The Web Poetry Corner
The Web Poetry Corner
William R. Meador
of
Ontonagon, MI, US
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Brother
by
William R. Meador
This is about my brother who was killed in an automobile accident. He was my best freind, hunting partner, fishing partner, tractor overhauling partner.. etc.
On a sunny crisp November day
I heard my darling brother say,
"let's get gun and ball and shot
and go forth, whether win or not,
a hunting prize and meat to simmer
Through the coming cold of winter."
I saw enthusiasm in his whim
And willingly went to field with him
On a day in spring my brother said,
Inclining his body and his head,
"I wager now, with rod and bait
We could gamble and test the fate
Of big black bass that lay in deep
And pull them from their peacful sleep".
I saw the smile flash from his eyes
As he contemplated the fish's demise
On a night in March I heard the phone
My brother had gone to claim his throne.
And suddenly for us the world was old
Uninteresting like a tale twice told
Of duties that mock us in the day
And toss the bed in which we lay.
Big Foot
by
William R. Meador
I pause looking down into the track
Of a deer, and though I cannot see
The bottom for the deep snow
I know that it is near twenty eight
Inches deep, because the deers
Belly was dragging a little
In the snow.
It is yesterdays track at least,
If not more, but I think yesterdays,
And I shield my hands around my eyes
To see into the distance,
But the tracks stretch out
To the horizon and I follow
Softly on snowshoes.
After some time and distance,
Probably an hour and a half,
I come upon the trampled,
Bloody snow, where the coyotes
Have had "tug of war"
With their prize.
I feel sadness...
Not that the Deer died, for that
Was it's destiny and the answer
To it's design as prey.
Neither was I glad overmuch
For the coyote who so
Zealously rendered the carcas
Into heat and warmth.
I feel as though I am prey myself,
But I am not sure who the predator,
Nor what my worth is to him.
I look over my shoulder
From time to time
Half expecting to face him
In his quest.
The House
by
William R. Meador
Mutely it stands now.
You could not know...
Of children that rose in winter
From warm beds in frosty rooms
And snatched up frigid clothes
To dash down the stair
To momma's kitchen stove
To dress for school.
Mutely it stands now.
You could not know...
Of thanksgiving days in autumn
And blue ribboned calves at fairs...
Visiting wagons and buggies...
After sundown romances and
Kids playing "kick the can"
Long, long ago it was
Mutely it stands now.
You could not know...
Of the young farmer trying
To fill his father's shoes
On the successful farm
That became unsuccessful
At every turn. The frustration
To understand why..Why!?
Time has reclaimed the dooryard
And the long sweeping lawn
Is now tall waving prairie grasses.
The windowless shell belongs to swallows,
White faced hornets, patient termites,
And the ticking of time.
Mutely it stands now;
You could not know.
Thimbleberry Pie Delight
by
William R. Meador
A blossom large, a berry bright
Makes thimbleberry pie delight.
We tore pants; We vied with bears
And seared our skin with nettle hairs,
For this, our prize, we gladly fight;
Yes! Thimbleberry pie delight.
Return
by
William R. Meador
I am trying to be precise
And so I carry the compass in hand
Throwing the other arm up
To fend off brush as I go.
How clumsy the human who
Goes with such difficulty
Where the deer slip like
fleeting shadows Making no sound.
I am trying to be precise because
Of not wanting to miss the bend
Of the river, which I should bisect
On my course. I want to find the
exact spot I came to when I was
Deer hunting here about eight
Years ago. The cloudy day when
I came upon the Ontonagon River
and it was whispering by in it's course
And I loved it. This was the most
Beautiful sight I had ever encountered
Because there was a sadness, or
Was it just in me. It was snowing
That day and the flakes hissed
little zzzt noises as they touched
The water. I swore then that I
Would have place upon this river;
I would be a part of this, and now,
About two miles downriver from
My cabin I realize just how much
A part of me the river has become.
I am going to leave a sign along
The bank, so when I canoe by
I can see the place where I first met
The River.
Robin
by
William R. Meador
I wonder how a robin feels
Contemplating her empty nest.
Does she ever pick at it
or straighten it...
Tighten it up...
think of them
now they're
gone?
I do.
I grow
More surly
Everyday now
And I am sure that
They would never be happy
In the nest with me anyway.
Still I wonder...
