TOUCH ME, LOVE

Veloma by Fabrizio Paterlini

Start music before you read.......
if you time it just right, you'll be amazed

Touch Me, Love



Touch me. love
In daylight sun
And midnight moon
With waves of song
And tides of tune

Touch me, love
With velvet fingers
And hands of steel
That reach to know
That seek to feel

Touch me, love
In my gown of lace
Skin soft as silk
In bed of satin
Sheets white as milk

Touch me, love
For with your touch
I am enraptured
You hold the key
My heart is captured

With every touch
 I'll give myself
And show you how
To fall in love
Just touch me now

Touch me, love
I wait for you
My soul delights
To taste your mouth
Here in the night

Touch me, love
I'll wait no more 
I need the heaven of the bliss
I need the joy that comes of wanting
I need the fire of your kiss

Touch me, love
I'll promise softly
 Forever more I'm yours to keep
And when we've loved and flames have dimmed
I'll nestle you in arms to sleep

Touch me, love
Oh, touch me, now
The dawn awakes and needs the fire
I seek your lips to once again
Touch me with love and sweet desire

Touch me, love
Forever dance me
In whispered dreams and shine of day
And I will hold you in my hands
And in this heart, you'll always stay.


(Touch me, love............
Touch me with fire........
My sweet, my song.......
My heart's desire..........)

;
;

©By Voo
June 21, 2017 
7:19 p.m.

I Don't Wanna Make Love With Anyone Else But You

by Eddie Rabbit

WHEN CAME THE RAIN

                                           

                                      

                                                           Play this music as you read

because the song inspired the poem 

When Came The Rain

 When came the rain
Our faces to adorn
As we stood around the wishing well
 On stone feet made forlorn

It sang like birds with magic songs
And touched us with a rare and gentle hand
And to our awe we felt the rush of blood
As stone became a woman and a man

 The gardens sprang forth flowers
 From their depths of earth so sweet
 And we danced in rain-dropped fragrance
 On our unused fragile feet

 The others watched in silence
 Wishing they were us
 No longer rooted to the ground
 But knowing that they must 

 And with hearts that pined and arms entwined
And human eyes to glance
 The shadows twirled us tenderly
 In the dance that lovers dance 

 Thunder bade us run for fear
 But we could feel no dread
 Not even when the lightning bolts
 Made shadows hide their heads

 Our eyes were locked and quite unwilling 
To look at sky or tree
 To await the face of morning sun
 Too full of you and me

 Mine was the face you sought to shine
 I was your sun and you were mine
 And love was there in brightest gleam
 In that shining hour of fulfilled dream

 For life was dead and we were dry
 Like scarecrows standing in the fields
 Who longed to know the touch of hands
 Who longed to know how human feels

 But stone heart cries were answered
 And heard above the pain
 Two granite statues wept for joy
 When there came the rain 

 That wondrous storm of dark midnight
 When the miracles arrived
 And the ravens sat upon our shoulders 
As we came alive

 Then they flew away to tell the tale
 Of magic, dream and chance
 While other statuary stood
 And watched us as we danced.

 ©by Voo 
June 20, 2017
12:58 a.m.

I DREAMED OF ORANGES

I Dreamed Of Oranges

I dreamed of oranges

In a white china bowl

On a brown teak wood table

In a small yellow kitchen.

I could smell the fragrance

Hanging in the sun beamed air

So sweet and tangy

I could almost taste them.

Checked blue curtains billowed

In the gentle morning breeze

The window was open

And somewhere a child sang softly.

I stood in the doorway, puzzled

Something felt so right

Something seemed so wrong

But I didn't know what it was.

My eyes caught the sight

Of a tiny baby shirt

Hanging on a clothesline

Swaying, swaying back and forth.

A dog chased a big black cat

Through tulip beds of red and purple

And in a moment of bravery

The cat turned and stood still as stone.

There were no cars, no radios

The world was strangely silent

Except for the wind blown lullaby

Of the faraway child.

The floor was cool on my bare feet

But it felt so good and comforting

I walked into the sun beam

And took a fruit in my trembling hand.

I peeled diligently in one long peel

Until I got to the last piece

And then it broke off and hit the floor

So loudly that it woke me up.

