying dream of lover and friend and fatlier and motlier
held aloft like a baiuierette befoie the annies of care,
where amomanceis cast spells and lay wards at tlie caves
liigli above tlie valley of tlie shadow of deatli, where I
one, twice, fell, no, was pushed, and no one caught me
but my dreams, dreams that stiU live and everyday that
they breathe grow closer to the Hght. and I have climbed
higher and fartliei' and faster than any sane man would dare
and now feel the iron winds in my hair, demandii^...
commanding me to leap, leap into amis oidy now beginning
to open, and if tlus fall is all theie is. ..then I will
sing death songs on my fall and pray tliat love is not
just an illusions, but live witli the results of the wager.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
kisses
may I kiss you once again?
knowing tliat if the barriers break
we may take a long time.. .decades...
recovermg our equilibrium, tlie sum
of the actions and reactions m that
gentle meeting of himgry lips may diive
us beyond tlie edge of wheie we thought
we would daie to stand, to sit. to lay.
and tlie delay is unbearable, but 1 would
rather kiss you. and have you mean it,
than waste my life on lesser loves.
the return of the bard dragon
lettmg go liis false idols of love.
he opens patchwork wings, scar tissues
baiely fading from the red of pain...
in vain surrender to liis muse, he arches
his back and slides mto the passionwmds
he still feels in her soul... praying for life
but daring death as he spiials in to see
if there is still love enough foi legends
toHve. oi if he is must find healing
bahus at tlie apotliecary of anotlier enchantiess.
but he is game to seek to fulfill liis true fate,
knowing it his not his flaw if the winds
prove false and fickle, sick with fear
he diies a tear witli a single word of flame.
a name he may only speak in piivate.
for now.
416
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The Sixty-ninth Panther Cycle:
The Next Night is Forever
We made a litHe pact.
And that is what this cycle's title is about.
She vowed that if ever we slept togetlier again, it would be an end to all doubts and hesitations,
that we would stay together and live together and niaiiy and have cliildien and grow old and die
as a couple.
Pressure? You bet. But I have always been one more for tlie grand romantic gestiu^e.
"and the rain washes away all sorrows."
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surrender to the kiss
lips approaching the event horizon of souls so giave
and distant, tliey have spiraled in like neutron stars
in the death gnp of their own giavity. faces that slide
across one another to sniotliei' tlie pam of too long kept
apart, a start reborn, tapestries worn to shield us
now yield us a soft wall to crash into and tluougli as
we tumble like aciobats into the nets our hearts wove
so long ago. fire and negation, arms racing to embrace.
and tlien.
and tlien the moment of tmtli.
the truth passii^ between Hps touching and parting
and merging Mke tlie dancing souls behind tliem.
sliding like arms fiimbling against cloth yielding.
fielding questions
iiielevant
in time spent too far away
too cold, too long demed
and so we must make penance
in a penetration yom body rises to m sweet memory
like aiemembrance ofwildfloweis of ayoutii only montlis
befoie. and the lips never part, for fear tlie kiss
will end. and so we share breath for fiery moments...
as 1 come home and take my rest and joy witliin you.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
taste of blood
predator unleashed.
too long without tlie fresliMll.
taking her fill of tlie flesh
she remembers tasting a season before.
sweet, musky, a trace of rust and blood
that tangs her tongue as she suckles out tlie
jmces she needs to bleed tiie pain from time
lost, the cost of hesitation repaid a tiiousandfold
in golden kisses, sweet and sinfiil. brinifiil
of the white wine of lovers' communion.
a pulse of life
we stop, silence, and feel oui' pulses blend.
befiiending tiie trutii. acknowledging tiie proof
thiobbmg deep inside a penetiated panther.
a dancer, on pomt, on fiie. on the wire of life,
daimg to be wife to a legend, to be a legend.
to feel his pleasme and tieasure her own in a
slow and driving grind of fragrant fiir against
the hunter, sated, tiie cries of tiie vanquished
taken as token of himger and tiurst and tiie asphyxia
of a heart quenched m the air between your tiughs .
surprising us both.
the pulses merge.
and m a surge tiiat rockets fioni my soul,
through my flesh.
into your flesh
and finally, into youi' soiti. . .
life is affirmed.
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entry
eyes locked in lovmg tribute
as you feel tlie weight upon you.
you feel the fate within you. . .
giving groiuid. . .making way
so tliat heaits may play
on the fields of pleasure.
the wings unfold
and m conies
the comeistone.
the missing bone of the puzzle
needing to be solved.
pleadii^ to be absolved
of everything but love.
and tlie need to be as one
when such is tlie design.
sinking into place.
spreading wide tlie way.
bringing into play
recesses and comers
unilluminated for fai' too long.
fai' too long.
and tlie pantlier's song.
rises in beauty and delight
all thiougli tlie mglit.
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the rain washes away all sorrows
like sugar nirmiiig in the flood
the blood
of martyrs is washed away
as we play
in tlie thunder
that punctuates yom' cries
as I punctuate yoiu' gentle body.
the liglitning
arcs like youi' back as you attack
me over and over.. .swallowing
my seed, my soul, my life
in yours . . .
and tlie rain washes away all soiiows.
fear in your eyes
a labour of love, great and promised.
perhaps mtiinidation, perhaps apprehension
as the dimensions of your desire.
you conspire to hide it, denied it
for so long...
but as you smk on bending knees
to please ns both. . .
there is fear in your eyes.
422
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coming home to die
making love with my panther
is like coming home to die.
for all the fear, rt is as it should be.
and tliere is no other place
where I will know peace.
the pain will cease and God
will smile at my muic dimittis.
for He knows tlie song of my soul.
and He is happy that I have found
the answer to my quest, and am blest
to be here, witli you. toniglit. and forever.
423
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The Seventieth Panther Cycle:
the city of legends
Kyrienar now had anotlier name. The City of Legends.
In September, 1996, 1 sat down and tauglit myself HTML, (Hypertext Maikup Language) and
bnilt myself a website on Earthlink, which 1, in a fit of whimsy, named 'The City of Legends"
after tliis cycle.
Two weeks latei' 1 saw it listed on Yahoo, which at the time was the #1 search engine on tlie web.
Along witli file Milk was a description of myself as the "Romantic Poet of the hitemet".
Never give up a good sobriquet.
These poems expressed tiie joumey, the patience, tiie effort involved in waiting for my Panther
to get herself into tiie emotional condition she felt she needed to be in order to make tiie journey
to be with me.
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early on the road to the City of Legends
so far so good, we should be fluUier down tliis road,
but considering the wheels are worn and the load
is much heavier tlian previously estimated, we have
done remarkable tilings on tliis voyage, we can laugh
at tears once shed in dread of niglits spent apart.
we can kiss and not fear the mergmg of this haploid heart.
we have conquered, many battles still wait for us, fed
by fear and forces imcounted. but when all is finally said,
1 shall be here for you. more scars tlian 1 wanted, yet
tiansfigured m your love into a paramom', whole and perfect.
without regret
in tliirteen cycles of tlie moon 1 have tiaveled far
and tasted botli victory and defeat, the sweetness
of a feral jmigle cat's embrace and the disgiace
of bemg locked outside tlie gates at niglit, wliite
with fear and black witli the soot of effigies bmried
for vanity, sanity deep dip baptized in a river nuuung
like a fantasy child across the wildflowei' meadows.
windows opened as door slammed shut so that the
dying heart could flee to save itself but did not.
love sustains me. feai' restiains me. silence pams me.
and all the wliile I love witliout regret or let.
this heart
this cliild of my heart may never be flesh.
but m my heart, she is flilfiUed in words wiUed
by one who has earned my love witli courage
and grace, no place for the timid, this mantel
in tlie himtmg lodge of mysteiies to be unlocked
like yom' passions in the aqua night of satin.
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William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
if I am to live without fear
if I am to live witliout fear, then it must be in yom' aims .
for without them, the confusion and pani is a monument
to fallen hope, love will lay in niins battered by the stonns
of a thousand tropical summers, the coinage long spent
on tounst-trap trinkets unwortliy of our dreams and touch,
buried in mountain snows to not melt in tlie history of man.
cnished beneatli the tread of titans birthed witli such
venom that they can only be the sons of a lage that began
deep within tlie despair of Sisyphus, we, as mortals, need
our Gods, for whether tliey are real, oi myths, the legend
sustaining our souls, teachii^ us to live above our fears, lead
the woids you have summoned from a lover and a friend.
for when tlie next cluonicles aie taken, a pantlier and a poet
will live in these pages, for love, no fear, no legret.
428
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I will wake up tomorrow
I will wake up tomorrow
and you will not yet be there
beside me.
inside me
you are always there,
but sometimes I want to
touch the woman that I love
so well.
to smell her hail'.
to hold her when tlie cold world
kicks her a httle too vividly.
but even thougli she
is for now
distant
and I am alone.
I will wake up tomorrow.
and tliank God she yet lives.
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water from the well
the water from the well
tastes sweet
and cold.
and old
wives' tales
tell me that there
is magic in every sip.
would that 1 could
take a drip
and botdeitto sell
to tlie shaman
in tlie canyon.
to make a chaim
of sand dragon skins,
with wliich to bring
yom' love back to life
wliile I yet endure.
a panther in her den
matted grass,
she lays on matted grass.
and stietches early in the day
to begin hei hunt, new life,
new prey, she will play
for a time, then hunker down
and glow steely and resolved
like the predator she is. bright
and Stygian, black and glossy.
in my heait. in my mind.
in my life.
in her den.
for now.
430
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Seventy-first Panther Cycle:
passions of a bleeding soul
From time to time out conversations and exchanges would tmn from absfract to erotic and she
would tell me ofhei' fantasies and desires, wliich of coiu^se didhttle to ciu^b mymipatient fever.
Here is an immodest selection of works about fantasies we'd shared (or lived out, aheady). One
reviewer said it was like peekmg in your parents' door to see tliem m the act of making love.
HopefiiUy we aren't tliat old that everyone tliinks of us their old folks, but just two healthy,
passionate, loving people, eager to share their desires with one another as an expression of their
love.
431
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432
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the darkness
we feed the darkness witli our desires.
luitamed fires held back by pitiful firebreaks
that hold no more at bay the tongues tliat play
at consuiuii^ us, dooming us to the wet and wanton
consummation.
penetration.
the deep
deep
deep
dive of sunender
as you lock youi' eyes in mine
and twine about me legs that beg
for the pain
the pleasure.
the greatest measure
ever taken
ever dared
ever bared
to stab inside you
and draw the blood
of your ecstasy.
433
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
sharing liquid
drmk fiom me, if you dare.
I'll hold yoiu^ hair in my hands
and span yoni' soft, sweet, hot
flesh witli my tlurst.
cuised to feed on you
as you stmggle vahantly
to hold on long enougli
to drmk first.
but as compellii^
as the arguments
on your hps,
you slip and find my
wonutoi^;ue
buried deep witliin you...
drawing out the cries of despair
and anguish as you feel the
flood of blood explode
inside you and you ride my
hps to file edge of sanity.
434
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
a new entry
never touched.
never taken.
now forsaken
baiiieis falling
to tlie cmved steel
of this samurai.
sliding
in
and out
as you grip the
fabrics of the boudoir
and cry out in pain
and pooily liidden exquisition
each piston diaw suckmg out
the demons of degradation.
each piston pliuige
a lunge of hot iron
that makes you roai'
as you soar on winds
of wicked desire.
seven times
seven times m a single battle
drawn to tlie gates of heU and left
to fell tlie tallest of the temples.
heart poimding, breath soundii^
loudly and tortured in ravished lust.
435
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
merging in the afterglow
in tlie afterglow of your evening,
I feed on you.
drawing sips of warm nectar from
breasts unashamed to let me take
my essence fi^om tliem as you rise
and iide
and glide
and slide
up and down on the carousel.
my hands against you, pressing you to me
as 1 lap each stolen drop
of your nourishment.
and return it in fluids white and musky.
sharing tlie flood.
dancing like demons
my hands dance like demons
across your back. . . .
taunting
haunting.
pressing you to the rough shag
as 1 lay against you and take
what you would have denied me
had you mn swifter.
the force so intense
it rubs you to cry out. . .
content m the passion. . ,
youi' senses dancmg like demons
beneatli my baiTages of pleasure.
beneath me.
