Tag Archives: Light

Transcendent

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Monday Morning Musings:

“If you could tag each of the atoms in your body and follow them backward in time, through the air that you breathed during your life, through the food that you ate, back through the geological history of the Earth, through the ancient seas and soil, back to the formation of the Earth out of the solar nebular cloud, and then out into interstellar space, you could trace each of your atoms, those exact atoms, to particular massive stars in the past of our galaxy. At the end of their lifetimes, those stars exploded and spewed out their newly forged atoms into space, later to condense into planets and oceans and plants and your body at this moment.”
–from Alan Lightman, The Transcendent Brain, quoted in The Marginalian

Transcendent

Perhaps I make tenuous connections,
hear the light-sound waves
of an acoustic moon, a push-pull
of tide creation and slowing rotation.

Nothing is constant, one day Earth and Moon
will part, lovers who have drifted too beyond salvation,
but for now, we revolve and spin, see only her bright face,
never her dark side,

and perhaps that is why she sings,
adding her voice to the universe. One voice in an infinite,
ever-changing choir of nebulous nebulae and exploding stars
that have formed us, and to which we return—

but this is a point, maybe the point
in this dashing, flawed, incredible world
where our own star rises and sets, and robins trill–
where I feel both wonder and tranquility
in spring’s transcendent glow, reflected
a thousand times, light finding a way
through space and generations, sky to river and back again.

I used some of Kerfe’s Random Words for my poem.

Today is the first day of spring. Winter has been trying to hang on the last few days with cold winds, despite the sunshine. The temperature was only 29 F when I woke up this morning, but we will warm up to the 50s and have some days of 60+ this week. The days I walked outside, I saw incredible light. Meanwhile the former president is trying to stir up his supporters (and collect money for his legal bills) and the GOP continues to pass or try to pass laws that will harm women and promote ignorance. Thank goodness for daffodils.

Daffodils

Last Tuesday was Pi Day. I don’t bake pies very often, but this apple crumb pie was delicious.

We had sci-fi Saturday with our homemade pizza (the heart-shaped one just came out that way), our Star Trek Enterprise pizza cutter, and an episode of the new Picard and old Next Generation. And more lentil soup as the cold winds howled.

Incoherent Light

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Monday Morning Musings:

My friend’s husband says she’s in charge of rainbows,
a wondrous job, I think, but she doesn’t want it.
I understand, it’s a lot of responsibility–
but imagine the perks—would you see all the light
we cannot see? A scattering of particles, the coherence
and incoherence of light—the flow of color, like a waterfall–

Early morning light on the Delaware River (there’s a morning moon in the upper left corner) ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021
A cloudy morning-–

on the car ride home, we hear part of a Ted Talk on the radio. The speakers are discussing stars,
they sing “we are stardust,” as people are setting off noisy fireworks all around us,
seeking light in the sky, not realizing it’s within.

Early morning sun over the Delaware River.

My cat leaps from his comfortable tabletop slumber at a loud bomb-like burst. I think of our other cat, dead but alive in memory, Schrödinger’s cat—and I think of the graveyard of twinkling splendor I see in the night sky, the ghost light of ancient stars, echoing.


Do some people become black holes, full of light that’s caught–and so dense,
trapping anything in their path and extinguishing all sparks,

Relaxed

the glow of sun on water, reflections that magnify what is or what could be?
We only see our own images in reflection. Perhaps it is the truth, that we—
and everything—wavers—depictions that flow endlessly through time—incoherent, chimerical,
shifting.

Crow circles, caws to the river, sky, air—look around you—
and I try, but–

  • Crow
As the crow flies— over the Delaware River©️Merril D. Smith 2021

my dear friend, I’m in need of rainbows. Please see what you can do.

Sunrise and mist over Pitman Golf Course–taken by my husband.

Yesterday, was Independence Day in the US, the Fourth of July. We got together with friends for dinner, and when we got home the neighborhood crazies were setting off fireworks for the second night in a row—but worse last night. My cat was terrified, and I was annoyed. I’m hoping we don’t have another night of it.

  • Turkeys and Flags–Independence Day

Merril’s Movie Club: We watched two movies this week. Coherence is a low-budget 2013 indie film that we both really enjoyed. It’s a Twilight Zone type story of a dinner party on a night when a comet is streaming by very close to the Earth. Strange things happen, but it’s better not to know in advance about them. But you may question what is real. It’s available free on Amazon Prime, and maybe elsewhere. We also watched Shiva Baby, a new movie (rental from Amazon) that we also really liked—me perhaps more than my husband because I felt like some of the people could be my relatives. Nearly all of the movie takes place at a shiva, but it’s a comedy/dramedy. We’ve all probably been stuck in awkward social situations that we can’t seem to get out of, and this movie captures that feeling perfectly.

