The moon,
gorgeous gown’d
waxes at sea
on a bed of water.
Some say, she will swim,
then soar,
but I smell rain,
my feet rocked,
chanting wants,
honey music
of skin and sweat—
and you heed my moans–
the storm–
so, sleep
in the mists of time.
Félix Ziem, “The Call of the Sirens,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
A Saturday morning visit to the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. I’m not sure if I should feel empowered or forewarned.
Weekend consultation with the Oracle.
A thousand storms fly
through time and sky,
sing the music of mist
and purple light,
cool seas
and pounding beauty
over rocks—asking not to please–
it is and was
life whispering in soaring delirious language
of death and spring
Ivan Aivazovsky [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
They journeyed–
sharing quarters with livestock
and worldly goods,
battered and buffeted
by wind and waves,
sailing through salt spray
under sun and shimmering stars,
the ship a speck in the vast sea-space
rocked them
sometimes gently, sometimes furiously,
rocked them into the unknown
This is a quadrille for dVerse. The prompt was “rock.”
Casting off her sleek brown pelt (but holding it close), she rises from the surf. No goddess, though men will be drawn to her, despite–or perhaps because of–her otherworldliness. Through the waves, she walks, clumsily at first, as she adjusts to two legs and to being upright. The world looks different to her now. It feels different, too. The air is cool against her skin; the breeze dances across the new womanly curves of her body. She steps onto the beach, eager to embrace this life, if only temporarily, leaving footprints in the sand. The sea covers and takes them, keeping a trace of her to hold in its depths till she returns to it. And she will.
I’m late, but this is for Frank’s Footprints in the Sand challenge.
Another selkie story–because, well, selkies.
Moon needs music,
recalling in honey’d language
like smooth chocolate
the sea symphony she wants still,
watching with sweet crush
shining beauty from above,
over dreams–
there–
in purple shadow time
Guillermo Gómez Gil, “Moonrise,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
A poem for the full moon. The Oracle was not in the mood for poetry yesterday, but she came through today.
John La Farge, “The Dawn,” 1899, Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University, Public Domain, Wikipedia
From the sea, in golden robes, from dark night, dawn is waking
Rubbing sleep from rosy cheek, from moonlight, dawn is waking.
Robin sings a morning trill, acolyte, as light is breaking
Cats yawn and stretch, then bathe, with bird in sight, as dawn is waking
Tides flow and ebb, leave crabs and water sprite, along the beaches
Gulls swoop to capture them, in raucous flight, as dawn is waking
And the woman and the man, what of them when light first rises
Seeking warmth, seeking love, embracing tight, when dawn is waking?
Smiths of words, with pen in hand, come to light, in morning’s quiet
Waiting for inspiration, for love, write, as dawn is waking.
Jane gave us quite a challenge this week in her poetry challenge. This is my first attempt at a ghazal. You can read how to write one here. Or more here.
The prompt was the painting above, “The Dawn,” by John La Farge.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 