She stands

Smell of the fall all around,

Leaves blowing circles,
Squirrels storing nuts,
The old house built in 1779,
Stands the test of time, a reminder of years gone by,
Like a castle, my castle!
Towers watching towers keep.
The wind rustles throw a pulled apart old tattered from age curtain.
In the quick of my eye as if within a breath, she stood.
Etched within a moment in time,
My air stopping in gulps, she was naked from head to toe.
Her eyes rested on something, but...
They saw not the wandering poet standing upon the ground looking up,
People the day before had spun a yarn to me of a Grand ole Lady,
Who with held much in the story of a house?
She wasn’t located upon Beacon Hill,
The cliffs around her weren’t called Dover.
Here’s built this house where time did not fare well,

They told me of her lady and her lost love,

I was told much but not of the beauty that hailed her unseen visitor,
They told of a spirit who could not fine rest.
She stood, with closer inspection near the scrap of curtain one nipple exposed,
Sorrow forms into a frown upon her lovely dark brow,
Ebony as evening, lovely, taut breast tantalize my gaze,
Then as if a door shut she was gone.
So realistic was my vision and memory so clear when I reached my door,
Grabbing paper and pen I sketched this lady,
Darlene, beautiful, black woman captured my heart and soul,.
It was as if the memory of her had been lost to me now to return,
New and fresh,

An irrational realty holds me, wet with thoughts of her within my bed,
I would wait and watch, more praying for her to return then not,
I finally came to the truth of the matter I cared less to look upon her then I did,
The dream of touching her, the mere thought of this colored my pale cheeks.
A fortnight had pasted nothing, no vision did I view.
Then as if she knew what I wished for, hoped for she bid me enter her home.
For as surely as I wanted to see her again, I had no desire to enter her home,
Mustering my courage I lightly stomped up the stairs.

The eeriness that beckoned to me with the dampness of closed windows and old air,
They Compelled me to feel physically sick.
Weirdness ran throw my body, down arms to my very fingertips.
Then I shook and realized that I was just on the porch and the coldness I held was an
old, doorknob.
It was like Halloween had returned; CREEK went the big old oak door.
It was magic there I stood where time had just STOPPED!
Somewhere deep in the house music played 1920’s flapper, The Charleston”,
“What fun, I thought, why I didn’t know!
The sound of an Edison early twenties record player,
Candles stood as if naked soldiers protected from aging,
I lit one the light of it magically filled the entire hall where I stood.
The house appeared alive,
My teeth started to chatter, heart pounding trying to burst out!
My hair tingled like it does when someone is near,
My mouth that felt like to this point it had held the Sahara Desert, Went Wet,
The again so, so very dry,

With an invisible WHOOORRROOSH the fire sprang to life.

Boy howdy I was in need of a seat,
The needed chair was made ready to ketch me as I naturally sat down,
A near piano’s keys rippled to life.
I never to that point in life felt the real sense of belonging that that one instance
Filled within me to my very soul.
I now felt the spirit; she stood so very near me,
Her cold yet surprisingly firm fingers slid over my closed hand.
She wanted the companionship I so longed for.

With that one simple touch I saw how life had wronged her.
A cold chill briefly consumed me then I rose and engulfed her to me.
I had forgotten or thought not of her not feeling me,
Thought nothing that she might vanish and leave me lost in this world.
Within that one moment I felt all the love I had never had.
She caressed my face, words raced in my mind it’s not real, it can’t be!
But, then I had, had this internal battle waging within for decades as well,
The cold, loneliness’ of being in someoneelses world, empty and alone,
My own fingers gently brushed her cheeks, funny I thought her face hot,
Burning my fingertips, the fire still blazed.
A salty tear ran from her eyes, just one,
It bridged our souls; she was no longer a ghost,
No longer a figment of my imagination,
This was beyond believe, what great fun I thought the spirits were having with me.
I watched her lovely mouth as I not gracefully mind you fell backwards to land in a
heap.

Recalling the soundless word,” Don’t go! Please Stay!

