A Reason for the Cliché
We track its phases,
cockeyed grin to full-faced smile,
worm to strawberry,
becomes a wolf,
its changing form a constant
reflecting the sun, lighting the night
guiding owls and tides,
with silvered gleam, it sings
lullabies for the sleepless,
a source of poets’ dreams.
A quadrille for my dVerse prompt. The prompt word is track.
Day 3, F1.3 Pwca, and F2.3, Will o the Wisp
Will-o’-Wisp
Black bog, clouded night
comes the flash of fairy-fire—
a ghost-glow, trickster’s beacon—
the pwca lures—and you follow
through shadow-swallowed shadows
where tree arms shake and root-feet trip,
you go, seeking the glimmer
not as ship rescued by a flare
but moth to flame, unaware,
attracted, caught
left in the dark
when the pwca leaves,
abandoned, alone—no reprieve
without ghost-light,
only spirits and sprites,
when the ghost-laugh comes,
you quiver and run
but there’s no escape—
not till after their fun.
Paul Brookes is hosting a month-long ekphrastic challenge using folklore images to celebrate the launch of his new poetry collection, “As Folktaleteller.” You can see the images here, and also read the other responses.
Forever
“Forever – is composed of Nows –“
—Emily Dickinson“If forever doesn’t exist,” she said, “we’ll invent it ourselves.”
― Nikki Erlick, The Measure
At the tipping point, gold tips green
and russet leaves waltz to wind’s acoustic strings,
they touch the ground, then let it go
and drift into tomorrow.
We follow—or we don’t—
almost living like those leaves,
though deaf to the language of trees,
the whispers far underground–
as geese honk and hawks circle,
we dare to look up
find infinity in a sky of dazzling blue,
and in each memory, confound time.
My mom’s dear cousin, Sali, died yesterday. They were like sisters, so this hits hard, not only because I loved Sali, but also because of her connection to my mom.
And because, it’s what I do, I always seem to find connections and synchronicity in my life. Autumn seems a particularly apt time for reflection, and it has truly come.
After a few beautiful days, when I had some amazing bird watching moments–a pair of hawks and a pair of eagles together one day, and group of vultures the next– October arrived with wind and rain. It’s been raining off and on since Friday night, with heavy rain yesterday. It looks like it may continue until Tuesday or Wednesday. I’m thankful, however, that we only have these remnants of the hurricane that devastated Cuba and parts of Florida.
On Saturday night, we did a virtual wine tasting hosted by Tria in Philadelphia. We picked up our boxes of wine and cheese in the afternoon. The event was a fundraiser for reproductive rights.
Merril’s Movie, Book, TV Club:
A Trip to Infinity: Am I recommending a math documentary? Yes, I am. It’s because, to me, it’s a film of philosophy, possibility, and ideas. It is so well-done, and the experts—mathematicians, philosophers, and physicists–are so engaging as they discuss infinity. I would watch this one again. On Netflix.
I read The Measure, a novel by Nikki Erlich. One day every adult in the world, no matter where they are, receives a box. Inside each box is a string. Some have short strings, and some have long strings—this is the measure of how long they will live. Despite its premise and the prospect of how it could bring out the worst in humans, the novel is ultimately a novel about love and connection.
We are watching the Korean series, Extraordinary Attorney Woo. It had been on my Netflix list for a while. (You will not be surprised that I have a huge list.) Blogger friend Dale convinced me to start watching it, and I’m glad I took her advice. You can’t really tell how delightful this show is from the trailer, but it makes me happy to watch it and to root for Woo.
**I don’t mean to bombard anyone with posts, but I am writing poems for an October Folklore challenge, and today I’ll be back because I’m hosting Quadrille Monday on dVerse. (I guess I better get that poem written!)**
For Paul Brooks Folktober Ekphrastic Challenge. I responded to all three images: F2.1. F2. 2., F2.3
Beware
On Halloween, the fairy folk ride
glide on steeds, that shine and glitter
and they as well, but beware their shimmer
and their beguiling queen with gold-spun hair
whose honeyed-scent drifts in the air,
stare not, and never take her hand
as she will take you to her land
where minutes drift ever-sweet and light
as decades here pass out of sight.
But on Halloween, take extra care
of all spirits, vengeful and fair—
who wander as the sun grows dimmer
gnomes mostly benign, though some are grimmer–
there’s La Llorona who wails and weeps
and seeks to keep
your children for hers, dead and gone.
Await the dawn
especially on Halloween,
do not go into graveyards, and don’t be keen
to display courage in haunted places, or the woods.
Don’t stray into the garden—understood?
when midnight strikes
run from shimmer, shadows, and all the ghost-like—
beware–
sometimes, things are not what they seem—
sometimes they are—no matter how bizarre,
truth may come in dreams. The unseen, seen.
Paul Brookes is hosting a month-long ekphrastic challenge using folklore images to celebrate the launch of his new poetry collection, “As Folktaleteller.” You can see the images here, and also read the other responses.
The River Speaks
The river speaks in semaphore,
a language of shadowed depths
and sparkling light,
it speaks in waves that run from the wind
rushing headfirst into the sand
as gulls laugh and crows scold–
and if you sleep
or forget to look or listen
it doesn’t matter,
the river flows on,
responding to the sun’s golden banderoles,
the moon’s silver streamers,
and time’s whispered words in each speck of dust.
