The Stake

The dig was held at Sozopol

Beside the Black Sea shore,

Where Iskra Angelova

Came parading, past my door.

She asked me, was I Stevens,

From the Bramling Institute?

But my eyes were full of lips and hair,

And so I sat there, mute!

 

She had those Slavic cheekbones

And those bright, wide honeyed eyes,

And a smile that told my fortune,

Partly truth, but mostly lies,

And I knew we’d be together

While we foraged at the site,

So I smiled at her in greeting,

And her eyes beamed in delight!

 

‘I’m glad you’re so much younger

Than that pesky Androvich,

He’s a fusty Russian scholar,

Dull as water in a ditch!’

And she laughed, we laughed together

For I knew just what she meant,

Though her English wasn’t perfect

She could hold an argument!

 

Through the days and weeks that followed

Digging dirt and sifting bones,

In that medieval churchyard

Full of grief and standing stones,

We worked side by side together

In the graves, and touching hands,

Me, the western anthropologist

And her, from eastern lands!

 

So the first kiss was much sweeter

Than of any I had known,

And we struggled in the darkness

Of my room, once left alone,

For her appetite, voracious,

Was demanding to the core,

As she wrapped herself around me

I would dread her whispered: ‘More!’

 

I was tired and not quite with it

When we came upon a sight

That had Iskra sitting, trembling,

She crossed herself in fright,

For the skeleton beneath us

Had a stake right through the heart,

So I knelt, and then unthinking

Grabbed the stake, pulled it apart!

 

She went white, jumped up crazy, screamed:

‘You don’t know what you’ve done!’

As a cloud, way up above us

Moved, and blotted out the sun,

While I sat bemused and staring

At the iron stake I held,

It was rusted, red with ochre

Or with blood - I couldn’t tell!

 

Then Androvich came over

And he grunted, and he moaned:

‘You’re not to touch not anything

Until I’ve seen,’ he groaned.

‘Just give me…!’ and he snatched

The rusty stake from out my hand,

‘You westerners know nothing

Of the peoples in this land!’

 

That night I watched as Iskra

Wandered out along the beach,

I knew that I’d done something

That had put her out of reach,

She wouldn’t listen to me

Or respond to what I said,

But then she turned toward me:

‘You have gone and raised the dead!’’

 

‘It’s only superstition,’ I began,

But then she cried,

And went off to her room and

Locked the door, left me outside,

I heard the passage door creak open,

Then an awful shriek…

I found Professor Androvich

Next morning, on the beach!

 

His throat was torn and mangled,

Though there wasn’t any blood,

His face pale white and shaken,

But one thing I understood,

The stake that he had taken, now

Was thrust - it made me wince!

But Iskra, she was nowhere,

And I haven’t seen her since!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Natasha]

I like to give constructive advice when I comment on work... but I had so much fun reading this poem, that I only want to say how much I like it. The rhythm and rhyme are consistent and steady throughout. And the storyline flows beautifully... I want to read another poem that might be from the Iskra, so that I can find out what happened to her! Thank you for sharing.

[Tate Morgan]

She had those Slavic cheekbones

And those bright, wide honeyed eyes,

And a smile that told my fortune,

Partly truth, but mostly lies,
There is what we truly see when mesmerized by a vixen

[...]

Very enjoyable read!

[Marie]

An epic poem, a ballad...and wonderfully rhymed...fearfully told....

[Emerald Seas]

So many great parts to this poem, I can't pick one or two to highlight.
A great tale of love, legends, and exploration (in several venues).

I thoroughly enjoy reading your poetry, David.

[Distant horizons]

What a magnificent tale. Had me gripped from start to finish. Perfect flow and rhythym ro this perfect write.

[Clayton Bardwell]

"For her appetite, voracious,
Was demanding to the core,
As she wrapped herself around me
I would dread her whispered: ‘More!’"

Now that's funny! This one snapped a knot in my tail. I'm having way too much fun reading your poems.

[TL Boehm]

But my eyes were full of lips and hair,
And so I sat there, mute!

Dull as water in a ditch!’

Stellar lines in my opinion. I really enjoyed the "mythology/culture" in this piece and the way it is woven into the story line. It simply blows me away when a modern poet is able to convey a story -complete with plotline, character and scenes all within the constraints of conventional poetry. Its very difficult and it is pretty much a lost art. Its so refreshing to see it here at the Cafe - giving the "newer" poets something to aspire to (along with us who are a bit more 'seasoned' in our experiences - an opportunity to keep on our poetic toes)