About a robin I mean.
River Sonnet
by
William R. Meador
The log is slimey with black wet decay
and the water deeper than I am tall.
The canoe grows heavy late in the day
Lifting again over another deadfall.
We return to its safety dripping spawn
of rotting leaves and twigs set free by feet
more accustomed to putter about the lawn
Or stroll exubriant down a tree lined street.
My old friend, patient and durable, is
Tiring now, complaining at some mischance
snag of horizontal trees and gives his
opinion we are first to canoe this branch.
Many days hence we'll remember with pride
The strength our bodies had hidden inside.
Porcupine
by
William R. Meador
I saw a porcupine in the fork of a tree.
His back was turned so he didn't see me.
I hailed him then I shout "look down"
He slowly started turning around.
But he only turned his head and neck
Just enough so he could check
And see what fool was there below.
The motion was so very slow.
He gazed at me from his post on high
and after long...With a kind of sigh
He turned back round to former state
And in effect...Gave me the gate.
Ozone
by
William R. Meador
I see them... see them
slipping away;
My hopes....and dreams
Of yesterday.
Oh wretched, ruthlessly
Advancing time
Could I but hold
Your Marching line
That crushes dreams
My every care
and leaves, as lightening,
Only ozone air.
Ordeal
by
William R. Meador
When people challenge a river they're thinking
Of paddling peacefully between tree lined banks,
And though they remember crawling over logs
And startling fish and birds by there struggles,
They somehow forget the unequal ration of pain
To pleasure, and again I find myself miles from
Anywhere on a rive, crawling over trees that
Fell from undercut banks maybe twenty years ago.
I tell myself I am getting too old for this game,
And my younger partner, laughing, says he is also.
We are not laughing as much now as at the first
However, and we swear again to never canoe a river.
Ontonagon River Voices
by
William R. Meador
Their spirits seem to be calling to me
From deep in the forest that was not then
only forest, but mineshaft or quarry
Where they labored daily in a time when
Much toil was exacted for little gain.
They say come.. Come down the river and stop
Where you see the pilings. Your eyes mut strain
To see them now, but there are traces atop
The banks..mouldy posts too. Come..come look;
Our lives and what we did.. we wish to tell..
Stories not told complete in a history book
Of our struggles, how we rose, how we fell.
We have waited for you to come and hear..
Left artifacts with which to draw you near.
My New Home
by
William R. Meador
I got it made. I really got it made!
Most people are happy to have a bathtub,
While I have one in the bathroom
and two more out in the yard.
There are piles of rubbish with all treasure,
(or is it trashure?) under, over, and nearby.
Really, some of it looks quite useful,
That trash can for one thing, had it a bottom.
And this is my view.. haha my mountain view
Wood in those piles I could build stuff with
If it hadn't lain so long...Then the pump
That use to pump water for this place
Like, before I was a kid in maybe 1922.
And on top of all this I can't do a thing
about it until spring... It is going to be
completely under snow in a week or two.
My Country
by
William R. Meador
I can be found in Ontonagon
Or even there in Mass,
Fishing down in Paulding Pond,
In lily pads and grass.
At Bruce's I will always stop
I know some people there
But I am Home in Ewen,
That's where I claim my share.
I can't be tied down though,
You'll find me where I be,
Halfway to Victoria by canoe
Or by the Shining Sea.
I'm on the Ontonagon street
Or at the County Fair
If you look for me long enough
You'll find me anywhere.
Muddied Fingers
by
Soggy wet leaves
Make big round spots
On the Knees of My trousers.
I am digging with
Muddied fingers
Into the cold earth
At the twisted rooty
Base of a large Beech
In the dense forest
Just so many steps
From a head shaped
Rock near the river.
It was surely
A Hoax I had thought
and came for fun
But now.. with
The Rock and other
Rock by the river
And now the beech
In just this place..
I am incredulous
And the hair
Is rising on the nape
Of my neck
And I don't know
Why I should fear
But I sense.. something
And my muddied fingers
Strike the bones
Of other, long ago,
Muddied fingers.
Military Hill
by
William R. Meador
Gasping raggedly for air I stop
Briefly with just a little way to go
To reach the top... Military Hill.
Everytime I would drive down the valley
And up the other side, I would think
"I have to climb that hill... soon".
And now, finally, I have all but done it.
