Order this writing in the book Need to Know Basis (redacted edition) (the 2014 poetry, flash fiction & short prose collection book)		get this poem collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

enjoy this writing from Paul Bellerive in the free 2019 chapbook: Tales Told to Friends (click on the front cover image or the title text to download the free PDF file)				You can also order this as a 2019 6" x 9" perfect-bound paperback ISBN# book! Click on the book cover to order Tales Told to Friends as a book at any time!

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology The Flickering Light the Down in the Dirt Jan.-June 2019 issues & chapbooks collection book (learn about this book, and order from Amazon online)		get the 366 page Jan.-June 2019 Down in the Dirt issue & chapbooks 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

enjoy this Paul Bellerive writing in the Scars Publications ISBN# book “Notes from an Aging Archeologist” This book is a 2023 Scars Publications poetry book by Paul Bellerive. Click on the book cover or book title to order his 2023 book from Amazon!

The Talebearer Speaks in Whispers

Paul Bellerive

I

On a bare rock under the volcano
He stared blankly and drunkenly skyward,
Stared into the vast Mexican twilight
Settling over endless stretches of sand
That even after years unnerved him;

He slurred slightly, “When I’m in the desert,
And those jumping cactus thorns attack me,
I see the enraged Congressman’s red face,
His fat finger pointing to where I sat,
The room thick with mindless patriotism;

‘Communist,’ he hissed at me, ‘Commie,’
And the automatons nodded gravely,
Acknowledged the import of the moment
And the valuable service to country
My impending exile represented.”

How old, I wondered, how old could he be,
Sent away when I was a child of six;
Sent away with a wife and new-born son
For crimes without victims, for impure thoughts
That strayed from Big Brother orthodoxy?

Despite encroaching darkness he glowed,
His form surrounded by a silver aura
That may have been only the sun’s retreat
Behind the stark mountains in the far north,
The mountains near his homeland’s border.

“The talebearer speaks in whispers,” he said,
His thin form like a modern oracle,
His words wrapped in mystery and puzzle;
The message there for those who can find it
In the din of mindless conformity.

II

The far off cry of a lone coyote
Seemed to shake him, to rattle his inner self;
“The whispers,” he said, “return on night winds,
They exist somewhere in the great darkness
Then scatter to find a lost connection.”

He pulled a flask from a baggy pocket
Of his earth-stained once-white linen trousers
Tied tightly with rope around his slim waist;
He drank in a series of quick, small gulps
And extended the leather flask to me.

“Never drink Mescal by yourself,” he said.
“That way you have at least a gambler’s chance
That someone other than you eats the worm.”
He nodded sadly at my refusal
And tucked the thing back into his pocket.

“All the words, the messages and the signs
That never made a connection are here;
They chatter out there in the universe,
Seeking to plant seeds in receptive spots;
There is no such thing as gone forever.”

Too perfect, I worried, this worn cliché:
The coyote, the vast, empty desert,
On the rock the battered, ancient sere
Glowing yellow now in the rising moon
Framing him, a bad painting on black velour;

“You can find here the talebearer’s whispers,”
He said hoisting again the leather flask;
“All the damned lies and the evil gossip,”
He laughed and drank deeply this time, croaked,
“But the truths too mixed up with all the rest.”

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...