Here! He cries,
Here I am, me.
Hear me, he sings
then Cardinal takes wing.
See me, in wind she winds
and calls. Caw! Caw!
See me, in wind she whirls,
glides in a sea-misted twirl.
They’re there, then go,
their feathers glistening–
while I stand here, then there,
watching and listening.
For Day 14, NaPoWriMo. I’ve incorporated some homonyms. I’m tired today, but I was determined to write something.
Federico Beltran Masses, “Under the Stars,” Wikipedia Commons
After time’s wind
aches from life going here
and there
you play in purple-shadowed seas.
But when you dream together
as summer-shine shows sweet in cool mist,
it beats away the blood-tongued things
and love lives whispering through
a thousand storms
I did a very quick consult with the Oracle again, and she gave me a sort of alternate version of my Nightmare poem with some of the same words.
“The Scream,” by Edvard Munch. [Public Domain] “This version, executed in 1910 in tempera on cardboard, was stolen from the Munch Museum in 2004, and recovered in 2006.” Wikipedia.
like a scream.
And whispers,
frantic tongues
beneath the whys
of language.
Scrabbling, urging tongues
you recall, feverish,
you want–
some other time—
a when
before this dream—
you can almost see
the blush of the before,
and you open your mouth
but there’s no sound
(scream, no scream)
only the cackling around you
and you wonder
(What if the nightmare
never ends?)
Today’s prompt for Day 13 of NaPoWriMo is to write a poem about something spooky. I briefly consulted the Oracle early this morning, and she gave me some words and tips for this poem. But I know this isn’t my real message. I’ll consult her again later.
This life, dull
as it seems, without
flashy cars
or jazzy
toys, expensive vacations
to island beaches–
still, it’s mine
loved for its loving,
family,
husband, and
children, friends, the poetry
found in moon and stars,
in sunshine
moments of cat purrs–
wine kisses,
coffee and
talk, a movie, and a walk
into the sunset.
This life, dull
only to others,
but to me
contentment
(most of the time). Yes, worries,
but still, I’m dancing. . .
into the sunset.
Today, Day 12, NaPoWriMo, challenges us “to write a poem about a dull thing that you own, and why (and how) you love it.” Another shadorma train and more lists.
Franz Marc, “Blue Horse,” 1911, [Public Domain] via Wikipedia Commons
exploded, diamond
dust scattered
sparkling grains,
spindrift of night seas, and here
they planted themselves
in dream worlds,
I see shadow ifs
the before,
the after,
shadow seas and blue horses
places known, maybe
we swam in
oceans, we lived in
caves, and trees
sheltered us. And now? We seek
new stars. The moon hums
in comfort,
a warning of what
might be if–
or when–
we return to the starlight,
sailing cosmic seas
Today, Day 11 of NaPoWriMo asks us to write an origin poem. I decided to go way back. Kerfe inspired me with her shadorma sequence.
“’Cat’s paw’ is the weather term of the day. It is a light breeze affecting a small area, such as would cause a patch of ripples on the surface of a still water surface.”
–US National Weather Service, Nashville, TN, Feb. 5, 2014
Cat’s paw breeze tickles
the water ripples,
sighs in a reflective purr.
The goose quivers in delight
on the water ripples
honks to her mate, in flight
he answers from above
the water ripples,
then settles by his love.
Crow hears their squawks
from the water ripples,
caws from his perch on the rocks.
The sound carries for miles
beyond the water ripples
to where the mockingbird smiles,
and from up in a tree
far beyond the water ripples
he sings of hearts soaring free
in cat paw tickles
water ripples trickling
sighs, caws, purrs, and cries
And I open the window–
on a catercorner breeze
to listen to his reprise.
The NaPoWriMo, Day 10 prompt is to write “a poem that starts from a regional phrase, particularly one to describe a weather phenomenon.” I don’t know what region “cat’s paw breeze” comes from, but I love it. The poem evolved because yesterday afternoon, I listened to a mockingbird put on a long concert that included the calls of other birds.
I think of things the river has carried—
Lenape canoes and wooden ships with sails,
spices, barrels, and bails,
the stuff of merchant cargoes.
