Celebration

Monday Morning Musings:

“Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.”

–Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds: Fifty-Four Variations on Voice

 

Once a woman had a fourth child, my younger sister, my friend. Once she turned sixty and decided to throw a party with dancing and drag queens, with dinner, drinks, and dessert. The room sparkled with anticipation. It radiated love. What felt cold at first, grew warm with love winging high and bodies dancing, prancing, and trying to fly. We paid tribute to my sister, and we remembered that despite all the horrible things in the world, love and friendship are things to be cherished and celebrated.

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My sister with Lady E

 

Summer turns to fall

leaves of many colors dance

birds trill, tweet, and soar

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My Girls

We left full and glowing, and after many twists and turns found our way home.

 

Sleep

to dream of the moon

singing languidly above

 

and recall the language

of purple gardens—

stilled—yet not—

 

the smell a crushing ache

as time flies by

sweet with ifs–

 

And so, we sing.

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The Oracle gave me that last part.

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November 11

I wake to see Venus gleaming as the sky lightens from indigo to azure. The goddess of love beckons and beseeches, but the war god always wins.

 

Morning star rises

heralds the poppy-red dawn–

November morning

 

Senseless wars go on,

honoring in fall parades

stars blaze, flash, and die

 

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Vincent van Gogh, Poppy Field, [Public Domain] Wikipedia

This is for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday–Poet’s Choice of Words, and Frank’s Haikai challenge using the prompt, “Armistice.”

 

 

Children

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Anders Zorn, “Dandelions,” [Public Domain] Wikipedia

The laughter of stars in the sky,

the turbulent seas asking why,

the dandelion’s whispered kisses

in the air that drift and sail by

to plant themselves here or there–

again and again somewhere–

as the sun smiles and clouds weep

time creeps with a sigh

life continues and wends–

more beginnings and more ends.

This poem is for dVerse. Björn asked us to use metaphor. I hope this meets the bar.

 

 

 

 

Under Winking Stars

 

Under winking stars

deer walk through the silent streets,

 

an owl hoots as she wings by

the raccoons having a party,

with fireflies pulsing their disco lights.

 

The moon is a smile in the sky,

she hums a lullaby

for families inside—now sleep.

 

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Ida Waugh, 1881, [Public Domain in U.S], Wikipedia

This is a quadrille for dVerse. De Jackson (aka Whimsy Gizmo) has asked us to use some form of the word wink. I don’t think we’re going to see stars or moon tonight in NJ, but I hope we can go to sleep with some good news.

 

 

 

 

 

11 – 5

One of my haiku on Pure Haiku for Freya’ portal theme.

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Mausoleum door —

the end or the beginning?

Ghosts whisper unheard

© Merril D Smith 2018

Merrill D. Smith explores portals from her kitchen, writing about them in poetry, coffee in hand and cat on lap. Don’t forget to follow her at Merril D Smith!

Another interesting death/portal-themed haiku. I like the question at the centre …

This haiku is part of our PORTAL theme!

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Open the Door to Light

Monday Morning Musings:

 “But no man would sacrifice his honor for the one he loves.”

“It is a thing hundreds of thousands of women have done.”

–Henrik Ibsen, A Doll’s House

“Concrete and barbed wire, concrete and barbed wire
It’s only made of concrete and barbed wire”

–Lucinda Williams, “Concrete and Barbed Wire”

“The instant passed so fast, and when that happens, it goes for good and all you have is a slow lifetime to speculate on revisions. Except time flows one way and drags us with it no matter how hard we paddle upstream.”

–Charles Frazier, Varina

 

We go to a concert on a rainy night

but the lovely old theater is bright

 

with anticipation, as well as light–

the music after twenty years, still right

 

though some songs take on a different meaning

now, when certain leaders are not so much leaning

 

but rather trampling rights to the ground—

but here, we’re more interested in the sound

 

of the music and the stories that she told

of how her life and memories unfold.

The next day we see a play

a sequel of sorts, though not in the way Ibsen would say

 

(if he did) after the door famously slammed.

So, Nora returns—and

 

she’s done well, but it’s complicated

(of course), and if we’re a bit frustrated

 

by the end result, that may be the intent

to think about what the characters underwent

 

as well as life for women then and marriage vows—

it’s hard to escape the political now.

 

I think of all the women of the past

stuck in marriages, hoping to outlast

 

perhaps the drudgery—or pain—

not much choice, forced to remain.

 

We walk and talk about the play

as the sun lowers on the day

Carpenter's Hall, Philadelphia

we see weddings amidst the falling, fallen leaves

where trees and sky form photo eaves

and I hope these couples face no final slamming door

except the one we all must face, till then, I hope they adore

 

one another, forever—and more.

 

But time flows on. . .or perhaps it circles from before. . .

 

I dreamt last night of flying through space

and time flowed, at an unmeasured pace

 

past glowing planets, circling round

bubbling with the sound

 

of joy and laughter—

a dream, real then, if not after.

 

The river flows

and no one knows

The Delaware River, seen from West Deptford, NJ. Merril D. Smith

what the future will bring

even as to the past we cling,

 

or sling, snap, swing, sway

what we can, hope for a day

 

when light shines brightly

kissing the air lightly

 

illuminating gold leaves and blue sky

banishing fear, hate, and all the whys

 

of evil—though this day will never arrive

we can still try to make kindness thrive.

 

In the U.S., we have mid-term elections. I’m hoping the party of hate, fear, and lies, gets sent a clear message that the majority do not want that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Recall the Light

Recall the light—

 

a thousand summers,

sun and rose petals,

 

and the moon—

with soaring music

 

diamond language,

cool, but blooded,

 

she chants symphonies

of shadowed sleeping seas.

 

Here is life–

still beating

 

through time

crying if. . .

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John William Waterhouse, “Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May,” [Public Domain] Wikipedia

Some cautionary words from the Oracle?

 

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Sheltered in Branches

Oak tree ringed

now with red-gold leaves

all around,

still they fall,

but the tree recalls the spring

when buds bloom anew—

 

and laughter

rises once again

as children

climb and play–

and ghosts perch there with the birds

sheltered through seasons

 

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Frederic Edwin Church, “The Charter Oak at Hartford,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

I feel like trees are trying to tell me something lately: the Theresienstadt Tree, the Tree of Life synagogue, and the big, old oak tree in my yard.

I’m posting this for Open Link night at dVerse, even though it’s Open Link morning for me.  🙂