Blast and crash,
bright white bomb flash–
red-fire flowers and dragon’s hot breath
destruction, and the aftermath, of forever
~ashes~
from which you rise. Again. Remember.
Clay-cloaked secrets star-baked, retold in storied glory—
Golem or phoenix? Myth or fated?
Survivor embraced or avenger awaited?
For dVerse where Sarah is hosting Quadrille Monday. We’re to use the word ash. This is a puente.
In the after, there were dreams–
and lies.
We stood together–
and apart, divisions growing
as the wind asked why
~to a silent blue sky~
I gaze–but birdsong floats in a melody
of light and shadows. Here
time never stops,
as past and future merge, and an eagle soars
over my head, into tomorrow.
My poem from the Oracle. She knows everything. I took the photo this morning, and an eagle did fly right over me.
Does the fiddler recall the shadows or sun?
Dreams of a sweet peach sky, or
the languid light of in-between
almost,
~and if~
you ache for sea and diamond night,
feel it in the chill wind’s tongue licking your cheek,
and the whisper of its ancient song
across a thousand miles and worlds.
My poem from the magnetic poetry Oracle. She obviously knows what is going on everywhere, and most of the words came from her. The photo is from my walk this morning. It is cooler today after the thunderstorms yesterday, and we might get more today.
Moon mad, what were we to do
but urge our dreams through
timeless sprays of diamonds?
The shadowed sea whispered
as if sending a song soaring
~bird-winged, delicate, but infrangible~
like love, I say,
both storms and spring rain—
there do you smell it?
Petrichor and roses, salt and rust
carried on a fiddle beat from here to hereafter.
Our wedding anniversary is coming up, and the Oracle gave me a puente for it. The first three lines are exactly what she gave me, and then we collaborated for the rest.
Recall the roses of summers past,
and the shining water, the glint
of something far beneath–
imagined creatures that swim
while seagulls swoop and laugh
~in summer joy~
we spent those seashore days,
within a golden haze, we walked, ate, read.
Between worlds, unbound by time—it seemed—
we thought—perhaps–it would never end—
the sandcastles, ice cream, and evening carousel rides.
A Puente for my dVerse prompt today. Come join us!
For many years, my husband, our two little girls, and I stayed at the same inn every summer in Ocean City, NJ for a few days in June. We always rented the attic suite, and when we weren’t at the beach or on the boardwalk, we took over their large shaded porch, as we were usually the only guests there.
When the moon sings,
time stills, and
after-aches sleep in the purple-shadowed night
while diamond ships sail,
~spraying if in silver light~
love comes, seafoam-born,
ephemeral and eternal
crushing worlds and driving dreams—
listen to the sky– a symphony of roses rises at dawn.
A collaboration with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle that also works for today’s NaPoWriMo prompt. She loves the moon–and the puente form.
She walked through the city bustling, teeming–
bodies electric, grumbling, gleaming,
broken hearts and dreamers dreaming
of crossing bridges, the future seeming
~just beyond reach~
she thinks, the glittering stars. The sight
so wondrous and magical. Tonight,
these constellations of silvery-white ignite–
she wishes, then reaches for the twinkling light.
A puente for Day 8 of Paul Brookes Ekphrastic Challenge. I was inspired by the work of John Law and Jane Cornwell. You can see all the art and read all the poems here.
How is your life a language
of whispered dreams? Aches and honey
beneath the tiny thousand lights, crushed diamonds
shining to recall the delirious dazzle of before
~and if~
you could ask the fiddler
to play pink-petaled spring, would you?
And hold the sky still, timeless
for a moment, black blown away, birdsong rippling blue.
Another puente from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows spring is coming, and she was crying out for a blue painting. I almost went with Franz Marc, but this Chagall fits so perfectly.
Listen to heart-songs–
the breath of eternity,
as ocean-kissed air dances
with brilliant sparkle-light,
and white-cat clouds pounce
with joy
at the blue-blanketed sky, wondering
~if~
ghosts hide in the shadows,
perhaps they linger to tell their secrets–
imprisoned between before and after,
they wind-whisper
in the fever-blush of morning sky,
and silent-laugh in the night—
at your smile from the window.
A late message from the Oracle today. We’ve had blue sky and sparkling water the last couple of days. As I was getting ready to post this, I looked up and saw this painting of my mom’s. It doesn’t have a title or date that I know of, but it seemed to fit.
Say there were shadows—there
whispering beneath the fog—and–
say there were blue-sprayed shapes
watching with silent sea-tongues
who wanted you to see
~beyond~
and after,
and if, the bitter blows come,
there is still the luscious scent of summer rain
and a dream of light,
of moon-song’s lingering silver after a storm.
Today’s message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She always knows. The photo is from my walk earlier this morning.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 