436
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
tomorrow
tonight we have each othei'.
an illusion of dieams tliat screams
for incarnation.
but tlie immolations
of yesterday
still bum within ns
and we are boimd to follow
and fall
in other spheres .
tears a poor substitute
for the sweat of honest toil.
we soil
ourselves
with om passivity.
the perversity
of the joke captures
not GUI' fancy, but entianced
by tlie dance of the damned...
we can do little but laugh.
and when tomorrow comes
it will only be a question
of who wakes up second
to find the otlier
gone like a dream
into the fading halls of memory.
437
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438
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Seventy-second Panther Cycle:
Truths without Exception
Tmtli is elusive, but simple. Tmtli is atomic, to deteniime the integrity of a tlioiight, look for
iiiovmg parts.
Tmtlis should be without exception, and I tried to state seven tmtlis. Tliat tune has not held them
all together is not a denial of tlieii' integiity in tlie moment tliey weie reaMzed.
1 do still believe in what was and what was to be, and I was content in knowing that I had loved
as well as I could.
Call me inept, but not insincere.
439
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440
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
I want to grow old with you
I want to grow old with you
and see the years blend tlieir art
skillftilly into yonr face, their tiace
of wisdom blossoniii^ in the hair
1 love so nnich to touch late at night
when the liglit is low and you sing
nie to sleep, to keep commg back
for more caiesses and long, honest
discussions of dreams and soiiows.
sharing all my tomorrows witli the
woman I could never love another after.
I believe in you
1 am an aiiogant man,
spoiled by liis talent and successes.
a man who professes to like the person
he has made of well -wrought raw materials.
so I would not sell my soul
for less than the finest companion.
1 have witnessed your mmd in action
and marveled at its cunmng and wisdom,
seen you care for a wounded fiiend
and held yourself tog etlier in storms
of tears, liglit bitter hunicanes of pain.
no one is perfect, but you love
and give of yourself so well, and I tell
you there is no one in God's creation
I could betieve m more tlian you.
441
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
I need you
every day without you
is like a sickness unto my soul.
daik and leeching,
stealii^ hope and joy
once rampant in tliis heait.
pait of me died when you went
away, but enough survived
that I may yet rise on wings
of lavender-black membranes
if tlie pantlier so approves.
442
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
you need me
forgive my anogaiice.
I am a poet, and such creatines
as we (for you aie one, as well)
may tell aiiogant truths without
fear of pretension. I mention
this ill preamble to uiy point
(such as it is) to be made without
delay or distiaction. of course,
you note 1 am rambhng on... perhaps
I aiu trying to find a polite way to
say something uupolitic. or perhaps
I am hoping you do not requiie me to
spell out for you a truth so profound
that it seems everyone who knows you
seems to know it in seconds, but is so
afiaid of countermanding what tliey see
as your will tliat tliey keep still and add
a coward's vote to tlie Clime. I'm running
on, I know...
lunmm . . .
oh well, heU.
the smipletnithis, regardless of all the
pain and problems brouglit down by something
as intense and painiiil as om' love, you need
me. as a fiiend, yes. as a paitner, yes. but
also as you love, your soulmate, your paramour
and husband, all tlie wonderful titles you once
bestowed on me witliout regard for the
damnations of otliers. youneedme. and I
stand ready to stand service to you as long
as I hve. and, enwrapped in tlie joy of your
embrace, I pray tliat is forever.
443
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
I cannot love again once you have gone
if fate should stiike me down.
and you, in feai' or folly, flee...
that is all for me. I will Hve,
I know. ..but my heart will die.
a slow and lingeimg deatli with
a scream like Krakoa. and the world
will know tliat tliere is great art
and mfiiiite pain, in lovmg
too much, too well.
I am your poet
you woke me from tlie deatli of my sleep
and fed my love and fantasies,
earning my affection
and my adoration
with your kindness and love and beauty,
it is my duty to record what I have seen
and felt and tasted and heard and smelt...
and tlms, forever more, even if
exiled to tlie pagan shores of another's
arms ... I am your poet.
444
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
you are my panther
grace IS giace.
granted, agape over eros.
granted, kairos over chronos.
Hove your face.
and youi' feline walk.
and tlie way you laugh.
andyoui' giggles.
the way you think
and tlie way you drink
your diet coke with lime.
and no matter wliich path
you choose.
whether I win it all
or lose
my soul forevennore.
you aie the panther.
and I pray, mme.
445
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
446
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Seventy- third Panther Cycle:
the colour of dreams
This was brutal on my brow. We had just gone through a time where she had fallen from the
faith, doubtmg if she did oi could love me, tlieie was just too much baggage.
In my melacholy tliese words oozed from some dark recess, to state my sorrow, my hope and my
resolve.
447
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
448
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
the Reich of self-discipline
you aie alone because you choose to be alone.
I am alone because you choose to be alone.
the balance is not there, but the justice is.
tiTitli like a peach,
ciimson with oveiiipeness,
nectai' oozing iii iivulets of pink sweetness
not unlike tlie last feast of passion I will ever taste.
memories unerased by the passage of tune,
the message of crime imcommitted.
unremitting love.
sad.
as sad as a clock's song of solace.
less than the truth, more tlian a lie.
we ciy in comers hidden fiom the watchful eyes
of our internal, eternal, infernal critic.
epic and poetic epigiams tliatslam doors
of opportunity as tlie fruit
slowly
slides
from its anchorage and
falls.
falls.
falls from tlie summit of dark kisses
and tlie joy of love play
into the isolation of the hard eartli
amid the bitter blades of sawgrass
and the Reich of self-disciphne.
449
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
too many clocks
hands set
to get
us up and ninnii^
for the horizon.
too many clocks
mock us
with each tick and tock.
we grow angry at them
for remindii^ us
that we have fickle hearts
and fates mtervene.
so we smash them
and trash our dreams,
for it is not our fault.
we blame tlie clocks.
at ground zero
at groimd zeio
we find tlie hero
we once admned
is now miied
in tlie mud of humanity.
baikmg the insanity
we once took for ait
and beauty
the duty
of the gods, humility
instilled skillfiiUy
or brutally. . .
whichever works.
450
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Darwinian hearts
Darwinian heaits
paits played
in a charade
of emotions
too deep for tlie sleep
of saints .
the restraints
that bind om destinies
can be cut.
bnt.
would you forgive me
if I tried to live free
of your sphere.
every time you pass near
1 weep.
1 sleep
alone. ..woimding atlioiisand
worthy hearts
in silent prayer
for an unwilling suitor.
pewter, not silver.
451
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
when tomorrow blossoms
the winds will be sweeter then...
stais pock a sky like infinite
pinpiicks in the skm of a black tomato,
boiling to shed flesh
infliejmces oftlie dawn.
the scent of stone and sandalwood.
the feel of sand, once destined
to make angels of,
now spread beneatli cautious feet.
the music plays and the pipes
haunt you with sweet memories
both commrtted and plaimed.
fires famied, then banked
as coals as goals once central
became feais and teais and near
death experiences.
I will not be there witli you.
for the day before you
realized what you needed.. .
I fell in battle
with my heart.
out of ammumtion.
and too proud to cry
smrender
and beg for my soul.
452
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
trip hammer
rapid fire
the red wiie
snipped
tnps the detonator.
I cannot hate her
for seeking life
above my love.
the magic glove
must be worn
at all times
to protect us fiom
ourselves .
and tlms
we insulate
ourselves fi^om all
but a semblance of joy.
and I will pick up the
shards of red razor glass
that is wet witli my blood
and rebuild tlie golem
for anotlier vain dream
that will never be.
hope
I pray you live to love again.
but never in pain
and never iti vain
and sever the stain
fiom tlie tapestnes
once woven with pride and shame.
and a name to be shared.
453
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
454
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Seventy-fourth Panther Cycle:
dreams and verities
I still believed in the daffodils, m the dreams, in tlie fantasies, in the Panther.
She did too, from tmie to time, when the isolation and distance did not swallow her up. When
judgmental triends did not wag fingers in her face. When thii^s seemed possible.
"Tliree becomes two becomes one" was the inversion of tlie concept of us making Cassiopeia in
our love ("two becomes one becomes tliree" being our plnase for having a cliild).
455
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
456
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
kissing with my eyes closed
soft lips, tlie fiunble of noses
seeking the right angle of parity
and claiity of contact, my hands,
your hips, pretension slips away
on kitten feet. . silent, but clumsy
in a delightful way. senses play
not tricks, but trutlis, on us.
and we know what tliis means,
even when we lie to ourselves
and iTin and liide. I piide
myself on the kisses we have shared,
daied to lay as foundation for
hope and love as precious
as a baby's first laugh.
457
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
pride of authorship
we pride ourselves on om^ creations.
and yet, onr greatest work lays
obscured by all our work-room
clutter emotions, sawdust and
that lost hammer, thrown in a
comer, not out of disrespect,
but haste and auteui's passion.
this scnpt is giander than any comedy,
this poem is sweeter than any cycle,
this evocation advertises the best
in woman and in man, better than any
brochure or slogan, we aie the art
and will be judged one day in
the eyes and minds and hearts
of those who descend from our
actions and our fleshes, based
on our pride of authorship.
458
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
was it you?
was it you who daied to hold me
on a legendary night
and kiss away tlie cowaidice
of the sun in bright
surrender to oui' love? I thought
it was you, for tlie fingerprints
stiU lii^er on my heart,
nails dug in writliing
pleasures, treasures
left at the foot of the altar
of the all-seemg god
who is impassive, for we
must find our own divinity.
and make cm' own tiinity
of two become one and beyond...
three wishes
someone asked me the otlier day
what I would do witli three wishes.
a simple quest, but not one easily
answeied. for there are emgm as
withm a wish, action and reaction,
no retraction of hastily worded
desiies before a monkey's paw.
but I know what I would wish for.
I would wish you love and hope
and happiness, for in yom' peace
is where mine would be bom.
459
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
dancing on the beach
toes cuttmg a nig on sand.
bland liglits left far behind. . . .
the twilight shadows beckoning
us to make sand angels as the mght
wears on and we are left
with httle but tlie all of
who we are when we are at our best,
wrestii^ love from tlie sadness
and clarity from tlie madness
of this graceless age.
but here, witli you, dancu^
on the beach, rapture is in reach
and God turns up the volume
on the waves, to keep time
and let us know He likes
the step we take.
460
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
three becomes two becomes one
I was once a mail for you.
thiee dimensions, five senses,
infinite possibifities.
and m time I faded.
distance and fear.
other distiactions,
other evocations.
down to two dimensions, two senses.
paper and words, sometimes heaid.
sometimes too intense
to dare to speak aloud.
no touch, no taste, to fiagrance
of your skin at 4 in the morning.
mouiTung lost pleasiu^es.
and how loi^ will it be
imtil I and we are merely
a sii^e pomt, senseless.
a lesson learned of fingers burned
because we lacked the courage
to seize fife when offered....
461
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
I want it all
life caine to me one day.
pantlier footed.
it offered me a life. joy.
love, the fire of my soul
fanned into its destiny
to create a legacy.
a love, a dream, a child
of your heart...
and now tlie puzzle comes apart
and I am asked what slice
of this dieam is enough.
and tlie answer is
none.
I want it all. all of you.
all of me. all of us.
all the promises and all tlie pleasiu^es.
the infinite treasures we once
bartered everytliing for.
and even if I must wage
war witli fiie muverse
to claim my birthright.
I stand ready, tonight,
to iide into Hell on
the back of death hunself . .
for I wiU not be less
than what you made of me.
for that insults you.
and tliat msults love.
and I am a gallant man.
462
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Seventy-fifth Panther Cycle:
kinda/sorta
A long time ago, in the early days of the whole Pantlier controversy online, a lomantrc rival
(indeed, tlie feUow who was the otlier side of tlie triangle behind 'The Eightli Panther Cycles'")
asked me in chat one day if I was married (lie knew the answer, he just wanted to tar me as an
adulterer) and I replied "kinda/sorta". . .and the term stuck for "Yes, but don't try to pin me
down."
I was howling my pain m Venice Beach, feehng love dance away, smiounded by suitors who
had been captivated by my word and heait and wanted to be tlie next "Pantlier".
1 was faitlifiil until tiie end. For Baid Dragons aie monogamous creatines , when tliey ai^e
emotionally healtliy.
