M’Lady Jane


Tis a hot August night in this Asian theater
With the stars coming out for the second feature
For the gathering gloom lands heavy upon the land
Shrouding the rice paddies and mountains in purple bands

Faded camo Quonset Huts huddle on barb-wired compounds
Yellow lights burning within cast queer shadows around
A grassless expanse it’s inhabitance with doors open wide
To let in the cool night that coils and winds inside

The Rolling Stones Lady Jane wafting thru the open windows
In high fidelity from PX stereos bought by enlisted heroes
For this is my barracks where I live as a guest
Of the South Korean people I do my best.

To protect their soverign skies
The air rich with the village cooking floats by
Mixed with diesel exhaust a strange perfume
Stirred up by Duce and a halves blooms.

Into the evening air giving the night dimension
Tilting it into an intangible tension
Like some giant entity that surrounds
The compounds and it’s town

I walk into our compound in the glare of area lights
Orange artillery signs with yellow letters look purple at night
Like some mute town crier perched on top of the roof
Looking comical at times like some military spoof.

But quite serious and stern during the day
Lets all who enter know we are the 71st arty this way
The thirty eighth Missile Brigade the low altitude batch
The Fist of Lightening our unit patch

Red, White and Yellow, Korean girls call it the “Punchey patch”
Their little-girl giggles and pretty dark hooded eyes that latch
Upon your lonesome heart in the times that we choose
Helps me shake all those demons loose.

Those that question your girl friends and wives
Questions we all ask ourselves that drives
A constant sadness that’s put away everyday
On a shortimer’s calendar that we whittle away

Pictures of loved ones sitting on Kimchee stands
Built by some Korean carpenter’s hands
That the houseboy knows for about four hundred Won
Of Teak and mahogany it’s price bartered upon

I sit down upon my bunk tonight
Whose blankets are stretched taught and tight
In a sea of Olive Drab with mosquito nets like sails
Of some odd armada lined up rail to rails

My California friends Mac and Kelly come sit with me.
With their perpetual smiles it’s easy to see
They’ve went under M’Lady Jane’s spell once again
And to her allegiance promise to remain

Under her thumb flavors of Poppy extract on these gems
Whose first name starts with O and ends with M
These filter tipped, menthol distractions
The tobacco replaced with canibis sativa, a Mac invention

And the music is heavy and it pounds
And the funny smoke near coils around
Pretty soon everything is funny
And my eyes become runny

So we all talk about what we’ll do
When we get back to the world too.
Grandiose ideas fueled with frustration
By Uncle Sam’s foreign vacation

For too long it seems
For too long the dreams
If I’ll see home again
Memories become fleeting now and then.

So I’ve adopted part of this foreign land
And she feels as natural as my right hand
My Korean Mistress sinks her hooks in deep
Gazing out thru the rice paddies and mountains I sweep

The beauty of this stark land
It’s simplicity strange and grand
Giant statues of Buddah where the rice grows
Upon their altars ideograms and incense flows

For I have never seen anything like this before
And my heart to me implores
And it askes me where these feelings come from?
And suddenly I’ve become deaf and dumb

I find myself alone at this religious monument
Alone with myself and my astonishment
And the incense smells of ancient burnt wood
And I am unable to describe it even if I could

For this place has no equal in the western world
I am humbled in it’s presence to me unfurled
And I find myself with tears in my eyes
For the majesty of this moment flying by

A Korean elder with his “Pappasan Hat” passes by.
With the eyes of age a toothless grin he tries.
His withered hand reaches out and pats me on the shoulder.
And I feel one hundred and fifteen years older

Maybe I’ll go see M’Lady Jane again or not
Her daydreams and illusions hard bought
When reality rolls around once again
When the memories come back now and then

Dave Proffitt
2/24/2014
1:15 AM

We Call Her L


Her name is Laraine but friends call her L
I think she likes it this way as far as I can tell
Her hair is the color of autum leaves
Glints in auburn tones from autum breezes

Her beauty hiding in the shadows of her youth
Peering out thru times lines of truth
A good woman, she is what you see
An example for you and me

Soft spoken with a voice of velvet
Has an honest life most women would covet
Discovered later in life what she wanted to be
The music in her soul she plays for the world to see

