tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739005194832581482024-03-05T18:24:26.869-08:00Mark LewisMark Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15959005999869045413noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-873900519483258148.post-48637806828096840102010-09-13T14:38:00.000-07:002010-09-13T14:45:05.866-07:00The Faire Adventures of Buckingham Mouse<p class="MsoNormal">by Mark Lewis</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">©1991 Laughing Moon Productions & Mark Lewis</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Buck the Mouse lived for the faire.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was a place where the world of a country faire in renaissance <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region> during the reign of Queen Elizabeth the First was recreated. He loved how the faire rose like Brigadoon out of the mists and became real for at least part of the year. It was a place of fun and love and magic where he could go and be somebody else.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The faire was a treat for all of his senses with its colors and sounds and sights and smells. Everyone who had ever attended the faire came away with powerful and lasting memories.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He felt as though he belonged there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Buck had attended many faires in previous years for they had built one of the stages right on top of his home! He was timid of it all at first; just watching from the sidelines, but soon he had discovered the fun of joining in and being a part of it! He had been different characters before - a peasant, a soldier and a merchant.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He loved it all, but this year he was going to try something new!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the weeks before the opening, Buck had sneaked into the costume trailer to watch the costumers and peek at the patterns.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He borrowed some of the snippets of fabric, tidbits of thread and loose lace from the floors and took them home.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He then spent hours and hours getting his new creation ready. This costume was going to be his favorite!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He had created for himself an upper class tunic with lace at the throat and cuffs and a hat with the long plume.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"The only thing I'm missing," he said as he admired himself in the mouse-length mirror, "is a sword at my side!"<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As he put out his light he secretly said to himself, "Tomorrow, I shall be known to all the world as Buckingham Mouse!" </p> <p class="MsoNormal">That morning, he was the first at the front gate to hear the speeches and cheer as the faire was pronounced "Open to all!" He ran ahead of the crowds with his eyes shining and shouted at the top of his mouse-lungs, "Huzzah for the Faire!"</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That day he danced in a kilt with the Celts, tried not to get soaked by the Washer Women, shopped the jewelry and crafts markets, was astonished by the jugglers, listened to the Gypsy palm and card readers, cheered the horses and riders in the arena, sang sweet harmonies with the a a capella minstrels, slaked his thirst at the drink stands, and then ate until he bloated himself at the food booths!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Upon awakening from an impromptu nap, Buckingham found himself surrounded by swashbucklers, so he joined in with their bawdy songs and ballads. Then, wandering to one of the stages, he sat on a bale of hay and laughed at the performance, mimicked William Shakespeare, booed the Spaniards, cheered the hero and mustered and blustered with the captain of the military.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was a very full day indeed!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just before the Queen's show there was a hubbub and a broo-ha-ha!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Buck ran up to hear the news that the Queen's ring was missing!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A search was conducted but no one could find it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And to make matters worse, the procession was about to begin!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"The show cannot wait!" said the Queen.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>"We shall do without! Carry on!"</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The drums and trumpets heralded the beginning of the parade!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All of the military guard and the nobles marched off in order.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The chair-bearers lifted the Queen's chair and the procession wound it's magnificent way toward the main stage and the waiting crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As the hustle of bustling feet cleared, Buckingham saw something flash in the straw where the chair had set!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He skipped over and cleared away the hay.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As he did, the sun flashed off of the huge ruby in the Queen's ring, dazzling his eyes!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He had found it!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It had slipped off and rolled down under the chair!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He tried to pick it up but it was too cumbersome and heavy to carry!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As he lifted it, he lost control of the ring and it suddenly slipped down over his head and around his body!