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Bill_Day

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Later Selected Poems

                                     A Dance: Interpreted from a Dream

                            To all the spirited and spiritual beings who

                                                can still face God

The scene for this dance is ancient Egypt in front of the Pyramids. The stage is dug into the sand,

 and large, very large pieces of wood have been placed to create a colossal stage. Gigantic wooden chairs have been

placed at one end of the rectangle platform where the gods may sit, but they are empty.

On to this stage meekly steals a peasant, dressed in rags.

Who am I, oh Lord, to stand here before You?

I am but a Terrian of no importance.

I can neither write nor read nor rule.

My name means nothing to no one,

But I am here

To plead our case.

We who fight among ourselves

For no real reasons

Ask You to forgive our behavior

And to take our dearly dead into Your domain

Though they may have died in vain.

Exonerate those among us who pray to You

And ask for your protection

Then create horrendous acts in Your name

They know not Your Will nor Your Way.

Excuse all our pride and hypocrisy,

For we know not

That we presume upon your domain.

Sley us not for trespassing

And violating Your creations

Including our sacred-given home.

And if our reprehensible violations

Need be stopped

And cannot be amended

Without Your intervention

Spare us the punishment that we deserve

And gently gather us into Your fold

By awakening us from this dream.

After this exhausting dance, the peasant passes out, falls onto the stage,

And the lights go out.

                                A Night In The Mountains

In the dream

I am me

Looking at an impossible scene,

Then I become another being-

I am dreaming someone else's dream:

It's not my life or my thoughts at all.

For a moment I fly

Then lack of concentration causes a fall

And I awaken

Even as other beings call.

Slightly startled

My senses refocus on the dark surroundings

And an invisible animal’s movements.

An unbridled imagination

Seems so limitless:

The unwinding of work

Or prancing at play…..

Or

Just chaos?

Though fettered by knowledge of the familiar,

My reality is more poignant, less improbable,

and more possible

Because of its constant continuum

Than dreams seem to be

But my night's reality sharp edge is soften

By the vastness of it All.

Eyes and mind stare at sumless stars

In a cloudless sky,

I assume an infinity within

Can touch the one without

                      Different Dances

Does a blend

Of flowing orderly time

With Chaos

Make this solely a human world?

A blend of

An irreversible

Seemingly ordered flow of causal events

And a seemingly subtle but real infinite depth of

chaos

Give our lives a slippery freedom

That is neither real nor unreal.

Is this a perception or conception?

On a backdrop

Of dancing units of subatomic energy

Building to the intergalactic gravitational tugs of

war,

Life and death cycles

Flow and Merge.

All of this makes it more than a dream:

For it is greater

Than perception, conception, and even

imagination.

But yet these do not totally envelop reality

For perception and conception

Make the whole greater

Than the sum of its parts.

Infinite at the instant they are experienced

Even if finite in their vision.

Isn’t this plus, a part of God?

The antientropic element?

Something added to create an infinity?

At two o'clock in the morning

I awaken

Under a so brightly lighted night sky

That the Milky Way is a permanent cloud.

The roaring Spring runoff of the Cuchara River

Rivals a freight train three blocks away

I stumble seeking a toilet

Escaping a dream where

On a prehistoric desert

From the sand

Protruded a skull of a sabretoothed small animal

While a live facsimile of the same

Watched our different and distinctive dance,

Together:

Though she, a three hundred pound white

Negro,

Is sensually wriggling rhythmically

Though I, a sunburned dark brown Caucasian

Am high stepping,

Our communicating dance tells me

This is my mother.

Then who is my father? I ask.

"Have you been to Mexico?" she answers.

This real vision reappears as I write.

These thoughts materialize and develop:

Perceptions

and

Conceptions

                         For Those Who Went;

                        For Those Who Didn't

We fought our wars.

We suffered.

We partially blame each other,

And even some blamed themselves.

But we all carry some suffering;

We created our distress:

Our guilt for going and not going.

We killed or didn’t protest the killings

And something in us died.

We are not the same

As before the war.

Whether we were reborn

With guilt

Or without guilt,

We are......

The afflictions, theirs and ours,

The death, theirs and ours.

We who are again alive

Know the suffering

Which spirals as an endless percussion

Of the bomb which never ceases to explode.

We who are again alive

Feel the never ceasing retribution,

The never ceasing guilt.

Years later

We have rejoined our communities;

We have come home to our families;

All seems normal.

A generation’s stories are told to the next.

Whether in history books or personal pictures, 

We see pictures of past generations, 

of past relatives,

Those who we've never met.

We see their uniforms, their battles,

And if we listen carefully,

From these stories, we hear

That which we carry within,

Traits which we didn't think could be passed.

We hear stories about relatives

Knowing they are we,

And we are they.

We know we are what we hear.

Will we ever learn?

But it is all so fleeting.

We become the pictures

To others who do not know

Our stories, about our war -

About those who went

And those who stayed.

          .........Continues......