So sweet, so juicy, so tantalizing

I raised my dusty hand to my mouth

Lying there in the baked red desert

Dying of thirst and dying of longing.

I dreamed of oranges

In a white china bowl.

           

©by Voo

Aug 13, 07

10 p.m.

Play video at same time as you read the poem

 Ghost Song by Max Ablitzer

FLYBOY

Fly Boy

Fly boy flying through the air

Free and easy without a care

Through clouds and sun and pouring rain

Flying helps to ease the pain.

Fly boy comes and goes away

And I have no reason to make him stay

He smiles at my questions and makes no reply

Cause all that boy wants to do is fly.

Jets or gliders, no difference makes

Cause he'll be flying if he's awake

He says this world's too lonely and loud

And he feels at home there in the cloud.

Fly boy, he sees things

But he doesn't see

I wish that boy 

Would fly with me.

©by Voo 

December 2004

for Dirk

Aachoo Voo, PRIVATE EYE Episode 8

Aachoo Voo, Private Eye

Episode Eight

       I remember waking up on a Thursday morning and the whole damned world was in black and white. Black and white, as in a black and white movie. As dark and morbid and strange as Peter Lorre in “Mad Love.” I remember stretching my arms and looking toward my usually yellow striped bedroom curtains and thinking that it was still dark and that the moon was shining outside and that I had awakened much too early for my afternoonish tastes. I switched on the lamp that stood on the bedside table piled high with Raymond Chandler paperbacks and cat toys and phone numbers written on odd pieces of anything and everything. Manny the mouse peeked his little head out of his matchbox and looked at me sleepily, (he was a late sleeper too, as he stayed up half the night playing hide and seek with Weiner, his beloved arch nemesis) and looked at me, whiskers twitching.

I eyeballed the yellow room and noticed it wasn’t eyeballing me back. I knew something was off but so much of my life was off that a new kind of “off” couldn’t be immediately determined. I threw back the covers, hurried to the window and looked out at the neighborhood. Way down below I noticed Fred Meck the mailman delivering mail and I thought that was a funny thing to do in the middle of the night. Then I saw people rushing into Clapsaddle's carrying newspapers and men in suits jaywalking in traffic and women with shopping bags and cops arresting the usual suspects down on the corner and I said to myself, “What the h………..?!” So I pulled the window back down and went to the bathroom, rubbing my eyes as I stumbled down the hallway, tripping over various animals along the way.

I stared at myself in the mirror for a good three minutes before I realized that my face looked different. Then I turned round and stared at the room and then I scowled at Weiner who was standing there purring in the doorway with a puzzled look on his face. I also noticed that he was no longer bright orange but a darkish gray. The wallpaper was no longer pink with little red rosettes and gold champagne glasses. The towels were colorless. The floor was colorless. I was colorless. Heck, the whole apartment was colorless!! The only thing that looked normal to me was the parrot and he had never looked normal to me. I ran into the kitchen and slung the cover off his cage and he yawned at me and said in a menacing tone, “Yeah, whatdaya want? You askin’ for trouble, I’ll give ya trouble!” “What time is it?” I asked him stupidly and he shrugged and turned his back to me. “How should I know? I can’t see the clock from here.”

I ran to the living room and turned on the television set and waited for the tubes to heat up. I clicked on the radio and the news was starting. I listened nervously, wondering if there had been a Martian invasion or a new German threat or if God had suddenly decided to suck all the color out of the planet. Nothing. Just the usual. Stick ups and hold ups and blow ups and show ups. Crime in the streets and movie stars on the marquees. Governmental bores and glamorous gangsters. Death and taxes. Taxes and death. Nothing about the world going black and white and the sun hanging as pale as a Harvest moon over New York City at noon.

There was a tidbit that I almost missed about Si, the Shellac salesman on the TV but it was nearly drowned out by the radio. I was staring out the window at a blue bird singing on the window sill who was no longer blue, (the bird, that is) and barely heard it but caught the tail end of the story. Said there had been new developments in the case and showed a big blowsy blonde covering her face and being ushered away by cops. She looked vaguely familiar. Distinctly vaguely familiar. Like the dame-down-the hallway-familiar. “What gives?” I said and shook my head. Then I saw my own face flashed for a moment across the screen but the sounds of Glenn Miller came blasting out of the radio and I couldn’t hear what they said about me. I snapped off the thing but it was too late. The newscast was over. And I had looked as black and white on the television as I had in my bathroom mirror moments before.

