[Eadha Deora]

Time is a pack mule,
bad-tempered to boot,
his master a gypsy, slightly tipsy
but still all suave and slick-haired flourish,
a bargain of colour for every passerby
who is subject to his seductions and pleas,

cloths unrolled across the fareway,
travellers forced to stop and stare,
or step around in the mud

green copper banded with tarnished plate,
elixers and fixers unlabeled (untried!),
bells missing tongues like ghosts en situe,
but worst of all, a sin for his kind!--
violins unstrung . . . unsung.

"Ah" he leans in closer with a gaze,
eyes as embers from some everlasting flame
in a field of night, but without delight
"I only sell the instruments,
not the souls," face solemn with a foreign knowledge.
"If you want the soul in them,
you must seek the horned madman with his steed,
all quivering hands full of gut and blood,

he first put string to the devil's fiddle,
the fiddle so full of human desire
strewn from fine golden hair and from sinews of her heart
ripping life from her lips
from her he loved best, his perfect love."

Then wild the gypsy laughs full of despair,
and last he pulls out the fiddle of hell
strings silken as hair, so golden and pure,
and yet red as blood beating the ear,
crazy, revolting, and utterly alive,
with finger to fiddle he strikes up an air
that sinks into your bones, shackles of longing
long forgotten form again,
as gypsy melts into mule

--what then?

[Vorcla]

Wow.

I thought you didn't have anything new, Jenn! Did you write this that quickly? I'm impressed. How do you do it so quickly - and make it so good?

OKay - when I read your poems, I'm often transported to another world. This was one of those times. You have some incredible imagery in this one - and very detailed descriptions. I like your internal rhymes too - "gypsy...tipsy;" "unstrung...unsung."

Oddly enough, right before I read this, I was looking at a publicity photo of Bela Lugosi from the original "Wolf Man" movie, in which he played (oddly enough) a gypsy (who's also a werewolf). Your poem described him almost to a "tee." I'll have to send you a jpeg of it if I can find one, so you can see what I mean.

Loved it, hun.

[Eadha Deora]

haha, yes please email it me! ... the story of the Devil's Fiddle is not a new one, and is a true gypsy tale ... but I altered it. The original version I heard was that a young girl wanted nothing more in the world than to dance with a particular fine man on a fine horse who rode past her house every day. One day, he stopped and promised her she could, if she did everything he bid. Without thought (for she was a selfish girl) she agreed and she met him in the woods at midnight. He had built a great big fire and was laughing around it. Slumped to the side was her father, dazed and stolen from his bed. "Throw him into the fire!" the fine man said, eyes burning bright as hell. The girl did not hesitate to throw her own father into the fire because he had often ignored her and belittled her and she despised him. Then up out of the fire the fine man drew her father's bones, and with the bones he bent and shaped them into an odd shape. "Meet me here the next night" the fine man ordered, and the girl in her lust for him agreed. The next night, all was the same. The fire, the fine man laughing around it, and beside it this time lay her two brothers, dazed and stolen from their bed. The fine man grinned and said, "Throw them into the fire!" and she did, for she had no love for their tender years, how many times she had to change them and look after them, and she thought them an impediment to her life. And with a gurgle and a gleeful giggle, the fine man put his hands into the fire and drew out their pale white teeth, small and delicate and easily handled. He attached these with careful incantation to the neck of the strange boned thing he had made of her father. "Meet me here by next night, and do as I say, and you shall dance with me!" he reminded her. The selfish girl quivered and desired him and his fine ways. The third night, she arrived at the stroke of midnight and sure it was, the fine man stood there, the fire burning and beside it her mother, dazed and stolen from her bed. "Throw her into the fire!" the fine man commanded. The girl threw her own mother into the fire without a single thought, for she had no love for her mother, who she thought had worked her hard and laughed at her dreams of being beautiful and fancy. And with a burning fury, the flame devoured her mother and the fine man put his hands into it and drew out a red .. and beating ... heart .. and from this he unwound its sinews long and bloodied and carefully then he strung them to the teeth of her brothers over the bones of her father. It was a strange and evil-looking device, but beautiful and goodly too. With a sudden gleam he picked up a bone and began to touch it to the strings. With a scream and a shout, with a turn about, he vanished from the girl into the fire, smoke and noise and thunders from heaven. And she was left all alone. The selfish girl returned to her home, for nine long months she sat, the empty home where her mother had cooked, her father had built, her brothers had played. And not a single fine man on his fine horse passed outside her window. She thought herself betrayed, indeed, and swore to kill herself. Then one dark night when there was no moon and it turned to midnight hour, there came a sudden rumble and rattle, every door and window aflame. The house itself was on fire -- insane! She rushed outside to save herself, and who was there to grab her, but the fine young man on his fine dark horse, and he snatched her manic and mad. "I said you could dance with me if you did as I said!" and away they flew in the wind. Her eyes rolled back and her hair ripped off, and her soul fell threw itself to the earth. And when she hit the ground, she was in the wood with the fine man and a fire lit to the sky. He was dancing round it naked and unsound, and he grabbed her by her waist. She whirled round and round until dizzy she cried, and he picked her up (just a soul she was) and with one great shout, he exclaimed "You're all mine now!" and he placed her in the thing he made with the bones of her father and the teeth of her brothers and the heart of her mother. From within this thing, she could see their spirits, her father and her mother and her brothers trapped in the flames, cursing her and eating her, and with one great moan and a dirge of pain, she sang and sang. So the fine man, the devil, played the first fiddle, and if ever you see it played, beware, o young mortal of the devil's snares, which know the paths to our desires, who can take our songs and our dreams and our hopes and turn them into his tools. So whenever you hear the fiddle played, think, mortal, on humanity.

... that's my retelling as I remember it. It's not exactly the same I am sure, but the gist is there. I prefer my own poetic version! A gypsy who sold his love for the power of music.

[RENA HANDS]

Really I am not playing ‘follow the leader,’ nor follow Vorcla…lol I am however just going to New Posts and depending on the odd or even date, I choose my reads. So now I’ve come across another of your posts…

I think I’ve read a story similar to your explanation, but confess I don’t remember it totally. And your descriptions here are Superb!

The execution and illustration of blond ‘golden hair,’ is EXTRAORIDINARY!

Never I have nor can I remember such BEAUTY...

strewn from fine golden hair and from sinews of her heart
ripping life from her lips (BRILLIANT imagery!)

A 5/5 of without any doubt not that there’s any doubt when reading your writings.