Monday Morning Musings:
“Fantasy abandoned by reason produces impossible monsters: united with her (reason), she (fantasy) is the mother of the arts and the origin of their marvels.”
–Francisco Goya, full epigraph on Capricho No. 43
At night ghosts fly,
breezes like ice over ocean
can eyes not see this,
our hearts devoured and haunted?
a secret perfume
wake and remember.
–A poem constructed from what I remembered of a magnetic poem before The Oracle ate it.
An oracle gave me a poem of dreams,
then she swallowed the words
leaving me to wonder about both prophecies
wispy, frangible ghosts,
leaving a trace of perfume in the air.
And so, I think of dreams—
there was that one from a few nights ago,
Lin-Manuel Miranda told an interviewer*
that someone had “a curvy name.”
What did that mean,
I thought about it when I woke,
I think he meant the name sounded curvy
pleasing and delicious,
on the tongue,
a sort of mouth-feel,
an umami sound.
And I wondered who it was he spoke of?
And I will probably never know.
nor why I dreamt it.
That is fine.
At night, our minds try to sort and explain the mysteries of the day,
at dawn, we don’t know what dusk will bring,
though we trust the sun will rise and set,
every day is an adventure,
mysteries delightful or terrible may unfold.
But I would not want to know my future, would you?
And who believes the prophets anyway,
treated like Cassandra
mocked and ignored.
But in this new year,
How should we feel?
Peace seems ever elusive,
just beyond an ever-changing horizon.
Reality and truth are meaningless,
(the lines neither warm nor curvy)
the thoughts of a man who wants to be a king
or a god,
revered and adored,
But he is a little man,
with a handheld bully pulpit,
and so, we must resist,
holding fast against the fetid swamp waters
where the monsters live
and where their dreams thrive and grow,
emerging like demons in the night,
like a vampire, tapping on the window,
do not invite them in
to suck your blood
and still your beating heart.
People like to think the monsters are not real,
but oh, they are,
and they are ready to grab you in the night.
(Quickly, pull the blanket up over your head.)
Yet the evil beasts can be stopped–
because there are heroes,
and there is still good in the world,
and there are still truth-tellers
and we can make a choice,
light or darkness.
It was a cold, snowy weekend,
we ate homemade pizza and binge-watched a Netflix show,
an ordinary day,
frozen and white outside
inside, the warmth of wine,
the scent of bread dough baked at high heat,
the young woman, who has died more than once,
she may be an angel,
or maybe not.
And is human life and its mysteries explained?
Or perhaps not.
But she has chosen to remain on earth
to fight, to rescue the people she loves,
people who have become a family.
And there is light and darkness,
and things seen and not seen,
movements that curve,
like a name maybe,
(she has more than one)
to express words that do not exist.
She needs helpers.
and like her,
we must always look for helpers,
and we must strive to be heroes when we can
to wake from our dreams and remember,
to fight the ghosts and monsters of the night,
to scent the air with the perfume of peace,
Jane Dougherty named the magnetic poetry site, “the Oracle.”
*I heard Lin-Manuel Miranda interviewed on Fresh Air. I don’t think he mentioned any curvy names, but let me know if he did.
We watched OA on Netflix, a series starring Brit Marling. She is also the co-creator with Zal Batmangli. Here is the trailer.