Still an inspiration for old musicans like me
I love her wonderment for it is so easy to see
Makes me relive my musical past
She makes me re-evaluate and recast

Fourty years of music in my past
All of the friends and memoried amassed
That plays forward whenever I see her
In the times that are and times that were

There are good friends and best friends
And friends after their own ends
And there are friends like L that sit in your heart
That guides you thru life like some soul-steering chart

With friends like L it’s hard to be depressed
Their internal light shining on my soul so blessed
To Whom I visit when I’m feeling down
That keeps my chin up so I don’t drown

In a sea of worry sometimes hard to navigate
Discussions with her help me articulate
What I may think is going to befall
We end up laughing, not so bad afterall

Friends like L don’t come along every day
Her friendship is there with no price to pay
Except for the effort that makes me smile
When I think of her just a little while

Her beauty she does not realize
She’s true to herself and makes me analyze
If my musical endvours are rigorous enough
Or if time is tinting my notes all jaded and fluff

So I love this effect that she has on me
She is still lovely every time I see
Her with a bass around her neck
When she smiles at me can totally wreck

Any thoughts on what I was about to say
Not intentional on her part she’s just wired this way
Her name is Laraine but we call her L
She likes that as far as I can tell

Dave Proffitt
2/22/2014
1:02 pm

Eyes of Eight


Flashing from the fathoms scattered across an ancient gallions deck
With a sea-green tint sparkling gold from a ship wreck.
To those that would gaze into these eyes of eight
She turns them on if you’re brave enough to wait.

 

Green as the pounding surf bleeding bits of gold
With a purity that bores into your soul.
Bathes you with warmth or steely green-stone cold
Beautiful or terrible to behold.

 

Just depends on your attitude
Too look upon them with gratitude.
Or carelessly dismiss her with worn out platitudes
Be forwarned there are no gray areas in these latitudes.

 

Green eyes in just two percent of the worlds people
Painted on the iris canvas and tinted from the sepal.
Of Flowers in greens in different hues of the spectrum
A Seductive kalidiscope in greens and golds beckon.

 

Like the gaze of ancient Egyptian Queens
Her tilting gaze of perfect symetry she beams.
To those  with no excuses
In the hours she chooses.

 

Reminds me of a beautiful Medusa
With eyes as delicate as flowers of anchusa.
Whose gaze is not a prison of stone
Or a sentence to atone.

 

Beauty like this comes but once a millenium
Gazing into her eyes takes you to Elysium.
She makes you understand why you are a man
Searching you with her green and gold scan.

These green eyes of eight also telling
Sometimes winsome and hurt spelling.
Their grief in crystaline tears that flow
Leaving tracks of pain in liquid woe.

 

Has seen their share of dissappointment
Through focal points of unwilling acquiescence.
A product of twentyfirst century thoughtlessness
These people with her heart wreckless.

 

Would at times let her heart turn to stone
These thoughts to herself contemplate alone.
In the gathering gloom
In the darkness of her room.

 

Looks at herself in the mirror
A glimmer of a smile now becoming clearer.
Tugs at the corners of her thin red lips
“Well who am I to be so glum?” She quips.

 

This brave Viking heart
Has been with her from the start.
It’s ramparts forged of iron
Like a furnace the flames of passion within burn.

 

This strange mix of Gold, Iron and the sea
These Eyes of Eight will set you free.
Probably too much for you but enough for me
Just depends if you look or really see.

 

The woman behind the eyes
An original artifact in no artifical guise.
What you see is what you get
The woman with eyes beset.

 

With emerals, and pieces of eight
She’ll make your soul vibrate.
To some cosmic symphony in the key of Quasars
Illuminating the heavens with her own savor.

 

Fire red hair and sea green eyes
From her pictures mesmerizes.
Me from thousands of miles
The Eyes of Eight upon me smile.

 

Her name is Dorothy
And I am proud to call her my friend.
And I believe every single word I’ve said here
And I could write volumes about her.

 

Dave Proffitt
1/18/2014
11:58 pm

A Letter To Mrs. Kirkey


She was my sophomore History Teacher
Down the hall this fine feminine creature.

Statuesque and tall legs to the ground
Her clicking high heels made a fine sound.

 

She used to wear this tight blue dress
I think she was giving to me a test.
To see my interest she did seek
My pleasure to see her each day of the week.

