Image by enriquelopezgarre from Pixabay
with a bang
comes the birth of worlds
and star songs
drift, falling
to papaya glow, rising
over barren rocks
then soaring
above burnished crags
the black-winged
dreamers fly,
carrying all the befores
and all the afters
landing here
where light and shadows
together
dance, holding
possibility aloft
for millennia.
A shadorma sequence for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday. The poem is inspired by the image above chosen by Linda Lee Lyberg.
Source: The Youth’s Book on Natural Theology, 1840
First a rumble
grumbling in the night,
then a crack, the light
jagged and brightly-white
zig-zagging, where the kite
with hemp strands and key
conducts electricity–
a sight to see,
but from afar—
(check the jar)
this experiment of wonder,
science, lighting, and thunder.
A quadrille (a poem of 44 words) for dVerse where De asked us to use the word “crack.” If you don’t know anything about Benjamin Franklin’s experiment, here are the details from the Franklin Institute—it includes a passage from his article in the Pennsylvania Gazette. He actually electrified the hemp from the charged air, not directly from the lightning, but poetic license. 😉
“And the dreamt-of is someone who did
Something we can’t quite put
Our finger on,
But which involved a life
We are always, we feel,
About to discover.”
–from Mark Strand, “Dreams”
“One hot afternoon during the era in which you’ve gotten yourself ridiculously tangled up with heroin, you will be riding the bus and thinking what a worthless piece of crap you are when a little girl will get on the bus holding the strings of two purple balloons. She’ll offer you one of the balloons, but you won’t take it because you believe you no longer have a right to such tiny beautiful things. You’re wrong. You do.”
― Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar
November comes
with days dimmed and dreary,
the time between bright azure skies
and crisp-apple air
and the frosted evergreens of December.
I search now for the golden glow–
and color where I can find it–
the tiny beautiful things
in the world around us,
and the tiny beautiful things
I hold within my heart,
memories,
the touch of lover,
the soothing weight of sleeping infant soothed,
milk-breathed, dreaming–
my own dreams
range, joyous,
or disturbing,
a discovery, if only I don’t. . .
wake
to find it gone.
What was that thought,
that brilliant verse I dreamed?
That something,
that tiny beautiful thing?
Gone,
popped, a balloon-thought
a bubble floating off into space,
yet, a place within me
that I may find it again,
someday,
some nights
in November,
we eat comfort food,
cocooned in blankets
and we watch Netflix–and cats–
find the tiny beautiful things
that make our lives less tiny
more beautiful,
we hug our loved ones tightly
trying to protect them
(another shooting,
another one, we say
and shrug, tsk, another day
of more hate and evil rising–
into space–)
so, I long for a Star Trek world
where brave captains with moral compasses
that never flicker from True North
guide us with bravery and compassion,
never forgetting
who they are
and what must be done
to find the light
to sail us through the stars–
those tiny, huge, beautiful things–
to bring us home.
Our shadows travel the ages–Dock Creek, Old City, Philadelphia
I saw this rainbow sky over Philadelphia when we were returning home from my mom’s.
We saw Tiny Beautiful Things, a play based on Cheryl Strayed’s book, and adapted for stage by Nia Vardalos. Our older daughter and her wife were in Philadelphia for a wedding, and they spent yesterday and last night with us. We watched an episode of Star Trek Voyager, and I said that I wished Captain Janeway was Earth’s leader right now.
I watch–
the rosy red
blooming, adorning the sky
fashioning the day’s beginning,
rising.
A Crapsey Cinquain for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday challenge. (Synonyms for grace and style). I wrote about the moon yesterday, so it’s only fair that I write a poem about the sun today.
Moonrise over a South Jersey field, November.
The sleep shadows said
live life as a moon rising through the mist
with dreams raining from her
in honeyed-diamond language
shining with ifs.
~So, you recall the sweet luscious beat~
as we love and ache
and watch men lie and shoot.
Yet still the sky sings in light-music of purple-pink,
and it floats on our tongues
as the wind whispers why?
Another puente from the Oracle. It seems she knows the world is an especially confusing place these days. (And also that I had some very strange dreams just before waking today.) I didn’t take a screen shot because I planned to come back to the tiles. I thought I emailed the poem to myself, but it vanished. Mysterious world. Here’s the link to the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.
I’m linking this to dVerse’s Open Link Night, which Lillian is hosting, and I’m getting in just before it closes.
“How clear, how lovely bright,
How beautiful to sight
Those beams of morning play. . .
Ensanquining the skies
How heavily it dies. . .
How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day.”
–from A.E. Houseman, “How Clear, How Lovely Bright”
The line, the flow
the glow
of life, scattering
leaves, the gathering of nuts and seeds
(the sky bleeds)
reflecting the spattering
of wounds, the broken glass
before the gas
and rustlings
of war and wind
the leaves are thinned,
but hear them crunch and crackle
as squirrels scamper and play
in the fading light of autumn day
and the birds fly—geese and grackle—
and hawks and vultures soar
before the train comes, roars
down the tracks
taking me somewhere—
up and down, stairs
we go, into the wind,
the boat sails
and what tales
might it have, of rivers or sea?
Delaware River from Patco train heading to Philadelphia
And is there a lighthouse, with ghostly
glowing and horn blowing, or mostly
sunny skies?