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He was trapped!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Then, in a flash of brilliance, Buckingham took a deep breath and the ring held fast around him like a jeweled saddle!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There was no time to lose; The Queen must have her ring!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Buckingham Mouse ran to catch up with the procession, but by the time he reached them they were already on stage!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Buckingham paused for only a moment and then dashed straight down the center aisle, up the stage steps and betwixt the men-at-arms!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>His sudden appearance caused all of the ladies of the court to squeal and shriek as he ran across the stage!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The noble gentlemen tried to halt Buckingham, but he eluded them all.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The Mayor became flustered and dropped his ale cup!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The Sheriff tripped over his sword! All was in chaos!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Buckingham ducked, skittered and finally leapt up directly into the lap of the Queen!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She took him up into her purple-gloved hand, as she stood and commanded, "Hold!"</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Everyone fell silent.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"What is this?" she said, lifting Buckingham for all to see.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"It is a mouse, your grace." said one of the gentlemen courtiers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"I have eyes, my lord!" said the Queen in an icy voice.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>"But look hither, he is dressed in the finest of clothes and..."<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Buckingham turned in her hand, " ... my ring!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He has my ring!" </p> <p class="MsoNormal">All in the court gasped!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The queen took hold of the ring, but it would not budge off of Buckingham!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In a wave of embarrassment, he realized what was amiss and exhaled; raising his arms and the Queen gently slid the ring off of his body.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Everyone murmured his or her approval as once again <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> slid the ring home onto the royal finger! A great sigh spread across the courtiers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Buckingham did a deep bow.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The Queen laughed aloud and said, “What is thy name?” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I am Buckingham Mouse, your royal highness.” He replied with a tremulous voice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"We must reward our small hero."<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She turned to one of the lords and commanded of him, "Give me your sword!"</p> <p class="MsoNormal">With a look of disbelief, he reached to unsheathe his sidearm.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Not that sword...!" said the Queen as she stepped closer to the noble.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She reached out and removed the miniature sword-shaped pin holding a kerchief to the breast of his tunic.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>"...This sword!"<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The nobleman's handkerchief fell to the stage and he retrieved it in a huff. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Kneel, my little man!" commanded the Queen. Buckingham doffed his cap as he did so in her hand.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Then, Elizabeth Gloriana, Queen of England and Empress of the High Seas touched him on each shoulder and on the head and said, </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I Knight thee Sir Buckingham Mouse - Knight of the Ring and Defender of the Faith!”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A murmur of awe rippled through the audience.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Every one of my Knights must have a sword!”, she continued.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“We present this one to thee with our deepest thanks.” and she handed the tiny weapon to Buckingham as his very own!<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Lord Mayor stepped forward and cried, "My Lords and Ladies, commoners, all, raise your voices in three lusty cheers for the newest Knight of the Realm, Sir Buckingham Mouse!"</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Buckingham blushed and bowed to the crowd as the three, thunderous cheers echoed in his ears!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That night, by firelight in his snug, mouse house, Sir Buckingham Mouse listened to the storyteller on the stage above him and admired his new sword that hung above his mantelpiece.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He rolled over in his bed and sighed a tired sigh as he drifted off to sleep, looking forward to another renaissance adventure at the faire!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The End</p>Mark Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15959005999869045413noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-873900519483258148.post-23659966583057062982010-03-25T19:25:00.000-07:002010-03-25T19:27:42.534-07:00My NightlightHere is a small poem I found whilst digging through some files.