463
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
464
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
commitinents
wordless words of love,
a wingless dove
shot througli tlie heart
with a starter's pistol...
blanks fired into the ranks
of the army of tlie loveless,
legions who will never ever
know the spark tasted
in a moment of guards
dropped to blow wasted
years and iiTelevant fears
away for a day. and forever.
passions
is it no sweat?
no regret
that we have yet to consecrate
the contiact of oui' hearts?
aie things as obvious as they seem
or aie we obHvious to a dieam
we camiot reveal, tlie seal
is unbroken and we share a token
embrace in aims across a
continent of discontent.
soon enough bridged
by tlie force of will and love.
465
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
a wooden box
secrets sent in a wooden box.
icons of goddesses smpassed.
lii^s of metal and hematite,
sent to you, bent to do
my symbolism, someone worked
hard to carve the flowers m the lid
and sides, taldng absent prides
in their artistry, day afler day
for thrrd world wages, never
knowing tliat one day their work
would carry an aniotation.
an amotation tliat would remake
the world in a wanner image.
in a distant land.
in a wooden box.
romantique
flower petals on satin sheets.
bought for a poet's ransom.
ambiance in tlie aiTogance
of daimg to love, caring to share
a path where others could
not tread, for tliey do not know
the value of beauty, jaded hearts
will not cut the key to peace.
sands shifting m the narrowing glass
as we pass the days waiting
for the call to anns in the
hot wai' of wills and smrender.
tender mghts, a presence
of pleasant joy at 4 in the morning.
466
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
said without words
I did not get the line I would have scripted,
words tliat would have lifted me on wings
of elation and joy. but they were there,
liidden in the intonation and hesitation.
I heard them, you confiimed them.
and I ain lifted again, by love, to dieam.
return of the huntress
in pain and defeat she hid.
Hcking woimds deeper than flesh,
nicks and picks and penetrations
into her soul, a tliousand doubts,
a cat on a log biidge over a waterfall
of judges and dnidges. loveless hearts
luiable and unwillii^ to share her dance.
but m time, the heahng of the seasons'
sliift wiU lift her tired head and a bed
of moss and memory will give her rest
to test twice-burned pawpads on tlie stones
of the streets that wmd in the ruins, few
in tliis life have dared to follow the tnith.
but tlie proof is in tlie perspective when pulled
away to be observed m honest reservation.
and tlie womided beast shall feast again
in a city of liglits and heavenly images.
dancing on a new beach, out of reach
of the jagged, ragged rocks where once she fell.
467
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
how was I to know?
I didii't mean to fall in love with you.
how was I to know
you'd take uiy soul
and turn me into a cliild,
newborn and wild
with desire to Hve
to give
all I have
just for tlie touch
of your hand.
a brand
burned mto me
so completely I cannot
stand to live
outside yoiu^ grace. . .
away
from youi' face
there is no light.
the night
goes on forever,
with promises to come
still humming
in my ears.
the tears
ofpani
will become rain
of lovers' kiss.
a dream
a theme
I'm glad I didn't miss.
so glad you struck the snow.
how was I to know?
468
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Seventy-sixth Panther Cycle:
liberation
Freedom is a potent prison. It is an illusion, and illusions hold us firmer than any alloy or rope.
Here I was wrestling with the last vestiges of my dieams and hopes and prayers of a
reconciliation. By now tiie lelationsliip had settled into a tiavesty of a romance. I was steadfast,
she was having one night stands. I was locked m my quiet room, writing of hei beauty and
glory. She was teUing her fiiends she wasn't tiie Panther and tiiat 1 was just "some guy".
Of course, this isn't tiie pictuie she painted to me, she still needed tiie emotional feed that came
fiom my worship and adoration.
But, if we only loved the worthy and the willii^, life would be pretty duU and pointless. For
doesn't God love the unwoiHiy and the miwilliiig?
469
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
470
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
the freedom of clarity
to know there aie no liidden shadows.
half tniths of words and actions incongiTious
to one another, the mother of necessity
is invention, for by onr lies we hide
that wluch we need, never having to choose
between losing face and losing grace.
a coin imgambled never blossoms into
a foitiuie. and tlie tmst required to make
sometliing more than codependent children
ofus all, itnevei' aiiives. like a book
that never comes m tlie mail on yom' birthday.
the chains of love
I did not forge tliis metal, but I accepted
its placement on my wrists, shackles of steel
stolen from Hephaestus' forge, where once I
labored, making aiiows of light to shatter tlie
stained-glass windows of mortal illusion, cold
and calculating, feral fear, you do not chain
someone you love, and one day I will be strong
enougli to slip tliese bonds and walk freely amoiuig
those who wonder where Orpheus had gone.
471
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
Origami pardons
folded paper, tlie words look right,
but tliey are merely meeting one anotliei'
on the creases that inaease our illusion
and confusion, you will never fold the air
and sail on paper aiiplane wings to my anns.
for by the time your strengtli returns, if ever
if will, I will have wearied of tliis game
and timied my face to another star where tlie paper
remains flat and what is wiitten is read
and acknowledged with an open mind and an open heart.
a prisoner in exile
every mile IS a lost prayer, tliere. another prisoner
will come and 1 will be left without even tlie rations
that sour in my hmigiy heart, mevitabihty teaches
that the ship that reaches out to me with food
and clothmg will one day never come again, for I am but
the placeholder. I am not the pimce in an iron mask
you asked for, I am but he who justifies youi' work
as a turnkey, one day you will find someone not swift
enougli 01 ciuuiing enough to nui and then the sun
in tlie comtyard wiU be forever lost to me. I see
with the eyes of a child, burned too many tunes for
crimes imagined but not committed, acquitted of sms
but imprisoned foi tliat which is best in me. not free
to seek better accommodations, foi I paid my last ducat
to purchase passage here and here I shall remain until
the stain of my existence is rmsed away by tlie rains
that fall in a newer season, beyond a prisoner's reason.
472
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
there's a bomb in my head
there's a bomb in my head. I found it, picking tluough
the debris of yom' last paity. artistic wiimg I laid
to catch the currents of your passage through my life.
a kmfeswitch to be thrown when and if you ever truly
come back to rest in my world (if ever), and I will
cast you out to save face. I call the bomb squad to
find tlie riglit wires to cMp, and hope tliey will not trip
the primer, the timer ticks mexorably and all you can do
with yom' little girl voice is ask me not to let you
be hmt by it. sliit. and 1 thonglit my survival was
at issue, am I tlie only one left worried about the victim?
am I so tertiary to tliose 1 care for that I must do tlus
all alone? atoning foi love witli a penance rii plutouium?
your hour is up
with piacticed spontaneity my confessoi/professoi and lovei
hums hei way tlnough my pain, gaimng little to lecaU later
but tlie knowledge she at least listened to my latest rant,
a chant of dry bones and lonely passion, an honorable man
tiapped by his own admissions and sins of omission/commissioned
like a paintmg. a poem nevei' written, a paramour smitten
but held at arms length wliile tlie doctor says she'll be m soon.
473
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
a prophet in his cups
at the table in my prison m the city of Angels, I met
a man. a prophet in his cups, he regarded me witli eyes
dull and deadly and told me my life, each word rang tme
yet, thiough it all, I conld not but hope he had you wrong.
long tlioughts later, I camiot be sure, pure reason mocks
the ticking clock, tlie calculations are imprecise but elegant
if tlie intent IS to tell the tale, tlie sale of indulgences
for a new religion, a snridgen of half-tmtlis, sold to willnig
convert, looking for her way out of her old faith, a wiaith
that haunts a distant city, out of pity, out of shame.
calling a name she no longer publicly would use. to choose
to lose what little is left and fall mto anus tliat might
redeem him at her expense, past tense promises never to see
the Hglit of day and giey eyes meeting bimit honey shadows
of a gallows I already hung upon for fai' too long, tlie prophet
reminded me tliat only tlie biave deseive desseit with their humble pie.
474
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Seventy-seventh Panther Cycle:
Reflections on a Haploid Heart
fin Response to ^^DNA Hearf ^
"DNA Heart" was a poem she had written about me. Well, maybe about me. On more than one
occasion after being told she had said this or written tliis for me I foiuid out latei' I was one of
many ''muses".
But owing to tlie timeline and the references contained within it, I will take her at her word and
leave it at that.
In this cycle I took seven lines from the poem, seven images, and responded to them . I ratlier
hked the results, I only wish I had the original and the pennission to use it. . .
475
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476
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
and so today
and so today you lost custody of your heart?
no. it is forever youis, bendnig to your will
and wishes like branches in a hurricane of thought
and emotion, adnft in an atmospheric ocean.
you offered it to me. fearless, no careless act
of lost purpose or cliildliood need for vahdation.
an honest giving, not dechned, but we bind ourselves
into tlie twain, synergizing our energies for tomorrow.
and so today you gained a magnitude of your heart,
forevennore yours, mixed with tlie best I can produce,
the juice of the fruit of my efforts, squeezed tightly
inumficationof two become one. greater than before.
curious fingers
toucliing tears at a distance,
a tip of the hat you wore to shade
youi' shoulders and nose from the sim.
cmious fingers run across the asphalt
of the luunan condition, a confession
of eager and idle wildness. a tempest
in a teapot fiiU of jasmine and rose petals,
poured mto cupped hands to drink, knuckles
rappmg an impatient rhythm on the silver
we see our hands reflected in. protected
in aU tilings by our need to smvive. alive
we will make it into an uncertain tomorrow.
477
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
A box of blue sky and white clouds
yom' heart contains the siuninerday I promised you.
wliite picket fence, a little girl witli chubby
fillers clutcliing wildflowers picked for her mother.
the smell of dreams, waim and honest, anns aroimd
you and oui' Httle girl's little brotlier. bodies
pressed tiglitly togetlier to weatlier all that life is
foolish enough to waste against us . for we have,
on the darkness nights, in tlie deepest stoims, a waim
and gentle place iii tlie box in yom^ lieait wheie you kept me.
Enraptured in the Mystery of it
what feeble detectives we make if we do not foisake
our fears to check the pulse of tlie body m the hall,
no one saw the fall, but we are cauglit up in tlie game,
a foot it IS? no, more a metre, pentameter, perhaps,
we lapse into word games while tlie body grows cold
and we giow old, fietting about how old we are already,
steady to tlie course we set at random vectors tlnough
the clouds we pumped into tlie wind, enraptuied by tlie
mystery of it all, we neglect to recall the necessity
that brought us together, a dozen hfetimes unwasted
if we umavel tlus and get back tlie kiss wiapped in foil
that foiled us, beneath tlie mistletoe we missed last
Christmas, woiiied tliat we might get what we asked foi.
478
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
Seared by blue-white Laser Love
I need to be reminded
I've been blinded by yoiu^ love.
in tlie interval between flashes
as Irfe trashes
each impulse.
a photon's mass made coherent
througli tlie glass we look at it tlirough.
love.
love.
love.
only a word.
and a destiny for tiiose who can look
at it long enough to forget they are blind.
479
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
A single Thread
follow tlie thiead.
for I need you to come back to me
before the winds find me
alone and push me out. . .
out beyond the periphery
of my heart.
to tlie edge of love.
I camiot fall again,
for 1 am fragile
with tlie child of your heart.
aadling her within me
to keep her alive
for anotlier day
anotlier hfe, perhaps.
but I cannot do it
all alone.
we caiuiot cut this cord,
and like a fishing line, it only wearies
us to fight... we aie barbed, to the end.
my loving fiiend,
follow tlie thiead.
and find the new life
you want so bad it makes you weep
alone at night, wishing I was there
to hold you until the fear fades
and tlie child can come out and play.
480
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I hope you don't mind
twice strong this haploid heart beats.
it never retieats.
even on pain of death.
an heroic soul.
a captain wortliy of yonr commission.
order it to live witlun you
for it is cold out here
without yoiu^ love
to keep the blood
alive, food
for thouglit and
dreams for a DNA heart.
for we can only make a haploid heart
between us.
anotlier one or two
would carry the DNA of our merging.
our emergii^ unity
may yet bring life
beyond oui' ragged remnants.
481
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
482
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Seventy-eighth Panther Cycle:
Dreams of Yesterday
The fire that bums twice as hot was not just tlie title of a poem, it was also a statement of
defiance.