Immigrants and slaves
carried across ocean waves
seeking a safe harbor.
Geese and gulls
swimming around the hulls
and among the debris
left from centuries–
tree branches and stumps
animals that jump
to swim—away
never staying,
straying
varying
things the river has, is, will be
carrying—
dreams of a better life,
perhaps a husband or a wife,
or freedom, almost
touching, joining the ghosts
watching from the coast
history and things, strings
of visions with wings—
decisions and stings
flowing with the tide
hopes, feathers, trees,
flowing from river to sea,
passing like time,
and then away from me
For the NaPoWriMo prompt, Day Nine “list of things,” and for guest host, Linda, at dVerse who asks us to write about prompt water.
“Dance is the hidden language of the soul, of the body. And it’s partly the language that we don’t want to show.”
–“Martha Graham Reflects on Her Art and a Life in Dance” (31 March 1985); republished in The New York Times Guide to the Arts of the 20th Century (2002), p. 2734.
“A study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn’t we use a little art jargon? There’s the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it.”
–Arthur Conan Doyles, “A Study in Scarlet”
From a garden
nature sings
dressed for spring
she puts on a show.
Can we,
do we
should we know
the answers?
They blow to the sky
in pastel petals—
Why?
***
We board the train
(no more rain)
So, notice the patterns
of shadows and light
the people shedding jackets,
the delight
of sunlight on the skin,
the day begins.
We walk—
a limited edition
cityscape
in an oeuvre that is vast
at last
feeling spring is here.
Oh, look at the river view,
and how the artist expresses
something both old and new
See the trees?
A work of impressionist art
Combined with naturalism,
Realism,
And there a bit of abstract expressionism.
A study in pink,
I think.
(Love in the air.)
Notice the light.
in this installation,
and the palette of hues
the vivid blues,
the pink, the white,
yellow added to this site.
Now inside,
the dancers dance
bodies tango
they go
this way,
slide from couple to trio
fusion of moves
cues
(she’s in high heels)
catch, swerve
in gender-fluid dives
into each other,
what divides us–
the sensual steps,
the turns,
we yearn
for what?
“No exit,” Sartre says
(ideas compressed)
from seeing ourselves
as others do,
and how do we hold on to
me or you?
We wander back
outside where spring
dances, prances, and glides.
An aside–
we converse with Ben
once again.
And the next day,
I’m once again outside
spring fever,
I decide
No cure,
but to immerse myself
once more.
See, there–
we drink some wine
our thoughts aligned
with others
of similar mind
the winery is crowded.
But this April day—
I wish it’d stay.
Then it’s gone—
another painting on the wall
but yet, not banal.
Don’t you adore
the artist’s shading?
Watch how–
there now–
see the bright light of day
slowly fading
to darkness,
come the night.
Day Eight of NaPoWriMo challenges us “to think about the argot of a particular job or profession, and see how you can incorporate it into a metaphor that governs or drives your poem.” I used some jargon of the art world.
On Saturday, we saw Union Tanguera + Kate Weare Company, “Sin Salida,” at the Annenberg Center. Here’s a short video from the company.
A gift of flowers and birdsong
that begins before dawn
and continues long
into the night
and sunshine bright,
even on days of grey,
it stays a bit lighter
than say,
a February day.
And so, spring brings
a gift
of things to come–
and I? I hear its hum.
This walk I take—
by water still, yet awake
it sings
content to be—
a gift I give to me.
Today, Day 7 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt is: “to write a poem of gifts and joy. What would you give yourself, if you could have anything? What would you give someone else?”
Claude Monet, “Spring in Giverny,” [Public Domain via Wikipedia Commons]
and watch to see her
whisper diamond-cool beauty
over here, there. . .
and now spring’s honeyed daylight shines
playing in time with the sweet blue sky,
aching of if
and the smell of dreams—
and you ask why–
though the wind chants
when, never, and after
Day 6! I smiled when I read today’s prompt for NaPoWriMo: “Today, write a poem that emphasizes the power of “if,” of the woulds and coulds and shoulds of the world.” My poems are full of ifs, and the Magnetic Poetry Oracle often plays along.
