Love waiting



For you, anno, a compromise—humor with depth.


Verona02.jpg picture by pemerytx


It was so beautiful, such a real and moving experience, that if you were to ask me this instant, I would tell you that I, Juliet, have only just come from Verona as high as the moon from the greatest love I have ever known.  I would tell you my heart is bursting with the ripeness of that love, and I fear that it will indeed burst and that I will die along with the all-consuming fire of the passion that wastes me blissfully away.  For what good is a mere soul, an ethereal thing, even singing with the angels and communing with God, if it cannot burn with and be sated by the hottest fire of human love’s passion?


And now even as I ponder the strange events that unfolded that night, I would tell you I would relive the whole glorious experience again.  I would find favor with Romeo at the very same masquerade ball and when he came before me to address me, his eyes would all but leap into mine and mine into his, just as they did that night.  And in this miraculous conjoining, eternal love would again show itself to us and unfurl our destinies before us, a golden scroll unrolling and undulating magnificently.  And this scroll stopping short as it did that night, I would again allow, if its continuation, seeming the more good and natural thing, meant we would never have met at all.  That I was called away from the ball at that moment, and Romeo, too, explained well this interruption, this tiny wrinkle in the fabric of time.


Later that evening, I had moved outside onto the balcony off my bedroom to be alone as I pondered the vision of the scroll and as my heart cried out for my beloved Romeo.  I swear it had been my heart that cried, but it must, too, have been my voice, for Romeo appeared, standing handsomely at the edge of the orchard below me in the bit of light shed by my lamps.  I was at once beside myself with joy and shaken by his audacity to have scaled the orchard wall and to have beheld me there in my nightclothes assuming safety in the darkness of my aloneness.


How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?” I asked, hands to breast.  “The orchard walls are high and hard to climb!”


And then came the angelic sound of his voice, “With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls.  For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt!”


My heart again leapt into his and melted there within it as we spoke, Love solidly and all-knowingly taking the helm of our lives.  I then fortified my previous sentiments of love for him, letting him know that it was safe to pledge his own love for me.  And he did so.


He came forth with the most dulcet tones, “Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops…” but was interrupted by a strange sound.


I queried, “My love?” and watched, holding my breath, as he removed from his foremost pocket a small tinkling thing, glowing as the moon itself.


“My cell phone,” he lamented, eyes downcast.  “It didst take leave of me, the remembrance to shut it off.”


At that very instant, some little thing fell away from the moment, or perhaps I should say wilted, for it felt as a living thing that drew in breath sharply, but daintily, and somehow could not recover from an unidentified loss of the smallest proportions.  And I cannot say why to this day, ‘tis a mystery, as it was truly small, insignificant, really, not worth mentioning.  Small, as a silver-tipped leaf in a silver-tipped forest.




Sword.jpg picture by pemerytx




Verona balcony snagged from—Romeo-and-Juliet-Balcony–Verona-Italy_web.jpg


Sword from Getty Images



Image hosting by Photobucket


Missalister’s “Love waiting,” copyright © 2008, was spun off the Sunday Scribblings prompt “#132 – If I had to live at a different time in history.”  Click here for more on prompt #132 from other Sunday Scribblings participants


23 responses to “Love waiting

  1. This was a great treat to read, with a deliciously overwrought limberness of phrase that suits the piece and the period. Gather the rosebuds that are being tossed on the stage — you’ll find nary a thorn among them.

  2. Thank you for the image! I will never again flip open my phone at night without wondering what leaf tip it may be illuminating, and at what price!

  3. Thank you for commenting on mine. I lived in Dallas most of my life. I’ve been to Waxahachie to the renaissance festival many times. You made me homesick!

  4. stan: I’d like to think that level of love and devotion could exist today despite the cold steel way I’ve come to feel ;-)

    Ms. Mood: just you being happily amused makes my day :-)

    anno: ah, thornless accolades! A thousand thanks to you :-)

    Thanks so much, Linda! I’ve always enjoyed impressing English teachers ;-)

    Esattamente, my dear Bass! May the silvery moon be the only light on your path to the stars :-)

    BJ: music to my ears “unique,” “I loved it,” and “Dallas”! I lived and worked in the Dallas area for 18 years. I left mid-2006 with a bad case of career burnout. Used to go to Scarborough Faire every year. Now my lovely costume is packed away somewhere. It’s a teary thought indeed! Now, pray tell, how did you wind up in Illinois?

  5. just when i was thinking that this doesn’t ‘sound’ like missA, you come out with that sbsolute gem – i simply couldn’t stop laughing you know, and i just needed it right now.

    i have not experienced the highest kind of love – to me, it always seems lowly, it wastes me away, and almost always, only brings with it a host of negative emotions…

    how have you been?

  6. This twas a treat, milady. My favorite: For what good is a mere soul, an ethereal thing, even singing with the angels and communing with God, if it cannot burn with and be sated by the hottest fire of human love’s passion?

    Sweetness, indeed. I see, too, that you chose a pair who had already been offed by Willie: did you miss administering the final blow?

