The Letters from Salomee

By Karen Lee Oliver

Book synopsis:

There are some women who stay in the shadows of the bible and are never heard from again, Salomee was, I think, one of them. however here in these words perhaps a letter of truth can be heard on Salomee's

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writers Branding LLC
• Release date: May 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781639456680

Book preview

Tranquility,

Solitude,

and

Other Poems

Readers seeking contemplation of both tranquility and the darker, more moody, aspects of solitude will find rewards here.

Part I

Tranquility

(OPENING QUOTE FOR BOOK III ENTITLED TRANQUILITY)

THROUGH SUFFERING

COMES UNDERSTANDING,

THROUGH UNDERSTANDING

COMES COMPASSION,

THROUGH COMPASSION

COMES LOVE.

—RICHARD WAGNER (1813-83)

FROM PARSIFAL.

The Janus

Along a large, lighted

Winding staircase,

In a relict mansion

Renaissance—style

Early American;

A hero waits

For his act to play.

Life has engulfed

His love—played emotions

Into the curl of the pigs tail.

So much so that

No matter how he plays the cards,

The win,

Is now a life—long wait.

Now in the drear

He contemplates his escape.

Then it comes—

To become the Michelangelo

At the top of the staircase—

To become the statue that moves!

A Piece of Eight

Warm body

Shelter me,

Consent to my profit

From your golden acquaintance—

Buy me

From the spoilers

Of the world—

A tossed relict

Of tradition,

Worn by the cares of time.

Into your hands

Carry, conceal

My worth

As you would

A priceless treasure.

Forever

A piece of the past;

Forever

A coin toward your future.

Onus

You are the sky

And I am water.

In such a way,

And so it is,

That we relate.

When it is hot

I disappear into you.

Later, you cry

And I replace the dry land below.

Then, flowing over

Through velvet land

I wander as a river

And laugh when I touch

Your horizon.

The Heir

Locked in some recess

Of the mind,

A tattered remnant

Of the Renaissance,

An odd memento of the past,

De l’argent,

Loose their way

Into the hands

Of forgotten descendants.

With the inheritance

Of the blessed Pope,

A timeless relative of Jesus

Engulfs the mayhem

In a world handed-down

Through generations of Destroyers.

To unlock that recess—

To use the things

That will open the mind—

A long-ago dream of Beauty,

The strange language

That curls off the tongue,

The arrogance, the attitude,

The style, the subtle grace,

Bejewel the wearer

Making jealous all those

Who come into His ken;

Making Him the Envy.

Three Days Gone

Pearls of water

Dropped from the sky.

On a day

When all the tables,

All the houses,

All the people,

All the buildings,

Were

Empty, Empty.

We went waiting

For a sign,

The sun,

A sound,

The meaning;

To arrive—

At the out-skirts

Of the town

Where bombs

Were being dropped.

No one knew

Why it was.

No one could

Stop the chaos.

We went

Screaming

To escape,

With no vacation,

On that day of reckoning.

When it appeared

There was an oasis

Just

Outside of our reach.

In the Cold Light of December Fire

In the depth

In the dark

Without the quinidine

Hot in the malarian ecstasy

Human missiles dropping

Bombs falling

Innocent bodies

Churning up the earth

There was no silence

No moment of calm

No feeling of comfort

No relief

From the war

That raged

Against itself

In the fleeting hours

We had left

Hanging onto rifles

Only a few shots left

We bowed our heads

Prayed through the

Booming crescendo

All the way

Into the wild blue yonder.

Remembering Joe Smith

It was an uneasy

Relationship

From the beginning.

Joe and I

Meandered

Through crowded city streets

While stray cats meowed

At people passing

Dark alleyways

Like rat packs

Along light-striking

Avenues.

We loved.

Time passed.

I fell away from others.

There was no union

Between Joe and I.

Just what

I guess remains

A kind of

Life-long scar

One can never forget.

When days become dim

As years roll past

I won’t forget him.

Nor the tranquil pleasure

He was to me,

Nor the engraved

Image

Of him

Scared upon

My mind.

From Now Until Here-After

THIS SPACE IN TIME

WE SHARE

HOLD

EXTEND

BECOME

GROW THROUGH

AN EXERCISE

OF THE MIND

OF THE BODY

INTO THE FUTURE.

TO BE PART

OF THE HERE-AFTER.

SOME PLACE

AN EXTENSION

WHERE OUR UNION

HAS ITS MEANING

BEYOND

NOW—

FROM NOW

UNTIL HERE-AFTER.

Three Cats in a Window

On a ledge

Outside

Past the door

To the garden

Sits the cats

In the window.

Sometimes

They stare

At the pair

Of us

Who dwell inside.

Curious,

The difference.

Rim

Sphere of tranquility,

Aura of peace,

Curve among the heavens;

Reach for to touch

The dim luster

Of a stellar oblivion

That is unparalleled

By the world we live in.

There exists the light.