<div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">My Nightlight </div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>My nightlight glows like angel vespers, </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Soft and sweet there burning bright.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Silent songs with loving whispers,</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Keep me safe all through the night.</p></div></div>Mark Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15959005999869045413noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-873900519483258148.post-21481071539402156352008-10-25T15:47:00.000-07:002008-11-18T18:21:23.160-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqsrL_230qFznZazYjTFaC3ZK7EvLj7kolGlHTo7DRYrfRYST_5tff0JPta7-tvM-5uUeUdmZHzYyk_20N37aRASUszBBUDzKcsrex2krTfVH65wq3e6nAm1-c7GhGRBOoZ0RqZijTHh0/s1600-h/VegeLadyWood.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqsrL_230qFznZazYjTFaC3ZK7EvLj7kolGlHTo7DRYrfRYST_5tff0JPta7-tvM-5uUeUdmZHzYyk_20N37aRASUszBBUDzKcsrex2krTfVH65wq3e6nAm1-c7GhGRBOoZ0RqZijTHh0/s200/VegeLadyWood.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261482316612537426" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><span>As an intro, a little background on this story:</span><br /><br /></span>My eldest daughter is a highly sensitive person. She is different. She has always had a difficult time in this world - sounds are too loud; crowds are too close; emotions are too intense.<br /><br />It was especially hard for her when she was in the 4th grade because everyone was "clique-ing", and, because she is different, she was being "cliqued-out". She would come home from school in tears and I would sit and listen.<br /><br />You see, now that I am in my "Late Youth" I have discovered the secret of how to be the Dad of daughters. As dad, you are not supposed to "fix" it - you are just supposed to listen.<br /><br />So I sat, and listened, and my heart broke because I remembered what a hard time <span style="font-weight: bold;">I</span> had when <span style="font-weight: bold;">I</span> was in 4th grade because <span style="font-weight: bold;">I</span> was that same kid - I am still that same kid.<br /><br />So, I wrote this story for me, and for her, and for everyone else who is a little different. Because it is good to be "different".<br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></div><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Vegetable Lady</span></span><br />by<br />Mark Lewis<br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The Vegetable Lady lives down our street.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Her flowers and gardens are always so neat.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And the love of her plants is never discreet.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">That’s why she’s the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">She’s tall and she’s pretty, with hair like a storm.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Her gardening clothes are all comfy and warm.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And the dirt on her knees is always the norm,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">For the hard-working Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">We see her each morning on our way to school,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Singing and weeding with her digging tool.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">To be in the garden seems always the rule,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">For the wonderful Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The proof of her skill ’s in the baskets she brings,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Filled with squash fit for emperors and cabbage for kings.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">With carrots and turnips and peppers on strings.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">What a treat from the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">One day it was cloudy. I was cranky and cold.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">My sweater was droopy. My socks were too old.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Home from school past her garden on my bike I rolled.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And I looked at the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Her eyes were all shiny, her cheeks like a rose - </span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Her hat on her head and her glasses on nose.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And I looked and she looked. I was pale I suppose.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">“What’s wrong?” asked the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I got off my bike and walked in through her gate</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I plopped down beside her not feeling too great.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Like a ball loosing air, I began to deflate,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">As I said to the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">“First I fell down … and all the kids laughed at me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Then I messed up a test - Then a pop fly got past me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">This whole ding-dong day has been one big catastrophe…</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I give up, Mrs. Vegetable Lady.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Well, she sat down beside me right there in the beans.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Dried off my cheeks, wiped my tears on her jeans.