Wild Magic

Sunrise pink clouds reflected on the Delaware River. ©️Merril D. Smith, November2020

I watch purple shadows dance, lingering
with cool kisses in the air
as the sun shines pink-petaled on blue–
listen, sky and water say,
and the music is in my head
as if honeyed light is fiddle and voice,
recalling dreams, and the way the moon sings
through a storm. Remember this, blushing clouds,
the soft secret smiles of the universe, sailing into
after. The wild magic surrounds you. Embrace it.

Today’s message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle–she, of course, sees me walking by the river.

Together

Ilya Repin, “What Freedom!”

If how we need the sea is an ache,
then why? The wanting to return to a dream,
recalling water in diamond sprays on purple rocks and salted air,
flying starward to eternity—this is the before and after,
light and shadow, rhythm and music of the vast then and now,
a wild blue breeze. We surrender to time, wake to a universe of poetry,
together scream through the storm, our honeyed laughter soars, lingering.

This is an ekphrastic message from the Oracle. As I was writing, I got the image of this painting in my head. She’s obviously a fan, and a bit of romantic–at least today.

In Blue Sea Whispers

Jay Hall Connaway, Public Domain, Wikipedia


But do you still ache for dreams
crushed by purple-shadowed storms?
Fever-hearted, you watch the diamond glitters
of sun-licked rocks,

~and after, you breathe, cooled,~

smelling all the ifs in blue sea whispers,
you drink it in–
yet even so, the wind asks why
time both haunts and heals.

Another sensory sort of poem. This time it’s my Saturday message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.

Watching, Waiting

Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield, November. ©️ Merril D. Smith, 2020

Ask am I crushed?
Ugly tongues and the elaborate-haired fiddler screech,
while the dead cry in a thousand aching hearts

~but dream shadows sing in blue, waking~

I watching the light whispering if
to pink-shimmered water,
recalling how time flows, after moon to sun

The Oracle always knows. Just as I was about to post this, news came that Joe Biden will be our next president! YES!

Here and Hereafter

James Shaw, The Admella wrecked, Cape Banks, 6th August, 1859

From misted dreams, the clouds blow back black
as sky-ships spray incandescent shimmer,
and with whispered wonder
sing, bring, ring-in the pink-rosed day.
This after disaster, hereafter and if–
the moon comes blue, and hums
for the sad sea, and those you see, in-between drifts
of shadow and shine, the haunted souls
of those who played with diamond cool, embracing now
the darkest deep, finding that water breaks, and aches
without why and whenever, with roars, ripples, waves, and swell
from here into hereafter,

and if, and if, and if. . .

My message today from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows it’s Halloween and that there will be a blue moon tonight.

Early Morning

Heron, Early Morning on the Delaware at Red Bank Battlefield, October. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2020

Love lives a thousand times,
a dazzle of moon music; star sighs
through lightless sky and blood dreams

~the wind whispers, and the river murmurs
yes~

and if we listen–
under deep cover, the earth remembers,
blooms over and over again.

My message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows the world, the seasons, and all about deep time.

If I Ask

Winslow Homer, “Watching the Breakers” 1891

Moonlight’s sea-spray songs
lather, pound, and lick the rocks,
in dream whispers they shape-shift
through purple mist, bear away time-aches,
turning black to blue

~as I watch~

the sky blushes pink–
and is it enough
to wing away the dark-shadowed night?
And if I ask what love is,
will the white-feathered wind answer hope?

Today’s message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.

The Story of Flowers

Odilon Redon, “Ophelia Among the Flowers”

If I go with an ache—
honeyed dreams I recall,
the blood moon urging love,
soaring pink over the forest.
We watched its cool beauty
as rusted leaves fell,

~whispering of summer~

a thousand times, the moon sings–
and broken ghost-hearts listen
with almost breaths, embrace
the dark sky’s light poetry
to wake, lingering as flowers,
at peace

Another puente. The Oracle gave me this myth, and perhaps it’s also appropriate for World Mental Health Day.

Moon Mornings

I day-dance with the clouds
in lazy rhythm and soft light
of peach-misted mornings,
the moon singing goodbye,
the sun smiling
to wake with fire-sky homes, hearts,

and if

the wild things come
to haunt you in the night
look at the stars, singing from then
as time circles
and remembers
what was

and what will be

the boy asks?
Do you hear
the laugh carried on a breeze?
It’s the trees, I say, tickled by the wind,
sharing their joy.

A late message from the Oracle today. She loves the puente form so much, that she gives me doubles. 😏 I kept getting interrupted today, and then Ricky the Cat was helping me. . . I love morning moons, and I was happy to see this one setting over the Delaware River this morning. It’s very small in the photo, but it’s there.

Ask Why

Foggy Morning, Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield

The goddess urges—
dream of luscious ifs,

in storms and shadow-seas
see the mist rise to honeyed sun
singing of time—
recall summer petals as floating light.

A thousand sleeps were–
in bitter after-aches,
cry at the blood moon,
ask why

it shines
while the wind whispers
heart breaths–
love, there, here, always.

It’s Open Link Night at dVerse, where Mish is hosting. I never got to Tuesday’s prompt on the vatic voice, but I consulted the Oracle today, and this is where she led me.