Until, NaPoWriMo

Odilon_Redon_-_Béatrice

Odilon Redon, “Béatrice,” [Public domain] Wikipedia

She said, “never me,”

a woman who played in purple seas

her hot-honeyed-head

sun-shot, smelling of the wind.

 

She said, “never me,”

as rain recalled

sky-shine on water

and the moon sang a symphony.

 

She whispers, “never me,”

for a thousand springs

of diamond-pink-petaled gardens—

 

and then in shadow light,

crushing the bitter mean-blooded,

she cries, “Why not me?”

 

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Day 20 of NaPoWriMo challenges us to use ordinary speech in a poem. I’ve done that in other poems, so I didn’t feel compelled to follow the prompt. However, the Oracle came through (of course) with a spoken phrase, which I repeated.

Love Lives

Federico_Beltran_Masses_-_Under_the_Stars (2)

Federico Beltran Masses, “Under the Stars,” Wikipedia Commons

 

After time’s wind

aches from life going here

 

and there

you play in purple-shadowed seas.

 

But when you dream together

as summer-shine shows sweet in cool mist,

 

it beats away the blood-tongued things

 

and love lives whispering through

a thousand storms

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I did a very quick consult with the Oracle again, and she gave me a sort of alternate version of my Nightmare poem with some of the same words.

And You Ask Why: NaPoWriMo

Monet_-_Frühling_in_Giverny

Claude Monet, “Spring in Giverny,” [Public Domain via Wikipedia Commons]

I am moon-drunk

 

and watch to see her

whisper diamond-cool beauty

over here, there. . .

 

and now spring’s honeyed daylight shines

playing in time with the sweet blue sky,

 

aching of if

and the smell of dreams—

 

and you ask why–

though the wind chants

when, never, and after

 

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Day 6! I smiled when I read today’s prompt for NaPoWriMo: “Today, write a poem that emphasizes the power of “if,” of the woulds and coulds and shoulds of the world.” My poems are full of ifs, and the Magnetic Poetry Oracle often plays along.

 

 

 

And We Ask

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After the storm,

light sings

 

in a language of if,

 

and dreams shine

like the sun through shadows–

 

gardens must sleep

but time urges us to run

 

(from, over, to)

 

and the wind whispers

a thousand whys

 

(here, there)

 

rocks chant when,

as the moon watches in beauty

 

spraying cool diamond music–

a symphony of I am–

 

and we ask—

who, how, and what is?

 

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The Oracle made me work this morning. She’s being enigmatic again–sending me out to question the universe–but I suppose that is what poets do.

Recall the Dreams

 

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Recall when we

watched the moon, a peach

rising—and

crying for

us? The sad music of dreams

and a thousand whys—

 

we want to

run after her and

ask of death,

of whispers,

ugly shadows, yet let it

go, to sleep, aching.

 

The Oracle, of course, knows everything, including the most recent example of human depravity. This is a double shadorma for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday Challenge, using synonyms for lead and follow

But here’s something else, a bit lighter. I’ve had this song in my head all week because of these prompt words–Carole King, Where You Lead.

Born in Blue

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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.

 

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

 

Champagne Clouds and Joy

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Champagne clouds celebrate

on blue, asking for magic,

 

flying here and there,

the ghosts of a wild universe,

 

wake angel voices—

this ferocious velvet joy

 

dances in fire,

always and after

 

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It’s a busy weekend, but I made a quick visit to the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. It’s cloudy here with rain in the forecast for later, but to her, a day is probably a blink. (Does she blink?)

I Ask the Birds: Magnetic Poetry

Frants_Bøe_-_Birds_in_the_midnight_sun,_1857

Frants Diderik Bøe, “Birds in the Midnight Sun,” [Public domain]

When you soar—

up through purple mist

 

is there beauty there?

 

Blue shadows lick

the red rocks

 

a lazy sky-spray sings,

 

but rain recalls dreams–

the sweet smell of peaches–

 

and yet the wind cries why

as a symphony, a moan

 

an ache in me sleeps

 

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The Oracle sends me lyrical questions. I hit “Publish” too quickly! Re-publishing this with my screen shot.