It was as if the air around us changed.
She hadn’t felt any emotion for a very long time, and then she was gone.
Looking up I felt a hand upon my shoulder, rising from the dirt keeping my eyes upon
the
Ground I hastened up.
I feared looking upon her for if she was just a memory I wanted her to stay,
More then I wanted life itself,
Life held no charm for me if she were out of my grasp.
How could I vanish the pain and tears of another in another time?
With a thunder to beat all others and a crash stronger the any the Great Spirit had
done the impossible.
The choice had been given to her,
The kiss was mine she stood so near,
So sensuous the kiss mine, hers, ours,
Steps behind us were heard; bright candles white and pristine filled the room.
My knees buckled as if kicked in the stomach I wished for death,
Faintly, I heard, “Hello, Hello!”
Slowly I looked up,
She stood there, “Thank God I said”,
“I’m dead!” I wasn’t my angel was human,
She said that she had just inherited the old house,
The sun filled the moments earlier fire warmed room.
Upon the far wall a wall hanging hung of a standing portrait,
Painted in 1900,
Elizabeth Barrette Duggan, she went over and gently touched the plaque,
It’s me Echoed through my mind,
Standing slightly behind and to the left, there I stood,
How can that be!
My lady stands with me, hand in hand.
My eyes returned to the plaque it needs a good cleaning I barely make out
These words, “Not knowing what tomorrow will bring, our hearts will share,
It made no sense; once again I looked to the woman who had bought my Old Lady.
She smiled a smile of knowing,
Was my illusion mere fancy or did it bare more truth then fiction.
This Lady, new, not different came to me, with tenderness and care brushed a fleck
of dust from my brow.
Leaned in close and whispered the future is ours the past is gone,

Today as I stretch arms folded behind my head with a smile piercing upon her face as
she
Looks naked from our window now only seeing me.
I remember less and less of our second meeting when I looked upon me in my maids
uniform standing behind and to the left of my lady love in the painting that is now
seen only in private.
Our in a sense Dorian Gray,
History true in all its beauty does have a wicked sense of humor,
Those that are together with love will always seek out each other and the only power
stronger then death,

Is love!

The Sock
Written November
1998
Upon the Car rests, one shoe,
Standing upon the hill memories flood past my minds eye,
I remember the sound of metal,
Memories of that tragic night,
With tears in my eyes,
Hurt of his UN -wiliness to accept, unable to understand,
Memories of his words,
Echoing in my ears,
The cold look in his empty eyes,
Unable to accept our love,
She was my heart, my PASSION,
Searched long for finely we found hope,
Then like HELL breaking loose,
Peace was gone,
Trying to fight for her,
Thorough his anger he pulled the revolver he carried,
Funny you don’t hear the gun,
It seems to be bigger then the moon,
Blocks out all else in your vision,
When it rips its way home, its more shock then pain,
I heard her scream!
When I came to, they were GONE.
GONE, GONE!
Holding my side, tears in my eyes,
Blood seeping from me, my life slipping from me,
Nothing matters anymore,
Alone again,
So Alone,
Then I know not how I stood upon that hill,
Bending down I picked up a sock,
Standing up, I felt her hand in mine,
Tears burst forth; it was like coming home,
Both dead, peaces forever,
No one could object, or hurt us again,
No longer alone,

Val Littlewolf
Copyright ©2004 Val Littlewolf

Walnut Hill
By Val Little Wolf

High on a hill down a lonely bit of road sits and old brickhouse,
Seeking refuge wandering down a road of dirt and stone,
I happened as if on an adventure finding an old familiarfriend.
The turn off the road of Valley Burg heading toward StonyMan,
A small hamlet wasted from time it stands.
Upon Walnut Hill Road a mere rock throw upon this road the turnlies,
A home once own by a family name of Prince.
The lane whines gently like a melody of Chopin’s not like acadence from a long
forgotten war.
The road starts toward the brick home that calls me from a timein another re-
incarnation.
I know this place, I feel it serge through me like a forgottencall.
My hand rests, gently upon the wall of the little cemetery.
The most predominate stone close to the earth rises theintensity of power held
earthbound the grand old lady’s protectionfor her home still guards this land.
Back in Georgia my little Geo we ride the 70 feet toward thehouse fierce and Private,
She shouts, but not “Go Away”,
I feel welcome Home; I know this house from the ground I standupon;
To the stairs curiously pulls me up the steps as mystery playswithin my senses.
The death that occurred here spirit holds this house.
Touching a window pain,”Bam it was as if I was forced back fromthe pain of the
window.”
A Jab had tingled it’s way through my finger tips. Upon the wallmany pictures hung.
I haven’t these three years traveled by this grand ole Virginiahome.
Delight of her holds me captive, This Grand ole lady has knownmuch.
Over two hundred years she has stood, proud, faithful waitingher fallen dead.
Of all the homes near Luray, Va. That hold me spell bound it isshe who has
captivated my soul and spirited me away.
This house, serine bound to the future held by the past. It ishere that I long to sit
upon her porch. To be one in spirit withthe one that still remains here.

