Seeing Red

Franz Marc

I’m love, lust, and power,
I’m the rose scenting the bower

with perfumed bloom–
I’m scattered in rooms, laid on tombs,

in garnet spread, the shade with which we toast the dead
the luscious wine, merely one mourning thread,

or sip of seduction. I’m the crimson of celebration—
the color of flags and war decorations.

I’m the moon cycle of daughters and wife–
I’m the blood of death, the flow of life,

I stream from wounds and birth,
and nourish the earth

with youth blown dead, as poppies yield
to battlefields

still, bright color pops
amid remains, a buzzard-swoop, a rat hip-hop,

with berry-stained fur—
all the kings, politicians, and battles were

for what? Scarlet puddles, decayed remains,
only ghosts born from these labor pains.

I’m the she-wolf’s cry,
and the vampire’s sigh

beyond all understanding–
I am the light of the universe expanding.

A late entry for Mish’s dVerse prompt to “slip out of our human bodies and become nothing but a color.” I would normally pick blue, but decided to go with something different. 😀 I’m also linking it to Open Link Night. It’s a live session, but it’s my husband’s birthday, and we’re going to do a birthday project together instead.

A Dream of Ancient Light

Franz Marc, The Dream

 

Born of ferocious fire clouds—

angel or ghost?

An almost there, like

a trace of perfume lingering

in the indigo night

from bright blooms blanketing fields

in colored harmony

 

~vivid and haunting~

 

somehow like a dream–

of verdant paths with deer and ponies,

where we bird-fly over the bluest river

into the secret of when

and what was, and here—

we follow tendrils of sun-songs

to the ancient light of then and if. . . forever.

 

The Oracle made me work for this puente today.  The humidity has lifted, and a mockingbird is putting on a concert in my backyard.

 

 

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A World of Blue Horses Wakes

Franz Marc, Blue Horses

 

Clouds of coffee and steel part with a blush,

red sky voices the universe’s secrets,

ghosts of stardust, born in brilliant dazzle,

lingering, exploring time,

 

~and all the ifs~

 

dance on a green breeze’s laugh

letting you picture the possibilities–

a corduroy heart can be patched,

a world of blue horses wakes. Listen.

 

Another collaborative Puente with the Oracle, though most of the words came from her, and she clearly likes color.

 

 

 

 

The Poetry of If

Franz Marc, Dreaming Horse

 

Blue magic perfumes the night

(and ghosts are almost here)

in my heart, embracing

haunting, breathing secrets

of eternity

 

~and the universe~

 

throbs and dazzles–

there a star dances,

and voices wake

laughter, joy–

the poetry of if

 

A collaborative poem with the Oracle. She seems to be fond of the Puente form.  I think the blue horses must dream blue magic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wonder in Rainbowed Worlds

Franz Marc, Blue Horses

 

Wonder

as bright stars fill

night sky without design,

arranged by chance, dancing light sings

through time

 

find peace

in prismed glow

sparking within your soul–

rainbowed worlds where blue ponies graze,

content

 

I’m feeling the need for the blue horses today–a Crapsey Cinquain sequence for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for plan and spend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Little Deer, NaPoWriMo

Franz Marc, Red Deer

I see you, Little Deer, in the pre-dawn gloaming as you graze on my neighbor’s grass. I watch you, afraid to breathe, knowing that magic can vanish in a blink. But did I move? You raise your head, sniff, and dart down the block, bleating, bleating, bleating for your mother. A chance encounter–you probably will not remember it, but I won’t forget you. I walk inside, as the sun peeps over the horizon.

Moon croons farewell

as dawn whispers promises

fawn sprints after them

 

Day 23 of NaPoWriMo challenges us to write about an animal. I decided not to write about cats or birds because I always write about them, and I remembered this little deer I saw one morning a few years ago. But I guess I’m predictable because I discovered that exactly three years ago, on April 23, 2016, I wrote a poem for NaPoWriMo about a different deer in a different neighbor’s yard, but I mentioned this one. Here’s the link. It has a slide show, too.  🙂

 

 

 

 

Origins, NaPoWriMo

Franz Marc, “Blue Horse,” 1911, [Public Domain] via Wikipedia Commons

When the stars

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Born in Blue

Franz Marc, “Rehe im Walde (II)” Wikipedia Commons

 

Born in blue,

after eternity,

 

the slow magic of stars–

windows to the universe.

 

Ask it

with breath from flowered mornings.

 

Look,

here is your heart,

 

the sky, all poetry

and laughing words,

 

lingering,

embracing you.

 

My weekly consult with the Oracle. She sees into my soul.

 

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.

 

 

 

 

The Magical Spring Night, NaPoWriMo, Day 8

Once–

or more

(perhaps a dream that’s come before)

in the silver-glimmered light

the owl soared—

flash of white–

her cry echoing

(echoing)

in the night,

waking the sleeping to the tune

of the luminous, waxing, humming moon—

 

and so, they prance, dance–

as if in a trance

(or maybe not)

they mark their spots,

perhaps a play

to keep the evil ones at bay

like foxes against the hounds–

they stand their ground

 

Final stand?

Here–

 

hear

the sounds

the susurrus of this enchanted ground

magic swirls,

unfurls in unsuspected streams–

unless seen within a dream–

but in the rose-tipped dawn

the golden fawns gambol

on a world pristine,

alive,

breathing,

reborn newly green.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I liked today’s NaNoWriMo prompt—to “write poems in which mysterious and magical things occur.”