She sleeps in a thousand blues of forest-shadowed whispers, waiting for the world to wake, now in-between—
and in her dreams, she listens for welkin carolers, the laugh of stars and birds remembering the rhythm of days, tiny rose-tips, yet unseen—
but when, not if, they come again dressed in honeyed gowns of golden light, lingering– she’ll wake to take her place, enchanting May Queen–
with each pace, she’ll color space, a trace of perfume recalling her embrace and soft poetry where she has been, always and forever green.
I revised a poem I wrote for NaPoWriMo in 2021. Sometimes I like a bit of rhyme. 😉 I’m sharing it with dVerse Open Link Night, and I’ve added a recording.
May days are bookended in songs of robin and mockingbird falling over us like catkins, pollinating our souls.
In our blooming, we hear the germination of star-sound, taste Earth’s turning colors and blue sky, after the rain
feel roots swallow and river breathe, we reach toward our own star. The reaching our constant, every why growing like dandelions, smalls suns in a universe of green.
The grey and rainy days have made everything green, especially as we have had brilliant sunshine in between. For all who celebrated Mother’s Day yesterday, I hope it was lovely. We went to my sister’s as usual. This time the weather cooperated, and it was a perfect day to sit outside for an all-afternoon brunch. Friday afternoon, our daughter met us at a winery, and we had a pleasant time talking and sipping a Cabernet. Saturday night, we ate homemade pizza and drank a red blend.
Merril’s Movie/TV Club: I finally got to see The Quiet Girl, the first Irish-language film nominated for an Oscar. It was playing here when some of my friends in Ireland and the UK were raving about it. Then when it finally was, I missed it. So, I was pleased to be able to stream it. It’s a Merril-movie, definitely not an action film. Beautifully filmed. Cáit is a girl who seldom speaks, and the adults around her mostly talk at people, rather than to them. I’d rather not see so much, but here’s the trailer.
We finished the Netflix show, Rough Diamonds, which we both enjoyed. It was an interesting mix of life in an Antwerp’s religious Jewish community and a more action, heist type of show.
Saturday and Sunday night, fans disappointed at not getting tickets to see Taylor Swift in Philadelphia could have camped out in our neighborhood to hear the concert. We’ve never experienced that before. I can’t imagine how loud it was at the venue! I’m glad it was cool enough, so we could close our windows.
Spring is light, pale and sweet, apple blossom honey over tangy goat cheese–
it is pink wave-bursts and blue-winged brushes, and a salad of greens—avocado, spinach, kale topped with scallion-white—
It is sailboats in a charming picture postcard of azure sky and cotton ball clouds– “Wish you were here,” it says with scenes of lazy cattle in verdant meadows.
It is fuzzy goslings imprinted to follow, through upside-down worlds, and swooping eagles that dive and grab, hunters and hunted, celebration and sorrow.
Spring is violent, each shot a seismic rattle a warning that slithers and slides, over network of scars covering shifting tectonic plates— the big one is coming.
Spring is a sneeze and a roar, charm gamboling from beneath shadows—eyes watching
at the river, a circle forms where a fish surfaces—or the river breathes. One breath, then another–gathering the light, reflecting it back.
I used some of Kerfe’s random words from Oracle 2. Last week seemed very busy—just work and poetry events—but somehow exhausting. I took on some extra work, so this week will be busy, too. (So, that’s why I’m procrastinating with poetry!). One day, I did see a goose couple who may have had been yelling at an eagle who took their babies. I’m not certain. Saturday was so beautiful that we went out to a local winey for a little while just to sit outside and have a glass of wine before coming home for dinner. Sunday, we visited my mother-in-law for an early Mother’s Day. Meanwhile, every day brings another mass shooting. And the GOP seems determined to crash our economy, too.
We started watching Rough Diamonds on Netflix, “In this Belgian thriller about the diamond trade, an estranged son who left ultra-Orthodoxy returns home to save the family business (Netflix).” It’s an interesting mix of family drama and rebellion against religious traditions and thriller involving diamonds and drugs.
Learning lines conjugating verbs– yearn, yearns, yearn- ing for life— you are a full stop, I want commas–love, and more.
A last-minute shadorma for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday prompt. It’s an ekphrastic challenge inspired by this painting. I don’t like the painting, especially the young man. And it isn’t helped by knowing Waldmüller was one of Hitler’s favorite artists.
1. Cool fiddler from rooftop perch running sea-shiny arpeggios into the air to gather the dreams of roses–
those were the days, we think from beneath the rusted awnings–
life not a lie, not exactly still, we wait for the spring rain to wash the world clean.
2. Follow the full harmonies of flowers, quiet blues and opera, an iris and a rose, the pop songs of pansies, the show tunes of geraniums the sunny tones of dandelions growing wild—
this season of when and more, the world bright, green, breathing.
Two poems from the Oracle from two different sets. No if today, only when.
No longer silent, mornings drip with song. With blue-eyed pretense, April denies her duplicity, dances in swirled pink song to cartwheel upside down,
now gone the sandals, back the blankets and the fleece. The world is salad greens and dirty dishwater, rinse and rinse and rinse that bit of sherbet from the sky.
It is cat-cuddles and wine, hot soup, bread, and cheese, turn the heat back up, watch the water rise.
But, come May dawn’s fresh-washed from April showers, with popcorn clouds coated in buttered glow and fallen pale pink lipstick blooms give way to smiles of brighter hues.
Now maidens dance and workers march as birds wing from shaded boughs to chitter-whoosh-out of sight.
Proud parents strut with baby chicks, yet the furious river cries, and
we watch from the precipice where the picayune and the profound meet like stars and gas in scattered nebulae, while below are worlds ephemeral and distinct in puddles that flame with life and light.
It rained off and on for the past several days with heavy rain most of the weekend and a flood watch in effect. We visited Blue Cork Winery in Williamstown, NJ, on Thursday night, where we attended a party for members with our daughter and son-in-law. We had free tastings and food, and my husband saw a rainbow. We had our own wine and cheese tasting over the weekend as the rain lashed against the windows.
We watched The Diplomat (Netflix). Our older child and their wife recently watched The Americans, one of my all-time favorite TV series. Then I listened to an interview with Keri Russell on Fresh Air, so I was excited to see her in The Diplomat. I was not disappointed. She and Rufus Sewell are excellent, but so is the entire cast. Each episode ends in a cliff-hanger, or at least a –“wait, what?” moment—including the final episode. I certainly hope there will be a second season.
I loved seeing our current president embrace “Dark Brandon.” Today’s (actually last night’s) Letter from an American by Heather Cox Richardson gave a brief summary of the White House Press Office and conferences. I don’t know why no one is bringing up the twice-impeached-lying-insurrection-fomenting-former occupant of the White House’s age. He’s only a few years younger than Biden, but he certainly seems less fit, both physically and mentally. The former president did not attend the White House Correspondents Dinners during his term, and he refused to let his staff attend.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 