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">She hugged me and whispered, “Life’s tough so it seems.”</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">“Walk with me.” said the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">She showed me her cucumbers, showed me her peas,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Zucchini, Swiss chard, watercress and fruit trees.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">“There’s something in common amongst all of these.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Can you tell?” asked the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">“Each of these things grows with sunlight and toil.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And to help them to grow and to sprout and uncoil,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">A bit of manure ’s mixed into the soil.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Stinky stuff.” quoth the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">So when in your life you feel clouds in your face.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And you’re down in the dumps, feeling blue like this case.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And it feels like manure ’s all over the place.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Think of this.” said the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">“The thing to remember when you’re feeling low,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Is bad stuff ‘s going to happen - but it helps you to grow!</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">So learn from it - thank it - and soon you will know,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">You’ll be better.” said the Vegetable Lady.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Well just then the clouds parted, and down through the trees,</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Came a warm ray of sun on a warm-scented breeze.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I jumped up and I hugged her! (She was still on her knees.)</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">“Thanks a lot, Mrs. Vegetable Lady!”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The Vegetable Lady lives down our street</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Her flowers and gardens are so neat</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">And we wink at each other each time that we meet.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">She’s my friend. She’s the Vegetable Lady.</span>Mark Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15959005999869045413noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-873900519483258148.post-33272019345551911532008-10-25T15:30:00.000-07:002008-10-26T08:19:48.858-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTw2j5tFC-IB0EU8-mVlIhicfZjOuL0JB4lobu1t2BftxfvrQJmWRGCwBhuq86eVTeAlu0PXwvaKfdpzpcRzklcDU2mcsXntWFCKGItsQtUF0tkNd5LA3d5xkRv0BBivmusW_BIolDwXI/s1600-h/TeaKettleWind.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTw2j5tFC-IB0EU8-mVlIhicfZjOuL0JB4lobu1t2BftxfvrQJmWRGCwBhuq86eVTeAlu0PXwvaKfdpzpcRzklcDU2mcsXntWFCKGItsQtUF0tkNd5LA3d5xkRv0BBivmusW_BIolDwXI/s200/TeaKettleWind.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261482572465843234" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I live in the Upper Left Coast of the USA. One fall-ish day, the wind was blowing outside and I decided it was time for tea. As I sat and listened to the kettle getting read to boil, this story steeped into my imagination.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">The Tea Kettle Who Thought He Was the Wind</span></span></span><br />by<br />Mark Lewis<br /><br /></div>The wind outside was blowing a “Cup-of-Tea” afternoon.<br /><br />She filled the Kettle with cold water; lighted the burner; set the kettle on the stove and went to find her book.<br /><br />“Watch out for me!” clicked the Kettle, warming up.<br /><br />“Don't get all stirred up!” spoke the Spoon.<br /><br />The Kettle wheezed and whistled, popped and clicked.<br /><br />“I am full of myself, and I am hot!” he simmered.<br /><br />The Salt & Pepper began to shake.<br /><br />“Don't worry.” said the Spoon.<br /><br />“Aren't you afraid?” steeped the Tea, infused with fear!<br /><br />“No,” smiled the Spoon, “I've been in hot water before!”<br /><br />“He's being such a pain.” whispered the Window.<br /><br />“What was that?” hissed the Kettle!<br /><br />"Oh ... nothing!" replied the Curtains timidly, drawing back!<br /><br />The Kettle bubbled and rolled, louder and louder!<br /><br />“Oh no ... ” rattled the Teacup!<br /><br />“I'm right behind you , dear!” said the Saucer.<br /><br />And then, boasting and blustering at a full boil, the Kettle shouted,<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">“I am stronger than the Wind!”<br /><br /></span></div>He whistled and sputtered, seethed and steamed!<br /><br />“I'm frightened!” said the Sugar Bowl sweetly, covering her ears.<br /><br />The Creamer tried to separate himself.<br /><br />The Teapot ducked under her cozy.<br /><br />Finally, the howling Kettle fogged the kitchen window and laughed!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">“Ha! Ha! Ha!”<br /><br /></div>The Wind, who had been listening, had heard enough!<br /><br />He pushed open the kitchen window, rattled about the pots and pans and blew out the fire under the braggart!<br /><div style="text-align: center;">“Pipe down!" whistled the Wind.<br /></div><br />“He really burns me up!” said the Stove turning off the gas to be safe!<br /><br />Red-faced, the Kettle cooled his heels.<br /><br />Everyone in the kitchen cheered!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">“Hooray!”<br /></div>“What a bully!” scolded the Milk.<br /><br />“Oh, Spoon,” crooned the Dish! “Run away with me!”