Chiliads of dazzling dreams
dart and dash with lightning gleams,
fly from souls in darkest night
join in dance until the light.
Circling, soaring they fly high
(you might see them in the sky)
there–around the humming moon—
they waltz. . .but are gone too soon.
Frank has asked us to write a tanaga for dVerse.
“Something nameless
Hums us into sleep,
Withdraws, and leaves us in
A place that seems
Always vaguely familiar.”–Mark Strand, “Dreams”
“All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.”
My daughter and I talk–
sleep paralysis
she says,
waking to plunge into the terror again
not being able to move, or scream
in the terror of the dream.
And I think of the young people caught in a school
and those elsewhere—the whirlpool,
the vortex of contradictions,
fight or flight,
rehearsing what to do if caught,
a nightmare over and over again
until some finally scream, “Enough! Be seen!”
we need to flee the terror of this dream.
I was child,
practicing the duck and cover drills
ridiculous, tilting at windmills,
but I remember being terrified,
petrified that my parents would not come for me
before whatever we had to flee–
a world ending with both bangs and whimpers—
no tears,
just fear,
and no way to wake
from the terror of the dream.
And so, how can anyone say these young people are tools,
they have seen the violence in their schools,
they have been forced to practice,
to dance with fear,
to hold it near,
and should their dreams die
before they’ve had a chance to fly?
We see a movie
about grief and guilt
from wars, built
stronger, lasting, flowing through generations,
the absurdity of life–
the solitary camel ambling to the checkpoint gate–
the soldier who dances the foxtrot with his gun
fun arising from boredom with surrealism fused-fate
that keeps us dancing and returning to the same spot—
caught–
as if in a dream.
And though the movie is set in Israel
where “the fallen” fall so often
that those who bring the news are prepared
to deal with the grieving and the scared–
they come with drugs and instructions,
attuned to this production,
the result of the war machine,
the resulting grief and tears it brings–
still what happens there,
could happen anywhere
where there is war
and where dreams are launched
with guns and bombs
prayed over with psalms,
and where they fall from the sky
to die.
We walk and talk
the day is still cool,
but the seasons are cycling
through the year—
and spring is near.
We see a wedding, groom and bride
attendants by their sides.
Though the fear is in abeyance here
the nightmare lasts,
we must lift our voices to put it past.
to see the light,
to see the sun,
the hopeful dreams, caught and spun,
Can we celebrate our fate,
move towards love, not to hate,
unparalyzed, with dreams awake,
wear hope like a perfume?
We arrive home–
to find some daffodils have bloomed.
We saw the Israeli movie Foxtrot. Trailer here.
Blue moon sings,
she chants our dreams—some
elaborate—
we sleep, and
they swim, scream, rock, winding through
who you are and why. . .
when all is
smooth beauty over
languid seas,
will you cry–
wanting a diamond, not pleased
by luscious language. . .
raw whispers
of rainstorms springing
the garden,
as water
licks the petals, showing us
what is. . .if only
The Oracle gave me an interconnected shadorma chain. Is that a thing? It is now. I just saw there is supposed to be a blue moon at the end of the month, when hopefully, we will actually have spring. The Oracle knows!
I’m linking this to dVerse Open Link Night.
This is a Haibun of 44 words for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for play and guess, and for dVerse’s Quadrille Monday, where De Jackson asked us to use the word bounce.
It’s been a stressful couple weeks. Thoughts bounce about in my brain, as I try to sleep. My cat is nestled beside me, and his soft snores echo in my dreams. Time and space now speculative.
ideas frolic
gamboling animals romp
visions of wonder
Franz Marc [Public domain ], via Wikimedia Commons
This was inspired by a poem Jane posted and our comments.
In the darkness, catch the stars
keep them, hold them, in a jar
with memories of long ago. . .
then on the nights when thoughts are bleakest,
let one go and watch it seek its
dream-mist companions of the light–
watch them floating, soaring high—
to the rhythm of your heartbeats, fly
on intangible wings to empyrean heights
follow fly, and do not stop or wonder why,
but in the darkness, grasp the jar
catch, hold fast, a glimmering star.