Defiance against tlie stagnation and mediociity of most relationsliips, wheie people settle for
what they can get and regret what they settled for (been theie, done that, own the t-slurt
concession at tlie edge of the cliff at Lover's Leap).
I believed in all tliat had happened and dreamt of 1 had diverted my flight West to Los .Ajigele
to allow myself to meet witli hei m Tampa. She was tlie one who hid at the last moment, only
emerging long enough to cry over things only made ti^agic by hei leticence.
I had my dreams, and my words. And the tempeiiiig they botli had provided.
483
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484
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
finding the treasure
spring loaded lock, an idly flipped catch
and suddenly
there you were.
all eyes and lips and legs
and heart and mind and soul
and oh my god
I'm m trouble.
because I never knew
what was waiting for me
in tliat box. an attack
ofthe best kind.
a reward for sometliing
I must've inadvertently
done very right
a dozen lifetunes ago.
crossing the Rubicon
thiee deep breatlis.
and a hesitation.
anotlier aich
march into liistory.
anotlier general
tempted to take the greatest risk
of his life, in tlie face of odds
and Gods that are laying good money
against him.
but you said
take thiee deep breatlis.
and so I do.
and I win it all.
485
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
drawing the line
in tlie dust and ashes of a recent fiie.
desiie being cradled, our dieains enabled.
we draw the Iriie aionnd us, a circle
cut in the ice of the fates, making state of our states.
a single pomt of promise, guarded from folly,
nurtured by us daring to let go of tlie glaring
weaknesses we know, half tiTiths and bluster.
this lustering gemstone calls us to take tlie fall.
and so we do, twice, waiting for tlie wmtei.
and tlie spring and tlie promise of a img
around hearts and fingers and a song that hngers
long aftei tlie closmg credits, a fine line drawn.
486
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
the fire that burns twice as hot
the fire tliat bums twice as hot
usually
(note the word)
usually
only bums for half the time.
but if you dare
to take it up a notch
to where gas becomes
nuclear plasma
and tlie oxidation
becomes fusion
it can last forever.
it is just few have
the courage
to bmii so hot
that they blind
the woild and
risk anniliilating
the luiiverse
with tiieii' glory.
for we aie mortals and
immortality
fiiglitens us .
so I will wait
in the toms
and see if you show.
for I saw the spark
in your eyes
as you raised your head
and diopped your guard
and held me
in a doorway
in New York.
487
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
wheels up in Tampa
last night we had no chance.
the dance was over.
but tliis morning, tliere was
a new use of an ancient sun.
and hope bloomed
in a field in Florida.
and now I face tlie skies
uncertain, but alive.
knowing tliere aie still
two small hands
and one monumental heart
holdmg out hope
holdmg out love
and
holdmg out foi a miiacle
as my plane sails West to the Promised Land.
488
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
the darkest night
iiiglitinaies made mortal.
I will endiire.
the fire bums away tlie flesh
and all tliat is left
is me.
half a heart rem ains
and tlie panis
I pray for do not come.
but I am stronger
than my flesh.
you gave me flie power
in a kiss
and an embrace
and a smihng face
that told me who I am
and tliat
even beyond hope
there is a rope of reason
for my existence.
so I will rise tomorrow
and walk.
not to file gallows.
but tlie road I swore to you I'd walk.
and we shall see how long
I walk alone.
489
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
let it ride
Pascal sold me out. a bad tip. well, 1 still have the stub
you handed me on an ofF-chance that this romance
would last beyond a weekend, my Mend, I have bet
it all and won a lot and lost a lot and tlie money pot
is of questionable value right now (not necessarily
low, but 1 just am not sure what's in it) and all my friends
give good advice to take the money and nm. but I am not
sane, by any measme, and I have my eye on tlie prize,
so I will let tliis bet ride, and I will win. or go down
in legends tlieyll tell a thousand years from now.
490
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Seventy-ninth Panther Cycle:
Static on the Line
A day before, we had spoken of gettii^ things back on track.
Then, she called. Terse words to comnuuiicate a message.
She had "met someone" and wanted to see where it went. The next twenty fonr hours were the
most difficult of my life. I was alone, cut off and cut down.
These are the words and tlioughts and uuages tliat got me tlu^ough those hours.
491
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
492
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
flavours of rage
cool, like a sprig of mint.
liidden in shadows
to express pain and madness.
hot, Hke habaneros
roasted in hell...
a well of anger and excess.
both tasted and wasted,
used by tlie less lovii^ gods
to force us apart, each heart
damaged,
savaged,
ravaged
by pain and our conflicting
patlis to the edge of soitow.
hands that clutch too tiglitly
and arms that are not there
to make tlie promised catch,
flesh torn, bones shattered,
tomorrow battered
and filed up to be served
as finger food to the rude
deities witliout compassion.
493
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
near miss in a kiss
you last words were
"don't worry. I love you. "
and so I fell.
William Tell
me about tlie memories
that came for you at midnight.
laugliing at your tears.
fears
made mortal.
a portal mto hell
I took no pleasme
intakii^.
forsaking an old oatli
to hide in white washed walls
where no one called.
installed in the fool's palace.
a chalice of venom
offered and rejected.
bloody lips kiss concrete
and the feet
walk away.
walk away.
walk away.
494
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
when the power failed
words, only words,
the big goodbye,
a lie I told myself
to keep my voice
steady, ready,
to believe anything,
spring ciTished.
giggles hushed forever,
but it was words.
only words,
like these.
walking away
I had to at least try to stand on my own feet and take steps
to leave this disaster, this master plan for my dissolution,
coiifiision cleared, and I was not tlie one. better you should
stand alone tlian settle for a voice on a phone you never loved,
but took shelter luidei when tlie rain of self-doubt came pouring
in tlie windows of youi' soul, better I should stand alone
than have tlie doubt of being with someone who could walk away
from all tlie pretty words, justwords. justwords. forgotten.
495
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
the butterflies
the garden was black and giay and brown, ash and dirt and filtli.
nothing of value left, the cleft in the eaitli where you left your
maul to show even contempt ft)r tlie gaidener. the garden was ravaged.
the gardener fled to liide in the shadows, then bmy the dead.
but tlien came tlie butterflies, tlie flowers were all gone and yet
the reds and yellows and blues and gieens and golds and violets
all came to dance aroimd my heart and make me feel like life was more
than defeat, and for a season, they sustained me. kept me alive.
pretty things
we all fall for pretty tilings,
pocket change
for the jukebox
the night you forgot
what you said to me.
the night you didn't care.
the night he touched your hair
and kissed you and suddenly
you were seventeen again
and this was youi' chance
to go to the big dance
and no longer feel ugly
on the inside.
496
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
forced to my knees
I was never forced to my kiiees
for I aiii a proud man
and I will hear the bones snap
in my shoulders before you can bring to bear
any hand of man to bring me down.
Humble only before God.
so do yoiu^ damnedest. Fate.
1 remember hate now,
the poison you fed me once
a thousand lifetimes ago,
and 1 will grow strong with this
memory and hear the cartilage
tear from its sockets and wet
the eaitli with my blood
befoie I give you an oimce
of satisfaction
in seeing me
forced to my knees.
497
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
498
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eightieth Panther Cycle:
keeping the Dream alive
Ever see a prizefighter who has been hit from nowhere when he staggers back to his feet, eyes
glazed and knees unsteady, trying desperately to hang on, just knowing tliat if he makes it to tlie
bell he is so far ahead on pomts tlie fight wiU be his?
Yeah, me, too.
499
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
500
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
flirting against hope
I told you that you were beautiful
but tlie mirror was too far away
so I played with yom' vaiuty
as loi^ as I could, making good
on every tnck and twist and turn
God gave me to remind you of how
it felt too loi^ ago when you
and I were fliiting against hope.
the Holy water flows
the tears are sacred.
vagrant and flagrant memories
of pain still healing.
souls still reeling beneath
the tread of the jackboots of life.
I will share tliem witli you one night
and tlien put tliem away.
our children will not need them .
501
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
a wooden box
small comfort to hold small dieaiiis.
reminders of our love
our hope
our dream
our destiny
if we can raise om' eyes
from the wooden box
and see the life tliat lays
beyond the paper folded
to carry it forth.
buying chairs
every suitor must earn his place.
words alone seem not enough
so I must make way.
buymg chaiis you make
with talented hands
(as well I know them)
and making plans
to sit in them beside
you for pictures at Cluistmas
and Thanksgiving
and celebrating a golden Aimiversaiy
if I am a good enough buyer of chairs.
502
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
spontaneous affection
I caimot practice my passions.
I must be, in all tilings, as spontaneous
as the combustion of hypergolic
souls met in a wet chamber.
seUing sweet surrender
as a victoiy and riding
in full retreat to the success
we both have earned and will
raise our banners higli above.
words of power, words of love.
another Thursday
anotlier Tliursday has come and gone.
and we yetHve.
how is this possible?
I thought all Thmsdays were doom
and gloom and lost hearts
and tlu^own down souls
and bitter draughts of wormwood.
I guess we were wrong.
again.
so, many me on a Thursday,
and let's break tliat ciu^se forever.
503
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
panthers and poets and promises made
pantliers.
and poets.
and promises made.
payment for passion.
dragons all slayed.
and cuddles.
and soft serenades.
lullaby back,
for a pillow,
for a life.
504
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighty-first Panther Cycle:
Curves in a world of right angles
Not only had she left me, she'd left tlie country. A photo shoot she'd landed as a project. She
had decided this would be a great opportunity foi her to clear her head and come back ready to
fiilly engage herself in the relationship witli tliis new man in her life.
So, here I was. Destitute, isolated, and bleeding out my heart to tlie page.
This was actually one of tlie most creative peiiods of my hfe.
Just not the most pleasant.
505
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
506
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
tone of voice
how often I have read nuance into yom' tone of voice.
choosing to believe tilings luispoken, taking a token
hope and wagering it against all the odds, all tlie gods
forced onus by fiiend or foe. or fear, tears wept.
tears kept silent for fear we would be discovered, mteiied
with GUI' dieams. cold eaitli. the smell of decay playing
in gentle woids. the lilt of laughter when tlie ever-after
bears no joy. a tell-tale catch when we lie and say all is well.
we give ourselves away and play at tlie half-lives of our half-hes
and tliink ourselves smpiised when the evidence is evident.
words unspoken
how many words unspoken? too many, but mostly words that once
poured fiom you in geysers of love and passion, now silent.
a voice unlieaid in Valhalla for three seasons, woids of love
in a voice now pledgmg tlie Fifth Amendment, and all the while
the smile of acknowledgment as if I am to know the tnith
from tliree tliousand miles away aftei all tlie silence, violence
in tlie words taken away like candy fiom a child's hands, what
is left but to cry m uncomprehending loss? but you tell me
the candy IS still tliere, Ijust cannot taste it. I just cannot
see it. I just cannot have it, for now. my inner child
is sometimes dubious... foigive me if I fear, sometimes, the woist.
507
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
forgotten moments
more than simple, unadorned words or tlie ortliography of a lover
cauglit in tlie web of his own spun sugar veracities, picture
postcard moments that come to me in flashes as a lover trashes
the meaning of love with her actions, moments in your eyes
and m yom heait and in youi' arms and in your body, made paper,
made an old black and white Polaroid, tlie kind you had to seal
with that foul smeUing tube of pink hquid, or it would fade
to nothingness,
to nothingness.
alone came I into this world, and my memories are all I will take,
which makes me richer tlian any lover witli the power to forget.
hesitations
jump
I said.
and we'U be fed
on dreams
and honey
that will recharge
those bmiit honey eyes.
and for all tlie world
we will be safe
from pain
andhes
for we will have
something real.
and she said
let me get back to you.
508
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
sleight of tongue
the wiong name.
a cold flaine bums
in tlie face of this straw dog.
unconsumed.
but assumed
to linger
as alight
where I had long hoped
only my niby-blue taper
would ever again be seen.
redshift to green.
loneliness
there is nobility in pain.
a pmification
that will remain
loi^ after tlie suffeimg.
as long as it is
not self-inflicted.
mutilating oneself
is not a sign of greatness.
509
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
the power of self-deception
we call talk ourselves into anything, you know.
