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

Riders from the Other Side


I knew William thru the best and worst of times.
His life ran down like integers of prime
And so close to death did he fall.
The Reaper’s fingers upon him scrawled

Messages in fine lines etched into his face
A strange expression that left no trace
Of his former disposition
His self sublimed by this attrition

But William recovered
And around him something strange hovered
And the light in his eyes had a strange lumen
I feared William brought back something inhuman.

For he had a fierceness that was not there before
A coldness that into his soul did bore
He was fearless beyond all comprehension
His eyes put the light of life in serious contention.

So no man or beast would look upon him
And his countenance was dark and beyond grim
He glowed at night within a dim purple hue
He was terrible to look at in this view.

For some reason William liked to be with me
He said I looked different than others he could see
And his demeanor softened when I was near
And I could be with him then without fear

William used to like night walks
So the city streets at night we stalked
One night we came upon a bad man
Insignias and tattoos designated some clan

And he was beating this poor woman to death
And she was begging him on her last breath
So I told William to wait while I rushed to her aid
Unto her tormentor I tried to dissuade

I pulled him off of her with a mighty heave
He got up and said he’d kill me if I didn’t leave
I saw this flash of blinding purple light
William picked him up in flight

And held him by the neck pinned up against a building wall
And spoke to him in a litany of death in hollow tones that did call
To another place that summoned dark, shadowy phantoms
That he summoned by these unearthly anthems.

Then the air became as cold as ice
Two dark shapes appeared in a trice
Semi-transparent and ethereal like some dark fog
Coiling and seething like some noxious smog

And I saw upon one a semblance of eyes
And inside them I saw the universe rotating alive
As I looked into this abyss to see
I felt it looking back at me.

So William told the phantoms they could have this man
To show him their dark and shadowy land
The man was screaming and crying not to go
Forgotten that he had tried to kill a moment ago.

The two phantoms held onto the man by both arms
Unable to break their unearthly charms
They ascended into an eerie red litten cloud
That swallowed them up in a shroud

Of red and silver fleece
And their fell upon us a feeling of peace
William said to me, “it’s like this every time”
Then William began to fade from view and sublime

He said to me, “I’ll be back tomorrow”
His voice was played in the key of sorrow
“For I have to reestablish the balance”
“For our universal imbalance.”

“For someday you will see”
“What truly happened to me”
“There are things that want to come back through”
“From near-death to me and to you.”

“Entities of good and things that are bad”
“Who pay no heed to visiting spirits forbad”
“To come back through within that host”
“And hover within like some old ghost”

“And to you David I see your blue Angel”
“He watches over you this Archangel”
“And you see things in a beautiful light”
“And all things natural and bright.”

So I saw William the other day
And his countenance had changed from black to grey
And he seemed at peace I gathered from his parlance
Now that he had the universe back in balance.

The dark entity within him had gone
No longer the dark messenger’s pawn
At times I feel the dark one’s pulling at me
And vanish again at the blue angel they see.

So the riders are there waiting to accrue
Their spirit Dark or Bright I haven’t a clue
Which one you get depends upon you
Vengeance or wisdom decides their hue.

And so dear reader I leave you with this
Spending your time staring into the abyss
With shameful intentions trying to see through
All the while the abyss is staring back at you.

And unto you it may send something you really don’t want.
An entity, sinister, and dark that haunts
You to the ends of time
In odd meter and chaotic rhyme.

They are the Riders From the Other Side
Floating in a netherworld they glide
Desperately wanting back from whence they came.
To try and finish their interruption in life’s game.

Dave Proffitt
2/15/2014
11:42 pm

Magen


I saw her thru the windshield of my truck
And she looked a little down on her luck
Walking down the 26 her dog and her
From happier times that were.

Beyond her by now
Her life gone beyond her somehow
Gray stocking hat pulled over silver hair
Her time-lined face still fair.

I saw all of this as I went past
I saw a faint smile on her lips that asked
If I would stop for her and her dog
The wake of my truck swirled a silver cloak of fog

Around her fleeting image swirling
The mist around her unfurling
And I could not go on
Unto the side of the road I was drawn

I rolled down the window as she came up to the truck
This pretty older woman down on her luck
Green eyes beaming upon me sparkling
Her countenance almost startling

“Buddy can ride in the bed” She said
“He can ride inside instead.” I said
My dog was pleased to have a back seat friend
Two black German Shepherds to this legend.

“Thank you kind sir” she said to me
“He is always with me.”
And her dog got into the back seat
Tufts of brown hair sprouting from his big feet.

And his graying muzzle was telling of his age
And I looked into the soft brown eyes of this canine sage.
And he said to me silently “Thank you for her.”
“We are travelers from times that are and times that were.”