ESO’s various observatory sites in Chile — Paranal, La Silla, Chajnantor — boast enviably low levels of light pollution. However, the skies overhead are rarely pitch-black! As shown in this image of Paranal Observatory, the skies regularly display a myriad of colours and astronomical sights, from the plane of the Milky Way shining brightly overhead to the orange-hued speck of Mars (left), the starry constellations of Scorpius and Orion, and the magenta splash of the Carina Nebula (upper middle). Despite the remote location there are also occasional signs of human activity, for example the sequence of lamps seen in the centre of the frame. These faint lights illuminate the route from the Very Large Telescope (VLT) to the Visible and Infrared Survey Telescope for Astronomy (VISTA) where this image was taken. Due to the highly sensitive camera this photograph also showcases a mysterious phenomenon called airglow. The night sky is ablaze with deep red and eerie green hues, caused by the faint glow of Earth’s atmosphere. Because of airglow, no observatory site on Earth could ever be absolutely, completely dark — although ESO’s do come pretty close. This image was taken by talented astronomer and photographer Yuri Beletsky, a member of the 2016 ESO Fulldome Expedition team. This team visited Chile to gather spectacular images for use in the ESO Supernova Planetarium & Visitor Centre.
Here’s another winter solstice poem. This Haibun is for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday. She asked us to use synonyms for the words cover and precipitation.
I’m tucked under the blankets. My big-eyed, grey-striped cat is cuddled against me. Our white cat has closed both his blue eye and his yellow eye on the pillow beside me. My husband, wrapped in a green-bordered patchwork quilt, has fallen asleep downstairs in his recliner. We all dream. Our dreams are shape-shifting creatures that fly high to dance together amongst the stars. I dream of winter snow melting in spring sunshine. In my dream, there are green fields and blue horses in a silver mist. There is a building, where inside a dark room a woman slowly chews and swallows some strips of paper. She smiles because now she holds all the secrets–buried inside her like a seed. But someday they will sprout in light, blooming flowers of truth and beauty.
Dreams reign solstice night
soothed by moon’s lullabies,
slowly, the sun wakes
Franz Marc, “The Dream,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Diamonds rain on distant worlds
through far-flung light, they’re hurled
as if in a dream, or time-stopped scheme
she sees this sight, this bright delight
sparkling glimmers in the night,
amongst them beings with feathered, icy arms
who dazzle with their unearthly charms
murmuring as they her enwound
twirling her so up is down, and all around
the sound surrounds–
the voices of the planets and stars,
and quasars hum and pulse in song,
and she wants to sing along
bewitched by time and space
but then it’s gone, this now elusive place–
yet when she hears the rain at night
she remembers the bewitching sounds, the transcendent light,
the sight of diamonds sparkling from the sky
and remembers that once she reached and she could fly
“This image of Saturn’s rings was taken by NASA’s Cassini spacecraft on Sept. 13, 2017. It is among the last images Cassini sent back to Earth.”
I’m linking this to dVerse’s Open Link. Björn invites us with the holiday spirit in mind and the winter solstice soon to come. I brought sparkly space diamonds to the party. dVerse is taking a two-week holiday break.
Yesterday was my birthday. It snowed and things didn’t quite go right, but I read that it might rain diamonds on planets such as Saturn, Jupiter, and Neptune, and I thought how beautiful that must be.
I’ve combined prompts again–a Shadorma for Eliot’s November Shadorma Challenge and Jane’s A Month with Yeats Poetry Challenge, Day Twenty-Seven for both.
Today’s quotation:
“Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on.”—W.B. Yeats
I watch her
sleep, tiny body
breathes softly
in and out,
time focused
only on the here and now,
her dreams without words
did her soul
travel from the stars
I wonder,
discover
love grows exponentially
in lullabies sung
I’m combining prompts again for Eliot’s November Shadorma Challenge and Jane’s Month with Yeats. Here is today’s quotation:
“I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!”–W.B. Yeats
In a dream–
we flew like birds,
laughing gulls
soaring high,
or stood amidst the sea foam,
time and physics paused
Ilya Repin. “What Freedom!” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
This is for Jane’s A Month of Yeats Poetry Challenge, Day Eighteen.
Today’s quotation:
“The dews drop slowly and dreams gather;” —W.B. Yeats
She gathered dreams like berries in a basket,
grasped them, sorted them, sweet and tart,
an art,
matching dreams to dreamers,
sending them to lovers and schemers
some fragrant and ripe, like the fruit
but that wouldn’t suit,
not everyone.
Some dreams were like the fruit for jam or pies
mixed together, cooked, filled with hints of other things, or lies,
or perhaps words for the wise—
sometimes she even prophesized.
She went about her task with thoroughness,
not obsessed or oppressed,
it simply was her endeavor
she existed always and forever.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 