Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MOON-MAIDEN (A VISION OF THE TEXAS RANGERS), by RUTH MAXWELL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MOON-MAIDEN (A VISION OF THE TEXAS RANGERS), by                    
First Line: Fire cracked dry brush on the level sand
Last Line: With an onyx spoon.
Subject(s): Texas Rangers


Fire cracked dry brush on the level sand.
Incense of bacon curled
To whatever twilight god was there
At the edge of the world.
In a clean desert sky, the earth
Was as still as a velvet flower
In one vast shadow curving outward
In its full-blown hour.
The moon rose, a golden pistil
Between petals of the hills,
Shaking the shaded mass of land
To softly flowing rills.
It spangled six bluff Rangers
Relaxed by their dying fire.
They talked of Indian battles
As it swayed higher.

But the quiet earth shivered in her sleep,
And in the moon
A witch stirred yellow poison
With an onyx spoon.

"How strange the sky becomes tonight!
What cloud-mist curvets there,
Entangling stars, as if the moon
Had wild up-streaming hair?"
A stillness smothered in their words.
Against a sultry flare
Of light, lizards streaked the sand,
Swift shadows in the glare.
A tongue of darkness lapped the moon;
The still gaze of twelve eyes
Was fixed upon its lurid rift
In quiet surmise.
The crevice held a sudden form
Within its cloudy frame.
A maiden stood before them,
Her body like a flame.

As in a trance, they saw her shining
Limbs as smooth as bronze;
They felt her proud gaze holding them
With cabalistic bonds.
The amber jewels in her belt
Seemed lurking panther's eyes;
Her filmy skirt, like smoke, flowed down
Her gleaming thighs.
At her side a quiver of arrows hung;
At her back a bois d'arc bow;
Her breasts were bound with polished shells
Of a pale vermillion glow,
Like knives of jet from chasmic pools,
Her eyes flashed haughtily;
Like a crimson bow pulled slowly taut,
Her lip moved scornfully.
She laid three arrows at her feet.
Weird, then, from her hollow form,
Between her parted lips came sound
Like a distant rushing storm.
It swelled to mingling voices
In low-throbbed incantations,
Like the lift and fall of echoed yells
Of Indian nations.
The tumult sank to emptiness
And at its murmuring wane,
She flung her arms in a sweeping are
To the far-horizoned plain.

"Why point to the far-horizoned plain
When your face is all I see?
A murky darkness closes in
And your eyes are all I see. . . .
Is it fire that's slanting through your soul
And flickers in your glance,
Like ghosts that waver eerily
To a devil's dance?"

A distant boom reverberated
And a dim light flashed blue.
Thunder shattered the still tableau;
Lightning splintered through.

Taught muscles leaped, gun-barrels flashed,
Dazed eyes looked wildly where
The girl had stood, and found no thing
But empty air.

"Where is this she-devil squaw?
Damn her! Don't gape and stand.
Off there! And find what Indians
Are crouching along the sand."

The Rangers' eyes held visions yet.
They shuddered at the sky.
The land lay blank under restless sage
And a hoot owl's cry.
The rocks gave up no hidden thing;
No fires let signals fly;
With many a muttered oath and curse,
The search moved stealthily.

Slowly a sulphur light crept toward
The jagged-burning stars;
Wearily dipped the paling earth
Through cloudy bars.
Far thunder stumbled down the void
And in the sinking moon
A witch stirred yellow poison
With an onyx spoon.





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