The Bravery of Being

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Monday Morning Musings:

In the staggering power of stars,
there is a balance, to hold within, or
to burst and blow

scattering light across space
and time,

Early morning light on the Delaware River. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021

and time again, we see the dying glimmers
and again, with time, we find some power

in the gleam within–
we search for ourselves
over generations

blooming again and again–
the seeds, flowering to life,

  • The glow through the leaves. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021
  • Petals and Light ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021

though some die too soon,
others are cultivated,

sparked by an inner glow,
the DNA of stars, the lessons of ancestral genes—
finding superpowers in the everyday

discovering they are brave—much braver than they suspected.

My Shadow in the Light.©️Merril D. Smith, 2021

Within and without, power and balance,
Stop for a moment. Now—look–

Do you see the colors in the sky?
Light and beauty, ever-changing,
connected, connecting, everything.

Early Morning Light, Red Bank Battlefield. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021

Merril’s Theater/Movie Club: We streamed How to be Brave, a play by Welsh playwright Siân Owens, a production of the Inis Nua Theater in Philadelphia. I really loved this play and production. It’s a one-woman show about a single-mother, a librarian who likes order, but on this day snaps, steals a bike, and travels around Newport, Wales, and back and forth from the present to her childhood and learns (or re-learns) how to be brave. It’s a story of motherhood and generations, which is also a theme of the movie, Fast Color (Amazon Prime). Set during a time of severe drought somewhere in the U.S., the story is about Ruth, who has been on the run, but goes home to her mother, who has been raising Ruth’s daughter, Lila. We discover that they all have superpowers, but this is not a superpower action movie. It’s a quiet, indie film that is really more about family. We also watched the 2019 French movie, Les Misérables (Amazon Prime)—not based on the Victor Hugo novel. However, it is set in the area where it wrote it. The movie concerns a police officer, new to an anti-crime unit in this multi-cultural area. The movie is tense and exciting as small events escalate. One review called it “a simmering tale of two cities.” The movie won several awards.

We got out for a little while this past week to a local winery. It was cloudy, but then the sun came out as we were ready to leave.

  • William Heritage Winery
  • It looks almost summery

The Robin Sang the Light

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“Seen on KSC grounds, a robin pauses in a Brazilian pepper tree filled with red berries.” NASA, via Wikipedia Commons, Public domain

 

The robin sang the light

“Get up, come play,” said he,

“away the dream-filled night,

up here, you will be free.”

 

“Get up, come play,” said he,

but the mossy limbs were high.

Up here, you will be free.

No, I cannot fly.

 

But the mossy limbs were high

and shadowed in the dawn.

No, I cannot fly,

I stood upon the lawn.

 

And shadowed in the dawn

was nature sweet and wild,

I stood upon the lawn,

I listened, and I smiled.

 

Was nature sweet and wild?

(Away the dream-filled night!)

I listened, and I smiled–

the robin sang the light.

 

Another pantoum for dVerse. Yes, this is what I’m doing instead of all the work I have to do. Don’t judge me till you try it. 🙂 Gina is hosting this forms challenge. She explains the history and how to write one. Come join us!

This pantoum is a revision of the first pantoum I wrote–for one of Jane Dougherty’s challenges.

 

 

 

Seen and Unseen

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“What do we call visible light? We call it color. But the electromagnetic spectrum runs to zero in one direction and infinity in the other, so really, children, mathematically, all of light is invisible.”

–Anthony Doer, All the Light We Cannot See

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Philadelphia Mural Arts

 

Redshifting and blue,

all the colors, hues

we cannot see, and beyond

our comprehension, or will–

yet, don’t they exist still?

And the man, there on his rags,

sleeping on his clothes in bags–

if we walk by him unseeing

does it mean he’s not a being

worthy of a view, a thought

of what once was? Even if

only a trace of has been–wisps

that linger here–the invisible who

are all the colors, all the hues

and so,

as sunset slow shifts to indigo

and all the in-between,

there, find all the light that’s there

find it, unseen and seen.

 

This is for my prompt at dVerse, where we’re exploring the invisible. I was inspired by the quotation I used and also by the mural that I just happened to see on Sunday, after I had written and scheduled the prompt. Isn’t it weird how that works?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wonder

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Monday Morning Musings:

24:  “Saw a poem float by just beneath the surface, ”  from Jim Harrison, Songs of Unreason

25:  “A violent windstorm the night before the solstice,” from Jim Harrison, Solstice Litany

 

Words ebbed and flowed through my dreams

unanchored by reason, more emotion, it seemed

till thrown a line, anchored, moored a bit by thought

upon awaking, they shimmered briefly, caught

then released, to float beneath the surface—at peace.

