Dream Goddess–Yeats Challenge, Day 18

This is for Jane’s A Month of Yeats Poetry Challenge, Day Eighteen. 

Today’s quotation: 

“The dews drop slowly and dreams gather;” —W.B. Yeats

 

She gathered dreams like berries in a basket,

grasped them, sorted them, sweet and tart,

an art,

matching dreams to dreamers,

sending them to lovers and schemers

some fragrant and ripe, like the fruit

but that wouldn’t suit,

not everyone.

Some dreams were like the fruit for jam or pies

mixed together, cooked, filled with hints of other things, or lies,

or perhaps words for the wise—

sometimes she even prophesized.

She went about her task with thoroughness,

not obsessed or oppressed,

it simply was her endeavor

she existed always and forever.

 

Luis_López_Y_Piquer_-_The_Goddess_Juno_in_the_House_of_Dreams_-_WGA13453

 

 

 

 

 

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Resting Before Flight: Shadorma Challenge

This is for  the November Shadorma Challenge that Eliot of Along the Interstice is doing. This is Day 18. I am participating sporadically.

 

Birds on a wire

like clouds gathering

for a storm,

or perhaps

like thoughts coming together

resting before flight

 

FullSizeRender 252

I missed the murmuration, but got this quick shot while stopped at a traffic light the other day.

 

Every time I see a bird on a wire, I think of Leonard Cohen’s song. Here’s a live version.

Dream Time, Past and Future: Yeats Challenge, Day 17

This is for Jane’s A Month with Yeats, Day Seventeen. 

Today’s quotation:

“The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,” —W.B. Yeats

 

They sailed on a journey of three years times three

through a cloth of darkness in a starless night sea.

They moved through fog, as if in a dream

and later couldn’t remember what they had seen.

Time passed quickly or slow, they weren’t sure or didn’t know

how to measure it here, nor where they’d go

when they would get there, or where that would be

or if stars would appear in the starless night sea

were they the first people or were they the last,

they existed in a dream time, future and past.

 

The_Future_Began_Here

The Owl: Haibun

It is my birthday. Now in the middle of December, it is cold outside, and darkness descends earlier each day. But the house is filled with light, warm and scented with the aroma of holiday baking. My husband, our two young daughters, and I are to meet my father at a restaurant north of us, in the Philadelphia suburbs to celebrate. It will be a highway trip through rush hour traffic, but the reward will be an excellent meal and the company of my family. I turn to a living room window to pull down the shade—and stop. A white owl with black and brown markings sits in the tree directly in front of me. I stare at her, and she stares at me, both unblinking. I am transfixed, knowing that this is a special moment, not knowing I will remember it in twenty years, still uncertain about its meaning.

 

The Owl dispenses

winter wisdom from oak trees–

time paused in passing

 

Caspar_David_Friedrich_Eule_auf_schmucklosem_Baum_1834

Caspar David Friedrich, Owl on a Tree,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

This is a Haibun for dVerse, where we asked to write about owls. I’ve combined it with this week’s prompt from Colleen Chesebro , using synonyms for the words, smell and cozy.

 

 

 

Different Definitions of Great: Shadorma

This is a shadorma for Eliot of Along the Interstice’s November Shadorma Challenge, using Secret Keeper’s Writing Prompt words:

Star/Deal/Peace/Food/Word

 

Different Definitions of Great

Morning star

sings a song of peace,

the words drift

unheard as

swamp-dwellers make greedy deals,

children go hungry

 

 

 

 

A Love Story: A Month With Yeats, Day 12

This is for Jane Dougherty’s A Month With Yeats Challenge, Day 12.

Today’s quotation is:

“He made the world to be a grassy road

Before her wandering feet.”

–W.B. Yeats

 

There was a maiden with flowers in her hair

glorious she was, but with a tragic air.

Yet would the gods so decree

that beauty be the cause of tragedy?

Rather humans create such fights

with jealousy, hate, and righteous might.

 

“I would give you all I can,”

said the young, determined, love-struck man.

“But I would also let you go

if ever that is how you wished it so.”

With that she took him, wed him, then,

and their love was renewed again and again.

 

For he made the world a delightful place

and within it there, they had such space–

for her, he created grassy roads with scented flowers

and there she could wander in day or evening hours

She often said she was glad she’d wed him then

and their love was renewed again and again.

 

Though beauty may pass like a dream,

the rose is deeper than it seems.

Its beauty lies in not only in its shape and form,

but also in its scent that lingers and adorns.

And if wars are fought to capture bloom or bower

that is not the fault of the radiant flower.

Windswept_by_John_William_Waterhouse

John William Waterhouse, “Windswept” or “Wildflowers,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

11 – 12

Freya chose a few of my haiku for her “Monster” series. Here is the first one.

purehaiku

Charcoal clouds glower
swallow sunshine, hope, and joy
autumn’s glow is gone
Merril D. Smith 2017

Merril D. Smith is a historian and poet, sometimes at the same time.

This haiku haunted me from the first reading and introduces the “natural” monsters that inhabit our world.
This haiku is part of my MONSTER series.

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Under the Druid Moon: Yeats Challenge, Day Eleven

This poem is for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats Challenge, Day Eleven.

Here is today’s quotation:

“Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds
And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs”

I was dreaming of the ghost in the movie A Ghost Story that my husband and I saw earlier this year. I wrote about it here.

 

I dreamt last night of a ghostly figure

hovering in the air, floating, lost in time,

his silent presence, growing ever bigger

echoing, echoing, like a chime.

What mysterious moments has he seen

while drifting through star-glimmered winds

worlds, ancient, or untouched and pristine?

Or is he here only, stuck, to one spot pinned,

waiting, watching  for something new to begin?

A quiet sentry, under a Druid moon–

was he born too late, or did he die too soon?

 

 

 

 

All We Are Saying: Shadorma Challenge

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

Night-Tide: Yeats Challenge, Day 10

For Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats Challenge, Day 10.

Today’s quotation:

“And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,”

—  W.B. Yeats.

 

From the cottage window

he watches the winds blow,

scurrying and hurrying

for the day to be through

to turn evening’s dusky violet hue

into the starry indigo of night.

 

How she had loved that sight,

the clouds dancing in the air

the wispy bits of angel hair

white against the darkening sky.

And still he cried

remembering how she’d died

drifting away at the coming of night-tide.

 

He’d been there, sitting at her side.

Now weary, burdened with a heavy heart,

wondering what to do or what to start

Then softly he hears her gentle sigh,

and though it waits for no reply,

as the moon hums and the reeds grow dark

he knows she’s there somehow, a spark

in every fox’s bark and singing lark

her spirit roams by house and glen

somewhere, sometime, he’ll see her again.

 

'Starry_Night'_by_Edvard_Munch,_1893,_Getty_Center

Edvard Munch, “Starry Night,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons