Sunday, October 2, 2011

My take on Orlando by Virginia Woolf

It wrote this poem little under a year ago. At the time I was re-reading Orlando by Virginia Woolf. It remains one of my favorite stories and I will probably never fully understand it or the journey of self made by Orlando. I seek to understand all that Orlando learned and lived in the 300 plus years that he rather she lived. It is a lovely tale rich with the understanding of both sexes, their similarities and differences alike and all from the very same person. What would Orlando be now? and what would Orlando do now in a world without walls or privacy? Will anyone ever write anything as beautiful as Virginia Woolf. It is filled with the labor pains of life and a lover.Once again, I share with you my take on Orlando Part I by Virginia Woolf.


Orlando

Artiste denied

Bluest blood did flow through his veins

Twice Broken

Once abandoned by love

Once his art ridiculed by snobbery

He ascends into himself

Due by the cruelty of others.





Sasha

She appeared with party by sled

Traversing a frozen sea

Leaving her Russian land

and northern tongue.

A vision dressed in Oyster colored velvet

and greenish colored fur

Blush cheeks and darkest eyes

Strange stunning features

Striking cupid's arrow

Sincere her gregarious personality

Enchanted and delighted was he

As she mimicked the howl

Not once but three times of

Her hounds left behind.

She virtuous,

Unlike those that pursued him,

Stuffy and confined,

Looking only to crudely secure

his noble purse.



Sasha and he,

Shared one common tongue

Shared by no other

Within their retinue

Their intimacy would bind them

And capture did she,

His fickle heart completely.

A deal was struck by and between

To meet in secret perhaps to bed or wed.





A few hours was all that separated them...





The signal came and without warning

Ice pack sudden and irreversible crack

No time to cement a decision to stay

perhaps their love unseasoned?

Back to her sled

swiftly moving, no goodbye said.

Fleeing in the dark,

him left behind

Sasha broke Orlando’s heart.



The flood gates did open

Furniture and fortunes flow the Thames

The swollen river now lake

claimed all the lower levels

water gushed straight from the devil himself

Did not borrow from its victims

All the life it did take

Those that survive the loss they weep

Tears bob like crystal ice burgs

Some small but his steep.



Well past the witching hour

Quill after quill

with ink pot to spare

page after page

He did fill

and

write

did

he

his

poetry.

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