<br /><br />“Perhaps, when the cow jumps over the moon!” replied the Spoon.<br /><br />And the moral of the story is:<br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:180%;">Beware of being boastful<br />when you are simply full of hot air.</span></div>Mark Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15959005999869045413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-873900519483258148.post-55247281895128771932008-10-16T20:46:00.000-07:002008-10-16T20:57:37.775-07:008 o'clock and All's Well<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">This story came out of a very intense daydream I had about 30 years ago. I saw it all as if I was living it. It poured out of me in this format with very little editing needed.<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-size:180%;">8 o'clock and All's Well</span><br />by</span><br />Mark Lewis<br /></div><br />I see a warm wood dark brown cabin, filled with light, hiding high in the wild.<br /><br />You sit close by in wool wrapped quiet reading.<br /><br />A fire sings softly to itself within the hearth.<br /><br />I stand from my story-strewn worktable and stretch as I roll down my plaid, flannel shirtsleeves. I walk to the French doors and open them.<br /><br />As I step out onto the porch, the winter welcomes me and teases every seam of my shirt as if to say, "Where is your overcoat?"<br /><br />The view down the valley is wall-to-wall white with chimney-born serpents of smoke licking at the quieting sky.<br /><br />A Jay, with his formal blue tails intact, arrives a bit over dressed for dinner at our bird feeder suspended from the eves of the cabin.<br /><br />The world below winds away slowly into sunset.<br /><br />The snow crunches cold between my fingers as I lean forward onto the porch railing and fling my breath on the wings of mists into the twilight.<br /><br />I inhale a deep sigh and with it comes the colors of the winter - the pine, the snow, the stillness and the clean. I hold that rainbow of scents within me.<br /><br />I close my eyes and listen to my heart as it beats out a sure and steady life within me. With my eyes still closed, I exhale and I hear my heartbeat chime in time with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.<br /><br />A wint'ry wind whistles past my ear, tugs at my hair and tries to snuggle it's icy cheek under my beard.<br /><br />Then I feel your hands on my face as you "shoo" the vagabond breeze from your special place under my chin. I open my eyes to find you standing close beside me.<br /><br />As my arm circles about you, you cup up closer to me and wrap your warmth around my waist. We stand as one and listen as the twilight sings the anthem of the evening which, in turn, ushers Night into his throne of darkness.<br /><br />The stars chuckle holes in the fabric of the sky and the warp and woof clouds thread off to sleep.<br />I turn to you and we look into each other. Your eyes hold secrets soft and safe and I would gladly drown therein.<br /><br />You take my hand and lean up on tip-toe to my ear. With warm words you whisper,<br />“Tea's ready.”<br /><br />“I love you ...”, says I and your kiss catches the "..ou" of you and we stand forever in that moment.<br /><br />Night smiles down to us as we turn and re-enter the warmth.<br /><br />The cat sniffs the last threads of night as the door hushes home and the grandfather calls out,<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">“Eight o' clock, and all's well.”<br /></div>Mark Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15959005999869045413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-873900519483258148.post-14155659454816276832008-09-17T11:56:00.000-07:002008-10-04T17:21:26.122-07:00The Story of Word PicturesI believe that every human is a storyteller because every human has a story to tell.<br />And, every one of my stories has a story.<br />This one - <span style="font-weight: bold;">The Story of Word Pictures</span> - is no exception.<br /><br />The story behind this story is that I was "18-long hair-Volkswagen bus-traveling-through-Canada". (Yes, it is all hyphenated.) It was 1972 and I was sitting by a lake in the Canadian Rockies. My Muse came to me in the quiet and gave me this poem Word-for-Word. It just poured through my pen onto my pad - complete.<br />All, that is, except for the last line, which took me a year to create.<br />This is the story I use to explain how my process works and from where the stories come.<br /><br />It is how I begin this Story Telling Blog.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;">The Story of Word Pictures</span><br />Mark Lewis<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Copyright 1972 Mark Lewis and Laughing Moon Productions - All Rights Reserved</span><br /></div><br />Sit down beside me,<br />I'll tell you a story.<br />Of beautiful women,<br />and men who are bold.<br /><br />The kind of a story,<br />to help you remember.<br />The wonder of childhood,<br />Before we grew old.<br /><br />A Story of Word Pictures,<br />Of sulfur and tin.<br />Of fern banks and forests,<br />That you can hide in.<br /><br />Of little, brown people,<br />As tall as your knees.<br />Who walk very quickly,<br />Through doorways in trees.<br /><br />Spires of moonlight.<br />Shells on the beach.<br />The soft, silent sermons,<br />The butterflies preach.<br /><br />A small, Elfin Maiden,<br />In spiderweb gowns.<br />Goes gliding right past you,<br />One foot off the ground.<br /><br />The old, learned Wizard,<br />Whose mist-shrouded tower.<br />Watches his watches,<br />Chime hour-on-hour.<br /><br />And wait for the wind,<br />To come running up fast.<br />And watch as his footprints,<br />Go past in the grass.<br /><br />So, think of a feeling,<br />From when you were younger.<br />Now, give it a color,<br />Or call it by name.