 

I loved to follow her down the hall
Watching her tight hips rise and fall.
A beautiful, strutting middle-aged queen
My boyish fascination with this scene.

 

Her long legs shaven and stocking bare
Tall black high heels her feet did ware.
Crossed legs on her desk she was perched
Her beautiful knees my eyes did search.

 

With long slim fingers she wrote on the board
Subjects and predicates I looked toward.
Seeing her turn her fine hips to see
Her dark eyes staring directly at me.

 

I need to tell this woman how I feel
A young heart this woman did steal.
Just a note or maybe a letter
 Makes things worse or maybe better.

 

I’m writing to her in class right now
“Mrs. Kirkey I don’t know how.”
“To tell you this but I must”
“To keep this private to you I trust.”

 

“To put my arms round your small waist”
“Your thin handsome lips I would taste.”
“That has spoken a thousand and one rules”
“Of sailing ships and explorer  fools.”

  

“I would do anything you could ask”
“My heart strings you’ve surely taken to task.”
“To smell your femininity and touch your white skin”
“Makes my knees weak and my head really spin.”

 

“Salt and pepper hair to your high heeled feet”
“There’s not a woman finer or as sweet.”
“I would kiss any spot that you would choose”
“My teenage heart to you I would lose.”

 

“Sincerely Dave Proffitt” to end this letter
Maybe for worse or maybe better.
I watch after class as she reads my letter
A smile on her lips yes this is better.

 

She tells me to stay after class the next day
My letter, my boldness, I might pay.
She rises from her chair and walks up to me
My letter in hand for me to see.

 

Her eyes twinkle a smile on her lips
She glides up to me on her fine hips.
Her high heels click on the hardwood floor
I look to see a locked class room door.

 

Long legs and heels make her level with me
I gaze into her dark eyes a passionate sea.
She’s so close I can taste her wondrous scent
My will power suddenly is spent.

 

Her long fingers I feel on my neck
I’ve become her emotional wreck.
She pulls me towards her thin red lips
My hands touch her fine wide hips.

 

She kisses me and I’m electrified
Her dark eyes have me mesmerized.
My body chemistry has gone crazy
My self-identity becomes hazy.

 

A motel address she writes on a note
She hands it to me as she puts on her coat.
“I’ll see you dear boy and don’t be late”
She whispers to me my middle aged date.

  

I watch her disappear as she clicks down the hall
A smile on my face it was good after all.
Glad that I wrote her the letter
It wasn’t bad in fact it was better.

 

I’ve loved this woman for two decades or near
No harsh words or ever a tear.
She left one day without telling me where
I wonder dear heart how will you fare?

 

I’m older and a little wiser now
She’s still in my heart somehow.
At times she brings tears to my eyes
I’ll love this woman till the day I die.

 

Dave Proffitt
October 16, 2007

Notes to Self


Sometimes I wake up with some answers
To the questions posed by yesterday’s dancers.
It’s not that I’m very smart you see.
And sometimes I wonder what the hell’s wrong with me.

What makes me wonder about the strangest things
An unquenchable thirst for the answers brings.
Me to the deep end of that subjects pool.
I jump in over my head like that day’s fool.

Sometimes I get what I’m looking for
And sometimes I open some other doors.
Once in a while that will interest me.
Just depends on what’s in there to see.

If I get answers that I understand
Makes me feel like I was told first hand.
By the person that wrote the book
Smiling they watch as knowledge’s hook

Sinks into my mouth like some fish in a river
These bits of information they deliver
Some hard fought to swallow
The others flavored false and hollow.

Some people ask “what good does that do you?”
“If it won’t make you any  money then say adieu”.
Their total being driven by the buck
When the guns of greed went off forgot to duck.

 

For all of my interests I’m not a wealthy man
This makes me wonder if I understand.
What I’m really doing with my life
Fueling mental arguments this strife.

I wonder if looking for answers becomes folly?
Or being sensible and hoity toidy like some tea trolley.
Then I realize that I don’t care what others think.
Reading the books fills in the link.

Of not having a clue.
Or at least some answers however few.
Instead of bluffing my way thru a subject
Being able to offer some truth with respect.

 I wonder to myself if I over do things
With my hopes, dreams that my ideas bring.
Does this make others uncomfortable around me?
Sometimes thru their eyes I try to see.