    You capture the rhythms nicely. I see your times at the rens hath done you faire.

    love’s weight

    silver-tipped, the love o’erperched—
    dulcet moons, yonder blessed,
    intrigue of nascent fire:
    virtual bliss, the loss consumed,
    fire in birth, fire in absence,
    circuitry of accelerant hearts.
    a breath sharply drawn,
    a breast wisely caved—
    remembrance without interruption—
    you who in silence braved
    undulant passion, miraculous
    kiss, incandescent crescent:
    scorched by what was left amiss,
    branded by love’s bigeminal abyss.

  7. Funny, funny, funny. At first I fell in love with the recreation of that famous love affair between R and J, so beautifully set, even to the details of the balcony scene. I was there with you, even noting tonight a translucent silvery full moon. And then the cell phone. Aha! What a rant. Lovely.

  8. Whoa, Marty, now them’s some serious compliments! I cannot but thank you.

    Tumblewords, thanks! I’m so glad you enjoyed it.

    Hilarious and cool beans, I love it, can not ask for more! :-) Thank you, Susan!

    Dharmabum! Monstrously huge hugs to you! Can you still breathe? Man, Bum, it’s been eons!
    I’m so pleased that you got such a good laugh out of this and just when you could’ve used it :-)
    I only have in my mind what the highest kind of love is. I don’t go after it. I’ve got the Piscean thing going, flowing with the stream, up, down, flat across…
    And that’s also how I’ve been in general—in the stream, doing what’s around me and before me. Now do tell! How have you been, my dear friend?!!

    Paschal: I didn’t even feel a twinge, an itch or a twitch. I’m only moved to commit character homicide when I smell fresh meat. And I’m only moved to compassion or passion when my spirit is cared for as a garden or when my heart is honored by a good knight’s silver-tipped poem :-)

    Beth! The recounting of your experience here was so fresh, flowing, animated! I loved it. And I’m thrilled you got a kick out of this little R&J ditty :-D

  9. yeah, it certainly has been a while. i am good. if you’ve been swimming, i’ve just been meandering in the terrains, wandering, like i always do. it certainly feels uphill at this point of time in life, but then, i am sure the view from the top is breathtaking, and so the mountain goat in me simply plods on, doing whats to be done…
    bearhugs right back to you – they did me a lot of good, thank you, my dearest dearest friend :)

  10. Because I am so crummy at responding to my own comments, I am returned here to thank you for the Lewis Black link, which made me laugh so hard I almost choked on my mouthful of candy corn (which I cannot resist — that’s why it’s the devil). Also for leaving Sy Safransky’s name in your comment. I had to look him up, that’s how little aware I am about anyone the literary community. Except you, of course. I have seen his magazine, though, and, yes, I think you belong there. I sure am looking forward to seeing what you write along the way.

  11. Ooh, Dharmabum, it sounds like we’re both doing our swimming and plodding without much enthusiasm. In just a few days I’ve moved from a kind of aimless floating to being back under pressure work-wise. Deadlines majorly mess with my creativity >:-(
    What to do? Do our best during the resistance of the upward climb to keep our eyes on the prize, the goal, the mountaintop? But that’s what we always do… Pffft!
    Well, it certainly is nice knowing you’re out there keeping me company :-)

    Not to worry, anno, posting and responding to comments could be a full time job! And with all you do I can’t imagine how you’d fit it all in… So I’m over-the-top flattered that you returned to comment :-D I love the encouragement and how in heck could Lewis Black not like candy corn??? LOL! Do you know I haven’t had any yet? The first piece of candy corn is the finger in the dike so I delay ingesting it for as long as possible ;-)

  12. Why thank you, Nita Jo! I see you can cut a choice tale yourself. Just checked out your “Invitation to the Past” and left you a note. I enjoyed your profile, especially the rediscovery business. I’m in that business myself :-)

  13. Stylists are standing by and desperately want to know: Amy Beehive? Early Rod Shag? Pecos River Cantaloupe? Dalai Lama Cashmere? Sweet Vidalia? Broken but better post-Ava Sinatra? Tangential vitriol? Perilous love jones?

    When will the Lady sing?

    (I know. It ain’t Sunday yet. Not even across the line.)

  14. Paschal: Oh that I had your reserves of energy overflowing and running away with your high gear IQ, rushing like water into places nothing else can access, bearing life and wearing down death layer by layer, the universal solvent. I’m slogged, bogged, stressed and beside myself roiling, embroiled in the meaness of bad, bad field notes and a deadline that’s even badder, hotter. My beehive has caught on fire and my airways are clogged thick and black with soot. There may be nothing else to do but sauté some Vidalias with all these BTUs, toss in some tofu and mushrooms, and just sling the mess of it out there regardless. So I’ll do my best to sing some scratchy little tune, just for you who shows up here with a bouquet of ingenuity and inspiration that entreats and gets a smile.

  15. Remember, cher, it ain’t reserves of energy I’ve got, it’s lack of a “real” job. Be very well and take it very easy. Believe me, we all knows your radiant style. This beautiful blue sunny day outside my window? It ain’t got nuthin’ on you.

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