FROM THE BOOK OF DAYS

Photographs by D.R. Wagner

FROM THE BOOK OF DAYS

We have seen the paintings

In the cave of the hunt.

The buffalo are so real in

The light of the torches.

They seem to move, the throwing

Sticks and spears flying about.

Today the sun disappeared

In the middle of the day

For a long time.  Then it came

Back.  Many were afraid.

I was not one of them.

The war is all around us.

There is no way to describe

What is happening.  It is

Like living inside an infection

Full of noise and sorrow.

Certainly we are lost now.

It has been many weeks since

We have seen land.  Only the sea.

Always the sea.  It is so large.

In traveling we have encountered

Many peoples so unlike ourselves

That we could never have imagined

Them.  They are each having a

Unique experience as well.  How

Is this possible?  Such wonders.

The maps are incredible.  Each

Place, each gene, is like a universe

In itself.  Yesterday we made a slight

Turn and discovered an entire

Mountain range we did not know

Before.  I saw a huge flock of bright

Green and red birds flying so vigorously

They seemed to be exclaiming.  We were

So far from them their flights resembled

Writing across the sky, yet full of lights.

Lorien

I waited for you most of the night.

Just before dawn I realized the river

Was much too high and fast for anything

To cross safely.  I know you will

Come today.  I write this to comfort

My heart only.  I shall keep the watch.

p.s.

I have never before thought of the rain

As an occasion.  Today it has become

Something I would like to share with you

I spent several hours just sitting quietly

Watching it from the door stoop.

FLOWERS AND TREES

Here's a link to a 1932 Disney award winner a"FLOWERS AND TREES"
It is a delightful film.

http://youtu.be/BniCEQO1X2s

MORE TREE IMAGES AND HEADDRESSES, a poem.

The Oak tree.

The Chestnut tree

HEADDRESSES (a tale from the hills)

I suppose it was broken long before

We got here.  There were rubber bands

Holding the wheels to the axles.  The whole

Thing tipped and grumbled every time

It tried to do that walk it did.

Everyone still found it very entertaining.

Perhaps the questions it posed

Are unanswerable, like skeletons

Waiting by a windmill for the grass

To reveal the grim beast of the wood.

The forest listens to each leaf, each

Signature of love.  It breaks the heart

To see the fields aflame like this,

But oh and oh and oh what

A wondrous view we have of heaven.

The swans. The clouds.  The magnificent

Headdresses all comforted and astonished

That they are.   We are forced to think

Of our mothers and when they finally

Showed us the great birds and

When we finally touched them

Any idea could be ours.  The whole

Thing just clunked along like a good habit.

Brothers Quay 1986- Street of Crocodiles

In keeping with today's fairy tales, this Quay Brothers film from 1986 is a masterpiece.



http://youtu.be/EgqmXK1pf7Y

FAIRY TALES

FAIRY TALES

The housings of my horse

Are embroidered with gold.

My skin is pure blue.

I walk through all forests,

Copper and silver and gold

And i am a story that cannot grow old.

My story is filled with all

Of the royals, prince and princesses,

Kings and queens;

Trolls and the fairies, enchanted

Castles of crystal and dream

And none of these creations will

Be what they seem.

My tasks they are endless.  They

Happen in threes, each one more

Complex, but accomplished with ease,

By magic and cunning, with fish,

Birds and beasts and magical fruits

And sweet candies and treats.

Stones more precious than

Jasper or Onyx.  Diamonds and

Opals and gems of great worth,

Seen always in dreaming then

Clouded by thunder.

The finest of cloth, silks brighter

Than sun and beautiful slippers

That fit only one and that one

Much more lovely than lovely could be

With witches and wizards turned into trees.

Such not are my stories when you

Have passed by.  They live in your

Childhood and are destined to die

Or hide from your grown self

Unless you can be, tempted by

Such things that might move

In your sleep and carry the

Fancies to caves where

They’re reaped by poets and traders

In rhyme and in magic who

Know what steals time.  It is

Through these stories joy

You will find.

Oh love them most well

Or the lights will wink out and you’ll 

Leave them behind

With much of the joy

Such great things can unwind.

There are tales to tell.

There are tales to tell.

Take all of their gifts

For they well keep you well.

Do not leave them behind.

DEAD END

TREES - ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS ON THE PLANET

Old Elm

Sugar Maple

cygnus

Painted Beech

TREES

They were burning pictures

In the villages.  Animals,

Singers of complex songs,

Those who danced to create weather.

We could only watch.  There were

No words, only a high

Humming sound generated by

An intricate beating of hearts.

It seemed a kind of symphony

Based in flames.

We thought it ridiculous. Pictures

Only. No other resources available.

“We have no more dreams.”

They said.  “We have burned them

All.  Nothing remains.”

“Why burn at all?” we inquired.

“For warmth, warmth only.”

“Have you no feeling to warm

You?”

“We were once trees.” they replied.

They shook their arms.

One could hear pictures in the wind.

“Why pictures only?

“We love you so much.

Everything but move as you

We do, to prove this love is true.”

And you do not care to listen.

Pictures to you are a kind of memory.

Our action will attract your attention

Even for a passage through the verb.

Come sing with us of places

Still to be made full, of glades and copses,

The willowing of light across a stream,

The kind of breath that causes pause

To see the farther view.  And trees,

Like us, devoid of form but that primeval,

Our language born of flame and its attendants.”