With but a few breaths I continue
The rest of the way to the top and...
Oh My! What a wonderfull sight.
The branches of the River all
Come together in the panorama
Below me. The East Branch from Kenton,
The Middle branch from Painsville, and
Not visible, but known to me at least,
The South Branch from Ewen and my place,
And (if you canoe the river) the West Branch
That comes across from Lake Gogebic.
I have been by here in my canoe.. Strange
The scene is very different viewed from the river.
This is the land that I own.
You cannot take it from me. It is
Buried deep in my heart with all the
Warm memories that make up a life
Of one such as I.
The Messinger
by
William R. Meador
Her hand on my arm was warm,
Light and sensual. It seemed
As though some tingling message
Was sent, and received, but I
Could not make it out.
Her body, very close, was
Lightly scented, and reminded me
Of Dewy morning roses of
Misty summer Dawnings..
Fraught with promise.
Her voice was soft on my ear
And close. I felt her warm
Breath, sweetly; almost I could
Taste her mouth and feel her
Lips on mine...
"Sir, your car is ready now", She said.
Mary
by
William R. Meador
Mary came to me in springtime
With blossoms in her hair;
Lightly brushed her lips on mine;
Her skin was soft and fair.
She came again in summer
Wearing white and azure blue
Petulant now, she seemed to be,
I wondered what to do.
And suddenly on a rainy day
She appeared all storm and raging
Unsatisfied was she with life
So fast! Too fast the aging.
I went to Mary in the winter snow
With flowers in a basket.
She looked again as she had in spring..
A beauty in her casket.
Seeking Manitou
by
William R. Meador
I am walking in the forest..
In the cool and dripping forest
With the thimbleberry fruiting..
With the doe and fawns a-leaping;
Prancing with the thrill of morning.
Would that I could join their number..
Abandon men and join their number
In the dark and humid forest
Of this Ontonagon land.
Last Trip
by
William R. Meador
At the very first sign..
Well..maybe the second or third,
Follow my orders, do not be deterred
Pack my canoe..My outdoor gear,
And send me off in the spring of the year;
Now I mean early; with the ice I'll go..
With the mud and the trees and the ice I'll go
Before my mindwheels turn to slow,
And to the nursing home I'd go
Where my father sits from day to day
And doesn't know and cannot say.
I have to go some other way.
Nightsong
by
William R. Meador
Katy-did
And so did cricket;
Sang a song so very wicked.
Called insanely bush to tree;
Sang their song, but not to me
Sang of summers closing days
In lewd and raspy..earthy ways.
Ice House
by
William R. Meador
Thirty five or so I would guess.
My little radio says that locally
It is twenty four below zero,
But here in my ice cave
I guess that it is about thirty five.
I have made a ledge near the ceiling
So that I have the advantage of
Most of the heat that rises,
And lying on my bed/bag
With the pad beneath all else
I am preparing my nest for tonight.
Weighing the worth of a cave
Manufactured from snow,
I only regret not hearing
The coyotes and the winds.
My usual fortress a lightweight tent
Is quicker to set up complete
but much colder inside,
Not that it matters much
Inside the downy bag asleep.
So I guess the big difference is
The lack of sound in a cave
manufactured from snow,
And I know not which I love most
The sounds or the silence.
How Dare You!
by
William R. Meador
Do not call me a troll,
For I do not live under a bridge
But only abide there as fortune dictates
Until I can assume my rightful place
In the Ontonagon River Basin.
It was a dirty trick
That set me far below the mark
To spend my life dreaming Northy dreams,
But do beware, and smile if you tease,
I am no troll. Don't say that please.
Homecoming
by
William R. Meador
To my pining home
On the terra cotta clay
Of the Ontonagon river basin,
I plead for patience.
I will surely come
If breath is in my body.
I will come if only
To lay me down
'neath the cool red clay.
I know not how I was born
And raised so far from home.
BUT I WILL RETURN.
Heart-Home
by
William R. Meador
Oh, the cool forest of the Upper Peninsula
Was surely the target. How is it that I,
Who knew my home immediately I saw it..,
Could have been born and raised so far away?
All my life have I hated my surrounds
Never feeling I was a part, And not really
Wanting to be. Then suddenly, on
A trip of hunting... I was home. HOME
And yet I had never been in that place;
But I wanted to know everyone there.