What I look like to others when they look at me
And if I should correct what I see.
Lately I’ve decided just to keep my mouth shut
The things I know not seen on prime time smut.

Some folks need to see letters after your name
Before you’re worthy of their question game.
Even then won’t take your advice.
Not really questions just validation of their vice.

If they don’t like what you say
Non-believers if that doesn’t go their way
So I recycle all of this on a daily basis
Some things stay and some are in stasis.

 To all my friends who are patience with me.
This my explanation for you to see.
So you can see what the hell’s  wrong with me.
I’ve just smoked too many leaves off information’s tree.

It’s true I have a lot of interests
Which some women meet with indifference.
But most I think become intimidated
Fearing that they’ll be inundated.

Buy something they know nothing about
“How can he be serious?” they have their doubts.
“He’s in love with his hobbies there’s no room for me”
That’s a part of my heart with lots of empty space you see.

I think I’d like to have a lady in my life
I wouldn’t even mind having a wife.
But some of them want to make a new model
Of me and my life they almost coddle.

 Not happy with the current Dave
Want something else their girlfriends crave.
But can’t have because of impossible ideals
From the men in their lives that doesn’t appeal.

To their current idea of a man
And what he can do for them they don’t understand.
When I consider this then maybe I should be alone.
Maybe this old dog won’t fetch any more bones.

 So I think about this and it makes me laugh
Society’s idea of the golden calf
There’s a lot worse things in the world today
Than if I over do things or my hair turning gray.

So I’ll continue to get lost in my guitar
And someone will bury me in my hot rod car.
And I’ll read at night about the wonders of space.
 When I look in the mirror I like my own face.

Dave Proffitt
12/5/2013
12:34 am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Judy


My beautiful co-worker with the golden blaze.
Transfixes me with her gentle green-eyed gaze.
Sweet and demure in a child-like way.
Her eye-lash flitting gaze across my face plays.

 

With my sensibilities as a man.
At times almost more than I can stand.
She takes my heartstrings to task.
In audience with her I cannot ask.

 

To be more that friends with her.
Her pleading looks reflected and blurred.
In a misplaced wedding ring whose intent mostly misunderstood.
By its giver and wearer, makes me think she would.

 

This enchantress something to behold.
Her hair iridescent in sparkling gold.
Her jade green eyes deep as the sea.
Rolling and laughing as they look at me.

 

Gentle and sensual her look caresses me.
Begs for something more than I can see.
Brilliant white teeth behind her flashing smile.
She turns this on her musical laughter beguiles.

 

My poor heart which doesn’t stand a chance.
Demands more from me that just a casual glance.
No ordinary woman this spell weaver.
To her I am the true believer.

 

Her high cheek bones lend a windswept look.
To her golden mane floating on a warm Chinook.
Slightly hawkish and predatory her aquiline nose.
The perfect blend of this feminine repose.

 

I could ravish this woman to a fare-thee-well.
And who would tell?
Not from her own lips.
To sink any family ships.

 

Still I am content just to watch this beautiful enigma.
Instead of coloring her with some dark stigma.
Fascinating she is to an exponential degree.
She turns it all on just for me.

 

Her boyish husband to this he cannot see.
This confession she confides to in me.
What a wondrous creature he is married to.
She tells me that he hasn’t a clue.

 

Cocky and arrogant feels no responsibility to her.
For times that are and times that were.
Just uses her for the biological urge.
When upon himself he must splurge.

 

Says he doesn’t understand conversation.
Her confessions to me her realization.
Just a kid and nothing more.
Makes her feel like she’s a whore.

 

His sister comes to visit one day.
After a month she decides to stay.
Now three where there once was two.
Her life has now run askew.

 

His sister’s involment in some cult.
Changes their lives with a dark result.
Changes in my friend not pleasant to see.
His hissing sister spitting out her decrees.

  

My lady Judy now looks more dead than alive.
No light left in her pretty emeralad eyes.
The sparkle ran away from her golden hair.
Her face chisled with “I don’t care.”

 

For who has taken away my fine feminine spirit?
This Scientific removal of her soul the culprit.
And gave us back an empty shell.
Like some wayward hitchhiker on the road to Hell.

 

And I remember her intoxicating smile.
And this memory of her goes on through the miles.
Wondering within the canyons of my mind.
Her winsome smile fixed forever for all time.