“Walnut Hill”3/24/2005 7:22:50 PM

By Val Littlewolf (2001)

She stands

Smell of the fall all around,

Leaves blowing circles,
Squirrels storing nuts,
The old house built in 1779,
Stands the test of time, a reminder of years goneby,
Like a castle, my castle!
Towers watching towers keep.
The wind rustles throw a pulled apart old tattered from agecurtain.
In the quick of my eye as if within a breath, shestood.
Etched within a moment in time,
My air stopping in gulps, she was naked from head totoe.
Her eyes rested on something, but...
They saw not the wandering poet standing upon the groundlooking up,
People the day before had spun a yarn to me of a Grand oleLady,
Who with held much in the story of a house?
She wasn’t located upon Beacon Hill,
The cliffs around her weren’t called Dover.
Here’s built this house where time did not farewell,

They told me of her lady and her lost love,

I was told much but not of the beauty that hailed her unseenvisitor,
They told of a spirit who could not fine rest.
She stood, with closer inspection near the scrap of curtainone nipple exposed,
Sorrow forms into a frown upon her lovely darkbrow,
Ebony as evening, lovely, taut breast tantalize mygaze,
Then as if a door shut she was gone.
So realistic was my vision and memory so clear when Ireached my door,
Grabbing paper and pen I sketched this lady,
Darlene, beautiful, black woman captured my heart andsoul,.
It was as if the memory of her had been lost to me now toreturn,
New and fresh,

An irrational realty holds me, wet with thoughts of herwithin my bed,

I would wait and watch, more praying for her to return thennot,
I finally came to the truth of the matter I cared less tolook upon her then I did,
The dream of touching her, the mere thought of this coloredmy pale cheeks.
A fortnight had pasted nothing, no vision did Iview.
Then as if she knew what I wished for, hoped for she bid meenter her home.
For as surely as I wanted to see her again, I had no desireto enter her home,
Mustering my courage I lightly stomped up thestairs.

The eeriness that beckoned to me with the dampness of closedwindows and old air,
They Compelled me to feel physically sick.
Weirdness ran throw my body, down arms to my veryfingertips.
Then I shook and realized that I was just on the porch andthe coldness I held was an
old, doorknob.
It was like Halloween had returned; CREEK went the big oldoak door.
It was magic there I stood where time had justSTOPPED!
Somewhere deep in the house music played 1920’s flapper, TheCharleston”,
“What fun, I thought, why I didn’t know!
The sound of an Edison early twenties recordplayer,
Candles stood as if naked soldiers protected fromaging,
I lit one the light of it magically filled the entire hallwhere I stood.
The house appeared alive,
My teeth started to chatter, heart pounding trying to burstout!
My hair tingled like it does when someone is near,
My mouth that felt like to this point it had held the SaharaDesert, Went Wet,
The again so, so very dry,

With an invisible WHOOORRROOSH the fire sprang tolife.

Boy howdy I was in need of a seat,
The needed chair was made ready to ketch me as I naturallysat down,
A near piano’s keys rippled to life.
I never to that point in life felt the real sense ofbelonging that that one instance
Filled within me to my very soul.
I now felt the spirit; she stood so very near me,
Her cold yet surprisingly firm fingers slid over my closedhand.
She wanted the companionship I so longed for.

