Aubade, Serenade

Monday Morning Musings:

Aubade, Serenade

Just past sunrise.

1.

A brush with green,
Earth-spirits, forest soul beckons
absorb the magic, it vanishes quickly
as orange sherbet sky melts
into the blue expanse

Early Morning Magic–she appeared and then disappeared

2.
Lies bait the hook
they swallow eagerly
as they swim to shore,
emerging with myopic eyes
fins turned to fists, grasping at shadows.

3.
Statement of the day,
or afterthought?
Dust off your father’s memory,
what if you saw your parents as children?
Love rekindled. Turn the page, again.

4.
Dreams of motors and motion–
helicopters, airplanes, buses, trains.
Something insidious you fear, but wait
there’s a twist–a cat purrs in your ear,
a snore from the pillow beside you.

5.
Light transported, prismed colors soar
and sing, celestial harmonies,
secrets we’re born knowing, but forget
even stars die,
I breathe their sparkle, hear their song.

As the crow flies

I generated another set of words, different from Jane’s set yesterday, and used them to write a cadralor.


After heat, storms, and humidity, this weekend we got some cool, dry, sunny weather. The January 6 Committee Hearings continue, and their revelations are even more awful than I thought they would be. However, nature has brought magic in the form of deer, eagles, and some beautiful days. We went to Auburn Road Winery for a pre-Father’s Day celebration. I baked my husband his favorite cookies for Father’s Day and gave him a pillow to replace one I ruined.

Merril’s Movie, Theater, TV Club:
We watched Petite Maman, a new movie by French director Céline Sciamma. (Her highly acclaimed Portrait of a Lady on Fire has been in my queue for ages, so I will need to watch it soon.) There’s not much of a story, but it’s a sweet, tender film—just what I needed to see. The title is a clue. I really liked it.

We saw another strange version of The Cherry Orchard, this one called The Orchard. We saw the virtual version. I really loved Mikhail Baryshnikov as Chekhov and Firs. Madame Ranevskaya was also excellent. I liked the virtual opening and closing, and the acting was good, but if I didn’t know the story, I probably would have been lost. Was the robotic arm/camera symbolic? Were there allusions to the current invasion of Ukraine? Perhaps. Here’s one review.

We finished the current episodes of Stranger Things (two more episodes drop on July 1). We both have enjoyed this new season. We started the latest Star Trek, Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. It’s a prequel to the original Star Trek, and it follows Capt. Pike and his crew, including intern Uhura.

A Summer Day, on Repeat (with audio)

A Summer Day, on Repeat

1.
When we were young, yet women,
we danced—almost cool—
the universe smiled and breathed
with champagne breath, effervescent,
a symphony of light-sound.

2.
We go about our days
oblivious to the coming storm.
though the wind moans, and
the sky becomes a blackened chimney—
then a chandelier.

3.
Fish leaps, a sparkle and a splash,
green frog with banjo-string-pluck, jumps–
the mayfly darts away.
The pond tastes of anything
can happen, if only, make a wish.

4.
Tech plays with sinister access,
the world wants you to be hard—
perhaps everything must crash.
You open the program,
hit re-set, complete.

5.
Dream diamonds float amidst the rocks—
tiny ships without a compass or chart,
in the after and before,
as time spins, always
she lives in you.

The Oracle gave me an almost Cadralor. Then we went out for a walk in a nature preserve, and when we got back home, I decided to try to make it a true Cadralor. I think. I’m sharing this with dVerse Open Link Night.

Criss-Crossings in Deep Time

Odilon Redon, L’arbre

1.
Cross the forest threshold
covered in squirrel-scattered leaves.
Acorns, chestnuts, cones, and seeds
buried amidst ancient, tangled roots,
resurrected.

2.
Three cats—curled, colored knots
white, tortoiseshell, and grey-striped.
Descendants of tigers, purrs with sharp claws,
gone–save the shadow
pressed against my warmth.

3.

Driftwood, weathered and bleached white,
a venerable creature beached
waiting for the tide.
What stories could it tell of its journeys–
of time and beyond?

4.

Red flowers rise to a rosy sky
Hello, they cry, and wave.
From wooded umbra,
white striped tail rises, too, leaving his scent—
not a perfumed calling card, but a warning.

5.

The clouds grumble,
their secrets burst out and light the sky
Your arm across me in the night, I reach to catch
a glittering fragment before it vanishes—I laugh
and hear an echo from the in-between.

A cadralor for dVerse. I hope I’ve done this correctly. To me, the form seems like a dream, in which you understand it as it goes along, and when you wake you feel something’s been resolved, though you can’t explain how or why. You can read about the form here, but briefly from the journal Gleam:

“the cadralor consists of five short, unrelated, highly-visual stanzas. The fifth stanza acts as the crucible, illuminating the gleaming thread that runs through all the stanzas and bringing them together into a love poem. By “love poem,” we mean that the fifth stanzaic image answers the question: “For what do you yearn?” Please see sample poems and editor statements on the cadralor to get a feel for this new form.”