The Beginning of the End

It was somewhere in a fog,

Almost as if in a dream,

The future answered it’s mystery

By telling me a tale…

I remember the first time

I saw her,

She was disowned,

leery But quiet,

Sara was a great black cat.

When I discovered who she was—

A he—

I had already named her and

We were both stuck with it.

That’s just the beginning—

There’s more, much more.

We shared a room for one.

It was during college.

I never thought we would part.

I was so young.

Sara was more than my friend.

It was as if something

Or someone,

Watched over me through her.

Her eyes never left her subject.

Always friendly but polite,

She never gave me away.

We moved about together,

First a dorm,

Then an apartment,

Until, both travel weary,

We fell apart.

I had inquired and found

An apartment off campus.

It was lovely.

No pets.

I gave Sara up.—

To a friend who has betrayed me

Ever since.

With enormous effort

I threw my despair

Into the distance and

Like a mouse,

Fell prey to the remorseful end

Of our passion for one another.

Everything became strange

After I was left alone without my cat.

No one came to see me.

No one called on the phone.

No one noticed me when I went out.

It was as if I had become a ghost.

Sara was invisible to me—

I was invisible to everyone else—

Including myself.

I could see a cat in my mind.

She was with me.

Long, black and sultry—

I thought of Sara often.

I never replaced Sara.

Yet, every cat I see to this day is Sara.

In the dark hallways of the past

Sara lurks and opens the door

For me to pass through…

Allows me to go on.

I take great comfort

In the consistent fairness,

The love, that understands me

Through the memory of my cat.

The abiding existence

That endures all of time;

The simple knowledge

That I will never be alone.

Sometimes, late at night

When I lie awake with my thoughts,

I dream of bringing back

A world that can never be again.

Which from books, movies and paintings

Has sketched upon my mind

So indelible an image

That I can’t let go of my obsession

To return…

Then I see the shadow of the cat

And realize it is the beginning of the End.

The Lotus Eaters

Sensuous petal slips

Pass slowly over their lips,

Each curled flower unfolding

A glimmer of peace

To bestow upon the Eaters

Consuming them.

The Lotus Eaters,

Tranquil passengers

From lagoons in the stars,

Trapped in a surrounding

Of recreation forced

Between the boundaries

That were long ago made for them.

They seek to escape,

They eat to discover;

The Past,

An Earth,

A way out beyond the entrapment.

Yet, they do not grow strong.

Forgetting only to develop A plan,

A solution;

To make a decision

About what to do there—

In their Inner Circle.

The Lotus Eaters

Depend upon the flower

To cure their appetite for freedom.

Pale and dying,

Possessing tranquil peace

Within the soul,

That can only kill

The Body;

The Lotus Eaters

Refuse all else.

They keep Holy

The bloom of Lotus flower—

Consuming to become

An essence of Beauty;

Fragile, perfect,

Coveted by its possession.

Schooled by the discipline of denial.

The Lotus Eaters

Are an Order of Existence,

On the sheer borderline

Between Being and Death.

Sitting quietly they work

On their minds

To remember, to forget,

To excuse the problems.

The Lotus Eaters

Compare each other to an ideal

They have all agreed upon,

Once again—

Long ago.

As they share their petals—

Loose go the agonies of reality,

Fought out by bodies

With less powers of tranquility;

Powers which the Lotus Eaters

Alone possess.

Yet, they are outnumbered—

Never will they spread

Beyond the Walls

Of their Garden.

Knowing this they prepare

An Ending to Life

Far less difficult

Than any religion, race,

Group or people before.

They are no longer

People—

They have become

The Lotus Eaters

Who can not be seen or recognized by anyone.

(THE LOTUS EATERS—not to be confused with the chapter from ULYSSES by James Joyce entitled The Lotus Eaters.)

The Surprise

Somewhere

Cast against a wall

Like a shadow no one sees in an empty room;

A lurking presence

Ready to pounce.

Spit out the hatred,

Vomit the evil, blood—scorched veins that pulse violence

In this world of utter darkness

Wherein every moment carries

The dread of the horrific surprise in the next!

Wake some angel!

Shake the fear,

Rock the time for sleep,

Quit the nightmares from our eyes!

Let us rise

To a new surprise,

Of golden and silver dreams in a daylight peace;

Unlike the dread of night.

By the Ocean

Once in a misbegotten moon

That shone down

In a shower of twilight stars

Powdered into tiny grains

Of sand that stayed

Long by the ocean;

A hand touched a mood

That was pearlized—

A covenant—

Transfixed within a stare

Between two lovers

Becoming their manners—

Decorum—

In an eternity to discover

Each to one another

By the ocean.

Then, parting

They retire

To the quiet of the hour,

Leaning still

On one another

Just within imagination,

In memory of the moon,

The pair of star-crossed lovers

Hand in hand

Beneath beams of misbegotten moonlight—

By the sea.

Interlude

On the fleeting hours before the dawn

Carries a dismal sentence.

