Look for magic
on a fire cloud—breezing
to embrace the laughing breath of stars–
almost an eternity of rhythm–
born if and always
to linger—
so, when waked
ghosts go (never sadly)
but after-voiced lie healed,
so old and sacred,
time-kissed
and remembered–
And we will celebrate that which was
and like angels dance
over brilliant blushing skies–
a universe at peace
This the birthday poem the Oracle gave me.
Friday, 2 AM
A sound awakens me–
the cat vomiting—
I wipe it up from the floor
return to my warm bed
cat cuddles against me,
his purrs
a calming motor
till they stop—
he’s asleep–
I’m not.
I listen to the night sounds
through winter-fastened windows—
no summer sound of mockingbird
singing through the night,
only the buzz of a distant highway
and planes carrying people far away.
But I’m content to be here–
my husband turns in his sleep—
my cat softly snores,
I close my eyes and dream.
Grace is hosting the final Open Link Night for dVerse this year. dVerse will be on break until January 1, 2019.
“For beautiful to happen the beautiful has got to be seen.”
Adam Gwon, “Beautiful” from Ordinary Days
I watch the ripples in the sand,
let the grains flow from my hand,
see them slide into a shimmering sea
to wash ashore on another land.
I look at the blades of grass
through them robin hops to pass
then calls to me from a nearby branch–
the sky above, a clear blue glass.
The beauty that has to be seen,
blue of sea and sky, and grass so green,
the beauty of the ordinary, looked at again–
remembered sights–or what might have been.
Gina at dVerse has asked us to write a poem about ordinary things. I thought back to something I wrote a while ago about ripples in sand and the scientific discoveries of Hertha Marks Ayrton, which gave me the opening. But “ordinary things” made me think of the musical Ordinary Days. My younger daughter was in it when she was a senior in college, and I got to hear her sing, “I’ll Be Here”–and tried not to sob and embarrass her. The quotation comes from the last song in the show.
“History is all about ‘what ifs’”
“It was a long time ago now. And it was yesterday.”
Kate Atkinson, Life After Life
“And while we are playing
The candles are burning low
One for each night, they shed a sweet light
To remind us of days long ago
One for each night, they shed a sweet light
To remind us of days long ago”From the song, “Hanukkah oh Hanukkah” Traditional
And so, again, we celebrate Hanukkah
as the nights grow longer
the days grow colder
I make soup, bake bread,
time passes, a thread
connecting me to the past
I think of ancestors, steadfast
(I wonder) in determination
to leave the past, a cessation
of persecution, a new life.
We watch Mrs. Maisel, no longer wife
laugh, but still I think of the past
Borscht Belt and women’s rights, she and cast
moving through Paris, the Catskills, New York City
with dazzling designs and dialogue so witty
each episode a Hanukkah present,
and so it goes, we’re content
to pass the Hanukkah nights
watching the candles burn bright
then I fry latkes again
with daughter remembering when
we grated, stirred with spoons
and listened to these tunes–
the maidel with the ladle—
I am happy we’re still able
to be together, to cook
to discuss friends, life, a book
and dance, sing, drink some wine,
eat some donuts, the company is fine–
as are the pets–
an asset to any set,
with tails wagging
they brighten moods flagging,
hers look for scraps on the floor
and bark at any noise at the door,
while mine watch the candles bright
and play with the dreidel in the light.
Generations, birthright, hindsight–
generations, frying latkes in the night
hoping for a miracle and promised lands–
my hands—
reach forward,
toward the unknown, hold present close,
but touch the past.
Still life goes on
as we remember days long ago,
time moves fast, or it goes so slow,
circling, dashing, we travel, with it flow.
We’re watching Season Two of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (Amazon Prime). Here’s the Season 2 Trailer. For years my daughters and I have listened to an album, A Child’s Hanukkah by the Jewish Wedding Band. Here’s the first song, which includes the phrase “kiss the maidel with the ladle.”
Guillermo Gómez Gil, “Moonrise” [Public domain] Wikipedia Commons
The sea sings
the music of time
recalling
in her shadowed beauty
gorgeous life and bitter blue-black
screams of why ripped by purple water.
But I sit beneath the light of tiny diamonds
and dream
seeing ships go,
and wanting you.
The wind licks my skin, whispers
when, if. . .let love in.
My weekend message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.