Time must sail, too
and we a sometime crew
walk through history
18th Century garden on site of Benjamin Rush’s House, Philadelphia
how can it be otherwise,
the lows and highs
of our own lives, the mystery
of others–we see a groom and bride
and I hope they lovingly glide
into a life of love and joy
A wedding party taking photos at “my willow” at Dock Creek, Old City, Philadelphia
(Pause, we drink coffee and wine
stop for a time—
but time is coy)
and autumn comes cold and dark
but there is beauty, even if it’s stark—
see the moon rise over fields stripped of grain
Moonrise over a South Jersey field, November.
glowing, humming—this autumn sky
and the clouds and time
the time before the rain, snow, the train
of time. The movie train that circles
through the frozen world, almost eternal
but the cost
a cautionary tale
of where we might sail
and is our world already lost?
Crow calls
the remorseful day falls
setting underground
in fiery ball, unheeding
the world goes on, speeding
and we spellbound.
But I don’t celebrate bleeding—
or ferocious gods, the leaders leading
into destruction–
let poetry fly
through vast haunted eternity, die
the war-fever. Find a new function
for our minds and hearts
in words of love, kindness, and arts
that soar with feathered wings–
how clear, how lovely bright
the sight
of what could be, of hope that sings
as the walls tumble down.
This was a week of elections, cat dental surgery, the anniversary of Kristallnaught (November 9, 1938), and the tearing down of the Berlin Wall. In the U.S. today is Veteran’s Day. It was formerly Armistice Day, but of course, war has not ended. I respect all who have served and honor all those who have given their lives in serving their country. While someone like Hitler had to be stopped, it would be better if people did not let such people gain power.
For Merril’s Movie Club: We watched Snowpiercer, a 2014 movie we had never seen, but since we recently saw Parasite, and it is an earlier movie by the same director, Bong Joon-ho, we decided to watch it. It’s on Netflix. This one’s in English, and it’s much more of an action movie than I would normally see. Like Parasite, the movie covers the issues of class and climate,and there was definitely much to think about. Overall, we both liked it. There is also fighting and bloody scenes though, so be forewarned. We saw Lighthouse in the theater. It’s also in English. I know, strange, right? (Don’t worry, we’re still watching Black Spot, so reading subtitles there.). Great acting, beautiful black and white cinematography. Very strange, surrealistic movie of two lighthouse keepers on an isolated island. Some of the dialogue is taken from Melville and lighthouse keepers’ diaries. It’s somewhat similar in style to his previous movie, The Witch.
The galaxy NGC 1156 resembles a delicate cherry blossom tree flowering in springtime in this Hubble image. The many bright “blooms” within the galaxy are in fact stellar nurseries — regions where new stars are springing to life. Text credit: ESA (European Space Agency) Image credit: ESA/Hubble, NASA, R. Jansen
The universe wakes
in a brilliant blush of color
flowering dazzle clouds that sail on ifs
in magic rhythm from was to is
~for eternity or not~
do we embrace
with fired hearts,
desiring stars,
remembering home
A puente from the Oracle.
Bring eternity
in brilliant blue, time’s lines meet
continuing on
through darkness and glowing light
blooming, as leaves scatter, fall
For Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday. I took this photo while walking to my polling place on Tuesday. I really like it, and I’ve been trying to come up with a poem for it.
Timekeepers,
sun and moon
rise and set
and we forget
that we move, too,
revolving on our small blue dot
sailing through each day, not
knowing where we’ll dock
or when time’s clock
will stop its ticking-tock–
but then light bends,
it never ends.
This is for yesterday’s dVerse prompt, where Kim asked us to write a quadrille (a poem of 44 words) using the word keep.
“We sit down
in the smell of the past
and rise in a light
that is already leaving.”
From Rita Dove, “November for Beginners”
“Wars, plagues, names upon tombs tell us only what happened. But history lies in the cracks between.”
― Sarah Blake, The Guest Book
The wind roars, a dragon
blowing in the season
overnight the temperature drops
and there’s a reason
I’m baking and cooking
easing in
this time of melancholy and light.
The leaves glow golden
in the slanted light of dimming days
and color pops, unrestrained,
blazing, in the rays
of setting sun.
Here come ghosts
and memories, the dead
William Penn looking down at the Day of the Dead display at Love Park, Philadelphia
remembered in joy and sorrow
decorations, graves, a thread
of history, the moments in-between
the things we love, the times we dread
the smell of the past,
comes back to haunt us–
my mother says, do you smell that
when nothing is in the air
and goes on to chat—
(I open window and door)
we discuss dogs, a cat
and this is where we’re at,
now, daughter and I make candles
smelling scents for future burning
but is it also, perhaps,
for a past we’re yearning
in scents of autumn and Christmas
as the season is turning
we talk and sip our wine.
Swirl, sniff, taste,
discuss ghosts and dreams,
the feelings of houses
our moods, of what seems
to be real or not—
(I watch how the light streams
then dims.)
Vintage Wine Bar, Philadelphia
The clocks turned back,
but we’re the ones that change,
not time. It moves on,
there’s no real exchange
hours lost or gained,
yet memories remain, sometimes disarranged
but triggered by this or that, perhaps a scent.
I dream of cooking beans,
the refrain, they need long simmering
add some water the dream people say
and in my mind some glimmering–
this is my life and words
with long slow cooking, simmering
and sometimes shimmering
through the cracks
the scents of cinnamon and spice, autumn
the leaves glow and fall
the ghosts often forgotten
wander, here and there
as the light dims
but returns—in time.
Merril’s Movie Club–we watched It on Halloween, as the wind began to howl. We saw Pain and Glory, Almodovar’s latest. Husband and I both liked it–(but liked Parasite more)–you probably know if you like this kind of thing, Banderas as Almodovar remembering his life, perhaps more pain than glory at times. Trailer here. We also started watching a French series on Netflix, Black Spot (definitely not translated from the French title Zone Blanche) about strange goings on in a French town. We like to keep our viewing international. 😉
