The Devils Angel...

This is a collaborative piece of my poetry, artwork, but Donna Kay's legs. All rights reserved by author/artist, E Stelling 2009. Be advised that if caught stealing any works off of this site or otherwise you will be prosecuted or end up on one of my recipes...

I am, and always will be...Mom

Grand Memories

The room was silent except for shadows of a dusty piano sitting near a window in the formal hall. The world outside was clueless at what lay behind over grown towering bushes, chestnut trees, part of the over crowded landscape of our Monument Gardens.

‘Baby’, as we called my daughters’ favorite grand and expensive toy, was still waiting for her fingers to breathe life back into its frame; its long sleek legs mixed with morning half light stretched across the floor each day like arms beckoning me to find its mistress. She had gone; never to return.

I could not bear to touch the cold wood, nor its ivory keys. To leave my prints where hers still lie was unthinkable. Their music still haunts this house, and every room you may enter. Sheets of paper sitting upon the stand; musical notes, compositions; pieces half finished; music that would bring tears to my still aching heart. The sounds we loved once; that brought life to now silent rooms have become so still.

Now and then knocks at the door suggest I was expected to give up these moments, and return to what continued on in their worlds. Not even the slightest tugs from strangers could take this almost lifeless body away from the grand past, walks in the garden, tea in the afternoon, balls lasting until morning light, and her smiles.

© E Stelling, 5/2009

Mothers & Music

Dreams awaken shadowy rooms, half light door ways, echos of laughter, and running feet. Fingers pelting out one note tunes that make ears scream in pain. Yellowed ivory becomes worthless pain. I longed to hear the music that would bring tears to my eyes. I longed to watch her favorite movies, to look into her loves face, and remember how loud her heart beat for this boy that still lives his life now as a man. Dreams awaken a mother who lived without music, and in her pain. Things remain...

© E Stelling, 5/2009

The Red Dashboard

Walking the cold streets of midnight to escape my feelings is not my cup of tea. I hate the cold. I hate the darkness. My feet pound the sidewalk, as these six inch heels I am wearing seem to tap out Morse code. Signals that I am getting closer to doing what I have wanted to do most of my life. Not sure of whom I am trying to warn. Each breathe I take sends out another kind of signal, as his cologne is brought back into my nostrils. Love, lust, the hatred tainted with memories of his presence.

God, how I wanted him gone from my life, and I would almost do anything. I pull my overcoat in tight around my neck, as chills run up and down my back. Could he be lurking around corners, and in the city's dark doorways? Paranoia has me walking even faster. A danger was present. Am I taking the wrong step towards disaster? I had a goal. The goal was to see this thing through. My car was not that far now, and I would be entering its warmth; it was the kind of warmth that would still sting with its chill, but would be a protection from the night.

Walking down late night streets was not something I like to do, but had become a way of life. I began to hear footsteps behind me. Could it be him, or her, his mistress? That bitch that would not leave me alone; his weapon he now used against me. Drinks with friends had reassured me that I was in no danger, but they did not understand how obsessed he had become. He wanted me, but yet he would not let go of her. The cold is getting to me, I thought. A light mist was coming towards me just ahead. Only moments, and I would safe.

The footsteps behind me grew louder. My heels only tapped louder as I began to run, fumbling with my keys, and then I saw the blue Mercedes. I can make it; it was just a few more feet. I get the alarm key ready just in case, but there is no need as I am safely inside the driver’s seat. The cool night mixed with my heated breathe has begun to fog up the windows, as I try and look outside, and around the car. Yes, the engine is started, but a shadow now over loams my mirror. He has found me once again. I wanted so badly to escape him. Damn his charm, his willingness to say anything to draw you into his world.

Reaching quickly into my purse I find the gun. The shiny new thirty-eight is loaded and ready if he tries. I feel the car begin to shake as I point the gun at the shadow. The rocking is making me so unsure of pulling the trigger, and then it stops.

Red begins to spill over the dashboard turning the darkness into a crimson scene of passion...