I turned off all the lights, pulled down the shades and jumped back into bed. I snuggled so far down under the covers that my long legs stuck out of the bed about two feet but I refused to pull myself back up on the pillows. I wasn’t about to believe that this wasn’t just a bad dream. Or a fever. I wasn’t buying this reality. No sir! This was merely the result of eating my mother’s week old caviar on month old soda crackers and that was all there was to it! I had cleaned out the Frigidaire in the middle of the night last night on a whim and what I hadn’t eaten, Weiner, Toulouse and the ferret had scarfed down. We had turned it into quite the little party.

Music was playing, the mouse flickered the light switch up and down, up and down, we finished off several half-full bottles of MiMi’s home made wine, we wore old New Year’s Eve party hats, at one point someone started a conga line, we ate unidentifiable bowls of leftover food, laughed a lot and generally made fools of ourselves while having a high ole time. The parrot kept threatening to call the cops but we ignored him and taped his beak closed and covered his cage with a Mexican serape and a pair of my old pajamas. But then, we usually did that on Wednesday nights.

I kept hoping that Lance would show up as he sometimes did at unexpected moments but he didn’t. I hadn’t seen him in quite a while, not since the zipper incident. He was always going off on trips, sometimes for weeks on end and hinting that he was working for the government. (Of what country, I had no idea) but I didn’t believe him. He was too, I don’t know, devil-may-care-ladies-mannish-come-hitherish-too-lazy-to-do-his-own-laundryish-ish, to me. He drank my coffee by the gallon, ate my bacon by the skillet full, borrowed my shampoo by the……..but I didn’t care. He entertained me and irritated the heck out of the parrot. He was always joking that the parrot acted like a jealous lover when he was around but I told him that the parrot was just a sorehead and had never gotten over being dispatched from my mother’s mansion.

 He found my apartment beneath his dignity and my various pets not worth his scorn. I did not consider him a pet. I considered him a pest and an intellectual snob. I didn’t want him and he didn’t want me. He worked for my mother and I aimed to prove it but so far, I was only armed with my suspicions. My mother insisted that she’d given him to me out of love (for me) and concern for (his) safety as her high bred Persian kitty cat kept trying to eat him but I had never seen that chubby little fur ball eat anything but filet mignon and catnip so I wasn’t buying that falderal. (One of my father’s words.) He was a spy, plain and simple. But he kept me on my toes.

I think the Si murder mystery was bothering me more than I cared to admit. I didn’t like the fact that those two cops kept hanging around outside watching my apartment while pretending to be badly dressed tourists from China. Who were they fooling? They didn’t even look Chinese. And the tall one with the white beard certainly looked nothing like a Chinese woman. I didn’t like the mysterious phone calls I kept getting either where no one said anything but I could hear them breathing. Of course, a couple of times, I knew it was the parrot calling my office because I recognized his snicker. But they were coming at all hours of the day and night now and only half of them were from my mother. I was worried. I smelled a frame up. I hadn’t killed that salesman and didn’t know who did but I had a bad feeling about the whole thing. Things didn’t add up. They never had. Mainly, because I had never been good in math but that was just the way it was.

 Not good at modeling, though I had given it a shot to please my mother, not good at dancing on stage (because I usually ended up falling off stage) not good at singing (except along with Larry, Curly and Moe) not good at being an obedient and respectful daughter, not good with high or low society, terrible at keeping boyfriends and driving. I didn’t know what I was good at, but I darned sure gave it my all! Nobody could say I didn’t give it my all! I guess private-eyeing was about the only thing I was good at but Lord knows, half of that success just turned out to be dumb luck. I did have plenty of luck, I couldn’t deny that. Good, bad or worse, I did have luck. I got that from MiMi and Poppi Voo, I think. They were full of it............ and I was their heir.

To be continued in Episode 9
somewhere, sometime......

Detective Yettiman in disguise

                                      

                                                                                                                                                       

      Detective Coyote (and his disguise in background)

                                          Fred Mecklenburg as 

                                     Fred Meck the mailman

MiMi and Poppi Voo

          ©By Voo Shining Stone