Saturday, April 28, 2012

Sometime Queens, Dancing Fish

Electric Flowers
—Photo Enhancement by D.R. Wagner

—D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove

The Sometime Sleeping Queen
Had awakened and had beside
Her a beautiful child who
Brought joy to all who saw,
For there was magic in the bed
Where the Sometimes Sleep Queen has slept as
All her city had slept and
All the realm had slept.

When it was already evening
I became the snow peaceably
Drawn by the countenance of the soul
That I should come, disguised
With my lover and would tell
This Sometime Sleeping Queen
How such a thing could be
And that this selfsame lover
Was none other than myself and we
Dwell with you now with
Children three.  The first was
Spring whose joy could only bring
Her sister Summer to the days.
And long, long they were and
Everyone we played with
And in the cool of the evening
Brought us another brother, Autumn
From the Sometime Sleeping
Queen’s most bountiful of wombs.

While I, the Winter with my
Lover continued to swirl
Until my lover was all
Within each child as blood
Within a living body and took
From that Sometime Sleeping Queen
Only this tale that wraps itself
Around your heart and finds
You too sleeping till the dawn
Must find you, full, in the arms
Of any season.


WHAT IT COMES OUT OF.”  ....Ridley Walker
—D.R. Wagner

You must forgive me
If I forget the night.
I’ve managed to keep it
Outside with the Spring
Of the frogs that have
Settled into it.  April
Sounding like a fantasy,
Birds in the air,
Pictures in the wind.

I struggle to make myself
Understand it, but it is too late
And the day has leaked
Itself all over me
Staining my clothes with
Memories that are not mine.

A drift of ghost
Schools of small fish
Cascades into my
Frontal lobes like
Waterfalls of songs.

Please help me here.
There is no place left
To go and I can see
The dogs circling the fires.
How long have we lived here?

Wishing and chasing the light
Into our own hearts,
We grow old by the
Fires next to the fences
Erected to keep us
Away from all that
Has failed the land.

I spend my life thinking
Words that could head
Away of these and wade
In the chill of morning,
My hands burnt and
Bleeding.  Prayer shaft
Of light that bores into
Our souls.  Help us.
Help us.  Help us.
They become the chant
Of the frogs in Spring,
The whining of dogs
Left alone, the
Stumbling through
Night after night
Obliged to continue
Living beneath the
Detached dome of
Time.  Our very breath
So precious we
Can barely say
These words.


—D.R. Wagner

The hands opens.
The hand closes.
The breath has harbors
Where it could stay
For years watching itself
Move easily over wave.

Being the waves.
This is not more.
This is not less.
This is not distraction.
This is ten thousand years.
This is a single cup of tea.
This is the weight of the world.
This is still the breath.

The weight of breathing
Does not change.  It
Remains the music we
Have dreamed so full of
Each breath.  There.

Now opening the ears.
Now letting all sounds
Pass the doors.  Now
Letting all discussion
Float upon April.

Only frog sounds all night.
When I weigh them
In the morning the
Scale refuses to move
At all.
April. Breathing.  What
Is weight after all?


—D.R. Wagner

Ramon began lighting the candles
Hours before the sun set.
He lined them up along the
Beach, just out of reach
Of waves.  There was no wind.

The moon rose.  It reached out
Touching each of the lamps
With a moonbeam.  Ramon
Returned to the shore and
The moon seeing him took
Him by the hand and carried
Him to her home.

This I have heard from
The starfish who live in the sky.
They have seen lights along
The shore and watch the silver fishes
Come to the edge of sea and
Dance upon their tails
As I have danced here
With my own tale, though
I know it is true.

For Ramon who loved
The lights in the night
Has come to see me too,
Holding the hand of the moon.
They both swear this is true.
And who am I to say it
Was a lie when it was told
To me by Ramon and the moon?
For neither of them can but
Speak the truth
Or there will be no lights
Along the shore and the
Dancing fish will come
No more and this story
Will grow so dark
There will be not
A single word more.


Today's LittleNip: 

—n.ciano, Davis

A word
is not a few
but an entity,
and a meaning to the whole. 
Every word holds a position
for a chance to take a stance
in a battle cutting deeper than
any sword could ever withhold.
Your words could not be seen
but it were for those
that turned into a meaning
cleanly cutting into a feeling.



 S.F. Fishing Fleet
—Photo by D.R. Wagner