I am always afiaid to not be tliere when you need
to find a new world, just as you fear that in me.
fi^ee to float on concepts we wrote on tabla rasa hearts
we hid for a season for a reason that only make sense
to omselves and fiiends who, out of fiiendsliip, would
agiee with anything we say. playing tlie fool in front
of the Library at Alexandria, limitless knowledge we
would ratliei' not read, for we plead ignorance to escape
the subtle rape of sorrow, tomorrow there will be tmtlis
if we can break the cycle, tlie evil oftlie power that
coimpts us. tlie power of self-deception.
510
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighty-second Panther Cycle:
definitions of love
The poet turns philospher, healing himself with tlie hot iron of intellect and reason, layered as a
poultice on the deepest wounds he has known.
That's tlie size of it, tlie scale of it, the temperature of it all.
Pain does one of two thii^s to you.
It breaks you.
Or it makes you over. I was determined to be transfigured in my pain, so I wrote, I wrote until
my hands cramped and my back ached and my voice broke and my eyes could not see tlie page
and I would tlien write inside of myself, to be read later like cave paintings when 1 would daie to
go back into tiiose spaces 1 spent tiiese days wandering.
511
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
512
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
between mortal soul and God
an exchange of affections so one sided, moital soul
call never ineasm^e up to tlie pmity and focns of love
given of God. selfless, timeless, without exception
or quahfication. throughjoy and sorrow, today, tomoriow.
forevemiore grven, taken, and retiinied in shght measure.
but we do what we can and seek a more perfect union.
between mortal soul and self
if God judges you worthy of His love
and can you not love yourself I do not
mean to always like yourself, tliere rs a
wealth of reasons to feel unwortliy of respect,
but, direct not your thoughts against
the value you intimsically hold in the universe,
there is always some meat to tiie maiTow.
and victoiy if you look at the defeat
and tiie lessons of each soiiow.
513
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
between woman and man
it took me neaily forty years to find love
like I had always wanted to taste. Foity yeais
playing Moses in a wasteland of near misses
and conditional kisses that taught me only
the flavour of fiiistration and the silence
oflostmspiration. ThenI foiindlove. I had
long smce surrendeied my quest. But the jest
of hfe is that when all hope is given over,
the fates wake up and smack you haid and happy.
Playful like a child nmning after butterflies.
And so I foimd love. Not an easy task in tliis
graceless age. I pray she found it too. For in
the liberation of this discovery, 1 foimd a need
and a want and a passion and a prayer tliat I
need fiilfilled. I cannot go back into the coffin
where 1 lay for so long, my heart warm but not
afire. Tlie darkness stifUng. Maggots rifling
the pockets of my dreams. But to hold her, even
once agani before I die, would be a miracle that
transcends the shooting star 1 saw this moiiung.
Tears stani my face as I wiite tliese words. But not
in sorrow, in pent-up emotion an ocean of roads
untiaveled cannot crush. A soiuid in my heait
like a choir, you cannot hush this with tlie quiet
desperation of mortal failure. Deific dreams.
Dreams of love and tenderness and unity. Eternal.
514
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
between two bodies (a response)
I am held to yoiir orbit.
I only make youi' tides
and give some glow of light
reflected.
I do not shme of my own,
butm albedo-measured
muToring
of hope.
For you are my sun and my earth.
motlier of hfe.
and you hold me forever
in an orbit about you
so tliat you may look on
my face, forever waxing and waning,
period set by your
coming and going from my life.
between legends
larger tlian Hfe.
like some story told to cliildien
to warn tliem of tlie dangers
of falling in love.
and tlie joy of falling in love.
and tlie power of fallii^ in love.
and the children will only remember
that we are remembered
because we fell in love.
and damn the details .
515
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
between the sheets
purrii^ like cats at play.
forget the day and stay
with me now. here.
the sun can be hidden
and we can take our leave when
we choose. I cannot lose
you again to tlie clock or the calendar.
I should have stayed in New York.
or left with you in Virginia.
I know this now.
but for now, we are
again,
unified in purpose
in pleasure.
a treasure a measure a hormonal seiziu^e
of coruscating fire that flows
ably between us like Moses
parting tlie Red Sea.
so I can cross to tlie
Promised Land.
516
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
between parent and child
she came to me in darkest nights
and told me not to worry.
that soon enough you and her would meet
and sweet affections
would be consummated.
I still believe in her.
a remarkable cliild
for a remarkable mother,
who will cherish her
as a person.
a cluld of her heart
of her womb
of her love.
evrdence of dreams
and tiie courage to live tiiem
to live tliem all.
517
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518
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighty- third Panther Cycle:
the prices of love
Love doesn't ask anj^thing.
Buttlie lover gives it anyway, because they know it is priceless and deserving of sacrifice.
Here I was tiying to express not just what all 1 had given up to pursue love, but also what
everyone and anyone who wished to consider themselves a lover should be willii^ to do.
"Words fioin a well meaning fiiend" was about iny old fiiend Lany Jaffe, a poet of note and a
real fiiend when the cliips ai^e down. He warned me that tlie Panther would be back and that I
would be a fool to let her back mto my life. He warned me that she could not love as I did and
needed to be loved and tliat it was painfiil to see her do that to me and me do that to myself
Of course, when she called one bleak Tliuisday, to teU me her new boyfiiend had dumped her
wliile she was overseas, I didn't hsten.
519
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
520
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
surrendering possessions
without regret I have given over all I had. definitions
by tlie trappings surrendeied without doubt, turning inside out
the metaphors of all the whores of tlie heart who pay prices
for the ices of October tliat melt in the early spring, rings
of gold and ciystalline coal making whole tlieii' hoUow heaits.
1 would give you the pretty tilings in tlieir own season, not for leason
to unpress you. 1 hope you aie not a woman to be bouglit, but caught
in her own heart's web. if 1 have judged wiong, at least I have
purified myself of the barnacles of a former life to find a wife
amoung the worthy hearts, few that they are, Hvii^ on the ait
of life, not tlie Hfe of art. I have started down tlie road we chose
and now the thiid rose diaws its sustenance fiom my veins, my pains
to start a new world, ordered after your uiiage. a new stage
on wliich you may command tlie forces of love beyond any you dared
imagine as a cliild. a universe of possibilities beyond merely
objects, people and places and the mind laces to tlie edge of God.
521
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
Pascal's wager on a line of credit
I took tlie money down, plastic issued
for tears tissued
one long feaiful time in tlie sun's coast.
toasting tiavesties
with gravities and pained jests.
a plundered chest of riches
that hitches a star to
Cassiopera and beyond.
the payments are small and tliere is no
interest called or taken.
profit forsaken for sake
of yom^ heart, healing
and reehng and stealing
precious glimpses
at the bottom hne
you so much want to pay.
522
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
losing self
I am never afraid of losing myself m your love,
for you aie a sfrong woman, given to principles
that differ from mine, and tlie wine you diink
is of a different vintage than I would choose,
if I diank wine, you are a worthy partner,
daugliter of dreams I held close decades ago
and gave up when love seemed impossible, you
may absorb me m moments of my pain, so I may hide
inside you and grow sfrong and peacefiil in yoiu care.
I dare to give all I am to the all I can be because
of you and tlie tnie natuie of our souls, so come
for me, when you can, and tliis man will surrender.
without feai'.
losing sanity
there is nothing I feai' more than losing my mind,
but I find that you can steal it from me in tliose moments
when I misplace my dieams luider a plastic slipcover
in tlie main hall of souls, when I forget where we are
and where we are going and what it aU will mean one day
I am lost, tossed from madness to concession to those
who would freat love as somethmg you freat with needles
and chemicals and a long session on the couch, ouch.
523
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
words from a well-meaning friend
so much for tliat friendship, for a friendsliip
based on anything otlier than love and concern
is doomed to eventually be a canker we recall r^iefully
one day as that wliich kept us from happiness.
we bless ourselves ten thousand times when we
well consider tlie rationale and reason for keeping
people close to us. to nurture us to our fiiture,
not hold us m their orbits so that they may feel
superior and protected, and even tlie best of friends
is not you or me. tliey cannot see witli tlie eyes
we possess, so, in the end, it is pity tliat keeps them
worth our while, we chaiitably allow tliem tlie illusion
of equality as we just shake heads and make our beds, ourselves.
springboard to ecstasy
you said it. tliat word. I heard it plainly, love,
not just as an adjective, but as a verb, you disturb
me so often with youi' tight-Hpped approach after all
the blessed promises. 1 understand tlie need, but 1 bleed
sometimes to lieai' you say you love me. even when 1 listen
with my lieait, I still need tlie words, for I have leapt
from a great height and am ready to boiuice into clouds
of proud exaltation to seize tlie ecstasy you can bring
in tlie spring of my existence, any day now. rigid words
on wluch to boiuice lugli and fai' and with wings uniuiling.
524
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
releasing the butterflies
my hands open
and I release
the butterflies .
I tliank them for
their gentle time,
but tell them the panther
is back in the
garden and I
must get to work rebmldii^.
the picket fence
needs a new coat
of wliite paint and I smile.
525
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
526
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighty-fourth Panther Cycle:
expressions of love
"But still, it was good he'd loved."
What a gieat statement. Tliat love is good for its own sake. That love is emiobling and inspiring
and npHflmg.
1 was learning thmgs about myself and tlie world I had not imagined.
1 was finding tlie patli. Not by pain or ordeal, but by love and purpose.
You can't be right for yourself if you can't be right for someone else. It is m ouinatuies to love
and be loved. We need it Hke aii' and water and food.
No. We need it more.
527
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
528
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
opus 574: the need to love
We, as mortals, cannot choose to love. It is tlmist
upon us like greatness and folly. The qmntessence and dust
of onr being. Falhng on words like swords raised to prick
ns to onr deptlis . Like air. Like water. Like God. Sick
is the soul held away from love. Dead is tlie heart held too
fai' from the source of all beauty. The duty of the few
gifted to love witli understanding is to express it as art
in tlieii' pictures and words and hves. The knives of trust
carve away tlie iiielevancies of our fears, like a feeble pie crust
that only interferes with the savouring of tlie meringue of Hfe.
opus 575: tears at 4 am
you awaken to tlie touch, not of my hands or face,
but tlie subtle cool of teats drippmg softly on youi'
soft and feline back, you do not move, marvehng at the depth
of love required to bring such tears of joy. pondeimg
yoiu woithiness. at lengtli you turn and take me in amis
so wami and honest, like commg home to die. safe and sfrong
and forever tliere. staring into eyes ripe witli the light
reflected off tlie saline jewels of a crown of thorns worn
just to prove my value, my steadfastness, tlie integrity
of my suit for your affection, and your love is so beautiful.
529
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
opus 576: all that I have is yours
My Panther. I have traveled fai' aiid given over
to otliers all but the barest essence of myself
that I may be witli you. All tliat remains remembers
all there is, that I have not foiuid, how skillfully
I may search, another soul that fits so well
within the curve of my heart. A single silicon
thread wove us togetlier. Witliin this simple shell
I hve, worn to the nub, but pledged to stand on,
on beyond the fall of all tliere is, to serve this grace
I found the first time God was merciful and let me see your face.
530
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
opus 577: legends in the window
I caimotmake aii Empress of an unworthy, or force
the course of an unwillir^ flood to turn against tlie tide.
Yet, msrde of you beats the heart of gold. I have told
no less than the gospel of my heart. Godspeed my words
that you may yet read tliem, heed tliem and need me before
I krss the floor in final fall. Legs locked to not bend
knee, that all who live will bear wrtness that I loved
you as a man should love lus paramour. Bravely and beyond
the call of simple passion. Fasliioning a glass through wliich
the legends, legends bom of nature not fabrication, may be
viewed long after your final kiss is given and my soul
fades mto the wmds tliat shall blow attlie end of all tilings.
opus 578: walking the road, in patience
1 walk tlie road alone, listening for your catwalk.
Kick off tlie leaden sandals and dance on the smootli stones,
swiftly and with joy. I will guard my oaths to you
forever. Tetliered by tlie nature of tlie beast, to serve
as companion and fiiend and lover and mate to but one.
opus 579: giggles on the phone
I miss the flirtations of naughty tliouglits caught
in tlie web of your voice. Gained witli pride and
the stride of an aiiogant stmt. Gutting tlirough
my emancipated civihzation to tlie basic animal
lust you laise fi:om me, fiee to melt with your
dehght into a rose-scented niglit, penetrating
the fogs of foigetfiilness and blessing us witli
pleasure and treasure beyond the leisme of nieasme.
