Sleep now child and dream
without fear of violence–
hold hope in your heart
through the somber images
gambol into the future
Franz Marc, “Red Deer,” [Public Domain], Wikipedia
This tanka is for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for afraid and grave. I didn’t go with the Halloween theme.
This is for Jane’s A Month with Yeats Poetry Challenge, Day Nineteen.
Today’s quotation:
“We who still labour by the cromlech on the shore,
The grey cairn on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew,
Being weary of the world’s empires, bow down to you,
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.”—W.B. Yeats
This was going to be a triolet, but it isn’t. 🙂
A Vision in the Night
She had a vision in the night
saw by the cairns there was such peace
in utter darkness, shone a light,
stars sang there, they scarcely ceased,
though by the cairns there was such peace
and shadows lingered out of sight
Looking up at fiery stars
from high above the shore she stared
wondered if a door opened there
where people dared and peace was shared
from high above the shore she stared,
thought peace lived there beyond the stars
Józef Marian Chełmoński [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
I’ve missed a few days of Eliot of Along the Interstice’s November Shadorma Challenge.
(So many challenges, so little time!) 🙂
To make up for it, the Oracle gave me a few stanzas. I only noticed after I started typing out the poem that she had inserted an extra verse, and since I don’t want to cross her, I put it in parentheses. You can see that I was running out of space on the screen.
Today is Veterans Day in the U.S.
I never
celebrate bleeding–
I listen,
see dark smoke
but picture star-dazzled nights
and rhythm
in perfume breezes
from flowers’
blush of joy.
Go give up ferocious gods,
let poetry fly.
Vast haunted
eternity may
devour them,
this fever,
(Time must sail)
then we this window need use
and bring the word home
I wake to news of carnage. I wonder, fraught at what is wrought by men and guns and crazed ideas. My spirit feels wounded, unable to summon the joy. Yet I know it is there, buried in my heart, waiting to soar. I know that above me, the stars still sing, and the moon hums her changing melody, calling the tides. Come play, she croons, come roll and prance. Music of the universe, music of Earth. Listen–there the mockingbird, and there the robin, and there up at the top of the oak tree, the blue jay squawking. The gift of song, it’s all around us.
Joyful spirits sing
the sound of a summer breeze
laughs through a window
Frank Bramley, “When the Blue Evening Slowly Falls,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
This Haibun is a for Colleen’s Poetry Challenge. The prompt words were spirit and joy. Since I didn’t participate last week, I also used that week’s words, gift and song.
Storms rage,
we vanish from the stage,
fires flash and burn
destruction comes at every turn
(Is it ever thus–
what, oh what, is wrong with us?)
in wind and water rising
in troubles of our own devising,
storms rage
But which is more powerful,
love or hate?
Do we build to then negate?
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty”
Does the urn remain
when all is lost to rains
or flames?
When we’re destroyed by fear and greed
and people lost we cannot feed
beauty vanishes from past ages,
and still the storm rages
and rages
We hope then,
we long to see
what is and what might be
that magic gently comes
without fanfare, fifes, and drums
in soaring rainbows
in poetry and prose
in all that beguiles
in smiles
or baby’s laughter
(and how we laugh after)
ephemeral and fleeting
but etched upon our hearts,
(still beating)
the humming moon, the singing stars–
forget the wars
remember love,
and cooing of the peaceful dove,
or build the walls
and watch them fall
while the storm rages
and rages–
turn now the pages–
look for the helpers in turbulent times,
search for truth and beauty, magic and rhymes
A late entry for Tuesday’s dVerse hosted by Paul. He’s asked us to write about magic.
Honey-dipped apples,
sweetness carried through the year
shift light and shadow
dreams of peace and harmony
linger like the velvet wine
This Tanka is for Colleen Chesebro’s Weekly Poetry Challenge
The prompt words, honey and wine, make me think of Rosh Hashanah, which we will celebrate in about a month. We dip apples in honey for a sweet year, eat round challahs, and drink wine. It’s a holiday full of sweetness. Here, it takes place in early autumn.
From a tower, a maiden weeps
lost in grief, broken-hearted,
by her hand, a dragon sleeps,
before them both, a land uncharted.
She needs to rally and raise her voice,
to be a leader, to trump the hate
with love and light, it is her choice
she hopes that now it’s not too late.
Across a field, she sees them gather
the dragon rises, ready then with fire to slay
“Steady, she says, “let them blather,”
“let’s try to provide an alternative today.”
And so, as the haters hate some more
they sing together the dragon song
of beauty, kindness, not of war,
and the haters know that they are wrong
to judge a dragon by how he appears,
the maiden spins light, it opens a door
(slowly their minds are shifting gears)
as through the door goes hate and fears,
and life resumes, much better than before.
If only. . .
This is for Secret Keeper’s Weekly Prompt.
The prompt words were: Dragon/Provide/Heart/Field/Hand
In the movie,
this would be the point where the starship arrives
changing the course of events
saving us from ourselves,
saving Earth, saving humankind
Our movie runs in a continuous loop,
conflict after conflict,
guns, bombs, and hate,
attacking the other
we watch it unfold,
let it happen,
forgetting that people who are ignorant, hungry, afraid
listen to the demagogues,
we wait for the starship to arrive
for the hero to appear,
but this is an interactive experience
the storyline only continues
if we change it,
write the words,
name the evil,
expose it,
lead the hope,
feed the starving
heal the sick
teach the words of love,
look for the helpers,
become one and gather others
become the heroes
before it’s too late
Do we remember poetry and desire, come eternity?
embrace old rhythms of green and lingering life,
a brilliant blush,
a fired heart—
listen to this blue salt ocean, Fool,
the angel said,
magic lies here, there, all about and after
it dances and laughs, surrounding you like perfume–
go breathe peace and heal
Caspar David Friedrich, “Northern Sea in the Moonlight,” 1823-1824 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
I’m in the midst of crazy writing and editing. The Oracle knew just what to say. I added some punctuation. I hope she doesn’t mind.
I go through the motions of living, looking for food. We’ve been at war for—I don’t know how long. I don’t remember how The War started. I don’t remember why. I go through the motions, pretend I’m still alive, but I’m hollow and crumbling like the buildings around me. Once I was young and pretty; I loved and was loved. But it does no good to remember. There is only The War now. The bombing starts again, and I run for shelter. The instinct to live is strong. The barrage goes on all night. Boom, thud, crash. Boom, thud, crash, scream. As the sun peeks over the horizon, shyly as if wondering if it should stay, I crawl from my shelter. The bright glow illuminates the destruction of my world. I am a ghost in a city of ruins.
In the peace of dawn
rivulets flow, salty tears,
a sea of sorrow
coursing through ruins, blood-red
flowers float amidst rubble
I wake. A woman is treating my wounds. She takes my hand and leads me to others. There is food. There is water. I hear a sound, wonder what it is. A child’s giggle. Slowly—I’ve almost forgotten how—slowly, I smile.
Hope watered with tears
a seed nurtured with kindness
a hardened heart smiles
This is Day 27, NaPoWriMo. This haibun is for Colleen Chesebro’s Weekly Poetry Challenge. The prompt words were “peace” and “tear.”
I didn’t want this poem to be of any particular time and place, but yesterday, I heard a story on NPR about a woman who is one of the “White Helmets” in Syria. I also thought of Fred Roger’s oft-repeated line “to look for the helpers.”
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