Dream of a black rabbit (continued)

My dream returned
like a late crescent moon
riding high over placid waters.
A black rabbit hidden by his own shadow:
still, in the grass at the edge of the road.

My ship came home empty,
a cargo of whispers
tossed in the easy wind
without the weight of apples
and iron to hold it's course.

And this summer storm has summoned
rain lilies from under the dessicated oak,
filled the gutters with new bamboo leaves,
washed the windows of the drunkard's cottage
and driven the old cat
from his post on the wall
at the end of the garden,
to the shelter of a window ledge,
where he watches the grey squalls
sweep across the bay.

He is older than I, and forgotten his name.
We call him by the sound he makes
when hunger wakes and claws inside.

I have not forgotten what the rabbit told me,
or what I read in "The Book of Dreams and Shadow"
on the dusty shelf of the old botanica.

I still recall the hours full of counting.
the lists of great importance.
Categories and expenses.
The taste of secrets.

How did this become the past?
Why can't I put the sky into all of my poems?
Or tell you what the rabbit hides from?
How have my dreams become,
These scraps of paper in an empty drawer?


(c) William C. Wheeler 2009

Tao 25 poems

These were written over a year ago. I may have missed a few. The Idea behind these poems is that they each have only twenty five words, and that they contain at least a word about nature. In at least one case, I tried to conform to the structure of a tanka. Later i gravitated towards five lines of five words each. They are roughly in the order that they were written. At the time there was a kind of dialog with other poets. Some of the verses are dependent on each other an some stand by themselves.
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This grey paper scrap
Caught in the mangrove branches
Bears no human words.
Perhaps the wind brought it here;
The tides will take it away.


The storms cracked the edge,
Trashed our lives and left us broke.
We scattered from the front…
Still we quiver, waiting,
For tommorow's cloudy sky.


Just a ragged scrap
Caught in the howling storm.
Against history,
Flown back through the churning night,
My rose now torn from this life:
Gone…


Sawed off the old branch,
Hung over the bed room.
Healthy oak like that
Will grow some nice shitake,
We'll sleep easy in storms.


We never spoke often enough:
Of puppets and of plays.
Our conversations fed my heart.
Ashes scattered on The Fells
Where the wild mushrooms grow.


The cold ground welcomed us
Viburnum spread at our feet
The bright stream rode high,
And mossy banks sheltered us.
From the violence of spring


She yells at the wind,
Holds her sacred heart closed.
Ash pours from the urn,
Settles on the slow stream.
I wish for more poets.


I had a stone
from my son's grave.
I threw it in the sea;
I will remember him.
Some other child
will find it there.


This small grey feather, fallen
From a morning doves wing,
Marks a passage in my favorite book,
Where you left off from reading
Long ago.


Just look at him, the dead child's father.
Who thinks he can heal
Or grow beyond the pain.
Skipping stones,
At dawn,
Alone …
In shame.


If I threw a stone
Past the sky's brittle edge,
Where it just fell forever,
Would that be too much?
I could simply skip it.


Between rain grey winter skies,
Pale hospital faces and lights
Of every color
In public places;
I see the distance:
Gone beyond the holiday cheer.


Summer bakes us like bread.
Glowing from each days work,
We sweat like the dead,
Drag our dripping bodies on;
It never seems like enough.


Early autumn leaves, still green
Conceal a dozen passing finches
Feasting on the callicarpus berries
Beneath the live oak.
Peterson's might have their names.


Come to think of it,
They were probably
Tennesse Warblers:
Olive grey
And not uncommon
For this time of year.


An opalescent arc,
A grey dolphin leaps
In rose-lit dawn
At water's edge:
Just a glimpse
Before the splash,
Then we both move on.


Yesteryears' winters
Stained the heartwood
Dark. Lines in the grain
Tell of cold seasons' bite:
Lit by the autumn moonlight
In my oaken window frame


Unexpected rain fills the culverts
Amphibians cry in the twilight.
Drowning out all the sounds
Which we never wanted to hear.
Cars on a nearby road.


Big as the wind,
Across the water
Miles of howling,
Waves whipped to froth
Your small word shreds me.
Flayed bone and empty sockets
Grin.


Poor squirrel in the road,
Can’t decide which way to go.
Cars rush by on either side
As if they mean to make him die.


In the pools of death,
Leaves settle over our skeletons
Leave us pressed in time
Beneath the layers of earth;
Now we fuel your engines.


Let us out from under
This weight of choices made.
The seasons pour like waves
On our uncovered heads.
What dams burst on us now?


Sitting in the still morning,
Crab spider on a leaf
Guards the pink impatience flower.
Voices sing of divine visions.
Dewdrops sparkle in a web.


Far as she could go,
I followed to the end.
By winter it was over
Yet the stain lingers on
Both our hearts were shallow.


What part was beautiful
To you? i missed that.
Part. Beauty fell everywhere.
Leaves cover. New shoots rise;
But we forget our roots,
And pass with the seasons.


Shred the layered Veils
and Burn for heat these Garments
which Clothed us Summer long,
now Shed their Golden Splendor!
go Naked towards the Snow!


Till Under these Pale stalks
in Clawed and furrowed Earth;
Bury life’s remains with snow:
our gifts to winter’s bitter heart.
Awaiting springtime’s golden glow.


Under this cold sky’s arc
Effort rarely serves great Virtue;
One person’s Work feeds many:
Starlings descend on the Field.
Young ones shirk the Plow.


A paltry Rag-and-stick
man Wards off the Birds.
This season’s children must till
Grandmother’s garden. Save the wine;
break Bread in new Jerusalem.



