Long Rabbit on Poems
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Cherokee chamber,
where a pow wow stampeedes preconceptions of inheritence,
from Her beaded neck charms of chance & chains of change
glisten from opulent offerings of roots, corn & lavender ablaze
on an alter of unworked stone mantled with skins strong beasts knew,
She is a " Stomp Dance " Queen with an owl as a friend and a spider as assassin,
with rattlesnake ribbons around Her wrists and prayers in Her braids thick with traditions,
the walls of Her teepee painted with the pigments of buffalo blood & sunflower pollen,
portraying a history hewn from customs known to Spirits and men alike,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen speaks for Her People and sings from the stars,
I found this Tribe, not in Appalacia nor on a prarrie stage but in the smoke of ceremony,
the Cherokee Princess has rattlesnake teeth tied to Her thigh & turtle shells upon Her hips,
She played the rabbit on the scene, then the wolf, if you know what I mean,
celebrated by the warriors as a tomahawk maker,
praised by the medicine men for Her Visions,
and feared by the Elders because of wrath that may follow Her steps,
the " Stomp Dance " Queen is a Princess, She is a Cherokee with a song Her own -
J.A.B.
Pardon me Hon, my apophenia is acting up. See,
I have this acute case of advanced pareidolia
Today my two fried eggs formed Munch's 'The Scream' in the frying pan
it made my toes curl, but it seems to have solved my writer's block!
I even wrote a song based upon the compelling rhythms
of my dripping faucet
My coffee foam faces give me daily companionship
and I could write a book on all the tree trunk friends I've made
Sometimes cloud formations help me decide on a stock to buy
or which horse to bet on
I've seen FDR in Half Dome's face after an exhausting day of hiking
I felt strangely comforted by America's most beloved socialist
I've bid on Ebay for that grilled cheese sandwich of Jesus and Mary in a tortilla
sadly, I didn't win either one
I've talked with the rabbit on the moon and spoken to the mermaid on Mars
haven't heard back from either, but maybe I'm not listening hard enough?
Speaking of which…
were you saying something?
written 19 Aug 2020
I met this rabbit on my morning walk…two months ago…near as I recollect…
He was sitting in the center of where two roads intersect.
I said, “Good morning, little rabbit. Isn’t it a pretty morning? How are you?”
Little rabbit did not answer…but then…rabbits seldom do.
But neither did he hop away…he just watched me walk on by…
I remember thinking…that was odd…and pausing to wonder why.
The next day…the same scenario….if my memory is correct…
the two of us met up again where the two roads intersect.
This became our normal routine…I’d greet him…walk by…he wouldn’t’ flee…
until…one day…without notice…he began to hop along with me.
Sometimes he’d hop beside me on the street…sometimes on people’s lawns instead…but, realizing I walked too slow…he often hopped ahead.
We’d walk and hop together to the end of the street and I don’t know the reason why…
it was here he’d stop…look up at me…as if to say goodbye.
The other morning, as had become our routine, I saw him up ahead…but much to my surprise…as I neared the spot we’d meet…little rabbit faded from my eyes.
Were the street lights and shadows playing tricks on me…bewildering my eyes…
or was that the ghost of little rabbit stopping by to say goodbye?
All I know is from that moment…I remember exactly where and when…
Little rabbit’s not been back to hop with me again.
I take this as a reminder to cherish our friendships every minute of every day…
because we never know in this ever-changing world when they may fade away.
And though I know ours was a short friendship…
I still miss him…
and in retrospect…
I shall always cherish a friendship made…
where two roads intersect.
I'm tired of being sensible
when writing words in rhyme,
sometimes I like to rabbit on
with garbage every line.
The meaning that folk get from this
is always new to me,
for there's no purpose in my drift
that I can ever see.
So feel quite free to comment
with critique of all sorts.
Throw me flowers and roses
or point out all my warts.
It doesn't really matter
how you all respond to me,
for this is not the reason
that I'm rambling you see.
I ramble like a blubbering fool
to free words I've not said.
The words that if not written down
would stay within my head.
I throw them out to scatter
so you may collect them all
and see if you make any sense,
the way you see them fall.
So feel quite free to comment
and educate this fool.
Maybe it's you who pick them up
who'll find a golden rule,
to tell me how to mix them
in a really crafty way
that makes them not just rubbish,
but something that’s grand to say.
But till I find the formula
for clearing out my mind,
I’ll write just utter garbage
of the mixed up, mangled kind.
I know it not a masterpiece
or even worth a read,
but hope my words can grow on all
who cultivate my seed!
Ivor G Davies