Dreams of Why and Will

I sleep and dream

of purple skies

and ships heading into

pink-licked light.

If whispers above blue rocks—

a symphony of when and after

 

~the storm stops~

 

we are still together,

in love

with an upbeat,

fiddlers on a roof.

Let us not ask why,

but play music of we will.

 

The Oracle made me work, but she gave me a puente.

She Sees Home

“Powerful gushers of energy from seething stars can sculpt eerie-looking figures with long, flowing veils of gas and dust. One striking example is “the Ghost of Cassiopeia,” officially known as IC 63, located 550 light-years away in the constellation Cassiopeia the Queen.” Image Credits: NASA, ESA and STScI; Acknowledgment: H. Arab (University of Strasbourg)

 

She sees home

in the poetry surrounding her,

listens to a laughing ghost

kissing the perfumed sky,

sails it, this smoky magic

dazzled with if.

 

How to make it linger?

Here was born dark–

yet from it

brilliant angels wake,

and smile.

 

My message from the Oracle today.

 

Star Sailors

They sail the vast night sky

not-men, timeless,

born of stars’ fevered joy.

They explore eternity,

laughing color

 

and poetry

 

flies into her broken heart

bringing if and blushing desire

in words so long secret. . .

 

and ghosts listen,

and smile, remembering this magic

 

 

My message from the Oracle–an almost-puente.  She made me work for it.

Open the Window of Time

“Powerful gushers of energy from seething stars can sculpt eerie-looking figures with long, flowing veils of gas and dust. One striking example is “the Ghost of Cassiopeia,” officially known as IC 63, located 550 light-years away in the constellation Cassiopeia the Queen.” Image Credits: NASA, ESA and STScI; Acknowledgment: H. Arab (University of Strasbourg)

 

Open the window of time. . .

 

on a dancing breeze

sail away into night’s ocean

 

there dark angels laugh

and breathe fire-clouds,

 

their slow rhythms linger

in brilliant fevered air

 

coloring eternity with magic

(almost)

 

and haunted,

life flowers—foolish, secret, sacred.

 

You see this only after,

and remembering,

 

ask if.

 

I consulted the Oracle earlier this morning. It’s only a bit after 9 AM, and I feel like so much has already happened today. But it’s all just a blink in time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Storm, the After

Thomas Chambers, “Storm-Tossed Frigate”

 

She sings a storm,

crushing the ship,

 

the sweet delirious blue

of sea moaning a raw lathered beat.

 

And then the moon’s smooth beauty

dresses the sky with light. . .

 

and if licks these rocks

(lazy-tongued) through purple mist

 

 

I visited the Oracle yesterday, but I didn’t have a chance to post. If you’re keeping track–I did a few word shuffles, but “if” showed up right at the beginning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time and the Moon

 

In honeyed light

time whispers if. . .

 

Is it about

cool forest beauty

and purple mist,

the music of water and wind?

 

Or is it

the language of sky-shine and

watching through the storms?

 

Aching moon recalls it all,

yet sings.

 

Somehow “if” and “moon” insisted on making an appearance. On July 20, 1969, astronauts from Apollo 11 walked on the moon. There has been a lot of attention given to the fiftieth anniversary of this event. Perhaps the Oracle is remembering, too.

We Debate the Use of the Term Concentration Camps As People Are Imprisoned and Children Die

 

Marc Chagall, The Cemetery Gates

 

Bitter-breasted men crush us

driving us on

in a repulsive show

of blood and sweat.

As storm sprays a blackened sky

and wind screams,

“Never again,”

we sing of if

and whisper when.

 

Even the Oracle is appalled, but she still gave me “if.”

This week protesters in New York, Boston, and elsewhere were singing mir veln zey iberlebn  “We Will Outlive Them.”

 

 

 

 

Waking the Stars

Breezes born in cloud kisses

explore this night,

 

waking stars to give them voice

to dazzle the universe,

 

smiling with their delicious secrets

of fire-magic and desire–

 

and there, like perfumed words

haunting the morning air with if

 

they flower days to come,

embracing the poetry of life

 

 

It’s Saturday and time to consult with the Poetry Oracle. For those who are keeping track, I had to do a couple word refreshers to get “if.” 🙂  I took the photo last night after we left our friends’ house. It had rained while we were inside eating dinner.

Birth of the Muse

“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)

 

The universe fires a brilliant cloud

of lingering secrets star-born in blushed night,

 

she wakes there, sailing cool, dark velvet seas

of poetry and picture

 

embracing you in perfumed air—

 

and you let her

fly you on ghost-kissed breezes of never and always

 

dazzling with if,

her almost-remembered eternity

 

 

I was going to call this Birth of the Oracle, but I didn’t want to presume or offend her. Some people will be happy that I included the “if,”– I almost left out it out today.  🙂

 

 

 

 

The Secret Poetry of the Stars

Angel breath flowers the morning

and soft blush-clouds sail

in dancing rhythm

waking all the ifs–

 

let ghosts fly

in and out of time,

haunting universes of then—

and almost-when

 

I will laugh the secret poetry of stars,

their brilliant blue voices

celebrating eternity

with lingering dazzle-light

 

From my morning consultation with the Oracle.