 

William Heritage Winery

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I saw them again, set sail by the wind

before the solstice, against the clouds, pinned

then caught by a breeze, they flew through the sky

I drank some wine, and wondered how and why

they come and go—and all the things we do not know—

 

why time can move both fast and slow

and when waves tumble, where do they go,

and how love can vanish, or it lasts

from youth to grow through challenges, steadfast

through dreams that ebb and flow,

like the sea, eternal, like the stars’ shimmering glow–

beacons of light in the night, ever thus, saving us.

 

Summer Solstice
William Heritage Winery

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A bit different for my Monday Morning Musings because today is our 40th wedding anniversary.

I’m linking this to Jilly’s Day 24 and Day 25 of her 28 Days of Unreason, poetry inspired by the work of poet Jim Harrison. I will catch up on reading tomorrow.

We saw waves of flowers yesterday, and a couple just beginning married life. Light, shadows, bending time and space.

Waves of Flowers and Love
in Philadelphia

 

 

Hear the Light: Ghazal

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“What beauty in this the darkest music
over which you can hear the lightest music of human
behavior, the tender connection between men and galaxies.”

–Jim Harrison from “Warbler,” in Dead Man’s Float

 

When all is dark and without cheer, can you hear the stars sing the light?

In music that glistens–shhh—stop and listen—you’ll hear the stars sing the light.

 

The baby at breast, suckling at rest, gurgles to hear the stars sing the light.

The mother, fraught, pauses in thought, smiles as she hears the stars sing the light.

 

When war brings the music of anger and tears, can you hear the stars sing the light?

When you march to the pipes for conflicts and strife—do you fear to hear the stars sing the light?

 

Tell children separated and lives negated—look up–hear the stars sing the light.

Though your life is horrid and rough, and it’s not enough–yet hear the stars sing the light.

 

From the cracks in the darkness, beyond the hard-hearted, do you hear the stars sing the light?

In delicate streams, when all is as seems, do you dream to hear the stars sing the light?

 

In tender connection, we strive for direction, seeking to hear the stars sing the light.

Thus, Merril-y I strive and away my fears drive–to hear the stars sing the light.

 

 

Yesterday was darkness, so today is light. This ghazal is for Day 7 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason–poems influenced by Jim Harrison’s poetry. Anyone can join in the fun!

 

 

 

 

Sweet Stars of Christmas: Haibun

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Monday Morning Musings:

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!”

–Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

 

On Christmas, I see the past, present, and future appear. Perhaps not as actual ghosts, but as memories, experiences, and wishes. As we decorate Christmas cookies, I think of all the times I did this with our daughters. My husband declares this is the first time he has ever frosted the cookies. Perhaps it’s true. My sugar cookies have stars with five points and stars with six points. They’re all equally sweet and delicious. The Hanukkah candles and the Christmas lights both glow in the winter darkness, symbolizing miracles and bringing hope. This year, I give one daughter Hanukkah presents with a Hello Kitty! Christmas card on Christmas Eve day, when we gather with my niece and her family. In the background, Christmas songs written by Jewish men softly play. We sit around a table in a room decorated for Christmas and discuss ancestors in Belarus and Ukraine, people who never celebrated this holiday.

How did they get here, my niece asks? How did they have the means to leave? When she was a girl, my father’s mother hid in a barn during a pogrom. Somehow, they—some of them–found the means to leave, and to come to a country where they were not persecuted for their religious beliefs and culture. Their ghosts appear briefly and stand around us. Perhaps they would not approve of these goyische celebrations, but I hope they’d sense the love. Here and now we eat and laugh together, even as we miss those no longer with us. We will miss our daughters on Christmas, and I will miss being awakened by hearing them sing “Christmas Time is Here” early in morning. But now on Christmas Eve, my husband and I drink mulled wine and watch It’s a Wonderful Life, and I think yes, it is.

 

ancient stars shimmer,

ghost light of winter’s hope

this scintillation

I’m linking this Monday Morning Musings to Frank Tassone’s Christmas Haiku challenge.

Wishing all of you a joyous holiday season filled with peace, hope, love, and laughter!

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Storm Music

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I’m awakened by the rain hitting the window, the barker for the upcoming show. Step right up, folks! This one’s a dazzler of light and sound. The lightning takes center stage as it illuminates the sky, followed by the chorus of thundering kettle drums. One cat leaps off the bed; the other snuggles closer to my side. My husband sleeps, but I’m held captive, an unwitting, unwilling audience for this production. Do hours pass, or does it just seem that way? The endless percussion, the strobing encores? The fortissimo storm music finally ends, drifting off, pianissimo, until it’s gone. I dream then of shadows and golden light, of distant seas and far off worlds, until at last, the sun rises, waking me again, with a gentle song.

whirling midnight storms

shadows flit through worlds and minds

in dawn’s light, vanish

 

 

 

Embed from Getty Images

 

This Haibun is for Colleen Chesebro’s Weekly Poetry Challenge.

The prompt words were shadow and light.

I’m also linking to dVerse, where Gayle is hosting an open link night.