Thank you to Freya Pickard for selecting a second haiku of mine for her portal theme. You can read it here.
Author Archives: merrildsmith
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.
My sister with Lady E
Summer turns to fall
leaves of many colors dance
birds trill, tweet, and soar
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.
The Oracle gave me that last part.
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
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.”
Poems out in Mojave Heart Review
I just discovered the November issue of Mojave Heart is out, and it includes two of my poems: Observe, and Again and Only a Fossil Where Once There was Life. My thanks to editor Jeff Reno for giving these two poems a home.
Children
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.
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.
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!
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
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
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. . .
John William Waterhouse, “Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May,” [Public Domain] Wikipedia
Some cautionary words from the Oracle?
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
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. 🙂
