Iām sure everyone knows what happened this past Wednesdayāinsurrectionists, incited by President 45, attempted to overthrow the U.S. government. He, the GOP lawmakers who supported him, and those who engaged in sedition should be arrested, removed from office and jobs, and tried. In addition to hate and sedition, they also most likely spread Covid. Iāve been thinking a lot about the Rising Sun chair. Itās the chair George Washington sat in while presiding over the sessions of the Constitutional convention. James Madison later wrote that Benjamin Franklin said of the chair, āI have often looked at that behind the president without being able to tell whether it was rising or setting. But now Iā¦ know that it is a risingā¦sun.ā You can see the chair here.
I also thought of how thousands, including me, have marched in peaceful protests.
Merrilās Movie Club: Last night we watched Elizabeth is Missing, which features an outstanding performance by Glenda Jackson. It was shown in the U.S. on Masterpiece. Some may not wish to see it because Jackson portrays a woman with Alzheimerās. It was somewhat upsetting to me in that it made me think of my mom. At the same time, the movie and her portrayal are so accurate and sympathetic, that I felt myself thinking thatās how it must have been for my momāexcept that she was nearly blind and far less mobile than Jacksonās character. The story, however, is about Jacksonās character solving two mysteries. The present-day disappearance of her friend, and the decades-old disappearance of her sister. Weāre about to start Season 2 of Occupied (Netflix). Season 1 of this Norwegian series was excellent and exciting. I also finished Bridgerton (Netflix). I probably donāt have to say anything about that. Binge and swoon. (But if you don’t know anything about it, it’s a period piece and a Shonda Rhimes production. My daughter described it as Jane Austen with sex.)
in a vast universe, find blue peace in perfumed air; devour the delicious dazzle of color, the light bubbling through champagne clouds–
listen–
the sky is alive with heart-rhythms, and the sound of if and when in the bright song of stars
traveling from afar, journeying to tomorrow.
My message from the magnetic poetry Oracle. She kept giving me messages about the current political situation–and then, suddenly, this one. I saw the beautiful feather above yesterday, and this morning, I saw eagles soaring high up in the sky (too high to get a photo). They flew past the setting moon and rising sun, and such beauty in the quiet morning raised my spirits.
After the bang that breaks the silence of nonexistence, of before all-time– a closed fist opens, letting out light in a rush of song; sailing sirens, the stars attract, beckoning us and what was becomes ever-after,
never looking back,
we seek the end of darkness, beyond horizons and the silvered-humming of the moonā finding patterns in vast arrays, finding ourselves thereā made of stars, caught by time–and timeless.
Responding to Der Tod ist ein Dandy auf einem Pferd Marcel Herms
And CO 8 by Christine OāConnor
Death Blooms
Death wanders and hovers– in plagues, pounces; with demagogues and flag-waving fools, dives. He prances through porticos, and capers in lifeās collageā see there, the dark spaces among the blooms?
Some toss fireworks, others lay flowers– the dead stay dead.
Merril D. Smith is currently working on two reference books about rapeāand a book of poetry.
Here is the fifth haiku from our Featured Haiku Writer. The first line of this haiku struck me from the first reading. I love the way Merril develops the image throughout the poem
The sun rises every day, but each dawn is unique, a doorway to a new room waiting to be furnished, or a tilled field ready for planting.
When I became a mother for the first time, it was all new to meāthe birth, bringing our daughter home on a cold February day to our recently purchased house, and then learning to take care of an infant. Breastfeeding was easy; trying to figure out how to unfold the heavy baby carriage and get it and her out the door and down the steps was not. Butāthe second time I became a mother, it was new again. There were similarities–it was another cold February day, but the labor was different, and I was different. Caring for a toddler and a baby at the same time was also a new experience. Like each day, each birth is both similar and singular, as is every child.
Frost-laced ground incubates hopes and dreams– daffodils rise
This is a haibun for dVerse, where Lillian has asked us to write about a something weāve experienced thatās new. We first planted daffodils when I was pregnant with our older daughter, and this year, we planted more because it seemed like something hopeful for the spring. (By we, I mean I ordered them, and my husband planted them. Teamwork. š )
The days blend togetherā mere words on a page, turned, the end of one chapter, becomes the start of the next without pause, the action, or lack thereof continues
one walk becomes another, but still full of wonder, and sometimes surpriseā the truth in beauty, and I the Sylvan historian–
Morning Moon
Light breaking through the clouds
if I ask why on a dreary morning, a voice within says look, listenā the sky wakes with a slow, secret smile. . .
This first Monday in January is grey and dreary. I havenāt gone anywhere or done much of anything in the past week. I keep forgetting what day it is. New Yearās Day felt like a Sunday. On New Yearās Eve, we did a Zoom meeting/dinner with dear friends. We ate Chinese food, as weāve done for decades on New Yearās Eve, and we opened a bottle of champagne, too. I got a somewhat ominous fortune. I made a spicy black-eyed pea stew on a round loaf of bread for New Yearās Day, thinking the year needs all the help possible.
Weāve been catching up on shows. The Good Lord Bird, based on James McBrideās novel, is excellentāfunny, sad, and timely. Ethan Hawke as abolitionist John Brown is wonderful, and equally good is Joshua Caleb Johnson as Henry āOnionā Shackelford, a young man who Brown thinks is a girl. Both my husband and I thought the show was goodāacting, music, and the Fargo-like sly humorābut we werenāt really caught up in it until about half-way through, when suddenly we were. We also watched a French mystery, Frozen Dead (Netflix) (hoping thereās a second season), and started Occupied (Netflix), a Norwegian thriller set in the near future. The first few episodes are quite exciting.
I’ve read a few novels in the last couple of weeks: Kris Waldherr, The Lost History of Dreams; Cat Winters, The Uninvited; David Gillham, Annelies: A Novel, and I’m currently reading Susan Ella MacNeal’s The Prime Minister’s Secret Agent (Maggie Hope, Book 4–I think I’ve read one and three). I’ve been able to get all of these through our county library’s contactless pickup system. I also have a bunch of books on my Kindle for just in case. š
