Voiced // An Alternative: A Sip of Wine by Thomas Rivet

Instead of consistently checking one's own phone, following its call for attention (that of a brief vibration and a reminding ring), let us replace the gesture with - and bare with with me when I say this - a sip of wine: red, white or rosé. Thus propelling fruity sophistication into our world. Needless to forget its proper enchanting qualities.

Seeing as the gesture is frequent in nature, I propose you withhold your temptation by pinky-promising yourself to abide by Law of Moderation. Or by-pass it and let the grapes tempt your fates. 

Cheers!

Yours faithfully,
T.Rivet

Voiced // POEM: Formidable by Thomas Rivet

Formidable

I am

home

to a

beast;

formidable

morbid

     and able.

I am

home

to a

beast;

escape,

                     be a hero,

be an ape

(with a cape).

I am

away

I have

nothing

more

to say.

THOMAS RIVET

--

Much influenced by 
"Formidable" by Stromae :

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella V by Thomas Rivet [END OF SERIES]

I was slain.  It's simple, see -
the pain was very real, 
though the slayer mustn't have been, probably.
As I dragged my elbows across the castle yard, 
towards that who pierced me,
I discerned a silhouette,
it couldn't be my lady of the sunshine, could it?
Her stiff lips told more than it should.

She had debt, and then none,
as I was that which was to be let.
I and she had made few mistakes
in the last ten, maybe twenty years.
They were typically 'taken care' by me.
Then I weaved out of being wanted and unwanted;
by her, and our fortressed city.
Months and a dull decade until I was once more seen as city hero,
or even sober man. I wanted to leave it all behind, and start anew.
Isabella wanted to remain close to her Kingdom ... so do so, we did.

I owned a castle in the hills.  These hills were northerly, and 
farther than four by fourteen horizons, approximatively. 
It is 'yonder abode', see.

Regretfully, Isabella couldn't live with such an
unflattering man.
The sky was cloudy,
only the most determined beams of sunlight
made it through the wooden stables.
I tended to my steed, 
at which point, 
she must have seized my royal blade
in the armoury,
wandering and searching
for my head or knee, with killer prospects, 
she saw me, swung it self-indulgently
before my half-expecting eyes,
into my unprotected chest, 
inflicting a stream of red splatter
on the yellow hay bales nearest.

Isabella then traversed the varying landscapes
to mine fort; repressing her anger and anguish to detrimental extents,
provoking psychotic behaviour and a spiral of grief and denial. She regretted
doing the dirty deed. I nonchalantly noticed her transformation, 
typically twisting my see-through spirited self 
by path of gusts and gales
through the walls of 
my marvellous château.

An assassin
she has unintentionally become
and long denied to be ...
now I take fancy
in irregularly reminding her
what she did to me.

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella IV by Thomas Rivet

One evening, under a crimson skyline, Isabella ceased

her usual stroll from the muddy marshes.  Her movement
paused as she gawked at the two fungi-ridden towers

that stood at the entrance of our medieval-esque dwelling.
Isabella suddenly

felt disorientated - letting out a scream of agony,
as she pressed her fingertips

on her temples to alleviate the overwhelming pain.
She took the matter in her own hands; 

hurrying to our kitchenette -

stumbling and knocking herself against
the matured wooden stools and tables
that stood in her way.  Isabella fearfully
searched for any item or ingredient to
provide healing.
Isabella thought a ground-vegetable broth would resolve

the excruciating aching.  Despite her effort, it was of no avail.
She was overcome by her weakness ... and fell unconscious.

Days, weeks passed ...

Isabella rested - soon recovering from her
macabre fall, she then crawled to our bedroom after awakening, 
spending many fortnights under the bed sheets ...
thankfully, that is all it took to have her emerge, 
almost transcendently.

Particular events preceding our way to our yonder abode
were now carefully being pieced together, and
there were some discrepancies.

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella III by Thomas Rivet

My lady of the sunshine, Isabella, soon began to wander

the rustic whereabouts surrounding our empty abode. 
Silence crept through the unsettled lands;

waters ceased to flow, birdsong felt banished, only the winds 
breathed down our spines.

There was a presence - au contraire - an absence.

Isabella said nothing.  She would only murmur to me; 
invariably ending her utterances with an adorable giggle.  
Her cheeks would refine, 
turning red - matching her palpable ruby lips.

She seemed detached; Isabella stopped bathing, but would return 

drenched from the nearby marshland; mumbling profanity. 
Isabella was swirling into severe psychosis.

"Gods! Gods! Forsake not - forsake me not,"

Isabella, in impulse, exclaimed from our stone balcony,

with no one to hear her despair.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella II by Thomas Rivet

Isabella spoke in soft tongue; 
she could lullaby the fiercest of predators.
Her words, however, could poison the last man's blood to fatal lengths.
Without her callous charm, her and I would have never been royal lovers.

"Cursed you - you wretched warrior - to the depths; to the abyss with you,"
she would reiterate to herself, as she stood in the shady corner of our bedroom.

I witnessed a glimmering tear, as she strenuously heaved her pride apart.
Isabella fell to her knees, incomplete.

What was I to do? Seek help, or let time heal all wounds?

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella by Thomas Rivet

"Take me yonder,

and I shall call it home"

Isabella cried in desperation.

Isabella now despises me;
have I become a tame man?
It cannot be yonder,
although tempted to wonder ...
what other reason 
for this irrational treason? 

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // POEM: Anger by Thomas Rivet

O thunderous sky
why do you sting
and side with lightning?
Are you angry,
are you in discontent?
Clouds; your Brothers,
your grayscale blankets,
clothe you and feed you droplets
of Earth's freshest
sources and streams.
O thunderous sky,
cease your rumbling,
halt your bolts,
veer your volts,
tell what's wrong
and welt not
Our big blue dot.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // LESS: Silence by Thomas Rivet

There is something about silence 
that renders me 
speechless.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // POEM: A Frolic Alcoholic Once Told Me by Thomas Rivet

A Frolic Alcoholic Once Told Me
A frolic alcoholic once told me,
"when times are glum,
have a glass or twelve of rum,
until your toes and fingertips go numb
and don't even bother leaving me some,
for it grants you release and freedom."
He added,
"and I could do without,
for my words are slu-urred
and delve from three dozen years (or about)
in and out
of bars and pubs along my ordinary route,
and thirst-quenching bouts of existential doubt.

He stumbled and tumbled; 
turning back to face me,
bowing in drunken glory.

THOMAS RIVET