Tag Archives: Poem

The Spell of June

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Monday Morning Musings:

The Spell of Early June

“Today the fields are rich in grass,
And buttercups in thousands grow;
I’ll show the world where I have been–
With gold-dust seen on either shoe.”
–William Henry Davies, “All in June”

1.
Spring casts a spell of color
the river is a blue scarf, knotted round the green,
a bell curve, ringing
magic in its currents.

2.
Bird choir, sunrise, moonset
a perfect syzygy of harmonious dazzle
you admire the steadfast oak, awed by nature,
you cleave to facts. Ignore the turkeys.

3.
Watch the glimmer of light
on crow wing, on river—
flinging truth in polychromatic splendor,
embrace it.

4.
Sunbeams captured in a glass
where grapes have been reborn
generation and regeneration, we sip
stardust.

5.
Chocolate chips and cinnamon,
the taste of friendship–
a connection from long ago,
still there
renewed.

Mandelbrot

I used some of Kerfe’s Rhttps://kblog.blog/2023/06/04/random-word-generator-12/andom Words from Oracle 2 for this almost Cadralor.

We had some days with warnings about air quality because of the wildfires. But the air cleared over the weekend. We got a little bit of rain this week, but we need more.

We saw The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee at the Arden Theatre in Philadelphia. That gave me “syzygy.” We had seen the show many years ago; it seems a bit dated now, but it was enjoyable. A different show had been scheduled in the series, but there was some sort of conflict so Spelling Bee replaced it. All of the actors were engaging and sang well. As usual, we took a walk before the performance.

A friend who I haven’t talked to in decades found me, and we talked for almost three hours on the phone yesterday! It was wonderful! I used to bring her my Mandelbrot cookies.

Sailing with Odysseus

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Odilon Redon, Le pêcheur aliéné

Sailing with Odysseus

There, our leader on the water, time ripping dreams,
the summer roses gone—

say what it was, folly,
the whisper of death in our ears—

we ached, our sweat seasoned the wood,
salting the inside as the sea sprayed tears on hull
and tattered mast, and above,

gulls screamed with the voices of our dead.

We wondered
if we would ever see spring light—

now the wind carries a fiddle tune of home,
I see the faces of my wife and children
reflected on the surface, calling me,

no, warning me. The purple clouds,
the rocks—

my heart still beats in the aftermath of blue,
too insignificant for history.

My poem from the Oracle.

Owling

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“Owl Moon,” Kerfe Roig

Owling

Owling—
I collect silvered dreams
in moon-song,
the night mares prance and gallop,
corralled within feathered streams.

Listen,
for wing-swept hush,
the gathering of time
above the trees, within your mind,
respite.

A late response for Sarah’s dVerse prompt asking us to verb animal names, and Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday prompt asking us to write a syllabic poem based on our spirit animal. I suspect I’d end up with a different animal each time. I tried the test in her post one day and got the turtle, and then I tried it again and got an owl. I had to use Kerfe’s beautiful Owl Moon painting again. This is a tanka followed by a cinquain.
Shared with Open Link Night.

Journeys

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Odilon Redon, “La voile grise”

Journeys

The sun is only a whisper now, red-glow smile
on blue,

an iridescent sea tongue licks the ship’s bow,
this is not afterlife, but pause–

we will do and watch and wait,
we will blow gull-winged through summer

we will float, tiny moons circling,
each phase repeating, but never seen before,

we will play with fiddle-aches, tuning them
by the stars

steering if
with a rudder of hope, trailing ghosts across raucous waters,
to bay-calmed port, finally home.

The Oracle gave me a couple of poems and snippets earlier this morning that I want to sit on for a bit. I went to the new(er) tiles and got this one.

The Oracle

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Odilon Redon, “Closed Eyes”

The Oracle

Oh, call the wind from ocean’s face, and let
return the sun. What comes from this? You see
ahead—to tease with riddles till we’re spent,
confound, confuse, and yet, what is to be?
Long life, some grace, please tell my fate tonight–
Embrace the sight, these rays of dawn’s first light.

For Tanka Tuesday, Colleen asked us to write an acrostic poem using her choice of words and with lines of 8, 9, or 10 syllables. I chose Oracle (of course). I decided to write mine in the style of a sort of mini- Shakespearean sonnet: 10 syllables, an attempt at iambic pentameter, and rhyme scheme of ABABCC.

What you Will, or What we Wish Might Be

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Monday Morning Musings:

What You Will, or What We Wish May Be

“A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that’s all one, our play is done,
And we’ll strive to please you every day.”
—“The rain it raineth every day” from Twelfth Night by
William Shakespeare

What you will, or what we wish may be–
the rain it comes, and grass grows green,
the flowers bloom, and bees they feed
the songbirds sing and scatter seed

across the fields, from river to sea
random blossoms, a so-called weed,
yellow, brown, then green once more,
almost as it was before

but never quite. Perhaps you see
the endless blue, and wonder if or how
you fit as future flits. Is dawn preview
of what will come, or déja vu?

I’ve been here before, but can’t foresee–
only wish for what may be,
no Cassandra, no decree,
all is chance despite prayers or plea—

the storms come, the sun shines,
so laugh and drink the wine,
love fiercely while berries ripen and leaves fall,
in thrall of light, darkness comes to all

we say goodnight, and if nothing is as it seems,
it’s curse and comfort, that we dream.

We’ve had more sun than rain this week, though Saturday was rainy, and it was not a fun drive to the wine bar we visited with our daughter and son-in-law. We sampled a variety of wines and nibbled on cheese. I tried a Greek Xinomavro, a French Syrah, and a Barolo Nebbiolo, which my daughter thought should have aged more. Her Piedmont Nebbiolo seemed more complex, if not as full-bodied.

I took flatbread from the freezer and mixed-up toppings from what we had in the refrigerator for dinner that night—Gouda, red onion, and broccoli on one, garlicky mushrooms, goat cheese, and scallions on the other. Delicious!

Yesterday, we saw the Lantern Theater’s production of Twelfth Night, the subtitle is “or What you Will.” It was a wonderful performance in an intimate space with well performed musical numbers and well-acted comic performances. We walked around the city a bit first. (The garden wall guardian is for Kerfe. )

Next month we’ll be seeing another performance of Twelfth Night that will most likely be very different, but hopefully just as enjoyable.

In dreams, I flow timeless

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Marc Chagall, The Wedding, 1944

In dreams, I flow timeless

We wanted to be sun-drunk,
lazy as rocks, measuring time in eons

bare skin, the scent of ripe peaches
in the air–

shadows urged tiny storms,
and after, and after

the sky
endless,

the sea still beating time,
the heart to land’s lungs

and we, not rocks,
pulsing, breathing,

dancing to the fiddler’s music,
falling when it stops.

My poem from the Oracle.

In the Telling it Becomes Clear

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Franz Marc, “Dreaming Horse” (1913)

In the telling, it becomes clear

the universe sneezes, and

the door smashes–
with the thunder of hooves, a jump—
into far-flung tomorrow—

jump again—
there are no pauses,
and though the colors never cease

galloping through space,
still, we’re always surprised

to find them
where they’ve always been
in the dream pastures within.

I wasn’t sure where I was going with this poem from Kerfe’s Oracle 2 words, but it ended up wanting to be part of Jane’s herd.

May Queen (Revised with audio)

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John William Waterhouse, Ophelia

May Queen

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.

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