after the storms, moon-shadows danced to fiddle tunes and dreams swirled in the air, dressing the forests in purple light, the gowns made of love, lust, hope, and fear.
These, the pictures that dangle beyond reach in an endless gallery– though I will recall some, if I can, before they vanish in the apricot sky, in the susurration of the river, and the cries of ospreys carrying them far into the clouds.
This seems like something I’d share in my Monday Morning Musings, but one doesn’t argue with the Oracle.
After the horrible heat and humidity, we finally got some rain—not enough—but we had a beautiful day yesterday and beautiful weather that will last through the weekend. And there was a full moon. Last night, I had some interesting dreams. The Oracle knows everything.
I’ve written of the river ghosts, but what about the dreams
that drift, twinkling like stars beyond reach—as far as
the eagle that soars so high, blink, and she’s gone–yet seen–
or the shy deer with quivering ears who disappears—
but some dreams are like herons still and waiting to pounce,
A heron at Red Bank Battlefield, and two heron photos by Doug at Pittman Golf Club.
remembered with a sigh, a shudder, or a smile,
some–you want them to stay awhile.
History slogs, then leaps, slings arrows of love and hate.
We are cool—then hot, here, then not. But
in a world where bees may think and feel, and trees whisper deep underground,
why is it strange to believe that stars sing, or that dreams might come true?
It’s been very hot and humid. We didn’t go anywhere this week, but we did celebrate Shabbos virtually with our children and their spouses.
I had access from Focus Features for a free streaming of Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris. It’s what I think of as a “comfy” film. You know that there will be some upsets, but somehow it will all work out in the end. It’s sort of a fairy tale. The acting is excellent and the film looks beautiful. The Dior gowns, of course, are gorgeous. I thought later that though the dream to go to Paris to buy a Dior gown is not something I can relate to, most people have dreamt of doing something, so in that way, her seeking the gown is a sort of symbol and the movie a quest. It’s not deep, but it’s charming. A definite feel-good movie.
We also went to our video backlog and watched another play. This one was Pipeline on Live from Lincoln Center. It was excellent—both the play itself and the performance. The poem “We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks is referenced several times in the play. I found this wonderful video about Brooks and the poem by Manual Cinema on the Poetry Foundation site. We’ve seen Manual Cinema performances live twice, and their shows are wonderful.
And if you missed it, there was an amazing discovery at Red Bank Battlefield, the park where I walk nearly every day, that I wrote about here.
I’m very pleased to announce that I received Third Place in the Word Craft Poetry Syllabic Poetry Contest. The theme was Dreams, and the required form was tanka prose. I think tanka are very difficult to write, so I was especially pleased to be a winner. Congratulations to the winners of the First Place, Second Place, and honorable slots: D. Wallace Peach, Ken Gierke, and Jude Itakali. You can read all of the poems here.
My dream poem begins Between a sonnet and an ode, I can’t remember the rest, it’s vanished in the universe of my mind, a star to black hole or a comet to return with a blazing tail— but me without the telescope to see within
this galaxy of thoughts, my past, the fragments hurled through time, and filtered through the space debris of memory.
I’m left trying to determine what I meant, a borderland of form and matter, formal structure and rhymed connections, an abab skip to u– the meter set by moon rise and the rhythm by dawn choir.
I could sing the praises of a leaf of grass, the beauty of the vulture’s glide,
the river tides, or the scent of spring rain rising
the volta of each season, expressed in a grand reveal, or a subtle exposition
unexpected, yet familiar, everything
may change in a flash light to darkness to light— while we dream, whether we remember . . . or not.
Movies, Books, This and That:
Good morning! A couple of nights ago, I dreamt an entire poem, and “Between a sonnet and an ode” was really the beginning.
April was quite a month of poetry, wasn’t it? Even though we still seem to alternate warm and cold days, the flowers say it’s now May, as do the goslings, and rabbits.
We fortified ourselves with bruschetta and roasted asparagus from a local farm stand to begin watching the final episodes of Ozark (Season 4, part 2). We watched two episodes—it’s intense, but no spoilers!
We had Chinese food and watched a Chinese movie (of course). 😏 Here is one that most likely few of my readers have seen,Gone with the Light. You’re welcome. The plot will sound familiar—there’s a flash of light and some people all over the world vanish. Trust me, that the movie becomes something quite different, a meditation on love. I enjoyed it very much.
I’m reading A Woman of Intelligence by Karin Tanabe. I just couldn’t quite finish it last night, but I’m really enjoying this novel of a woman who feels trapped in her life as a housewife in 1950s NYC after working as a translator at the newly created UN. One day she agrees to become an FBI informant, also becoming involved in Cold War spying—and feeling more alive than she’s felt in a long time.
When water watches the pink sky, and time plays with rust and diamonds– in that moment the honeyed light sings with gathered breath of stars and beats an ancient and eternal rhythm.
Ask then— if dreams drift from above, to catch in moonglade, or sparkle like spoondrift–
and you beneath, embracing the blue ghosts that linger in the slow smile of dawn.
My poem from the Oracle. She always knows. This is a strange time of year–beautiful and melancholy. We’ve had some spectacular sunrises lately–this one is from today– but we’re supposed to get thunderstorms later today. Last night my sleep was disrupted by some sort of police activity going on–very unusual. We live in a quiet neighborhood. We have a memorial service to attend, as well.
I guess WP is changing things again–the preview button has options now.
The sea whispers ,not of a thousand deaths but dreams it aches to recall, time and star-shine–
covered by a cloud-blanket, it murmurs again and again, as fleets of diamond ships sail across and into tomorrow.
And if I sleep, perhaps I feel a petal-spray of moon-breathed secrets before dawn comes, berry-bright, to banish them–
yet seeded within, they might yet bloom.
I was disconcerted by the change in the Magnetic Poetry Oracle’s site. There are different categories now for the tiles, and the format has also changed. Nevertheless, she came through (of course). I’ve been having vivid lucid dreams recently. It seems like they are trying to tell me important things that I can’t quite recall when I wake, but I think the ideas are there, just below the surface.
One step forward, round and round, the labyrinth circles—go or stay? In the in-between, are answers found? Past finds future. What is the way?
The labyrinth circles—go or stay? She’s a shadow figure lost in blues, Past finds future. What is the way? Where are the clues?
She’s a shadow figure lost in blues in her mind-forests, she searches dreams– where are the clues? Nothing here is as it seems,
in the in-between. Are answers found in her mind-forests? She searches dreams– but nothing here is as it seems– just one step forward, round and round.
For Paul Brookes’ Ekphrastic Challenge. I decided to change it up a bit, so I wrote a pantoum this time to reflect the circles of Kerfe’s work. I revised it a bit from the one posted on Paul’s site–but these are all rough drafts. I couldn’t quite work in John Law’s work for this one. You can see all the art and read all the poems here.