To a child

The dawn holds the bright,

Soft promise

Of a new day;

To a lover

The final embrace,

A last caress in a night of love.

Yet, to a poet,

These few hours

Can be an eternity—

Of doubt and anticipation;

A flame of question

Lights the sky

And the poet’s eyes

Dream of capturing the glow forever.

Dim

In the gray-blue light of early morning

Or when the first touches of darkness

Creep over the world at dusk

Have you ever noticed

How vague objects appear?

Perhaps, in the quiet of these times,

You’ve chanced to hear and see

The softness of the light;

How it varies in shadow and,

Yet, paints the world around us

In such a strange; an eerie way.

This transformation,

This slowly disappearing world,

Exists for but a few hours,

Each day; in the dim.

Interference

Subtle cracks

In the occasional walls

Of conversation

Make bitter

The wine of contentment.

Loose are the words

Of interference.

They dive and swerve

In the same way an eagle

Catches its prey.

Once caught in their talons—

The original fear

Of encroaching death and capture

Sanguine the party.

The Money Changers

See how they barter?

How they brag?

Sneering at one another

Over the filthy clanking of the coin!

They’re everywhere—

Everyday—

Buying, hiding, running;

They’ve coerced their friends.

In the Temple of theOwner,

As each coin rolls over and

Plays dead

In their hands,

They slap on another bill;

As if they owned the place!

When will the last bill be paid?

When will the Changers course run dry?

You’ll never stop the money changers!

The Green Lantern

On a dark, quiet evening

Such as this,

On a cobblestone corner at

The end-of-the-lane inn,

Came an eerie light

From a green lantern.

In the hellish glow

I drew faces,

Faces I had remembered

From long ago

When time was kept

By those who tell tall tales.

The more I conjured

Upon these faces,

The more they seemed

To appear—

Then fade

Only to reappear.

The lantern light

Held my stare.

On into the night it beamed

Its loathsome glare

Of recollection,

Of foreboding,

Of a strange menace

Yet to come—

By the light of the green lantern… I watched.

The Jazz Bird From Lark Street

Somewhere in some sultry, sweated,

In-the-heat-of-the-summer

Communal hang out—

Or rather, more likely,

Down on Lark Street

Where the jazz was always hot—

Piping hot and wild;

There was this babe

Who used to groove to the horn

That blew every night—

Throughout the midnight streets

Just to lay down her life

For some other man.

He was always there.

Not always when you wanted him—

But always in time.

You felt safe with this guy—

He was cool.

Anyway the jazz bird,

She was his girl—

His babe, the ruby of his soul.

When they fought

Everybody knew it.

It was like watching

Some film noir—

Always in black and white—

Always to the music jazz hot.

One thing I didn’t say—

They didn’t get along;

On the contrary,

Their passion for one another

Made everyone jealous—

Even when there was no reason to be.

You all know what happens with that though—

People congregate.

They put their heads together—

They talk—gossip—lies.

If it wasn’t peoples tongues

That ripped it up between

That guy and his bird—

Then there’s something I don’t know!

I remember her though,

She was a brilliant kind of bird.

She always flashed by—

Leaving a lifetime impression

On your mind.

Him—he could walk through walls—

Without getting wrinkled!

I mean they really

Had class together!

The lights still burn bright

At night on Lark Street—

So is the sound of the jazz—

The jazz bird is gone though…

Remembrance at Donner Pass

The snow kept falling,

Perpetually falling,

Falling, covering, smothering silently

Those people

Trapped at the pass.

They hung their heads knowing

If the snow kept falling,

The wind blowing,

Their deaths would come to pass.

In the hours, the days

Melded into an eternal

Nightmare

There was less and less

Of a resemblance

In their faces

Of the people

They once were.

So kept the vigil

Of transformation

Almost as if it were

The very will of Christ

That it should be done.

In that ghastly vigil,

A faint fall from Hell occurred

That into which

Those people be devoured

As with beg and plea and mercy

Their love for each other vanished

Until the bones lay round about;

Proof the Devil’s vigil had ended.

A Door—A Heaven

Into this Sea of Tranquility—

Pass many Faces

(All having stares of Wonder).

Long lives

Mingled in blood-stained

Memories

House the framework

Of their Soul’s Inner Longing…

—the Deepest Desire to Achieve Greatness—

Yet, aside from this World,

We impart to yet another World,

Into which—

Through whose Portals—

Mere Mortals may never pass…

Here there is a Door—

A Heaven—

Whose existence is known by only those who

were Truly Great;

Though never known,

Whose Greatness was not measured by their

Deeds,

But, rather,

By the depth of their heart.

The Sons of Time and Memorial

Standing in the face

Of all that is oncoming in life;

That which we endure and

Continue to endure

Throughout the eternity of existence,

Has left a mark upon the human race.

It is a mark of excellence.

Men,

Sons of Time and Memorial,

These men who stand

Facing the Eternal War—

It is they who bear the mark.

Forever

Is the distant edge of