Tag Archives: Earth

Tilting

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512px-NASA-Apollo8-Dec24-Earthrise

Photo of the Earth taken from Apollo 8, called Earthrise (1968).

 

I see the morning moon

dream-full of spring songs—

of sap, worms, crows

 

(a murder gathers, cawing)

 

Now she hums fiercely through the clouds,

stirring my senses—

 

my mother’s alive, the call a mistake,

but my tire’s flat

on an earth that tilts, revolving.

 

This a quadrille for dVerse. De has asked us to use some form of the word “stir.” Yesterday, my sister got a call that my mom was “unresponsive.” It turns out the facility called the wrong person, and my mother was fine. However, I pulled out of my driveway and discovered my tire was flat. Fortunately, that didn’t happen when we were driving on the expressway.

The Dreams that Dance

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His thoughts                            And prayers

were broken-winged               she thought, meaningless things

never soaring                          sometimes boring, never driving

far                                            to the stars, where she longed to go,

but earth-tethered                     unfeathered, she remained

he stayed, staid,                       while she longed for blazing rays,

only in night’s dreamscape wandering high      to dance together in the sky

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A contrapuntal poem for dVerse, where Paul is tending the bar. My poem is three separate poems.

 

 

Blue Marble, NaPoWriMo, Day 25

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Beguiling planet–

our existence here so brief,

circling through seasons

we love, destroy, yet wish for

our cerulean orb, home

Photo originally taken by Apollo 17 crew, Wikipedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another busy day. Off prompt for NaPoWriMo. I’ve written a tanka for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for enchant and shape, and for Frank’s Haikai Challenge using the prompt Earth.

 

Questions for a Traveler, NaPoWriMo, Day 10

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Wherever you’re from–

do the stars twinkle and glow

when you look from below?

Do clouds zip by in a stormy sky?

Or birds sing effusively

and wing conclusively

to greet each spring?

True, life’s often a Sisyphean trial–

yet, stay awhile. . .

Earth beguiles.

Harald Slott-Møller, Spring, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is  a quadrille for dVerse. The prompt was to use the word zip, or some form of the word.

I’m saving today’s NaPoWriMo prompt to ponder for another time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Assume the Joy

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Assume the world’s full of joy,

not hate,

stare at birds,

wonder at our fate

and if we’ll mind what happens after–

“the late”

they’ll call us,

if not the great–

but we’ll be gone,

beings that are not immortal

(unless time folds–perhaps a portal?)

and so, we shouldn’t hesitate

just assume the joy

of stars and earth

of moons that hum with charming mirth

then laugh, my dear–

no, stop, wait

—listen

there–the robin on the garden gate

512px-American_robin

I needed a poetry break this afternoon!

This is for Secret Keeper’s Challenge.

The prompt words were: Assume/Mind/Late/Being/Stare

 

 

River to the Stars: #Haibun

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Cooper River Park, 2016
Cooper River Park, 2016

 

 

I paddle slowly. The river wanders like my thoughts, meandering, unhurried. The water forms patterns, sparkling ribbons that dance with the breeze’s soft kiss. The breeze smells of earth, water, and of greenery sprouting and blooming, the scent of life and promise. I watch a great egret perform a sun salutation. A turtle on a moving branch floats by, a surfer hanging ten. I see fish swimming just beneath the glimmering surface of the water. Their silver scales catch the light, as they twirl in an aquatic ballet. This river has been my place of dreams, my place for dreaming. I say goodbye.

 

The blue planet fades

soon only a memory

carried in my heart

adrift, sailing through star seas

scarcely feeling the shockwaves

 

I am in a tiny vessel hurtling through the vast universe. I am sad and scared–but filled with wonder. Though I think of Earth, remember the sun-glowed river, it is like a dream. The stars call to me. I’ve awakened, and I listen.

 

the_blue_marble

This is my first attempt at a haibun. Colleen Chesebro provides an outstanding explanation of the form, if you are interested.  The prompt words were  earth and water.

 

 

We Will Talk Amidst the Clouds: Microfiction

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2010_utopien_arche04

By Makis E. Warlamis (Own work, Daskunstmuseum, 2007-01-05) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Journal Entry, 4772: I woke up early, too excited to sleep. Today I begin my new position as chief consul. Thousands of years have passed since my ancestors made first contact with the world of our guests. We miscalculated then; the inhabitants of that planet were not ready, and we backed off, observing only from a distance. We were surprised that the beings we’ll be welcoming here today finally dominated their planet, and even more surprised that they survived. They were fond of wars, those bipeds.

It’s too bad that we’ll have to transport them from our planet’s surface to our capital. I love how it hovers amidst the clouds, a beacon of serenity, and a perfect place to hold our discussions. Too bad they cannot experience the joy of flight, as we do. There’s the beauty–the glow of light on feathered wing, the iridescent colors, and the glorious feel of the air, as it rushes by, carrying the scents from below and above. Oh well.

It’s time now to go. To meet the Earth ambassador. Apparently she is named for an ancestor who was famous for—what was it? A walk? Oh yes, I remember now, on their moon. Ambassador Neila Armstrong. End log.

I spread my wings and fly out to meet her.

 

This story is for Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge. This week I’m close to the word count! The prompt is the painting above.

The story is related to this earlier one I wrote.

 

 

Hearing the Spirits Sing on a November Morning

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In autumn’s quiet dawn,

shadows lurk, spirits between worlds,

they flit, dancing just out of sight

till light, when mortal forms wake,

and under an azure sky gaze in wonder

as glowing colors break.

The golden hues cannot be named,

nor explained,

but must be experienced and felt instead.

Nature is terrible and beautiful,

like the volcanic eruption,

with its fiery trails that end in destruction,

but the true miracle is the seed

once planted, sometimes with little more, proceeds–

growing, thriving, becoming food for body and soul,

still and all—

it’s up to you, to choose

to worship the volcano,

stand there as the hot lava flows

burying you, and us, and so it goes,

or plant the seed and watch it grow

and in the time before the dawn

and as the world turns in cycles and seasons

be glad for the choice, be happy for reason

as with the spirits dance in joy

though you may not see them anywhere

but know they sing in gentle breezes

and sun-kissed air that greatly pleases,

whispery sighs, floating cries,

“hope is better than despair.”

 

Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing circa 1786 by William Blake 1757-1827

William Blake, Oberon, “Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing,” [Public Domain), via Wikimedia Commons