531
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
opus 580: the black lace wings
I need your courage.
I need you to siunmon your natuie
and glow the black lace wings
required to meet me.
Tmie aiid pain
have beat lue down,
but I have yet wind enough
to fly
before I die
if tlie sky
is not hoUow.
And I will swallow tlie sun
to hide yoni' shame
if my name
is not good enough
to be earned
in your legend.
But I need yom' couiage.
It is more tlian your turn
to follow.
It is your turn to carry.
If you wish my love,
pronounce it to the woild
withjoy and evocation.
For I give it simply,
and witli j oy.
Awakening tlie paison souls
of all the luiiverse
who sigh in dehght
at my every poetic kiss.
Amotations they wish
they had foi tliemselves.
Meet me m tlie stars
and let us make a legend.
532
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Or I shall make mine alone
that when I am gone
they may say...
there was a man
who knew love
and touched it
with bare hands .
A shame he never
felt it touchmg back.
But still,
it is good he loved.
Nonetheless.
533
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
534
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighty-fifth Panther Cvcle
Needing a Legend
In the aftermath of our latest reconciliation it was decided we would see each other again, that
she would come to Los Angeles and we would be together again and work out all the pain and
coniiision
I felt, I honestly felt, that a part of the problem was hei inability to walk tlie patli she had so
openly wanted nie to blaze for her, a trail of legend.
But, I have foimd myself that one of om' gieatest feais as humans is tlie transcendence of our
roles mto sonietliing moie than mortal.
535
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
536
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
a panther in the light
Elegant and graceflil. A trace of sadness,
a trace of madness. But an eloquent pictuie
of life and love. My life. My love. Tlie focus
of an artists ambitions. Dancing foi time.
Tune wasted on memories tasted too long ago.
She has made me immortal and all I can do
is sell my Hfe for tlie legacy she gave me.
Love. Andhope. Andjoy. And deliglit beyond words.
oracles
the oracles keep comii^
at me.
seeing thmgs
I believe in.
and lemindmg me
that just because
my voice is not always
heard, it does not mean
I am not riglit
in my visions.
provisions
for fulfillment
made in a moment
of bold and decisive need.
bleedii^ to death
on a cowards field
of a thousand hesitations
broken m a last ditch
tiy to make the prophets
riglit.
tonight.
befoie tomoiiow's doom.
537
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
I believe in the dream
I believe in tlie dream we lived
thiee tunes already.
love between two mortals destined
for immortality.
choosii^ between a legacy of rapture
and suffeimg.
losing notliing but time, time to be
deeply loving
one another, at close range.
fearless.
a chance to win it all. a prayer we
can bless.
touching you
I want to touch you again, not just as a friend,
but as tlie lover you once embraced, shyly and slyly.
hands and fingertips and Hps and eyes, no secrets
no shame, a name bluiied to luiity between poets
in love, lovers kissing witli dams bursting, thirsting
for a familiar wine, a taste of one another, luuigry
for renewal, fiiel for a fiie within, witliout wliich we die.
coals rekindled
not a new start, but a restart, a heart spht and shared
between lovers kept apart by necessity, now unified
in a suspension of disbelief no grief for lost moments,
joy for tlie return of the iiglitfiil passions, pantlier's piide.
538
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
you will know me
you will know me, when you see me, by the love in my eyes.
luifaded by time or distance, persistence being a new virtue
to me, but tiie core essence of my love for you, imvanished
and mivanquished. 1 wiU build my life for you from this day on.
you will know me, when you hear me, by tlie love m my voice.
choices made are totem to tlie carver of time, hearts so tnie
and yet so fragile need each othei to guard tlieir backs,
back to the edge of tiie precipice where we damn near fell last.
you will know me, when you touch me, by tiie love in my embrace,
all tiace of doubt held away and dropped hke lost pennies
to tiie floor of tiie world, the moment you dare take me agam
in a regaining of yom' presence in my woild. oh, tiie love 1 hold.
you will know me, when you love me, by tiie love in my surrender,
remembering moments of joy and pleasme, and making new
memories to reflect upon over the years we are destined to share,
to stare dead in tiie face and laugh at, mad with feral joy and relief
539
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
let me be your helpmeet
Let me be yom' helpmeet when the road goes on too long and the light
fades. I would die in youi' grace, so I would face tlie daikest night
with you. I will not turn an angry word or venomed thought against
you for, although I am mortal, my love is for you. Lami, I danced
the nights away witli only dreams of you and I, as it should be, exiled
for a season while woiuids were hcked and fantasies piicked tliat we
could live apart. But there is gain in my smiender, before the wild
and pitiless creatures at tlie gates of hell come for me to free
me of the sanity I would share witli yoiu^ for the rest of my days.
I promise you two aims to hold you, two hands to carry your dreams, one
heart to be shared witli earnest faith, one soul to melt witli in the
dream of an afterlife, and one mmd to labour alongside you to make oui'
Hves as rich and fiill and remarkable as mortals can hope for. All I ask
for task m return is your love. It is a great request, but I am a man
of great destmy, and I want my legacy to be one of hope and joy, not pain
and sorrow and loss. And you are tlie fiilciTuii of my history, there is no
mystery to tliat. You yourself revealed this elegant if terrifymg tnith
to me a long, long season ago, when we were both in better shape to drape
our laurels on our legions of talents and march witliout hesitation to
the gates of tomoiiow. I am here for you now. And will stand my oatli
until the day I die, for there is no one, and nothing, I crave more of this
earth than that we be reumted m tlie love we have seen and felt between us.
540
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighty-sixth Panther Cycle:
Echoes in the City of Angels
At the risk of sounding like Randy Newman, I love LA.
I moved there in tlie afleniiatli of my divorce, stopping briefly in Tampa to meet with the
Panther, who spoke at length of long term plans for us. Tliere's a complicated psycho-history in
thrs, and it would not be fair of me to discuss where she came &om, but I luiderstand what it had
done to her.
So, here I am in LA, not tliat long ago having gotten a promise from tlie Panther that in tlie next
few montlis she'd be movii^ to LA and we'd be togetlier, as a prelude to maiiiage. Her words,
her oath.
But as I felt tliat all shpping away, I wrote of LA in the milieu of oui' relationsliip, in part to
express how I felt about tlie city, and m part to keep her focused on tlie goal.
Two more interesting bits here: The lugli desert in tlie Morongo Valley, and what I called tiie
Topanga Rim.
I love the heat and wmd of tiie Morongo Valley. . .if I won the lottery tomorrow, I would build a
house there. I feel strong when tlie Santa Ana Winds come, strong and reborn.
541
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
Now for the 'Topanga Run". Early in my time in LA I noticed I wasn't always paymg attention
to little things around me, like oncoming traffic. I had several near misses. One Saturday night 1
was on Topanga Canyon Boulevard in the Valley and decided I'd see how much of my survival
instinct was intact. I pointed "Clemmie", my 1974 Alfa Romeo GTV, towards the Pacific Ocean
and raced down tlie miles of wmding canyon roads to the coast.
It was insane, illegal, and exhilaiatii^. And by the time I leached the ocean, I had my answer. I
wanted to hve. I repeated tiie Topanga Rmi a few times after that, when the isolation from the
rest of tiie world became too much for me. I never wrecked, never missed a tiim, never
sideswiped a pedestiian and never got a ticket.
542
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Sunrise over the Desert
The heat remmds me of yom' embrace. Warni and passionate.
A thing of nature, perhaps too intense for most, but this ghost
of a man is braced for it. All his hfe staling into a rising
smi to come from tlie East, released from tlie shackles of the mght
to bite hard on liis own lips, dry with tliirst and cursed
with a quest to find the horizon amoung the infinite mirages.
You are tliat sim. Beautifiil and necessary. The heat is sometimes
too much to bear, but I wiU be tliere, every morning that you
daie to rise over the horizon.. .awaiting the wainith of your love.
The Promenade at Third Street
Like your mind, my love, ever aswiil with a thousand colours
and sounds, boiuiding over barriers of unagmed limitations to
aack open tiie wallets of the hearts of all tiie suitors. Pewter
and silver, glass and ancient books, the movie star and the homeless
man who sings gospel songs like he knows God personally, all alive
and milling about. Seeming sometimes so chaotic tliere must be no
pmpose. But you and I botli know it is pioof of life and the beauty
of the myiiad hues of existence. Never drab, never boring, soaring
like a diagonfly with sheathed claws of a panthei, daiting tlirough
my senses to breach my stonewall defenses and batter them, shatter
them even in the darkest, staikest glooms I can summon fiom hell.
The Santa Monica Mountains
Risii^ over the crest we test our capacity to gasp
in wonderment, giasping at wordsfraws that slip fiuough
our fingers like hands clutched tlie last moment before you
boaid a plane that steals you fiom me. A sea of shimmeimg
fights that glow like the stars you placed from your heart
into mine, giving life to me when I was but nosferatu.
543
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Waves at Malibu
Thundering down. Blue to white. Foaming with fiiry and salty
like the tears I have too often drawn from yom' face, youi' heart
cracked with sadness brought by distance, fought with words
like these. I would ride tlie swells of yom' heart, daiting
on each crest with the best of the dream surfers. Finding
the angle and following it down. down. down, mitil the crashes
in a consummated roar, splasliing me with a sense of hfe and love.
A Panther in the City
A new jungle awaits her.
Dangers, sfrangers and strange creatiu^es
that cartwheel through space on celluloid
ribbons. Images yet to be pamted witli words
she will put in the mouths of celebrated
men and women and children. A puppeteer
for the heart. Apart of the pulsing coil
of this universe iti a Soutliem California
bottle of glass and brass and grass watered
daily to lude tlie desert. Like telling someone
you love them, everyday, so tlie sands will not
reclaim tlie desolations of the past.
544
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
Walking the Beach in Venice
I would walk tlie beach with you,
as the sand flows aroiuid oui' toes and makes a faint
gmnting sound as we pad across it,
both of us thinking sly tlioughts
of sand angels, but neither
one daiing to say rt first.
Your soul is like this vista.
Pacrfic serenity surrounds you,
maskmg the turmoils within.
The sands of time pihng on the beach,
out of reach once tliey have
made it to shore.
So I will swim to tiie horizon
to buy back lost moments.
The Roads in the Canyon
1 admit I drive tliem faster than I should, ventir^
my angers in a manner' tliat only endangers me. Gaining
back the sense of mimortalrty I lost when I realrzed
that words alone were not enough to wm your love.
Your heart is like those canyon roads. ...blmd curves
and suddenly rises, exatii^ and dangerous. Stealir^
the strength fiom my Irmbs, but testing me. Perhaps
besting me one day when I finally let go tiie wheel
and take tliat slow motion arc over tlie lip, down mto
the rocks to be made legend and enigma in yom' memory.
545
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
546
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighty-seventh Panther Cycle:
A new rainbow
I brought back tlie spectmin concept in tliis cycle, playing witli variations in colour to develop
the metaphors and imagery. A trifle of a cycle, to be sme, but witli moments of interest.
Almost all are worthy Valentine's Day poems, brief expressions of a moment or a feehng. Tliat
there is no deep, insightM revelation tells you two things: I wasn't in the mood to leveal
anytiiing truly deep and I was emotionally drained.
When I ain worn out, depression sets in and my self-defense mechanisms kick in. . .1 start writing
tight romantic works, works designed to Hft my spirits and mvoke in me feelings of peace and
happmess .
Yes, I know it should work the other way, but I need to either be in a total pit of despair or
feeling very anchored to write somethmg tike 'TRIUMPH" or "Diogenes". . and this was not tlie
case. I was exliausted, butgame.
And these seven poems aie a reflection of where I wanted to go with renewed energies.
547
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
548
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Rose
Evocative aiid provocative, the colom' you flushed,
you blushed, the first time I saw you. Heart ready
to leap fiom slippery stone to slippery stone to ford
the rivers of time and embrace me without a trace
of doubt. Ready for love, ripe as a rosebud ready
to miiml its petals to my touch, ready to release
the shouted fi^agrance of love in bloom to a silent
world just praying for a worthy song to be sung.