<br /><br />Then pull up the covers,<br />And keep your head under,<br />And smile at the darkness,<br />And know who's to blame.<br /><br />So, if you can gather,<br />The pictures I scatter.<br />Like daisies in sunlight,<br />You weave into chains.<br /><br />Then we'll be the ones,<br />Who will look for the rainbows.<br />When others think only,<br />Of clouds when it rains.Mark Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15959005999869045413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-873900519483258148.post-91531794580840364012008-09-17T08:05:00.000-07:002008-10-03T10:15:21.419-07:00The Ballad of the Bog<span style="font-weight:bold;">The Ballad of the Bog</span> came to me while I was thinking about classic ballads and the nature of being a troubadour. It is the story of a haunting. I refer to it as "An ancient, English ballad the I wrote about 20 years ago."<br /><br />My good friend Craig Coulter and I turned the poem into a song which we performed in our act, Coulter and Lewis. We finished writing it at 12:00 midnight, on Friday the 13th, under a full moon. Yes, we had a little "inspiration"!<br /><br />The lovely and talented Kate Price recorded The Ballad of the Bog on her album, <span style="font-style:italic;">Isle of Dreaming</span>.<br /><br />Let me know what you think.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Ballad of the Bog</span><br />Mark Lewis<br />©1985 Laughing Moon Productions All Rights Reserved<br /><br />The ruins stood within the bog,<br />The folk knew not from whence they came.<br />A rumor floated in the fog,<br />Of a white and wistful, ghostly dame.<br /><br />‘Twas said she prowled the ruined walls,<br />and all the while bemoaned her fate.<br />Down crumbling, moss-encrusted halls,<br />Her voice would echo and relate.<br /><br />Now no one common dared go near,<br />This spirit-place, all brown and gray.<br />For all who ventured ran with fear,<br />And quaked with faces made of clay.<br /><br />A stranger heard the village tell,<br />The tale of spectre, moss and stone.<br />From stories heard around the well,<br />He’d see it for himself - alone.<br /><br />He found within the haunted place,<br />A maiden, sleeping very sound.<br />With dark hair streaming ‘cross her face,<br />And falling tangled to the ground.<br /><br />He slowly crept up to her side,<br />And bet his ear unto her chest.<br />And life within her did reside,<br />A faint heart-beat within her breast.<br /><br />The wind then moved the cloud aside,<br />Which made the moon reveal her face.<br />He jumped behind a wall to hide,<br />As light filled up the horrid place.<br /><br />And as he watched with fullest awe,<br />An evil mist fell from the stones.<br />And uttering words of ancient law,<br />It settled down into her bones.<br /><br />Her eyes shot wide! She sat upright!<br />A flame of yellow burned insane.<br />Her moaning filled the frightened night,<br />And echoed through the halls again.<br /><br />He froze stock-still as she went by,<br />He prayed she would not see him there!<br />No human looked from out her eyes,<br />It was a demon’s fiery stare!<br /><br />The specter heard the church bells toll,<br />and stopped the maiden’s sad lament.<br />And with a scream it left her soul,<br />And she collapsed, her body spent.<br /><br />The evil mist then pulled away,<br />And wisp-ed back from whence it came.<br />The night seeped back without delay,<br />And silence then held court again .<br /><br />The plan was now set in his mind,<br />Without a sound he rode away,<br />And left the ruins far behind,<br />Before the breaking of the day.<br /><br />He knew just what he had to do,<br />There were no doubt-clouds n his eye.<br />‘Twas clear to him as morning dew.<br />He’d rescue her, or he would die.<br /><br />His father’s sword he buckled on,<br />And pulled the belt tight at his waist.<br />He knew that what would come anon,<br />Would find him live or shroud-encased.<br /><br />The day was spent in plans and schemes,<br />The hour now was growing late.<br />Then armed with naught but sword and dreams,<br />He rode to meet what lay in wait.<br /><br />He gathered up the maiden and,<br />Removed her to the open air.<br />And laying down upon the sand,<br />He took her place and waited there.<br /><br />The time was nigh - the Mist arrived,<br />And took it’s evil, alien shape.<br />With lengthy neck and bulbous eyes,<br />He realized there was no escape!<br /><br />With gruesome gait and glow insane,<br />The specter hung o’er where he lay.<br />A sudden thought went through his brain -<br />He might ne’er see the light of day.<br /><br />He grabbed the mist - it screamed with hate,<br />And twisted in his surly grip.<br />He drew his sword and struck his pate,<br />And cross his glove its green blood dripped!<br /><br />The maiden woke when it was dead,<br />And ran into the young man’s arms.<br />His heart reached out to her and said,<br />I’ll keep you safe and out of harm.<br /><br />The EndMark Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15959005999869045413noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-873900519483258148.post-84533791293977926832008-09-16T21:28:00.000-07:002008-09-16T21:36:11.030-07:00Beginnings<span style="font-size:130%;">And it came to pass</span> that, upon reaching my "<span style="font-style: italic;">Late Youth</span>", I have decided that having my words locked away in a file drawer and turning to mummy-dust will not work anymore. Ergo ... this blog. This will be a place for me to put all of the stories, poems and thoughts that I dare to share with the world. I hope that this Muse-eum fulfills its purpose - to put the gifts I have received out into the world where they can do their work.Mark Lewishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15959005999869045413noreply@blogger.com3