Blue Pony Dreams

Enchanting dawn slips

silently past the night,

and with her rosy lips

scatters her light

as she kisses the world awake.

Then—I ache

remembering my dreams

of blue ponies by incandescent streams.

I’ve seen them as I danced among the stars,

but in the light of day,

their world seems much too far away–

and yet–

I know, if never truly seen, still the ponies are there. . .

prancing, shining with blueish sheen, somewhere.

 

Franz Marc, “Blue Horses,”(Public Domain) Wikipedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is for dVerse, where Jilly asked us to write about “unseen.” Last week, Jane Dougherty reminded me about the blue horses. She knows they’re real, too.

 

 

 

 

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Dream Light–Magnetic Poetry

Let me see dream light

whisper shadow music of red moons—

a language of aches, wind, water,

and time,

singing honey-tongued

of what was or never is

beneath a thousand whys

 

Embed from Getty Images

 

The Oracle is enigmatic today, as usual.

Breath of Dawn

Silence—as the curtain falls

weighted with emotion just before applause.

Silence—just before the thunder booms,

as though the sky must first absorb the sound

before it’s released. . .breathe in, breathe out. . .

Silence—seconds before the sun awakens,

the cat stretches and yawns,

you turn over as twitters and chirps begin to fill the air,

where traces of dreams still linger—whispered sighs—

they float away, up into the rose-swept sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Silence poem for Dwight’s Sounds of Silence dVerse prompt, and it’s punctuation -filled for Björn’s dVerse prompt. 

Dream Puzzles: Haibun Quadrille

I dream of huge white blossoms flaming and shooting off petals into the sky, turning it dark with flowery ash. Wondrous and a bit terrifying, this puzzle of my mind.

 

Moon silvers the trees,

green leaves pale in midnight glow—

dreams waiting to bloom

 

Anonymous, Südländische Ideallandschaft bei Mondschein, [Public Domain] via Wikipedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Haibun quadrille for dVerse. Mish has asked us to use the word “puzzle,” or some form of it, in a quadrille, a poem of 44 words.

 

 

 

 

 

Seeking the Words

I seek the words

to have them drop,

tumble, and

from a jumble

on the page,

rearrange, engage

the reader

with their wit,

flit and sway

to lay

and fall in time

(perfect metered rhyme?).

But. . .I don’t know,

the words come,

and then they go,

in a trickle or a flow,

like geese taking off in flight

no hesitation, wings spread, sail

toward the light,

one and then the next

absent of any pretext

(subtext?).

I seek the words–

and sometimes they come—not flying, but

slithering and sliding from a dream,

onto a scrap of paper or my computer screen.

 

This is for the dVerse Open Link night–or in my case, open link morning after. I woke with a poem in my head, but I couldn’t quite recapture it. I did manage to get in a line with geese. 🙂

Cooper River Park, NJ

 

 

Cloud Houses of Dreams

Monday Morning Musings:

“I would build a cloudy House
For my thoughts to live in;
When for earth too fancy-loose
And too low for Heaven!”

–Elizabeth Barrett Browning, “The House of Clouds”

“I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now

From up and down, and still somehow

It’s cloud illusions I recall

I really don’t know clouds at all.”

–Joni Mitchell, “Both Sides Now”

 

 

Striking in their billowing shapes, watch them drift, the clouds.

Somehow relaxing, to see them shift, the clouds.

***

 

On a beautiful afternoon in July,

we walk, a blue bed is the sky

for puffy clouds to lay upon

transient, seen, and then they’re gone—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

like the inhabitants who once held sway

on these cobblestone streets, walked each day–

in daily life and times of strife they lived in these houses

with children, relatives, with their spouses,

Elfreth Alley, Philadelphia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

do their spirits yet walk here under moonlit clouds

shy, hesitant, or fierce and proud?

I must ask my friends who once lived herein

if they ever encountered such ghostly denizens.

 

We watch a movie about a baker of cookies and cakes

who travels under a cloud, with a life that’s fake

but ghosts and memories bring new love–

sort of—

(The pasty looks delicious, but the story hard to convey

without giving too much away.)

 

We eat pizza and drink wine while the weather is fine—

against more green, blue, and white, we sip and dine

taking advantage of this unusual meteorological blip

before the storm clouds roll in and the forecast flips—

Auburn Road Winery,
Salem County, NJ

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

which it does, the skies turn grey

the white clouds drift away

and I build cloud houses from my thoughts

turn them away from should and oughts

Raining on the Ben Franklin Bridge

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

but I dream of houses with stairs to nowhere

or perhaps from here to there,

if only I can find the right paths (or footwear)—

a dream with goals and friends and cats,

and if there’s unfinished business—

well, I can live with that.

His work is done. Sweet Dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m sorry about the spacing here. I can’t quite figure out how to fix it.

People still live in the homes of Elfreth’s Alley. You can read about it here.

We saw the Israeli movie The Cakemaker. Trailer here.

We went to Auburn Road Vineyards.

 

 

The Siren Calls

The moon,

gorgeous gown’d

waxes at sea

on a bed of water.

Some say, she will swim,

then soar,

but I smell rain,

my feet rocked,

chanting wants,

honey music

of skin and sweat—

and you heed my moans–

the storm–

so, sleep

in the mists of time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Félix Ziem, “The Call of the Sirens,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

A Saturday morning visit to the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. I’m not sure if I should feel empowered or forewarned.

 

 

Forest Dream: Magnetic Poetry

From the forest

languid language soars.

You watch the rain beating

on rocks,

say my skin smells of dreams

and water runs fast beneath my feet.

A ship screams at the lake,

“who is driving death?”

And I cry,

aching if and why.

 

Henri Rousseau, “Le Rêve,” (The Dream), [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I haven’t consulted The Oracle in a couple of weeks. She gave me this bit of surrealism. It fits my mood.

 

Why Did I Flee?

“The world that used to nurse us

now keeps shouting insane instructions.

That’s why I ran to the woods.”

~ Jim Harrison from Songs of Unreason

 

You wonder why I fled?

Well, what was left?

 

I ran to the woods,

thinking I could be Thoreau

just go–

you know?

Escape the insanity,

the inanity of the world

where insults are hurled

at the weak

and those who can’t speak

for themselves

when life is bleak.

Then I dreamt I had a dream–

well, it seemed

to make sense at the time,

full of poetry and rhymes

I don’t remember,

but wish I could.

So, I decided to leave the woods.

I hiked a new trail out of there—

ignoring the signs that warned, “Beware!”

Why did I flee?

I suppose I just needed to see

what is and was and what could be.

 

Ivan Shiskin, “Forest,” [Public Domain] Wikipedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is for Day 22 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason, poetry based on the poetry and work of Jim Harrison.