You showed me dark rainwater
Pooled between the mossy oak's roots,
Beside the shady laurel path
We walked together as children;
I remember you then.


Listen
Your laughter in the velvet stillness
Beneath unleaving trees and stars,
Whose awful silence
Mocks us more
Than knowing what,
and
Who we are.


Golden tassels, gone since spring,
The ripe acorns gather everywhere
Covered by the new fallen leaves.
Squirrels will secret some away,
Forgetting where they planted them.


pods.gaia.com/tao_poems

from her morning walk

A shoe in the window, or it's a cat
She seemed to say, with her mouth half open
Pointing with both hands. See. There. Look at that.
Face damp with spray (or tears from the ocean.)
"it came out less than I intended,"
She said clearly, I could hear. Both eyes
Look at me. The cat...
"I walked there," making coffee,
"Couldn't see the point," she said,
"Clearly." The soft grey in the corner.
And curled around her ankle.
Faint moaning in the distance,
She shakes the droplets from her hat brim.
A little cry of hunger from below.

Change: one

Elect me as your president
Open this new chapter of life
History speaks through your blue eyes
A quality of strength in your make-up
You mediate the channels of the heart
Loosen the knots of red and white.
Enter with me, this majestic plane of power,
Discover your true feelings. Open,
Allow yourself to breathe
The warmth and happiness
Of your nation,
Your people,
Your power.
Celebrate,
The shedding of the skins:
Masquerade of colour,
Changes of the moon.
Lift me out of glass-green night
And raise me as your flag
Spangled with mystery
To fly, free in the brooding wind.

questions

Are you the one for whom I searched?
Scratching the surface of the skin for hidden stings?
Poking in places where I did not belong?
Have I embarrassed you?
Made you blush and turn away?
Are you aware how long I've looked and lusted
After the traces of your scent
On the gentle breeze of evening.
I've torn down houses looking for you ,
Mowed down old forests like they were merely men.
I've drunk whole oceans,
Thirsty for the taste of you,
Only to find myself dizzy and belching
On the shores of a dead sea.
Do you know the mountains i have moved?
The deserts sifted, grain by grain of sand?
And how many answers have I found?
Your name written in the mist?
You calling out with the voice of the wind?
A flower exactly like your skin your lips your eyes?
A bright spot of sunlight shifting on the forest floor?
A star that died in eons past
Whose light only now begins to twinkle in a corner of the sky?
What are your names, the first and last?
How should I call you?
Is there a number for you?
I can reach across space and time,
But only so far, so long.
When I find you again, will i know?
It has been so long,
Am I still searching
Or merely waiting
For the end?

Of friends, kin and travelers

I Dreamt that I had Quarreled with my Brother
and Woke to find His Blood on both my Hands.

Sister Told me we were Both born only Children
and our Kindred wandered Far across the Land.

Each of Us must Search to find our Mothers;
Take our Places in the Family of Man.

As we Gather up our Promises and Wisdom
and Suffer in this Place of blood and Sand

Learn to See your fathers' Loving Heart
In Every one you Meet,
and Hear his breath in Every word you Say

Someday You and I will Meet again as Strangers
Pray we greet as Friends and fellow Travelers
and Recognize our Kinship on the Way.

Don't look surprised!
Poor old William
Shook off his winding sheet
And stumbled into sunlight!

-March 25, 2008

Et tu Brute? - Then fall Ceasar!

And you too my son,
shall know the taste of power.

Sighting Whales

A child, my parents took me sailing.
We often crossed the old whaling
grounds off Nantucket and Cape Cod.
In the spare sphere of sky and water,
My Father cut the engines
Tacked a swerving course
Across the Open Sea.
Our tiny old ship
Barely made headway,
And we'd wing the mainsail
And the jib,
Posting out the genoa
Like a flying spinaker.
We took turns
Hanging on to a sheet line
Off the side
Just for the chilling rush
of dragging through the deep.
I think I first learned courage
Hanging on to a rope under clear skies
while the fathomless Atlantic
rushed around,
Below,
Salt stung my eyes
But I recall how the mid-day
Sun pierced the depth, Illuminating volumes
of green emptiness.
Maybe trust, was the lesson
and courage only followed.
I was only ten or so
but as i drift across the years
i see my father's strong arms
Hauling me in
Lifting me full out of the water
Pulling me to the safety of the transom
with the firm arm of a hero.
(memory serves as well as truth
some days: for Caesar
was an honorable man.)

The whales came suddenly,
like a revelation. at once
they were all around us
breaching the briny
meniscus of their fluid empyrean
with a whistling blow
that left misty plumes in the air.
A pod of ten or twelve
With at least one small fin
breaking water
alongside it's mother.
Then as my parents
pointed cameras
to capture the truth of the moment.
A great rush of water
yards off the starboard side,
great swell of grey whale flesh
and the glimpse of one dark eye
before the creature dove,
he raised the broad fluke
and smacked the water once
like a gunshot. They were gone.
I shivered naked in the sun
My father struggled with the helm
Mother slack jawed,
staring at the horizon.
That was us in a snapshot.
The photo's showed a grey back,
a fin and just a wisp of whale breath.
Nothing to remember.
just a ripple in the sea and sky
Frozen in my memory
I see us all

Trying to stay on course

Recording this moment

Standing alone
Stricken in the presence.

missing

Her hands hold
An old photograph
Fingers touch
The image, faces
Shadows on paper
Burned in silver
In a moment of light.
I cannot see
My sisters face,
But are these tears
In both our eyes?

Ariel to Ferdinand:

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.