My poem from the Oracle. I think there may be more to this one.
Images: F3.1, Bloody Mary, Pantoum Form
Be Afraid
You scoff. Say it’s merely folklore,
no fears from a mythical tale,
but away from the mirror, gaze at the floor,
beware the world’s thinned veil!
No fears from a mythical tale.
you say. But don’t light the candle,
don’t say her name, don’t watch for her image pale–
don’t yearn for what you cannot handle.
You say, “but don’t.” Light the candle
I will. There’s a dare in the air, and to it, I thrill—
don’t yearn for what you cannot handle.
I can. Yet suddenly I feel a chill.
Still, I will. There’s a dare in the air, and to it, I thrill–
until I don’t. Bloody Mary in the glass, I can’t—
I can. Yet suddenly I feel a chill.
I see her pass, I hear her laugh, rant, chant–
until . . . I don’t. Bloody Mary in the glass! I can’t.
But away from the mirror, gaze at the floor—
though I see her pass, I hear her laugh, rant, chant.
You scoff. Say it’s merely folklore.
Paul Brookes is hosting a month-long ekphrastic challenge using folklore images to celebrate the launch of his new poetry collection, “As Folktaleteller.” I just had a bit of fun with this one, but there are some other excellent responses. You can see the images here, and also read the other responses.
My favorite podcast, Ghosts in the Burbs, had a Bloody Mary episode.
Vultures
Now, the season of in-between
the summer heat dims, the vultures soar
wind-embraced through clouds to blue–
no evil or good in their birds’ eye view
above the trees, across the shore,
circling death, cleaning the scene.
For dVerse Open Link Night.
I was inspired by Sarah’s elegant response to Punam’s prompt. I decided to write a sestain, as well.
6 lines, ABCCBA
And I saw vultures today. 🙂
The Constancy of Autumn
“Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;”
–from John Keats, “To Autumn”
Now the dragons come, sending their fiery breath
Into the cerulean sky, last gasps,
a vibrant show before their long, winter sleep.
Now squirrels skip and scurry
to find and bury their treasure,
eagles soar from shore to shore,
white-feathered heads glowing above the river blue,
where herons and egrets in shallow water wade
still in shadow, then with broad wings wide, glide
to other shoals. While blue jays gather
in raucous meetings throughout the day—
yelling at hawks, asking summer to stay—but
now the apples come—red or golden-green,
the colors of both fall and spring, tart and sweet
as life, well-balanced, though seldom neat.
Now t-shirts are covered by sweaters,
above, azure turns grey, but bright a spray of yellow
in bee-swallowed goldenrod, and violet aster.
Now we are in transition, in-between,
summer has ended, winter not yet come
but we remember what has been
the roses of summer and the fruit,
their essence captured in honey and wine–
with time,
the memories and promises,
like late spring’s bird-dawn chatter—
everything connected, everything matters,
the constant of love’s endurance
glowing brilliant as the light
of ancient long-dead stars, so bright,
still guiding us from afar.
We celebrated the first night of Rosh Hashanah last night. It makes so much more sense to celebrate the new year in early autumn as summer fades into fall than tacked on to the end of winter holidays on the first of January. Of course, no one has asked me. It was wonderful to celebrate with family, and while we missed not having everyone there, the smaller group meant we could all sit at one table and converse together. We toasted the memory of my aunt Sima, whose recipe for challah cannot be surpassed. It’s the one I always use.
Some photos from last night
Auguries of True Autumn
If you listen
from beneath deep-night’s blanket of darkest blue
you’ll hear the moon croon,
the tenderest of lullabies
for the lonely awake in quiet rooms
where she can silver-slide
through window cracks, and guide with wider-glow
the owls and foxes, and the bats–
though soon they’ll go.
If you listen,
you will hear the tree roots slow their growing
as they drop rubies from their crowns,
and bury seeds to sleep till spring, these sounds
just barely perceptible, perhaps sensed in dream-showings
like scenes from a book you’re not sure you’ve read,
but somehow find yourself knowing, this thread
of what will be—you’ll see
in the morning’s leafy rustle
and the geese’ fast honking bustle,
you’ll recognize your dream vision,
whether wanted or unbidden,
that now the leaves are turning scarlet and gold
competing with the dawn,
more than augury, no longer foretold–
autumn is here, summer has gone.
This poem is a collaboration between the Oracle, Derrick Knight, and me. I took the title, minus an article, from one of Derrick’s blog posts.
Enough and More
Here trees and birds brush-kiss the feathered sky
in blue-on-blue reflections, breathe a sigh.
No pause, no hesitation comes, so wise
trees are, roots down, boughs high, as birds they rise
bright-eyed, wings spread, and yes, I’d fly with you,
outstretched into the blue of sky and through.
And then, we’d float on mirrored sea, our boat
enwrapped in harmony, the world remote.
I’d watch the heron strut, fish-dive, and soar–
yes, this is enough, I’d need nothing more.
Some readers might be confused about the day from the image, but it fits so perfectly.
A poem in couplets, rhymed, iambic pentameter, for dVerse. I couldn’t quite manage to make all of the couplets closed. This is a revision of a poem that coincidentally, I wrote almost exactly two years ago for another dVerse prompt.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
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