 

And I know not what became of her.
In times that are and times that were.
So I pray thee dear reader that she is back.
Free from once what was tinted black.

 

To see her wonderous green eyes like a pounding sea.
To see them smiling and once again caressing me.
To hear the music of her laughter’s song.
And see the light in her eyes again bright and strong.

 

This is a true story.
There really is a Judy out there somewhere.
She was my friend.
And I lost her.

I want her back.

 

Dave Proffitt
10/27/2013
7:05 pm

The Witch of Marmot


October sunlight streaming through branches plays.
Tricks on shadows and colors the bark in strange ways.
In the waning light of this melancholy October day.
Crossing the Sandy  River Bridge she appeared in my gaze.

Standing by a broken down little car burned and soot black.
Her black hair twisted with gold spilling down her back.
Her beseeching green eyes looking into my heart.
Hoping that I work some magic on her part.

And I could not break her stare.
Nor pass her by without a care.
And she saw this within me.
And I knew within me she sees.

I pulled off the road and she appears.
At the back of my truck from the shadows she clears.
“Do you have any gas” she pleas.
Her words caressing the autumn breeze.

“For I have run out of gas.” She says in alas.
Her words delicate and whistle like silk over polished glass.
And I look into her wild and disheveled bright green eyes.
Swirling and swimming in depths fathoms deeps mesmerize.

Now returning from whence they came.
Gazing at me now aflame.
Her jet black and gold hair framing her face
Enchanting she is across time and space.

“And what is your name?” She queries me.
Her green eyes pounding like a mighty green sea.
“Dave” for I cannot refuse her magnetic intensity.
Being in her audience this woman and her ability.

“Ah the beloved one” she sighs.
A smile on her lips and a flash in her green eyes.
So we move her car off of the road.
Other drivers pass us their looks forebode.

She gets in my truck on the passenger side.
And she thanks me for the ride.
She stares out of the passenger window.
Chanting softly unto a mountain meadow.

And I cannot hear what she is saying.
So soft and gentle almost like praying.
Her black and gold mane coiling around her.
Like smoke and gold from times that are and times that were.

She turns and looks at me with those wild green eyes.
The lights within rises and flies.
Swirling through dark and blackened skies.
And at the same time controlled and wise.

Once again comes the strange smile.
That allows of me no denial.
To anything her heart would ask.
She takes my resilience to task.

Her breathy submissions of some medical malady.
And her hopes of a future remedy.
And her crystalline words hanging in the air.
So soft and delicate sublime as I stare.

And she giggles at my wonderment.
Her gaze alights on me gentle, warm and a little strange.
She touches my hand gives to me her exchange.
Vistas of magical scenes, then lucidity this universal phase change.

This Witch of Marmot beyond my comprehension.
As she fades in and out of this dimension.
Like some little girl lost.
Her look at me asks “at what cost?”

This beautiful child lost to some cosmic melody.
Not of this earth this cosmic tragedy.
Brought tears to my eyes this day.
Confounding my ability to say.

Any words worthy of her.
This child of today and the times that were.
A car drives past us “Hey that’s my Mom!”
She says with great aplomb.

So I turn the truck around.
Chasing her Mom down.
Marmot road and a frightening pace.
This Mother to Daughter race.

Alongside out of the passenger window her arms flop.
“Hey Mom it’s your daughter” to her surprised Mater.
She thanks me and exits the truck amidst female chatter.
Makes me wonder if all this matters?

And so I wonder at the wisdom of my good deed.
But I got her some help I concede.
But I could not refuse her today.
I guess because I’m just wired this way.

But I saw a real witch today.
And she gave me a part of her heart as pay.
To love her as one human to another.
For we are all stardust unto our Universe Mother.

So I hope she finds herself one day.
As the winds of time blow through her hair and play.
The melody of the spheres, and comfort her as she cries.
Looking for me through those beautiful green eyes.

For she will find me through her darkness and fears.
And the music from me she hears.
I left her a lantern from my soul.
From me to her my will to her extols.

So I will remember this woman for the rest of my days.
And her witchy, strange and beautiful ways.
On this sunny October day.
When I met the Witch of Marmot this way.

Dave Proffitt
10/18/2013
10:29 pm