With that one simple touch I saw how life had wrongedher.
A cold chill briefly consumed me then I rose and engulfedher to me.
I had forgotten or thought not of her not feelingme,
Thought nothing that she might vanish and leave me lost inthis world.
Within that one moment I felt all the love I had neverhad.
She caressed my face, words raced in my mind it’s not real,it can’t be!
But, then I had, had this internal battle waging within fordecades as well,
The cold, loneliness’ of being in someoneelses world, emptyand alone,
My own fingers gently brushed her cheeks, funny I thoughther face hot,
Burning my fingertips, the fire still blazed.
A salty tear ran from her eyes, just one,
It bridged our souls; she was no longer a ghost,
No longer a figment of my imagination,
This was beyond believe, what great fun I thought thespirits were having with me.
I watched her lovely mouth as I not gracefully mind you fellbackwards to land in a
heap.

Recalling the soundless word,” Don’t go! PleaseStay!

It was as if the air around us changed.
She hadn’t felt any emotion for a very long time, and thenshe was gone.
Looking up I felt a hand upon my shoulder, rising from thedirt keeping my eyes upon
the
Ground I hastened up.
I feared looking upon her for if she was just a memory Iwanted her to stay,
More then I wanted life itself,
Life held no charm for me if she were out of mygrasp.
How could I vanish the pain and tears of another in anothertime?
With a thunder to beat all others and a crash stronger theany the Great Spirit had
done the impossible.
The choice had been given to her,
The kiss was mine she stood so near,
So sensuous the kiss mine, hers, ours,
Steps behind us were heard; bright candles white andpristine filled the room.
My knees buckled as if kicked in the stomach I wished fordeath,
Faintly, I heard, “Hello, Hello!”
Slowly I looked up,
She stood there, “Thank God I said”,
“I’m dead!” I wasn’t my angel was human,
She said that she had just inherited the old house,
The sun filled the moments earlier fire warmedroom.
Upon the far wall a wall hanging hung of a standingportrait,
Painted in 1900,
Elizabeth Barrette Duggan, she went over and gently touchedthe plaque,
It’s me Echoed through my mind,
Standing slightly behind and to the left, there Istood,
How can that be!

My lady stands with me, hand in hand.

My eyes returned to the plaque it needs a good cleaning Ibarely make out
These words, “Not knowing what tomorrow will bring, ourhearts will share,
It made no sense; once again I looked to the woman who hadbought my Old Lady.
She smiled a smile of knowing,
Was my illusion mere fancy or did it bare more truth thenfiction.
This Lady, new, not different came to me, with tendernessand care brushed a fleck of
dust from my brow.
Leaned in close and whispered the future is ours the past isgone,
Today as I stretch arms folded behind my head with a smilepiercing upon her face as
she
Looks naked from our window now only seeing me.
I remember less and less of our second meeting when Ilooked upon me in my maids
uniform standing behind and to the leftof my lady love in the painting that is now
seen only inprivate.
Our in a sense Dorian Gray,
History true in all its beauty does have a wicked sense ofhumor,
Those that are together with love will always seek out eachother and the only power
stronger then death,

Is love!

The Sock
Written November
1998
Upon the Car rests, one shoe,
Standing upon the hill memories flood past my minds eye,
I remember the sound of metal,
Memories of that tragic night,
With tears in my eyes,
Hurt of his UN -wiliness to accept, unable to understand,
Memories of his words,
Echoing in my ears,
The cold look in his emptyeyes,
Unable to accept our love,
She was my heart, my PASSION,
Searched long for finely we found hope,
Then like HELL breaking loose,
Peace was gone,
Trying to fight for her,
Thorough his anger he pulled the revolver he carried,
Funny you don’t hear the gun,
It seems to be bigger then the moon,
Blocks out all else in your vision,
When it rips its way home, its more shock then pain,
I heard her scream!
When I came to, they were GONE.
GONE, GONE!
Holding my side, tears in my eyes,
Blood seeping from me, my life slipping from me,
Nothing matters anymore,
Alone again,
So Alone,
Then I know not how I stood upon that hill,
Bending down I picked up a sock,
Standing up, I felt her hand in mine,
Tears burst forth; it was like coming home,
Both dead, peaces forever,
No one could object, or hurt us again,
No longer alone,

Val Littlewolf
Copyright ©2004 Val Littlewolf