Apricot
Rich and golden. Sold on point of hm^ry hearts. Parts
harvested to wart on the ripening. Wiping away tears
that now are tliose of joy. Rebirth, and a new awareness
of the woifli of two hearts made one and raised a level
of magnitude by passion and pmpose and the pleasure
of a succulent kiss of your dark apricot heart, pmring
like akitten, cunng you and I of so many haunting
memories, taimtmg us until we fall out of srghtmtlie
orchards we have planted in om' own ways for tlie coming days.
549
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Sunshine
Kiss me quick wlule tlie suii is out and tlie gold flickers
like a hummii^bird's colours in tlie garden of the awakening
jungle cat. A totem for a woman who in and of herself is
worthy of all love and cherisluuent. Perish the darkness
in tlie explosion of yellow Mght tliat knives thiough giey
clouds and illuminates tlie dreams of the dieamers. The themes
of the poets ripening iti tlie siuislune of yom' love. The Mght
proves tliat we aie not tlie nosferatu we feaied, we Mve and give
off sparks that will ignite the heaits of all who daie to love
as we daie to love, in the hght of every day that remains.
Celery
Crisp and cool.
A brisk taste of Hfe
in your laugh,
like celery snappmg
between youi' teeth
as you wrench it free
and savoui' tlie flavour.
550
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Azure
In tlie sky I will daiice you a pirouette.
No sweat for a poet,
wet with the dew of tomorrow,
wet as a proper brownie,
but sweeter still if you will laugh
for me, aaft for me youi' desire
that 1 may pray witli you in tlie mght
that the day comes swiftly when
larger dieams catch us as we earn
our way to play m fields we once
considered pieces of an untouchable
sky, gathered in a word basket
and baked into bright blue loaves that
taste like your kisses.
Midnight blue
I surrender to you all I am.
a mortal, a minstrel, a man.
and would melt in the dai^k
into half of tlie hfe in tlie world
we share mghtly, brightly beneatli
comforters my grandmother made
for just such an occasion.
Take from me all your sensual delight,
purple and fine linen fantasies
wrapped aiound your elegant
form to wann my dieams and
give me tlie tenderness I cannot
find m my own heart, for I gave
it away to you for a dream.
A gift I will never regiet givmg.
A love I win never regiet living.
551
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Lavender
The fragrant, vagrant bliss
of this dark kiss. So long
in coming.
Again and again.
Shall it never end,
my loving friend?
Not if you want it not
to termmate. For I will
frU yoiir Hfe witli all
you daie take from me,
and when you wake with me,
ask for anotlier kiss.
552
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighty-eighth Panther Cycle
travesties and injustice
A vague attempt at standing, but all in all a pretty shocking display of self-pity is this cycle. I
felt betrayed by tlie very essence of love, as if I had followed tlie diiections as best I could and
still foimd myself shut out of tlie promised land.
1 tliink it had to do witli expectations.
Doing the ''right" thing does not always mean things will come out smoothly for you (ask
Horatius sometime). Indeed, I have found tliat when 1 am doing my best to be "good" and
"noble" IS generally when others take advantage of me.
But you know what? I won't change. Not because I can't. . .but because it would be wrong of
me to do so, it wouldbettmiingmy backonstionglyheldbehefs. Coie beliefs and values.
553
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
Years ago, when working as a project manager for a major consulting firm, I put in my status
report every week that we were not getting tlie laptop computers we were promised to help our
productivity. This went on for months. Finally, the office manager told me I might as well drop
it, as the phase where tliey would have been of tlie most use was past, and we weren't going to
get them. So I 'Vent along" and dropped the line. Tlu^ee months later, I got roasted alive by
upper management for that. . .tliey said that having qmt mentioning it made it seem like there
hadn't been a problem to begm with.
The lesson? Stick to your gmis. Ifyou believe, don't back down. 1 betieved in this love, and it
cost me just about everytiiii^, tiiat belief And tiieie were times 1 felt tenibly alone and
betrayed, because I had depended on the words, the pionnses, of anotlier and the notion tliat we
all get what we really, really want.
554
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
parking our hearts
these are tlie dreams of wliich we are spuii
in battles fought and battles won
inpyrrliic andphalhc images...
tainted and sainted
by tlie fall of rose petals
from small and tender hands.
pretender, not defender...
a sweet kiss tliat misses
the maik
paikmg our heaits
in an orbit of an obit
apiece at a time.
crime.
biiry me where tlie daffodils
were trampled.
cutting corners
cuttii^ comers on a roimd heart.
stalling a Moebius loop,
hoop skirts and glietto blasteis...
masters and mistresses...
who am I to aigue
with your well worn platittides,
your feeble attittide.
indefensible.
suspendible
on a gossamer
thread
a bed where you bled
but not forme.
not anymore.
555
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
ratchet
tightening the screws
with a ratchet
that cHcks with each
fading charade.
paraded
by my face in disgrace.
trace my hand on yours
and forget me to tlie forget-me-nots.
for I am gone.
on
beyond
the event horizon.
self pity
I only wanted to love you.
but you couldn't take that dare.
fair game to tlie travesties,
hmniliation of the memories.
556
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
token totems
I sold my soul for the love
you said we shared, cared
to tlirow mto tlie face of oui' critics.
cyiiics and hypociites
who fed you venom while
calling me poison, reason
to doubt, cause to shout
challenges from atop
the silken webs we slip silentiy
imdei ourselves as we fall.
predator unleashed and mad.
no kisses for the damned
passion fading in a parade of frachiredhomUies.
freezitigraiiiofsahne and satiety insane, pain
woven into a multi-coloured coat to float
our dreams upon in a sea of illusions iidierited,
feiieted out like blood imder a bloodhound's nose.
the clotiies we wore recycled for tiie next lover.
557
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
farewell to love
alone
I have shone my hglit
briglitly. a beacon
to love delayed, not denied.
pride keeping me standing longer
and stioi^er than anticipated.
and when tlie baid diagon fell
a well
to hell
opened in the heait of the worid.
558
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Eighty-ninth Panther Cycle:
seven words
A very abstiact cycle, held together solely by tlie "seven words" concept, but with some
proflmdity in it, neveitlieless.
In fact, sometimes when imconstrained by the very limits of thematic cycles, this is where we
find the diamonds.
"Without bravery life is slavery" is one hne tliat sticks out, for instance.
And the poem "Honesty" is abont her confessing to me that she had been havmg one night
stands. I was not happy to heai' tliis, as this was in the middle of her swearing to stick with me
for the rest of her hfe, but at least she had the integrity to tell me about it to my face.
Of course, hei' practically startmg her visrt with me in Los Angeles withtliat confessron just put
the whole weekend on sloppy footing and pretty much damned our attempts to recoimect.
559
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
560
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
shekels
corns of tlie realm
hebii of the galleon fleet,
sweet to the taste,
wasted, m false memoiy.
love traded for a moment
in tlie amis of tlie idols
of wood with hammered
golden skins and eyes of jade.
patience
what you demand, you command,
my heart. .part and parcel of my bemg.
seeing you with electric eyes that lie
about nothii^. takmg tlie winds to bear
us to the East, feasting on tlie bones
we place om' tnist in, we place om' dust
in bowls of clay. . .bought in a market
so far away we cannot remember
much flirther fioni the tree where we fell.
561
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
passion
the fury of release.
pleasure, most treasmed in measmes
of flesh and filaments of silk.
milking cm' souls for every drop of the coal
black fluids of our consciences.
remember me to the edge of time
and I am certain we will find
no more memories worth
forgettmg. setting our course
for a new hoiizon, you and I.
honesty
You didn't have to tell me all you told me.
But you did, and yoiu^ little giil cringe
told me aU I needed to know. Guilt like
silt washed down a river of self-deception
until you could not live with tlie sediment
blocking tlie harbors of your heait. Starting
for home. But not knowing the way there
because you camiot swear you've ever had
a place like home witliin yoiu heart.
562
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
silence
the violence of dieams.
it seems like we are throttled by oui' pains,
what remains mottles us m reds and a stiange
coloui' not unlike burnt honey, money spent,
every last cent, to buy an echo for the Greek
choms to Ignore us in. hstening to it all.
chiistenii^ the world a new beginning.
courage
without braveiy,
Hfe is slavery
to misbegotten doubts.
shouts of pain and the stain
of memory we would as soon forget,
wet and bloody on the brow
of our idols .
trust
how can I not offer a trustmg heait to tlie thmstmg dart
of cupid's bow. toe to toe with tlie aichers of oui' most arch
attitudes, platitudes do not precede us into tlie pit if, with wit,
we paiiy tlie blows and open oui' hearts and minds and eyes
and souls and cry with tears of reconciliation our exoneiation.
563
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
564
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Ninetieth Panther Cycle:
close, away
I have been told "she asked my name" was an attempt on my part to make the Panther jealous.
BnU.
The truth was what is reported mtlie poem... 1 encountered a young woman whom, in many
ways, reminded me of the Panther, and we spoke for a wliile, and we went om' separate ways.
Although by tliis time tlie dysfimctional natme of our relationsliip had lead me to date otliers
(even as she was, by her own admission, "sleeping around'") 1 was not really emotionally
available, and I don't engage in sex as a sport, too much dynamite in that cap giui.
These poems largely summoned my sense of physical isolation and emotional intimacy tliat
marked this stage of oui' relationship.
Yeah, I know. Baikmg mad. But my madness, and that madness, 1 honestly beheve, was
becomii^ an addiction to provide emotional tuel for botli my wntmg and to help me survive the
cmshing losses I had endured for tliis woman, my Pantlier.
565
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
Here I was, three thousand miles fiom my cliildren, almost as far from any other Hving relative.
Thos friends tliat had not turned their backs on e were a continent away.
I had signed away all tlie money I had earned in tins life to buy my freedom, and here 1
was... alone, al but penniless, and easy prey for tlie emotional ■viiltuies.
I weai', as a badge of honor, tlie very fact tliat I survived at all.
566
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
close, away
I caimot stay so close, away
and so I make my excuses
and exit tluough the window
you left broken beliind you,
stained glass on wliich I cut myself,
blood falling like rose petals on a lover's bed.
closure over a cup of Jasmine tea
I stopped at Anastasia's.
they did not have jasmine tea
on the menu, sol asked rather
than settle for what was offered.
1 tasked the fates for tlieir sufferance
and was rewarded with closme
in a cup of memory I bled
tears into, a drink I will never taste again.
alone in the corner
alone in tlie comer
I dare, not to mouni her
lest she think me the fool
for being the one to whom the nile
of the heart and spirit matter
more than needs held transient, liigher
than a heaven she doesn't beheve in today,
but where she has taken my tickets to, anyway.
567
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
somewhere else
I am supposed to be somewhere else tonight,
but tlie invitation got lost in the mail or sight
failed me when fate rollerbladed by to tlirow
candy kisses from her fanny pack on the snow
you left beliind like pieces of a poet's heart.
line of sight
out of sight
out of mind
in tlie night
all I find
are faded imitations
of the real tliii^, guns
hired for uninspired kisst
not in this life
not in tliis life
will I love witli such honest intensity,
a propensity to walk away from all else
for the love of a sohtary heait.
forever trying to prove a pomt
on the edge of elegant elegies
of other loves and lovers cast away
so you can play witli your favourite toy.
568
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
she asked my name
she asked my name as she sat down.
hair of gold, eyes of brown.
and yet I saw in her another
of transposed demeanor, lonely unto pain.
and so 1 did not follow when she called
but spoke witli her, at lengtli.
hearing teai^s in every laugh and explaining
her proposition was no gaffe.
but I cannot, will not be as others
and use a wounded soul to my ends.
and we parted, tliat niglit, not as lovers,
but, in your name, as newfomid friends.
569
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
570
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
The Ninety-first Panther Cycle:
precious
One of the few later cycles that actually addiesses a real world pomt of reference, as I had long
since descended into abstractions.
During the ratlier bizarre visit she had made to nie in Los Angeles, we vacillated between
breaking up and making up. Vacillated is a soft word. We were all over tlie emotional map.
At one pomt during her tour we found ourselves at the overlook at Stony Point, and as we looked
out over the land, she stalled saying tliose things again tliat had held me in her orbit for so long,
dreams of a house and cliildren and us being together forever, making poetry and art and love.
Another invocation is of our first face to face meeting in New Yoik, wheie a surprising large
slice of the conversation revolved aroimd oui' waiter's seeming mability to provide hme mstead
of lemon with a soda. The little tilings cling to us, to help us remember tlie larger vistas.
