Migration
A journey–
indigo sheen above salted grey,
fish-tailed dreams scattered
in the shift of corona-glow–
the notched tally swells
as our bellies shrink,
till light-joy seeps
from the sky’s shadow-seams,
shimmering rays petal-open
in kaleidoscopic array, grounded
before us, a tapestry, a perfumed carpet
sways to wind-breathed song.
No longer lost. This garden, home.
For dVerse, where we are asked to use forms of word play.
The Cotillion
On our blue planet
a-tilt, wobbling, rotating,
and revolving,
sky-shadows shimmy
in the slanted light
of spring—
the moon-pulled tides swell
and undulate,
and above, the blue or red-shifted
stars glimmer, but
nothing ever stands still—
all dancers
in a cosmic cotillion
the never-ending-dance.
A quadrille for dVerse. Mish has given us the prompt word, “shift.”
Freefalling
A twig snaps. Is that young backpacker following me?
I turn, but no one is there. I go back to my hotel, noting everything and everyone, like a cat alert and waiting to leap. Trust no one, I think. I mention to the hotel clerk that I’m off to Avignon to visit an aunt. I take a taxi to the train station, then from there, another taxi to the airport. I book a flight to Bonn; using an alias, I book another flight to London to gather more puzzle pieces, hoping for a fit.
On the plane, I think of how I once jumped, freefalling in space, in time. I sit thousands of feet above the sea remembering. How much I thought was true was not. Can one love an enigma? Enigma. Paul. Something he said on the cliffs. What was it?
I’m hosting dVerse today. My prompt is “In space in time I sit thousands of feet above the sea” from May Sarton’s poem,”Meditation in Sunlight”
This is a continuation of my spy series. The first line was the last line in the previous episode, which you can read here.
I have a poem up in Visual Verse, and so does Jane. I enjoy ekphrastic prompts. If you want to try it, there’s a new prompt each month.
You can read mine and see the image by Adriaen van Utrecht, an early 17th century Flemish artist, here.
I’m sharing this with dVerse Open Link Live.
The Songs: Sun, Moon, Earth
1.
She rises for others, but never as for us–
a long-bowed cello note sustained
as she wakes, red-breasted,
timpani beat the rhythm of the day,
joined by bird-flutes and wind-harps
while she dresses in gold,
she spins light in contrapuntal streams
with shadow rhythm. Our own star,
crowned giver of life and death.
2.
The moon sings with silvery voice,
her soft hums become operatic arias.
Though on her arid surface, men stood,
and watched the Earth rise. Still, but not silent,
no mere satellite, she demands the spotlight
shine on her. Owl-hoots, wolf-howls, rustles
of restless night creatures are percussion to
her melody. But in the morning, she smiles
as three crows call, the trees wave,
and the birds sing her a lullaby.
3.
And here-
we rotate, revolve, reflect in repeated reverberations—
Earth has its own music,
sea-sighs and deep-belly rumbles,
bird-tweets and dog barks, baby-giggles, and lovers’ moans.
Bangs and bombs, birth cries and death-rattles.
But listen as a rooftop fiddler plays
all the color, all the light–
the songs of earth, moon, sun, and stars.
For dVerse. Laura asked us to write poems with three separate stanzas using one of her word choices. Sun, Moon, Earth was the only one that really appealed to me.
Spring Came This Year
early in February—this year
the purple crocuses
yawned and showed us golden teeth,
this year,
the daffodils joined them in unexpected yellow
against the bluest sky, and
ignored Winter’s frost-breath. A last gasp? Uncertain,
we watch the feathered-clouds fly
this year, any year.
A quadrille for dVerse. The prompt word is gasp.
Gogyohka for Grief and Hope
follow the light
within the feathered beats of moon song,
a mockingbird sings of love and hope,
between the full moon and the new,
an eternity passes
At dVerse Open Link Night we are remembering Glenn Buttkus, who died last month. This is a poem I wrote just a few days after my mom died in 2020 in the first COVID wave. The human world was shuttered and silent, but spring just kept going on. Here, I’ve paired it with Kerfe’s exquisite Owl Moon. You can read the original post here.
The Fathomable Unknown
Pondering,
you recollect the past,
its sweat-stained shirts
and hulking monoliths–
describe the bells
so that we hear
the tintinnabulation,
the bell-swell, clapper-clang,
ding-dong, soul-singing
ring across the hills and plains
across the years—construe
what’s false or true. You,
Writer, make a city rise and fall.
Create a giant, defiant but
literate, stormy as a cloud–
wonder aloud,
grapple for answers
based in knowledge—
a girl, a famine, misogyny, religion—
the thousand indecisions,
the visions —
life and death
and forgotten facts
buried in earth and under snow,
but know,
like the snowbells, they rise and ring,
and like the robins they sing,
a song takes flight,
their wings catch the light
and a tale rises from the dust,
because it must,
a wonder of sorrow, regret,
love, or glory–
Once upon a time. . .imagine. You tell the story.
I revised this poem from last Monday’s musings and added the audio. You can read more about the inspiration and see more photos here. I’m sharing this with dVerse Open Link Night.
All is Fair in Love
Paul and I saw the pink rose painted on a wall. I remember the slow grin that lit up his tired face, just starting to look gaunt, as we all were.
“It’s you,” he said, “Beauty-with-thorns.”
Now as I’m searching for Paul, that rose has reappeared. It can’t be a coincidence. I feel like I’m being led with breadcrumbs, and I know the path may lead to a beast, not a prince. Yet, even with the risks, I can’t stop.
Is love or war fair? Who were you, Paul? Was it all a game? Every year I think, this year’s a different thing. I’ll not think of you with longing—or regret. But how do I banish a past so full of questions? How do I banish thoughts of you without some answers–?
A twig snaps. Is that young backpacker following me?
I’m hosting Prosery on dVerse today with the prompt line:
“This year’s a different thing, –
I’ll not think of you.”
–from Charlotte Mew’s “I so liked spring.”
I’ve continued my spy story with a sort-of-love-themed post for Valentine’s. The previous episode ended with the pink rose.
While I was writing, I thought of this Stevie Wonder song.
The Wait
The beast was a snarling dragon,
below the surface it twisted and roared,
shifting earth and time
stood still, reversed, accelerated
till the sated serpent slithered away.
And the stars twinkled unconcerned
above the rubble, dropping light-seeds
onto the exposed ground. They would wait.
A quadrille for dVerse. The prompt word was star.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 