“Buddy must have been talking to you.”
Somehow this old woman knew.
“He has this special gift.”
“And your spirits he can lift.”

“My name is Magnhildur but folks call me Magen.”
“My Mother told me it was Icelandic in origin.
And with this I could see the ancient warrioress.
Hiding in the fine lines of her stress

“And you must be David William?” she said unto me.
“And the last part Proffitt spelled with two fs’ and two T’s?
I was dumbfounded that she knew my name
In  her green eyes flashed an ancient flame.

I laughed and told her she had it all right so far
This beautiful old woman so strange and bizarre.
She reached out and took my right hand in her left.
Her lovely fingers so magically deft.

Her high cheek bones and aquiline nose
Giving her thin lips a sweet repose.
That loved to break into a broad smile
Revealing perfect white teeth that beguile

Any man who would look upon her
The tiny lines upon her face did blur
And so she became ageless
And so her beauty to me was endless.

“Not every man sees this in me.”
“But within you a special gift I see.”
And her laugh was musical and intoxicating
She took off her hat, her silver mane breathtaking.

I just sat there staring at her
She had the essence of fir trees and myrrh
“Not to worry my dear man.”
She reached over and touched my face with her right hand.

Long slender fingers and longer nails
Such tactile feedback that entails
It’s implicit message to me
Her ageless beauty easy to see.

I felt my emotions running away with themselves
As this warrioress from times passed cast her spell.
And her breathy kiss upon my lips did fall
And her deep soft-whipsered promises did call

To my very soul
Promises she did extol
From me to her
Her magic I began to incur.

Then she released her spell from me
Her green eyes dancing with glee
And she said to me, “It is as it was.”
“ I can no longer hold you because”

“You must want me without the magic”
And the tone in her voice became tragic
And my heart would not let her go.
And so I told her so.

The fires in her green eyes did burn
And her smile tilting at me did return.
I saw a tear at the corner of her pretty eyes
So I asked her “Why do you cry?”

“I will lift the magic from you eyes.”
“And you will see the real me when the magic dies.”
“And you will despise what you see.”
“So you will never love me.”

“Cast your magic aside so I may see the real you.”
She touched my face again and I knew
That I could perceive no difference in her countenance
Because of our soul’s resonance.

“Well David William do you still like what you see?”
“Will you still love me?”
“Magen I see no difference with these eyes.”
“You still have me mesmerized.”

And she began to cry
Liquid chromium from those emerald eyes.
I held her face in my hands
I felt transported into other lands

With this lady of time
This woman of internal rhyme
Whose meter is synchronized with my own.
Sometimes you just know this down to the bone.

So I drove this woman to my home besides
And in a year I made her my bride.
And she lived with me until we all died.
At the same time her and I our dogs alongside.

Dave Proffitt
2/7/2014
8:20 pm

Visits From Mr. Taylor


A friend from a long time ago
Ron was my pleasure to know
Like a blood brother in this life
No cross words or strife

 

Between him and I
Between us we made the notes fly
Hours on the end
Playing guitars we’d spend.

 

And I got to know the man
And from me he’d understand
The things that make two men good or bad
The things that make them happy and sad.

 

And the music weaves this knowledge on it’s song
Ron and I could always make the notes get along
With each other
My musical brother

 

And when the guitars wore us down
I would turn into the clown
For some laughs a few
Unwinding the machine down a turn er two.

 

Then my friend moved away
And he got sick and died on me one day
Which tinted my music dark and gray
And his passing upon me did weigh 

 So his son gave me his guitar
It hangs upon my wall like a dark star
Black as night that  outshines a galaxy
In the evening I can feel its strange alchemy.

 

A pathway from his plane to this place
So the music quantifies this space.
Sometimes I feel him floating in the air
Swirling around me, the guitar and the chair.

 

And he says to me “That’s far out man”
Those words taking me back to where it began
And so I’m playing for my friend once again
Ghost notes from his guitar it’s refrain

 

Ethereal and not easily heard
By those that hear only the spoken word
These visits from Mr. Taylor
Whose presence not exactly scalar

 

And it puts a smile on my face
And the notes begin to interlace
The guitar becomes a part of me
So the years I’ve played it makes me see

 

Why I’ve done it for fourty odd years
At times thru tears and sometimes fears
But never to abandon the lady with steel strings
Launching the notes from her strings with amplified wings.

 

The dark guitar on the wall
Stretching into another dimension it’s long hall
Down which Mr. Taylor comes to visit
I guess you could say our friendship is implicit

  

All the sore fingers and broken strings
That this learning curve brings
Resolved it from work to play
Parts of my life I have to renew every day

 

From some universal direction and dimension
From cosmic declination and ascension
Beams itself my way
For the rest of my days

Dave Proffitt
2/1/2014
12:47AM

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