I devoured the history, and visited Oldsters
To listen to tales I half knew I knew.
But now for the time being circumstance
Demands I pay dues to society. I carry
My home in my heart with ony the emblems
Of Ontonagon newspapers and ATB for company.
The Passing of the Gypsy Wagons 1943
by
William R. Meador
I Stand beside the dusty graveled way
With other children in answer to the call
"the gypsies are coming". The mothers all say,
"get back from there, come stand with all
The others here". Men lock and guard close
Their paltry posessions, then steadily stare
At the annual passing of the morose
Band (who we never ask as to how they fare).
When they are gone there is a common sigh
As all disperse to their various work
And know not why they feared (nor do I).
Except the unknown always seems to lurk
And be ever steeped in shrouds of mystery
As these with there arcane lore and history.
Dinghy
by
William R. Meador
The lateen sail is bowed tightly
As hour after hour we sail.
Upon the inland sea we travel,
Mile after mile, just we two.
A rogue wave multiplies itself
And laughingly tries to kill us,
And we gleefully hold to gun'nle
To accept a watery slap aface.
Yet, somewhat shaken, we now come
Across the wind and begin to shorten
The distance to shore. Waves
Of the evening are deepening now...
A tiny boat on a swollen sea like
Modern day wynken blynken shoe
Sailsmen on a nodding journey
Across a diminutive ocean.
Come up little boat. Come up
Into the determined wind and
Boast of your strength to the sea.
She is double daring us you know!
Death Dream
by
William R. Meador
In a vision on my pillow
(I lay still in deepest slumber)
I am standing by a willow,
By a browd and hanging willow.
Little eyes about are staring
Eyes around me without number.
In the sultry darkness, gloomy..
On the spongy grasses seeping,
Little frogs are peeping to me,
Singing all their night song to me;
Furtive movement in the shadows..
Small and furtive..Deftly creeping.
I go forward.. I am trying
To find a path in palest moonlight,
By a winding river sighing,
Winding soft and lowly sighing;
Calling me to journey onward..
Journey on as clock strikes midnight.
Now upon my pillow, flowing,
Blood is spreading, darkly staiing.
The other me lies yet unknowing
As from my body life is going.
Now I know I am not dreaming..
I die softly, without paining.
Someone comes now..comes to greet me,
Thoughts of comfort whisper softly..
Whisper of a light to meet me...
A light is growing.. Light entreats me
"Be of cheer and lean upon me,
Be at peace", it whispers softly.
Deathworld
by
William R. Meador
I dreamed a dream upon my bed
And saw the earth and sea;
The former age replaced instead
With just eternity.
I saw no birds that soar aloft
No splash of fishes swimming;
A barren shore.. no footstep soft
The sun was redly dimming.
Man was gone, Oh yes, and beast;
I could not help but weep.
Oh earth be not forever dead...
But only quite asleep.
Crystal River
by
William R. Meador
The mists that continually rise from the river
Have layered on rime to stems and small branches
And higher up in the trees overhanging the bank
The remaining Ice from a previous Ice storm.
You can hear the little branches tinkling Together
Like tiny mobiles that puff in the wind as though
Jack Frost himself were invisibly blowing them
From time to time as he painted with ices
And special equipment that only he has to create
This wonder on my river, and now I am not so sure
as I was that I am in such a hurry for summer
And my kayak. I must come here often in winter.
Cicada Song
by
William R. Meador
One close by...
Answered yonder
Now near... Now far,
I'm left to ponder
What the message could contain
That needs be said again..again
The tune I know
But not the tale
Of back and forth
Repeated hail.
Cain't
by
William R. Meador
I can't.. I can't .. I can't
And can't never could
Nor never I would
I only am me
Not what I would be
Though I would like to change
I can't rearrange
The bones of my past
Too Close
by
William R. Meador
I didn't realize he was there
And now I don't know if I should
Make my presence known, or if he
Would attack me because I am in
His area that includes whatever
It takes to make him feel safe.
I am downwind, if you can call it wind
The air is actually pretty still.
He is meandering around now
And seems to be getting closer
There isn't a tree close by
That is easy to climb.
I should have been making more noise
For I saw his pile of droppings
observing that he had found
A service berry shrub or two.
I hope it is male or if not
At least let there be no cubs.