You can see in some of tlie works a strong sense of looking into tlie void, to what my life would
be like after she walked away, but for the moment I climg to the illusion.
571
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
572
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
fading images
the pain, tlie stain, all fade witli time.
tune spent wanii and safe in an embrace
impossible to define and deny, try as we may,
we aie made better by tlie love shared,
daied on the liigh wire of life, not waiting
for a sign or pennission from tliose
who have never felt this way and,
like so many otliers, probably nevei' will.
I never knew I had this strength
for you I have endured impossible thmgs.
rii^s removed, miles conquered,
sorrows endured, all for the love
of you. no tnier test of a dream
woven for yom^ joy. make of me
a martyr, and I will only be magnified
in tlie saying of tlie sooth, trath
is the strongest suit in the house
of cards you weathered the stoims
in, alone, release your ravens to tlie wind
and begin to weave a better tapestry
as I have seen you capable of, lookup
into tlie firestorms with eyes cauterized
but content in the love you have given me.
573
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
flickering images
the reception is not always good during tlie stonn
and we must contend witli static and snow
that goes too far in hiding from us the scenes
we need to hold on, fold in to our emotional
libraries of memories woitli embiaciiig.
the truths spoken at Stony Point, when walls
fell for need of an honest embrace we could
not face tomonow without, an epiphany
in which we both forgave all and yesterday
became but a flickering image before
the cable-ready suiuise of tomoiiow's possibihties .
574
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
no choice
there is no choice for me but to love you.
love you.
love you with a fire and a frozen dream
you gave to me with your fiist smile,
drawing your glasses fiom your face
across a restauiant where the waiter
could not seem to imderstand tlie subtle
difference between a lemon and a lime.
but we miderstood the polar positions
that separate what we are from anything
else we have experienced. I have no choice
but to love you until. . .
there are no "imtils" in such a love, no
conditions to be met for it to exist,
conditions for tlie pain to fade, but
that is for us to deal with if we would
be anythii^ more tlian miserable.
and I have my dreams, if not my choice.
but were I to choose, I would but love
you more and better and sooner.
a kiss buys eternity
hold for me that moment.
locked in satin hands
and tlie electric, eclectic warmth
of your lips made mother to my passions.
take from me my awareness
of anytiiing else in this umverse...
for 1 have not foimd dehght
so perfect, as in yom' anus.
your hands, your body, yoiu^ thoughts .
575
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
I need you
I know you do not like to feel needed.
it places a sense of obligation on you.
and you hate feeling like you owe anyone
anytliing.
but when I speak of need, I mean desire
so intense that I am unwilling to accept
a fiiture without its fulfillment.
so, I am Sony if past parasites have
made you unhappy.
played you badly.
but I am not anyone else.
and I need to know yom^ love in my Hfe.
walking away
one day, peihaps,
one of us will need to walk away.
as we have alieady done so many tunes before.
ignoring words spoken, promises made and broken
a thousand times in our complexities
and om' loneliness . I wiU not easily
take the solitary road, butifandwhen
you convince me that it is yoiu^ joy
at stake, I will make tiiat turn and bum
the next ten thousand generations
of man with words of lost love
and the tiagedy of lovmg that which
is forever on another path.
576
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Ninety-second Panther Cycle:
the thunder comes down
Despite the stiong images invoked here, you cati smell tlie ram, the coming of a stonii to wash
away tlie last vestiges of hope from this relationslup.
Here I am revisiting many of tlie themes she had brought into my life and works, Hke a desperate
man striking a burnt-out match over and over again, knowing that there will be no more spark,
but still imcomprehending m his fear of the daik.
577
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
578
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
ruby slippers
you left your niby slippers m New York,
when the liglit faded, kicked under the bed
as you said dangerous things to a man in love,
shove the psychoanalysis and kiss me before
you click youi' heels and realize you are
already home, and it isn't Kansas in my heart.
the thunder comes down
measiuing a modicum of memories, merged,
urged aidor put on silent display
in words accepted like a gift horse
never saddled, addled lovers making vows
to Gods they don't beheve in anyway, playing
at promises and compromises one-sided
and undecided luitil the games get real
and we can feel the thunder coming down.
truthspeak
whether as lover, or partner.
husband or fiiend.
I know that, in tmtlispeak,
our roles cannot end
in one another's spheres.
tears of joy. tears of pain.
tears of glass, which do not stam.
579
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
bright, black
briglit, black, folded like golden webs
spun as cotton candy on a master's loom.
tomb to the weavei's heait, tlie giiever's art
of remembering tlie best of what we were.
and will 1 pass the test of filtered images
when I am gone? wiU your songs be sweet elegies
of love lost in a maze, a haze of confiised dreams
dragged into tlie stieet and savagely beaten?
illumination
awesome blossoms bloom in any room
you enter, centering the umverse
on the third verse of my lovesoi^.
and simg with newfound chonis, to implore us
to Hsten to reason and destiny and tlie season
of a cliild of yom' most beautiful heart.
580
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
hope on the road
I am not want to walk alone
bnt I will, if I must, stirrii^ tlie dust
when the eaitli is dry and ciying
when the night is cold and gatheimg
gold to baiter at the occasional
tavern of subtle sustenance, but one day
she will arrive, like the waim spring
winds and the sumnienain and tlie smell
of autiunn fohage. and I will smile
on this road and laugh sometimes when
inappropriate, but I will not hate
or count my fate as a point of sorrow.
and tomorrow I will render tlie same
prayers: for peace and love and release
from my quest aiomid some coming tiim.
but tlie jomiiey is a good one and my
fatigue is transitoiy, like my life.
but not like my hope, my love, and my dreams.
581
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
defenseless
droppii^ my guard, defenses hardened
in years of suivivalism made irrelevant
when love arrives at tlie edge of my vision,
peimission granted, dreams decanted to breathe
airs long forgotten, sultry stings, caught on
the ripstop nylon of a heart's wmdbreaker.
protecting me from the winds of sadness,
madness bmlding to a crescendo, ghssando
tears nuuiing hke fiiglitened cliildien before
the boogeyman. aitennatli of a lover's laugh
of sudden realization, no hesitation, no time
to waste to taste the heavenly fiiiit at apogee.
and we wHl find a way, bind a way to blind
a playful poet reborn in the mom of no more
momiung. so tiiat I may love forever.
582
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
The Ninety- third Panther Cycle:
The Dreams of Glass...
This was to be the final cycle, but not the final word. Although written a few months after its
predecessors, this one flowed rather seamlessly fiom the emotions of tlie moment at tlie previous
cycle.
This cycle builds upon a senes of conversations the Pantiier and I had in the mterveniiig months,
including several half-hearted attempts at reconcUiation, but in flie end it was a dead issue.
There is no element of that defeatism m this cycle, I had decided to wiite tins as a hopefiil,
positive capstone, not a tombstone.
"I Dared to Dream of Night-blooming Jasmine" is one of my favourites, as it refiects my
romantic code, that you have to hope, to dream, to believe. Yes, I have been savaged more than
once in this fife by inconsistent or even deceitfiil lovers, but I get back up, dust myself off, and
continue tlie quest.
And where will it all end? I don't know, but that's pait of the joy, the mystery.
583
William F. DeVault - The Compleal Panther Cycles
584
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
dreams of glass
when mishandling dreams, tliere is always a chance
that they will, in their ciystalline brittleness, shatter
into a thousand sharp edged memoiies of what you had.
or would have had.
or could of had.
if
if you had only closed your hand a moment sooner,
kissed with more conviction, tnisted sometliii^ larger
than yourself for just one moment wliile daimg fate,
daimg fate to sliine like sunhght focused in a teai'
wept like tlie morning dew. when you knew the tiutli.
and stiU had to wake up, every moinmg, with empty aims.
the paper fulcrum
words, justwords. carrying a message tliat haunts,
that taunts like a demon on the edge of tlie precipice,
a wrist sht by accident bleeds as deeply as suicide.
I am not aftaid of words, but I am afraid of the silence
that comes when woids hang like a chrysahs of life
left on the branch until winter comes, proving tliat
the butterfly inside died a fliousand deaths, waiting
for a spring tliat was always in her hands, alone.
585
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
everyday in the garden
I walk everyday to the fields of my soul
and watch for fiist hght, arising before dawn
to scan the tended eartli witli earnest eyes
that have watered too well tlie fiuiows with tears
that aie of no use in a greening dieam.
I wait, sometunes patiently in my pliilosophy.
sometimes m pain and soitow, head lumg low.
but I wait, raising my head to distant fields seem lush
with tiie newHfe and oldlife and harvests that are.
gentiy mgmg the seeds to sprout and feed me.
pinch
one word
is all it takes
to guarantee, with God as my witiiess,
that you will never again need
to feel tiie pinch
of jealousy.
586
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
I fear you
there is no one in this world so capable of making me less than what I ain.
or more than what I would've been had you not reached down, reached out
andphickedme from tlie fire I had chained myself in Hke a fieiy Narcissus.
cuise me my dieams, deny me my birthright, take from me my heart and cast it.
cast it far.
cast it out of heaven.
cast it down to be ttampled by everyone who ever worked for.
fought for.
dreamed of
all that you have been given.
and have not yet taken.
there is no one m this world so capable of makmg me so happy and content.
or more miserable and anguished, had you not stolen tlie light, sharmg it
with shadows so tliat I might know a pain 1 had never before dealt, despair.
and if my lesson to you is to be luiconditional love, is yoiu^s to me to be
fear?
I dared to dream of night blooming jasmine
You rose eaily this moinmg and walked the famihai' ftuiows in the caipet
to stand, as you do, every morning, and watch frrst Mght enter her room.
if I am awake, I hear you draw a deep breath, awestruck and maiveling
at the feehngs tliat flood you as you see her sleep, like the promised angel
of a distant fantasy, dieamii^ of a fistflil of wildflowers once given to you.
your smile blossomed tlien like the night blooming jasmine, stealing tlie wmd
to take dieams mto the sky to paint otlier people's destinies,
but none shall find a heaven half as Holy as I have found in your arms .
587
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
a poet paces the path
there is a trail in tlie tall grass.
pantliersigns obvious.
and I must follow theiu.
for, though cursed and crushed.
and ultimately, made tragedy,
this IS my patli.
my road.
my vision.
my destiny.
and, pnnfied or pitied.
loved or laughed at.
rejected or raised.
it is where I will die.
588
William F. DeVault - The Compleat Panther Cycles
Epilogue
Well, Tlie Compleat Panther Cycles end here.
And no, I didn't die, although one day I shall, but not from following panthersigns . Tliere have
been far tougher tests of my nietde and metal since tlien, brutal lessons to be learned but only by
one willing to wade into the classroom wliich is tlie universe and call tliem down.
For my progress on my quest, I suggest you keep an eye on my web presence, check out one of
my readings, and believe in your own hfe as a legacy you leave for tlie fiitiu^e generations, to
show the value and validity of what you stood for.
There is a little bit of tlie Poet and tlie Panther in all of us. It is botli what elevates and levels us,
that sustains us and gives us sometlung withm ourselves to contest witli.
1 can offer you only tlie advice of my expeiience and perceptions, and my epiphanies may be
iiielevant to you in detail, but in the grand sweep of human existence, it is imfailingly tnie.
Believe in love as you believe in God, as a consiunmg and transfoiming core to your bemg,
anytlung less is blasphemy against our natures and is cowaidice of the higliest (or lowest) order.
Getieady to take youi' lumps. No onejiunps out of an aiiplane without, regardless of their
means of descent, at least a few bumps or bruises. Those who dare tlie most, win tlie most, but
also have the scars to show for tlie edification of the aimchair waiiiors. I can not tell you how
many tunes people have taken me aside to tell me their stones of not havmg followed tlieir
hearts, and how much tliey admire my courage for "putting it out there", tlien swearmg me to
secrecy, as they dare not tell the woild their tniths.
Embrace your own self, but be aware that you can not be light for yomself until you are light for
someone else. I spoke tliose veiy words to my Fantlier when she was my Panther and I stand by
them. We are pieces of a whole until we join with anotiier, tius is tiie natiire of om' hearts, our
fleshes, om' souls.
And, when things go awiy, be persistent and ready to roll witii the anvils that tiie less sentmiental
fates diop on us from on lugh when it amuses tiieni.
William F. De Vault
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