LOVER LOST
She was tall and elegant and languid,
A beauty with pale blonde hair
And wistful blue eyes.
He was a great jazz guitarist
Who had read ten thousand books
And traveled ten thousand miles.
He had the wisdom of ancient men,
Always nurturing her thinking
And broadening her mind.
Weaned from cartoon channels,
She had a tender and seductive body
And yet, the child in her never grew up.
Transparent innocence,
Great compassionate mind,
She always clung to him,
Seeking for love and kisses
And especially for his attention.
Nestling close to him,
She listened to the fables
Of La Fontaine
Which he narrated so beautifully to her.
She would look at the snow-capped
Mountain range while he smoked his pipe,
Releasing spirals of smoke in the air,
Listening to the silence of the woods.
Sometimes, they would sail to deserted beaches,
Basking in the sun with bodies naked.
He would apply jasmine scented oil
To her back and buttocks,
Her soft shoulders, and when
His hands touched her soft breasts,
She felt a breathlessness
She had never felt before.
The sun felt shy like a virgin
And hid his blazing face
Behind the clouds rolling and stopping
At this sensuous sight.
Sometimes, on moonlit nights,
They would make a bonfire
On the shore, far away from
The melancholic tinkling of bells.
He would make tea for her, Darjeeling tea.
While drinking the tea, they'd watch
The whales diving and surfacing.
Lost in the dimness made by stars,
He would touch her velvety legs.
Swept away on a tidal wave
Of sensuality, she'd come closer and closer,
And they'd make love till the early hours of the
morning.
One summer morning, he left her,
Leaving his guitar behind.
He simply disappeared.
And yet, the sweet melody
Did not change to a sad eulogy.
The sweet music of pain played on and on.
While the thunderheads
Rose above the horizon
And mounted with swift strides
Through the sky,
She thought of the father
She had lost in him,
More than the lover.
And she waited for him
With pain and a grief
Almost beyond bearing,
While the sweet perfume of promise
Filled the air.
Love On A Deserted Island -- Anthony Falbo
-- Betty Dodson
Jean de La Fontaine was one of the most popular poets of the 17th century. He was best known for the fables he collected and adapted into French free verse. The 12 volumes of "Fables Choisies" were published between 1668, when he was 47, and 1694, the year before he died at 74. Many of his lines became proverbial in French. The epistolary writer Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, marquise de Sévigné, compared them to "a basket of strawberries. You begin by selecting the largest and best, but, little by little, you eat first one, then another, till at last the basket is empty." However, his "Contes et nouvelles en vers" (tales), which established his early fame, were nearly as popular and were marked by their archly licentious tone; their 2nd volume was condemned by the police for its immorality.
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