Away
by
William R. Meador
A hat of thimbleberries
And feet of clay
Red earth from pores
That floats away
On the shower floor
In a long red streak
clinging from trails
That I did sneak
Off to seeking
Peace of heart
The sometimes need
To be apart
All Gone
by
William R. Meador
The days of youth
With force and strength
Soon fly away...
All gone at length,
Then frustration
Bitter as gall,
As sure as winter
Will follow fall.
I want to scream
"This isn't fair"
But in my struggle
I only beat air.
Day 3 - Bedding Down
by
William R. Meador
I have fashioned a shelter for a few nights
By covering two downed popple trees (that
have broken nearly off, but stayed propped)
With grasses. Long grasses from near the
River bank and placed crosswise of the logs
To carry off moisture, and then leaves-a-plenty
To keep them from handling all that much
Moisture in the first place. I will sleep
On top of the bag for now, since it will be
Still above fifty five degrees during the night
And if I get a chill it will be a simple matter
To slip down into the bag. Actually I don't
Need the shelter, but wanted to practice setting
Up a bit. It will serve to keep mosquitoes at
Bay a bit. The exit hole I covered with a net
From a mosquito hat. Now I shall take my ease
And listen to the evening and early night sounds.
I have heard these sounds all my life. As a child
Catching bugs and examining their soundmaking
Equipment, or their flashlights, in the case
Of fireflies. Listening to them send their strange
Encrypted codes on the evening breezes... calling
Back and forth.. back and forth. Whatever could
The message be? In the fall when all such insects
Were maturing the cacaphony of their calls would
Cover normal conversation to the point that one
Would have to raise ones voice to be heard.
Not exactly a symphony, since there was no
Cooperation, but more like a tuning up session
Would have been.
Cold Breath
by
William R. Meador
The winds of October have brought a chill
Silencing the quail and whipporwill;
The skies turn grey and glower at me
tearing the leaves from the aspen tree;.
Slapping the word from my mouth with glee;
Pouring the north wind down onto me.
I wrap snug my coat as though a shroud
And curse the sky, but not aloud.
Not aloud for I fear the power
As the temperatures plunge, hour by hour
And horizontal flakes now do appear
Nipping at my nose cheek and ear.
And I sit here as a quite bawdy clown
Caught with my oversized breeches down.
Silly look painted on my face
I'am not prepared here in this place.
There are those that play out in snow
That never see it's threat of woe
Snoeshoes, skis and snow machines
Are their mileau dawn until e'ens
And while I am not so robust
I'll learn to love it more I trust.
So I will dress up and go forth
But will not be "King of the North"
She's Gone
by
William R. Meador
I Long for her, who lately sought me out
Who called eagerly and often, as did I.
Who has stolen my treasure from me?
The only treasure in my store house
Is gone... and I am left pacing in tears
carrying a phone with me everywhere
that will never ring. A mind full of memories
That I can share with no one again.
A Soul Twin... almost as though a
Siamese twin whose organs I cannot
live without.. Near two months now
Have passed and my tears continue to flow
When will it end..?? Dare I end it myself?
I am too afraid to insult God to do this.
What brought this about?? I do not know
Perhaps I wll never know.. and maybe
It was just time and she still sought
something that I could not supply.
There is another now.. I hope she is safe
He surely does not treasure her
As I did. I would have given up
My very life for her.
And I will cry forever.
Dark
by
William R. Meador
There is nothing quite so stark
As to sit alone in utter dark
rushing sounds heard in your ears
serve to amplify your fears
What lies outside that I can't see?
And is it looking right at me?
What was that!! I heard a sound!
Something surely creeping around,
The sun that I curse when in my eyes
I would now regard as a favored prize
And yet the night has just begun
Just now the twilight following the sun
To western lands I never knew
I pray they do not curse it too.
And if the morning finds me well
I will remember a darkness hell.
Reverie
by
William R. Meador
a different point in time
a different point of view
a different way of thinking
thinking of me and you
.....
but always I remember
remember with a smile
The way it was between us
In that somewhat other while
....
the web of days encloses me
encloses me with its bands
there is no use to struggle
to struggle with my hands
....
and now I watch it as a play
I watch the play of me
upon the stage of Betsy
and on the stage of we.
....
And now the "I" sits lonely
Lonely in the gloom
like a solitary chair
within an empty room.
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