Almost an afterthought—
the breeze dances,
leaving a perfume of if
and airborne secrets
sailing into the night
~as the fire-sky lingers~
you listen for ghosts’ laughter
as they fly through broken coffee clouds–
their voices in the flowers and trees–
and with fevered embrace
they (and you) remember the rhythm of time
I collaborated with the Oracle to create this puente. I remembered to include a screenshot this time, in case anyone wants to see the tiles. 😉
The world is sad and broken,
clouds of smoke rising
and the voices of trees lost.
(Say not forever.)
Still I listen for the secret rhythm
of stars and moon
and watch the sun rise
brilliant fire in the sky
lighting our days,
reminding us of if and when
the universe is born and dies,
again and again–
and yet, the flowers bloom in spring
(until they don’t)
and their perfume rises
in morning’s smile.
My collaboration with the magnetic poetry Oracle. She always seems to know what is and what might be.
Lesser Ury, London in Fog, 1926
You wander, winter spirits,
in air dusk-dark,
blooms now covered by brown wind-rustle
as I walk, listening to the river
carrying secrets
~and poetry of if and why~
flows in cycles with the moon–
our world, a song rooted in hope
burning bright,
following stars to the dawn,
rising in birdsong of spring
Yesterday was dreary—it looked like twilight all day long, and this morning it’s foggy, and I can’t get myself to do much of anything. I used the nature set from the Oracle this time, and we collaborated on this Puente.
Winslow Homer, Eastern Point Light
She almost remembers sailing over open seas,
a symphony of waves and skies, singing
of a universe of tomorrows,
with the wind whispering when—
she almost remembers
though it wasn’t her life
~and if her heart wonders~
and wanders through the never was,
she imagines by his bed a picture
of past celebrations, and lingering kisses,
embraces, poetry in the night–
and time, an open window
of what might have been
A collaborative poem with the Oracle.
Moon language drifts down from the sky–
a hum, fierce and gentle
known to all who listen—
shhhhhh!—
hear the glow as it falls
lingering on treetops and river surfaces,
~poetry of the night~
vanishes as I wake
to celebrate flowering cloud-breath,
morning magic flitters in, a bird-winged song,
filling the day with possibility, and if
I smile as the universe blushes,
can you blame me?
A puente from my collaboration with Oracle—I accidentally clicked out of the site, then something else came up. . .and well, it’s one of those days. Still, each day begins with promise and possibility.
Breathe away sad rhythms,
wake to morning joy—
go celebrate life’s dazzling color
(eat cake)
Listen to the poetry of the stars kissing the night sky
and remember to embrace the lingering blue
as the clouds dance in brilliant-red fire–
explore time’s window and the universe’s ifs
but live your heart—
there is always magic
(the ghosts of your ancestors smile).
The Oracle gave me this poem for my birthday. I forgot to take a screen shot of the final version of the tiles, and we collaborated a bit, but she did tell me to eat cake.
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.
“The irregular galaxy NGC 4485 shows all the signs of having been involved in a hit-and-run accident with a bypassing galaxy. Rather than destroying the galaxy, the chance encounter is spawning a new generation of stars, and presumably planets.” Credit: NASA, ESA; acknowledgment: T. Roberts (Durham University, UK), D. Calzetti (University of Massachusetts) and the LEGUS Team, R. Tully (University of Hawaii) and R. Chandar (University of Toledo)
After the secrets dance
from blushing clouds
and with wild magic
(like long kisses)
wake
~an eternity of ifs~
till you return,
and beneath the honeyed sea-spray
where diamond drops shine in the light
we embrace again and again
remembering this dazzling life
~and yet~
here with fevered almosts
ghosts surround us,
haunting in soft color
firing hearts and voices,
to picture never and always
Ilya Repin, “What Freedom”
The magnetic poetry Oracle and I collaborated on this double puente. So, that’s probably not a form, but I don’t argue with the Oracle.
The fire dances–
flowering in brilliant colors
laughing and dazzling with if–
and it lingers—
(like the moon’s smile)
a secret
your heart embraces
The Oracle obviously saw this same sunrise today—with a pink streak leading to the lingering crescent moon.
Moonrise over a South Jersey field, November.
The sleep shadows said
live life as a moon rising through the mist
with dreams raining from her
in honeyed-diamond language
shining with ifs.
~So, you recall the sweet luscious beat~
as we love and ache
and watch men lie and shoot.
Yet still the sky sings in light-music of purple-pink,
and it floats on our tongues
as the wind whispers why?
Another puente from the Oracle. It seems she knows the world is an especially confusing place these days. (And also that I had some very strange dreams just before waking today.) I didn’t take a screen shot because I planned to come back to the tiles. I thought I emailed the poem to myself, but it vanished. Mysterious world. Here’s the link to the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.
I’m linking this to dVerse’s Open Link Night, which Lillian is hosting, and I’m getting in just before it closes.
