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    Parker Owens
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

2019 - Spring - Into the Stars Entry

Voyageur - 1. Voyageur

Any errors, historical or otherwise, are mine alone.

I paddled on a northern lake

and mopped a weary brow;

my arms had started in to ache,

the wind blew o’er the bow,

for many miles I had to make

and waves through which to plow.

 

Far up ahead amongst the spruce

some comfort I might find;

a lean-to built so to induce

the traveler inclined

to rest awhile with loon and moose

if critters he don’t mind.

 

The northwest wind was not ashamed

to roar against my ear;

its voice of wilderness untamed

did naught to quell my fear

that by the waters I’d be claimed

and drownèd, disappear.

 

Now months of Sundays had I fared

a voyager with grit

for twenty summers had I snared

and prospered, I’ll admit;

no storm was going to make me scared

or press me now to quit.

 

So on I pressed through whitecaps high,

through rain that changed to snow,

weighed down by pelts and short supply

as fast as I could go

for with the darkness coming nigh

some respite I might know.

 

An endless age in tempest passed

before I saw my mark

where my canoe could be made fast

and I could disembark;

but where I’d hide from nature’s blast

another’s fire did spark.

 

Too wet I was to tarry there

while chaos seemed to reign,

so I approached the fire’s flare

to ask by speaking plain

if as a stranger we might share

protection from the rain.

 

The figure by the stone hearth stood,

alarmed in blazing eyes

reflected in the burning wood,

and such was his surprise

that he knew not I meant him good,

that much I could surmise.

 

I strained to speak with voice unused,

“It’s stormy out,” I said;

“perhaps a stranger much abused

could find a place to bed,

though I could cope if you refused,

I’d find someplace instead.”

 

The big man croaked, “You’re welcome, friend.

Come shelter from the storm;

I got room where you can unbend

and blankets to conform;

so hang your soaking socks on end

to let your feet get warm.”

 

Beneath the cloth that screened the rain

I took a step or two

and sniffed the air of his domain,

detecting something new;

for in a moment it was plain

he’d supped on rabbit stew.

 

“Come set you down, and I will heat

what’s left of supper here,

for though it isn’t much to eat,

my cooking has no peer;

so rest your bones and take a seat;

enjoy some evening cheer.”

 

While in my weary, wet estate,

I hardly paused to think

of why he did not hesitate

without a pause or blink

to offer fare to guests so late

of wholesome food and drink.

 

Where did he get this provender,

this taste of the divine?

I hardly thought such splendor

could spring in such design

to make the tongue surrender

midst cedar, spruce and pine.

 

Fatigue or some enchantment dire,

today I cannot tell:

but soon I thought I might expire

and yawns I could not quell;

my host removed me from the fire;

in blankets made me dwell.

 

Before he lay me down to sleep,

he stripped me of my clothes,

and said “I’ll hang these out to keep

a-drying, I suppose.

Wet underwear will surely reap

a cold in chest and nose.”

 

He piled furs up so I could rest

upon the cushioned ground,

still more he laid above my chest

for slumber safe and sound;

I had no wish to make protest

and soon in snooze was crowned.

 

And thus I slept as damned souls do,

till suddenly I woke.

Between the canvas and lean-to,

the stars and moonlight broke;

no storm remained to mar the blue

of heaven with a cloak.

 

Not only did celestial light

Then pierce my stupored brain;

a naked arm wrapped round me tight

my body to detain,

and down below, I felt a might

that little could restrain.

 

And at my ear, a whisper low

excited every sense;

a voice which said, “I hope you know

you mustn’t strain or tense,

for I have strength to overthrow

the strongest man’s defense.”

 

Perhaps he knew, but I think not,

that I would greet his thrust

not with a parry, as we’re taught,

but with a cry of lust,

for I received him as he sought,

not caring to adjust.

 

Was it some magic? I can’t say

what opened me to him

but even now, I know this day

that nothing can bedim

a joy that never goes away,

that filled me to the brim.

 

But when the morning light shone clear,

I woke and looked around.

No blankets, fire or stranger’s gear;

no sort of human sound

suggested a companion near

would ever there be found.

 

I searched the woods and on the shore

Despite what I could see;

my lover who had heretofore

led me to ecstasy

left me bereft with muscles sore

and much the mystery.

 

For I found neither track nor trace

to show he’d tarried there;

old ashes in the fireplace,

no scent upon the air,

but only where he’d laid his face,

three strands of silver hair.

 

Adventures as my journey spun

down rivers large and small

did I encounter on the run

to bustling Montreal,

and soon my trading furs was done,

for city life did pall;

 

I wandered down rue Notre Dame,

and back by La Commune.

I saw no trader in that rhomb

of streets that afternoon

resembling him who stole my calm

beneath the stars and moon.

 

So now I load my old bateau

to voyage far, and then

it’s to that northern lake I’ll go,

awaiting moments when

fair Selene and stars aglow

will bring him back again.

One never quite knows what can happen beneath the endless stars in the wilderness. Hope you enjoyed this tale. Thanks to @AC Benus for his help and advice in making this better.
Copyright © 2019 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

2019 - Spring - Into the Stars Entry
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Chapter Comments



1 hour ago, Parker Owens said:

Once the first two lines formed, the rest just flowed from the pen. It was uncanny, even if my notes proved unnecessary. I like your idea for Oregon Trail. It would indeed be epic. Thanks so much for making this better, and for your encouragement. 

No. 40 here is the fragment of the beginning of this Oregon Trail poem... :)

 

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8 hours ago, AC Benus said:

No. 40 here is the fragment of the beginning of this Oregon Trail poem... :)

 

Oh, this is good! 

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I love these types of longer poems … The Highyway Man and The cremation of sam McGee … wonderfully entertaining Parker!

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1 hour ago, Wayne Gray said:

Nicely done, Parker!  I love this, I really do.  Thanks for sharing it.

I’m so very happy you liked this. Not the way the story was supposed to get written, but sometimes things go that way. Thanks very much for reading and responding to this. 

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56 minutes ago, MichaelS36 said:

I love these types of longer poems … The Highyway Man and The cremation of sam McGee … wonderfully entertaining Parker!

Sam McGee was part of my growing up. Perhaps it whispered in my unconscious ear as I wrote. I’m very happy you enjoyed this! 

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Very nice work. It's not particularly easy to tell a decent tale in verse, and you pulled it off with excellence. The dreamlike quality is especially appealing, as are all dreams that make you sit back and sigh, and wonder. Thanks!

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18 minutes ago, Geron Kees said:

Very nice work. It's not particularly easy to tell a decent tale in verse, and you pulled it off with excellence. The dreamlike quality is especially appealing, as are all dreams that make you sit back and sigh, and wonder. Thanks!

You were most kind in your response. Thank you. It’s especially good that the kind of dream sense I’d hoped for worked. I m glad you liked this! 

Edited by Parker Owens
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I always have time for a ballad - they're part of my heritage too. I love the fable, the folktale elements in this. You could imagine it being recited and sung down the years in those places which were open to those who don't conform the society's norms. Thank you for this. 

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