Yet, See, Things I know

Posted on February 15, 2021 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

“I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
--Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love Song

^{Ice Puddle at Red Bank Battlefield, ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021}

We prepare for winter
with blankets, tea, and books,
candles to light the nooks
of home, as heart, brain
given free rein, see in the shadows,
ghosts, cold, pain,

the fear of what frozen months bring,
the fear of known and unknown things—

we prepare to be together,
we prepare to be apart

our hearts sing, sigh
say goodbye in forlorn wandering
the air waves, weaves strands of grey with light
though it also shoots frozen silver darts–

yet, see

there’s magic still simmering, glimmering
at the surface where sea serpents shed their scaly skin
to dance with water sprites

^{Waves of water, sand, and air. A sea serpent leave her skin. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021}

and eagles soar from bare-branched trees,
again into light,
over the river, the sky is grey

but the gulls rise, and there are patches of blue–
spring is coming

despite the mud-stomped snow,
the geese know time flows

“we’re coming, we’re coming,” they honk and cry,

it’s coming, Spring,
the cardinal couples call,
and the nuthatches laugh,
and the crows gather (not murderous at all)
but aware

that love is in the air.

And if I made you up,
then a wondrous dream it’s been,

there will be more snow, but in birdwing flight
and woodpecker’s drumming

I know spring is coming.

Merril’s Movie Club: So, you know, pandemic. . .we didn’t go anywhere. AND, the GOP senators, except for seven, couldn’t find their spines, or even worse, don’t care to. So. . .I really wanted to see a Merril movie, the kind we would have seen in a Philadelphia theater. I rented one from an NYC arthouse theater instead (filmforum.org). It’s less expensive than going to the movies, but of course, there are more distractions at home, so the experience is not the same. We rented, Preparation to be Together for an Unknown Period of Time, Hungary’s entry for the Academy Awards. It’s a noirish story of a neurosurgeon who after meeting a man at a conference in New Jersey, plans to meet him in a month in the Liberty Bridge at the Pest side in Budapest. He doesn’t show up, and when she tracks him down, he says he doesn’t know her. Thus, begins a story of did she imagine this whole romance? My husband and I both liked the movie a lot—he was still talking about it the next day. It’s not up there with Cold War (sigh), but it’s still a good movie, beautifully filmed. The quote from Sylvia Plath was at the beginning of the movie.

I Am Not Ready: NaPoWriMo2020, Day 8

Posted on April 8, 2020 by merrildsmith

I am not ready for anything to happen,

I never am—

but I am not a bird or tree

with naked branches covered

now in tender yellow-green, newborn

reaching skyward,

like toddlers wanting to be held—

but we stand back,

admire from a distance

the wispy clouds

caught by unseen winds, drifting —

I am drifting–

not ready, I’m not, never am,

but look—

that blue, that white, that yellow and green,

dancing on a robin’s song.

I am not ready,

anything can happen.

It can, it has, it does–

but look again,

the pink moon rises,

and soon will come the dawn.

Pink Moon, 2020

The NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 8 is to use a line from a poetry bot. I used a line from the Sylvia Plath Twitter Bot. The line, the first line of my poem, actually comes from her poem “Three Women.” My poem has nothing to do with her poem—I simply used the line.

I apologize for being so behind in reading. So many prompts, and so much poetry–which is a good thing! Tonight is the start of Passover, and we had a family emergency this afternoon (everyone is OK).

Reflections

Posted on August 12, 2019 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

“Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.”

–From Sylvia Plath, “Mirror”

“Did you ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real, and you’re just a reflection of him?”

–Bill Watterson, Calvin and Hobbes

In the window

the world is reflected

prismed into colors bright

46E2F506-AFA4-4A1E-8F05-86521F34537A

the blue of sky

and clouds of white

refracted sites

ripple and sway

changing as you walk

then fading away

unlike skyscrapers

that here still stand

monuments to technology

in reflections,

magic,

a slight of hand.

Now in the puddle

the world is upside down

in shades of beige and grey

Building in a puddle, Philadelphia

diffused light

scattered over slate

and rippling away

carried to the river

then onwards

to the sea

but here

are windows closed

as eyes asleep

and minds imprisoned

in worlds of fancy

and dreams

of children

go unheeded

unheard, unseen

in cages

they perish

swept away

by the latest news

of violence

and thoughts and prayers

go out

to remove the games

and images

but not the guns

they remain–

see, they’re not to blame

and cash

wills out

with slaps on the back

for the boys

are boys

who grow to be men

and abuse

again

and again.

And what do they see

in their reflections?

Do they stop to reflect

on the people

they harm?

I read of survivors

who try to forgive

when they

can never forget–

we must never forget

the sights refracted

in sunshine and rain,

and here we sit

holding time still

for a moment,

if we could with will

in vino veritas,

and truth there is

that there is beauty

and light

and days when things

are just right,

moments granted

even when

the world is slanted

cock-eyed, the mother

becomes the child,

but when she laughs

you wonder what’s real

and see your reflection

there she and you

and she will never go

to the river again

but here a bird calls–

Hear it?

Listen and wonder

what does it see?

There its reflection

in the water

it looks at me.

Delaware River, Red Bank Battlefield, National Park, NJ

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Tag Archives: Sylvia Plath

Yet, See, Things I know

Monday Morning Musings:

I Am Not Ready: NaPoWriMo2020, Day 8

Reflections

Monday Morning Musings: