Keats on the Beach @keatsonthebeach - Tumblr Blog

July

July you sweep us up giddy with flower and fascination for those innocent others we share land sea air all of us lodging here for we are they they us July you break our hearts with exuberant colors a soft treason of shadows and seasons slipping past much too quietly much too quick until even they until we disappear

artist -Vincent van Gogh

It was that 1st underground wellspring -a small hidden smile just tucked in there at the end, a delicious slow dance flutter of her lips with just a glimpse of shimmer summer ripening iris. A will-o'-the-wisp time of eyes.

Part I: Jewel Tones

She loved everything. I mean absolutely everything.

And everything she touched was transformed. Even me. I tried to look away once-twice-thrice to no avail becoming, in short order, a Laurel Tree with branches supporting the very heavens and roots connecting the universe. A sanctuary for deer, bear and bee alike. All this before lunch.

There was a light sweet magic syrup of whimsy poured over her, a recipe concerted by grandmother H and that man she married *hillbillies* from the rolling, giving, grieving Poconos. And Henry, well he played the fiddle naturally as lava flows to the ocean and the molten cooling core fused that world together even as other forces both dark and surprisingly light and well intentioned were in play, those hot stone pavers and prayers on the way to a everlasting desire for just a tiny peek of hades, or even heaven adjacent. A curiosity when you think of it, for places and people at the very lest unsavory. Such was Henry. He’d saw away while Eve and her sister Shane danced together arms interlocked, leaning into a 2 step, moving in a deceptively stately sway. Their hardscrabble ride on the weedy black and blanched life scratched out in the high lonesome hills. Cosmic gothic farmers with a rocky scrub patch of land and a stubble determination. Henry though was damndaisy comet mercurial, with such a personality on him that it would eventually get his toolbox snapped shut. He courted the 21 flavors of trouble and when sufficiently lubricated would out orate and shame the very silvered soul sucking Lucifer. That lopsided smile that he’d woo’d the former Ginny Virgil with was in full ascendance back there in those sepia times.

This however is all about Eve.

Eve, so favored by Mama H. as if that past echo of family criss-crossing bloodlines could or would not be denied.

Yes she loved everything and transformed the lot without a care, without hesitation, without a reckoning. Even a single simple quick sky-shy glance was a honey sweet sticky cinnamon bun of pure bliss sent rocketing straight to the heart of Palm Sundays. For those who, unwary, would, could, receive. And one such receiver was I, me the Honorable Chance Milligan III. Tom Thumb to the rest of ‘em.

From the very 1st it was an education not likely survivable, nor remotely sensible but I’m not one to picket fence fate when really the best one can do is hold on dearly as the jukebox rumbles on with hypnotic slide crying steel guitar dispensing an eerie atmosphere that clamps down on your dreams and never lets go.

Part II: Don’t You Ever Die

I suppose those were little spangles of some sort dabbed and sparking on her face. A kind of hand-fashioned constellation nova that drew me. Wait, I mean I noticed them but wasn’t playing strict attention as it was supposed to be an everyday at the counter of your local 2nd hand shop occurrence. Except I had to almost duck and cover against the absolute revelation of her gaze. Not that we actually looked at each other. No, we-i-her carried on the wildflower transaction and I left shaken though not immediately. It was a slow burn and three blocks out I simply stopped to let in the whatever it was, whatever she, whatever I, whatever we had become.

That next week I was severely hand-kneaded and marinated, “bothered” as our British brethren would say. I did not want to go back there, and for awhile I didn’t.

Some time, needed to flow, tide pool, neutralize and let ordinary life fill in again so I could function in polite society without seemingly being completely mad.

The worst part was the discovery that I am a liar, that life lies, hopefulness is a sham, that people are heedless, needless and beautiful. It was all so beautiful that I figured I’d never have to see her again. Exactly 2 weeks later magnetically walking downtown and there she was dead-reckoned coming straight at me -it was just that she was not the previous her and I was not the previous me. The storm had quelled, the cicadas returned, paused, then flew off again but yes please remember I am a liar with a deep profound trick of the tail 3 penny opera.

Part III: The Fable of Strawberry Hill

“Hey, nice drum solo!” another Eve exclaimed to no one in particular, leisured up in the gangly ex-boyfriend friend’s attic tokin’ along to 70s slow jams, a Pleasant Valley Sunday afternoon, all fishnets, pleated skirt and her black rubberized platform boots. November may chase you away but July, you just know, is almost smug and triumphant. For a time.

Her sister Maybell loved that song too. Maybell who died at age 16 in the car accident that claimed both of their parents.

The abrupt death of Desmond’s own “Citizen Of Tomorrow” remains one of the great "what ifs" of the Pie Street Pub regulars.

That Eve who’d always cleaved full tilt boogie to the ledge simply let go of the reins. May the Lord help her.

“I have consumed the one that contains the multitudes just as I am duly and irrevocably consumed.” she whispered as we sat cross legged in the Temple of Delphi looking out over a calm blue-green Aegean Sea.

From that point on all I wanted to do was keep watch over otherworldly us, this counterfeit her-me, from The Globe Theater’s rough hewn wood bench seat balcony vantage point. Not that easy actually. No, not really, you got to get right down in the muddy soil soliloquies to witness the garden of possibilities in the calamity and chaos of Adam and Eve. For this, this will be our religion. The religion of hummingbirds, of breath, of Van Gogh and clouds.

artist -Vincent van Gogh

Cambria

slow summer shimmer at the edge of the world

photo -jk

Solstice what does summer have in mind passing by passing by see how we could be extravagant elaborate outrageously loosen the braid from your hair a waterfall falling there from the wild of the woods to the wild in our eyes it is sweet sweet summertime jk artist -Robert Burns

Grace

her fiery sky the religion of her eyes the sun of her on my face sanctified grace

photo -jk

June

summer settles and we ‘neath a welcoming oak lulled and content while nature ripens enjoying such blessing dearest June we have waited longing for your touch o’er the earth o’er our soul

artist -Edith Holden

Mercy

kindness the moon bestows morning glows crimson day dethrones stars this love this tender mercy oh but surely one more for we still sleep dreaming of everlasting yet the terms of mercy are clear a moment this

artist -George Frederic Watts

Luminesce

bloom the ruins sing the sadness dance this night immaculate

Artist -Marc Chagall

Desire

starless ebony night in time you and i on butterfly wings of desire

artist -Moebius

The Gift

light fades shadows gather the sweetest haunting the deepest wound i bear it gladly i will chart this pain by the stars shatter my heart a thousand times for your gift

photo -jk

On the Beach

Life Is

life is love life is magic help those who live tragic

photo -jk

L'immortelle

alive or have i died upon your embrace i care not for this life has lived one stanza of line one dance of rhythm a single splash of blue from eternity

image -jk

Of Us

what lives in me of you the pleasure and pain of it has flowered into a springtime of remembrance of sweet embrace of us

artist -Elin Manon

Silence, s'il vous plaît

living quietly to yourself these days impossible for we are here there everywhere in glare but hush hush there’s Victorian tea strawberry jam Baudelaire

artist -Arthur Rackham

April

you are disheveled wildly vain indecently brazen yet we would remain ever consumed of your mad beauty shimmered in your reverie

artist -David Hockney

L’Amore La Morte E Il Sogno

should we meet in the deep forest of dreams greet me with your grace greet me with your freedom should we become one of the heart find me in the place ancient spirits embark when this world for us is done close your eyes i am here here love

artist -Rosalie Lettau

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