After the bang, burning
sound and light from indefinite drift
expanding red and blueshifts
now blanketed, we sit
I shiver
at your touch, burning
heat and cold, turning
sound and light
the stardust trapped within
our cells, a microcosm—
Yes! I see it now.
A quadrille for my dVerse prompt today. The prompt word is shiver. Join us!
She stands at the precipice ++++++++ wondering
where time and space meet ++++++++ where and why he’ll appear
at that moment, and ++++++++++++++ again–
it seems less a question of physics– ++his blurred shape–
than an opportunity ++++++++++++++ gathering strength
in the vast eternal void +++++++++++ from unbidden hope
to find a crack, a sliver of light +++++ shining in incandescent splendor
Jane Dougherty and David (ben Alexander) got me thinking about writing a cleave poem again. I haven’t written one in a while, and WP certainly does not make them easy to format. We’re getting ready for houseguests and Thanksgiving–something we haven’t done since the pandemic began–so I may not be around too much in the next week.
“As if we could hear music inside the words”
–Gail Newman, “Trust”
I hear, but cannot stop the chirp of time,
it travels in waves with the flap of wings,
and in flowing light it sings,
celestial harmonies pulsing in shimmers–
even caged, it chitters and cheeps,
dives and circles, soars and sweeps
past to future, a never-ending story
of bangs and fury, prismed glory
that curves and repeats—again and again
I become my mother and my daughters, all the before and ever-after,
my words are carried on a glittering song,
the essence of my universe, music and laughter.
This is for dVerse, where on Tuesday, Laura asked us to “begin at the end” by using one of the final lines she supplied to influence our own poem. She asks us to think about our own ending lines. Today, Peter asks us to consider our beginning lines.
Ever since I read this article about a Blackfoot woman who translated astrophysics terms into the Blackfoot language, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about chirping stars.
Comet Hale-Bopp Attribution: Philipp Salzgeber / CC BY-SA 2.0 AT (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/at/deed.en)
Born before our before,
traveling till after our after,
ice and dust of timeless time,
the molecules of cosmic gases,
atoms of our world, forever
and after
the comet revolves through space
around the sun–our shining star–
our light-filled center, we circle it
year after year, through revolutions,
revelations in art, technology, war
to peace and back to war, revolve, resolve
to see this ball of light,
the icy comma tail–
it comes and goes
and we continue, revolving
electrons within us spin,
looking to connect
to something,
We’re attracted, we’re repulsed–
between darkness and light,
revolving
revolving
revolving.
I’m hosting dVerse Poetics today. The prompt is revolution.Come join us!
“NASA plans to grow food on future spacecraft and on other planets as a food supplement for astronauts. Fresh food, such as vegetables, provide essential vitamins and nutrients that will help enable sustainable deep space pioneering.” NASA
Here, a red moon rides on the humps of the low river hills. It’s always a red moon, always low in the sky. The rivers do flow, but the water is. . .different. There’s no blue sky, fluffy white, cotton ball clouds, or golden, blushing dawn. Perhaps it’s some consolation that we can see a million stars–shimmering, sparkling jewels, in constellations that are becoming familiar to me now. I’ve started to name them—that one that looks like a dog, Dorcas for my old hound. And that one—just above? I’ve named it Peter Rabbit.
I see it from the greenhouse, rising over the salad greens. Slowly, we’re putting down roots. My baby will be born soon. I’ll name her Sylvia for my mom. We will make our garden grow, and perhaps she will plant a forest for this new Eden.
A bit of flash fiction for Prosery Monday. Lillian has selected two lines from Carl Sandburg’s “Jazz Fantasia.” I chose the line above in italics. My poem has nothing to do with his evocative poem. It’s actually a sort of sequel to an earlier prosery piece I wrote, which you can read here, if you’re so inclined. My mom’s name really was Sylvia, and she didn’t garden, but she loved gardens. For some reason, this song from Leonard Bernstein’s Candide popped into my head while I was writing. It always makes me cry.
“In a light echo, light from the flash is reflected by successively more distant rings in the complex array of ambient interstellar dust that already surrounded the star. V838 Mon lies about 20,000 light years away toward the constellation of the unicorn (Monoceros), while the light echo above spans about six light years in diameter.” Image Credit: NASA
For Kerfe and Jane
The echo of stars’ light
(so bright, so bright)
twinkles through space and time
in radiant waves shimmering
(the sight, the sight)
of shimmering stars
and humming moon
(her tune, her tune)
propels us forward
with Oracle and alchemy
(rhapsodies of fantasy)
we three witches seek guidance
through conjuring magic
(the gifts, the gifts)
of whys and ifs,
thus, we pause life’s darkness
to reveal the light—it’s there, it’s there!
So bright, so bright, so bright, so bright.
This is for my prompt at dVerse, where I’ve asked everyone to echo or write about echoes.
See how time darkens her eyes,
yet her heart embraces still
this shrunken universe of
clouded color and cool breezes
~bringing fire from long ago~
the morning wakes bleeding red
but the dazzle-blue world throbs with if—
I listen to its magic,
let the ghosts sing on
~and fly away~
the champagned air dances to star rhythms
with flowering smiles–
it and we who were
sail into the vast ever after
The Oracle and I collaborated on this poem, which was a puente, but then we kept going. . .I suppose that’s what a bridge to the universe would do.
Hubble Space Telescope-Image of Supernova 1994D (SN1994D) in galaxy NGC 4526 (SN 1994D is the bright spot on the lower left). NASA/ESA, The Hubble Key Project Team and The High-Z Supernova Search Team
Twinkle, bang—a star explodes, sending its dust into space. We’re made of that dust, ephemeral and eternal. Everything connected, nothing ever truly extinct. Listen—
stars shimmer and sing
treble and bass symphony,
bestowing beauty
in bright notes of stellar light
tumbling into space
At dVerse, Linda has asked us to use the word “extinction” (or some form of the word) in a quadrille, a poem of 44 words. The extra challenge is not to discuss climate change.
This is a haibun tanka quadrille. Maybe a haibun tanka is not a thing, but oh well. I’ve also used synonyms for fall and give for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday challenge. I was joking with someone about stars “singing,” but here’s an article about the sounds they make.
NASA Goddard Space Flight Center from Greenbelt, MD, USA [Public domain]
A dream rose from time
and above the moon,
purple-misted shadows
whispering if in honeyed tones
and recalling the diamond light
of a thousand blue stars
~sleeping now~
she is still,
but soars as a bird
in her slumber
singing of love,
while the music of water and wind
sighs a chant of life and after
The Oracle really made me work this morning for this puente. I’m taking my friend Jane’s advice to make this a collaborative effort, filling in a few spaces when necessary.
“Earthrise” Taken by Apollo 8 crewmember Bill Anders on December 24, 1968
A sea
but no water,
a desert place,
a silvered space–
could it ever feel tranquil?
In solitude, we kick
no dust
no cloud forming
no sunrise warming
but the blue planet
dawning
over a curved horizon–
surprising, stirring,
yet insignificant—
except to us.
Lillian has asked us to write a quadrille (a poem of 44 words) using the word tranquility or some form of the word for dVerse. I love the word, though I haven’t felt too much tranquility lately. Yesterday afternoon, the Oracle whispered “Sea of Tranquility” to me.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 