She asks if you can see it–the cool blue of time– sprays of rose-pink, leaf-green, cerulean, indigo, and diamond-sprinkled light– a storm-dance of life to the secret songs of stars and the harmony of moon-music—listen– now, the whisper of blood-dreams, and the language of wind and sky, dark voices of decay join bright beams– an exhale– the brilliant breath of the universe, an icy cloud of fever-flowers soars into the after, leaving a trail, ferocious, wild, aching— almost there, dazzled, you ask if this is a beginning or an ending? But she is gone.
The Magnetic Poetry Oracle gave me a oracle poem. She gave me “ask if” every time I tried it.
Linda is hosting the Live Open Link Night for dVerse today. I’m sharing this poem that I wrote in December. It’s a poem inspired by the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. I don’t think too many people here have read it because it was posted on December 26. I missed Sarah’s Poetics prompt this week to write a poem of blue, but it appears that I’ve written many poems about blue!
In her memory of that time—the war, the occupation–every day was bleak and dismal, as if filmed through a grey filter. Most everyone looked pale and gaunt. She dressed in layers of threadbare clothing—and ate what scraps she could obtain. Her thin face seemed all eyes, but she thought, “only mouths are we.”
Who sings? The distant heart, which safely exists in the center of all things? Perhaps, but the mouths she knew then were hungry and crying for food, not singing. It wasn’t only the winter gloom; it was also a darkness of the soul. She kept her mouth closed, so that she wouldn’t reveal any secrets–and so that she wouldn’t scream.
But what about Paul? Had his mouth also stayed closed? She needed to know her sacrifices—and love– had meant something. She needed to find him now. (144 Words)
Another installment in my occasional and non-linear spy series for today’s dVerse Prosery prompt. Sanaa has chosen quite a difficult couple of lines for her Prosery prompt!
Almost always, magic appears in an unexpected blink a deer-tail flash, a momentary glimmer, a pop of color against the grey—
feathered with goose down, streaked with heron blue and crow black and there– the gosling gold tumbles amidst spring green.
The sun’s red and golden steeds gallop high, over the cold, north wind, rippling waves, scattering seeds—
and new life grows. Bud to flowers, acorn to oak— eggs hatch and children grow. A new harvest, a new vintage– we toast the departed, throw a stone in river, a rock in a fire— remember what was, cherish what is now— reflect and
watch for color in the grey, listen to the wind sigh, and mockingbird sing, find beauty in each day, and wonder why, some cannot bring hope or joy, but only want to destroy—still you cling
to thoughts of young who fling away old terms of hate as seasons pass, we love, lose, die, create, accelerate— and for nature or fate, we wait.
Yesterday was Mother’s Day. We went to Blue Cork Winery in Williamstown, where our daughter works part-time. We enjoyed a Mother’s Day brunch. Unfortunately, it was cold, and then it rained. I wore several layers of clothing. Not the most flattering photos. 😀
Merril’s Movie/Theater Club:We streamed No Child (Arden Theater, Philadelphia). It was a wonderful performance by Taysha Marie Canales, who became all the characters in this play about a teaching drama artist at a school in the Bronx. We also streamed Nomadland, starring Frances McDormand. The movie received several awards this year, including one for McDormand and also director Chloé Zhao. We both enjoyed it very much—it’s a beautifully filmed movie that makes you think about what you have and what others live without, as well as what it’s like to be a “nomad,” the life McDormand’s character adopts, living out of her van as she travels and works. Trailer here.
I thought of you as the sky turned gilded-rose and brightened from indigo to azure– you’d be wearing pink to match the dawn, a white jacket to keep you warm, your hair a silver halo. We’d sit and talk, our voices like bird chatter. The generations of fledglings grown would flitter setting food before you, salty and sweet—your eyes would glitter. “There’s more for them that wants,” you’d laugh, and we’d laugh, too, the sound of spring mornings and love— dove-winged it flies, circling from above, to land just there within my heart.
Yeah, I went straight for the sentimental today. Remembering my mom. ❤️
Shadows wind through the spring green, recalling winter, they carry the scent of blood and despair driven by lies, the play of elaborate schemes, and delirious dreams and desire blown into the after time,
and I ache, wishing, wondering if I see light, honeyed rays through verdant trees, the pink-petaled spray of hope—
full of ever and always, somewhere my mother is in a garden or gazing at an azure sea,
she takes her brush, erases the storms, the grey-clouded earth, paints bright color on her canvas,
and I wake to birdsong and feathered-wishes diamond bright in the still dark sky.
The Magnetic Poetry Oracle knows everything. The political situation here in the U.S. is quite troubling; Mother’s Day is tomorrow, and it’s spring. We collaborated on this poem.
I’m the comic-relief, lower class, a bit plump, and a little past my prime, but I charm you with a line,
don’t I, know the ins and outs—a wink– the doings of the great and small? I gather gossip like pocket lint, and hold it there, to share with all
(but only when I need it). I never play a noble, only a servant at my betters’ beck and call– forgotten in-between the scenes, and I never get the handsome guy– but I let it fly—because,
well, you know why?
When after all those touching songs and breathless sighs the sweet, young lovers die (a tragedy, I’m sure)–
here I am hearty and alive
and furthermore– I thrive.
For Ingrid’s prompt on dVerse to write in the voice of a fictional character.
I heard this song (it is funny) performed by Broadway star Rebecca Luker, who died of ALS in December. It made me think of the opposite, what the comic-relief characters might say—for example the Nurse in Romeo and Juliet or Madame Thénardier in the musical Les Misérables.
“O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!” (Hamlet, act 1 scene 2)
“If it be now, ’tis not to come: if it be not to come, it will be now: if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.” (Hamlet, act 5 scene 2)
Pink Moon and Green Man come and go, the morning dew light-catches,
snatches, holds within each drop a world soon gone,
a momentary sparkle, passes on snuffed, like a candle’s glow by a breath—
less or more? We decide, and if we notice what is around us, or ignore
what is. What is not, what is to be—there, the rub, prepare in readiness–yet, stop, see,
sniff the air, and what will be lilacs, iris, rose—grapes to wine—eggs to chick–
flick, and in a blink, the ebb and flow of tides, reveals what lies below the surface-
uncovered, adrift, the bones, the rocks, the detritus of stars–
April continued its craziness into May. We enjoyed summer-like weather, visited a local winery (most are now doing flights instead of tastings), then we had cooler weather and wind gusts up to 50-60 mph. We may have thunderstorms today. Meanwhile, there are flowers shooting up and goslings born.
Merril’s Theater Club: We streamed Fat Hamlet, a new play by James Ijames performed by the Wilma Theater in Philadelphia. It was filmed on location in Virginia, where cast and crew rehearsed in isolation. One positive thing about streamed productions is that they can be viewed all over the world. It’s a reimagining of Hamlet, black and queered, set somewhere in the southern US with a nuptial barbecue, karaoke, and a dance party—and more comedy than tragedy (well, there is one death). You can read all about it here, including the New York Times review, and get ticket information. We both really enjoyed it.