We ache for our homes in morning light,
we trudge down dim roads, dusty from heat,
there’s sweat and thirst, but worse is the night
thinking of what was–once life was sweet.
We trudge down dim roads, dusty from heat,
we’re tired and sad, shed tears for loss,
thinking of what was–once life was sweet,
we journey on, our old lives we toss.
We’re tired and sad, shed tears for loss
we dream of new lives, dreams within dreams.
we journey on, our old lives we toss
overboard goes old, afar hope gleams.
We dream of new lives, dreams within dreams–
think in America we’ll be free.
Overboard goes old, afar hope gleams–
land of the free, perhaps, we’ll see.
So long the journey, who knows the end?
there’s sweat and thirst, but worse is the night
finding no welcome, finding no friends–
we ache for our homes in morning light.
Majsiej Sliapian [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
I walk the water path
then climb the concrete stairs
to stroll past statues and monuments,
where apple trees once grew,
the sturdy plantation house stands on the bluff,
but it’s the river that calls
the battle-dead whisper
unseen, but fitful, sighing,
the flying hawk shadows me
while geese bask
at high-tide
the waves crash
and they fly
circling the water,
the river,
home.
Delaware River, Red Bank Battlefield
For dVerse, Amaya has asked us to include a secret ingredient. I’m not sure if this works for the prompt, but this is what the muse gave me in between dreams last night, so I’m going with it.
Candles burn, in winter darkness, a miracle of light. The ancient hatred is rising again. Six million and more, but we survive. We clink our glasses lightly, saying not, “Cheers,” but “L’chaim.”
twilight comes early
shadows blanket ground and trees—
light glows in windows
De, aka Whimsy Gizmo, has asked us to write a quadrille using some form of the word cheer for dVerse. I’m also linking to Frank’s Haikai Challenge to write a poem that alludes to Advent or Hanukkah.
I know I wrote about Hanukkah yesterday, and there will probably be more—but you know, it lasts for eight nights. Tonight will be the third night of Hanukkah. 🙂
“Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.”
–From William Carlos Williams, “Winter Trees”
The first of December is mostly grey,
but not so cold—winter held at bay
for a while, but we smile to see the glow–
the sun on remaining leaves of trees slow
to sleep in winter’s arms,
and we walk to see the city’s charms
even in the bleakness of late fall—
almost winter—some magic calls
there, Diana shines atop the stairs
gilded anew, she seems aware
of her strength, though she charms–
with arrow frozen in her arms
goddess of the hunt,
a moment, centered, upfront
there, I greet her like a friend
each time I visit, happy to see her send
(not the arrow), no never,
but she seems much too clever
to harm–such determination in her face–
perhaps she could send us hope and grace
we see dolls reflecting the passion
for both play and fashion
the bisque baby catches my eye
or the phrase captures my ear, why?
it sounds funny to me,
and so, we wander and see
a sibyl and monuments and Eve
through museum and streets, we weave
our way, and see the sights,
some Christmas lights,
drink mulled wine
feeling fine—then laugh to see that sign
we walk back and down the hill
where no joggers jog, all is still
except the duck, who with quack and flap
jumps into the river—a slight slap—
against the surface, he swims
the sound, a chorus, a winter hymn
before the start of winter rain
with sun gone, shadows come again
bringing a misty afternoon twilight,
yes, this is December’s light.
Then Hanukkah comes with candle light
to bring us wonder and delight
I fry latkes in a pan
listening to a man
discuss his life
some of the strife
escaping the Holocaust
in Kindertransport, crossed
to Sweden, his stuffed monkey with him*
the object now brings some joy, an era dimmed
by tragedy and time—family reunited
evil not forgotten or righted
exactly, but comforting to know
that helpers were there, not so long ago
and still, that there are people who did good
and do it still, do what they can, should and could
and so, we light the candles on this first night
eat latkes and smile at the sight
Latkes!
of them burning till the flames die,
watch them belie
the darkness of night and soul
as believing in miracles makes us whole
more perhaps than what we seem–
the sum of what we hope and dream.
Hanukkah seems both more poignant and more important to celebrate this year.
I think I shared this story before from a previous All Things Considered segment, but Michel Martin interviewed Uri and Gert Beliner again last night.
We visited the Philadelphia Museum of Art during the members’ weekend and the Christmas Village.
I’m delighted to have a poem in the December issue of Ghost City. My thanks to Justin Karcher for giving it a home.
