Sunrise, Pitman Golf Course, June 2020
not to the naked fool.
but not the dark brews
of pseudo-science and demagogues.
Celebrate and drink
in the dazzling beauty of sky, sea, and flowers
that bloom and dance in the breeze.
Listen for good,
for healing and laughter,
for all the ifs
a window open to always,
never, and ever after
reflected in the glass,
past and future
in a brilliant cloud,
leaving a trace in the air,
like perfume, I breathe in
the scent of caramel and coffee
like a smile of, for
My message from the Oracle. She does love the Puente form, even though she likes to play with it.
It’s Independence Day here in the U.S., the fourth of July, when we celebrate the anniversary of when the Second Continental Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence in 1776. The Oracle is obviously disgusted with the display the current and supremely ignorant inhabitant of the White House decided to put on last night, where he played to the basest of his base.
ferocious eternity, a blush away
in a brilliant cloud—
listening for home,
I soar in search of time,
I find, hear
in full-flowered rhapsody,
it is always a world
with dream language
and ocean, light-filled
with a thousand laughing wings
to heal the tiny tears
of the universe
in the ever
and the after
where magic lingers,
a ghost in the night.
It’s Saturday, and so, I consulted the Oracle. She gave me this poem.
My mother sings in dreams,
not of death, but light
holding promises of if–
soar, she cries,
why whisper what you want
when your words can fly,
for you, I wake,
as the robins rouse the sun
to blossom in apricot splendor.
Their voices carry on the wind–
a song that makes the flowers dance,
and I watch, at peace
~in this moment~
the world searches
sending out wishes on stars
with a laugh,
time sings through a thousand rivers,
not of never, but of always.
I tried several sets of tiles, and the Oracle kept giving me the same words. I hope I interpreted her message correctly. A Puente is technically two stanzas connected by a bridge stanza, but the Oracle had more to say, so this is a double Puente.
Guillermo Gómez Gil, “Moonrise,” Public domain
These storms pound, over and over
the wind screams, the sea moans,
Days of blue sky,
a thousand ships sailing into the mists of time?
And then, if whispers, “please.”
But the moon chants from above
this is could, not always, or never,
they do not see or listen–
we dream of light and beauty. . .
and all is.
My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.
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.
Odilon Redon, “The Muse on Pegasus”
In the moments between
the dream hours
she joins my father
in the timeless night–
not asking if this universe
is real or true,
~only that it is~
all I can embrace–
the magic of a laugh,
the sun dancing in
the promise of a new morning,
and the rhapsodic songs of the stars,
The Oracle gave me nearly all the words for this puente, so–I just went with it.
Reflection, Odilon Redon
Almost-color in the clouds–
dark ghosts–that blush-tipped feathers
wing away, the dreams that linger
~in the after-winds of time~
we watch the fire-heart of the sky
dazzle us with flower-flames–
singing songs of a thousand ifs
~in a shimmering symphony~
the heavens dance,
giant birds soar, their iridescent splendor a-flight,
traveling home, bright jewels in the night.
A double puente, which probably isn’t a form, from my Saturday morning collaboration with the Oracle. I’ve been having a hard time focusing the last couple of days, so I’m taking it. And Redon, of course.
Delaware River at West Deptford, NJ May 2020
Beneath dark clouds
if climbs, happy and wild,
bright flowers, shining sun-gold
as ancient river breezes rustle with why, which, when–
the seeds of deep time that grow from cold earth, warmed,
following moon song and spring’s light
to blossom here, now
I cast a soul-stone into the blue-grey water,
watch the soft rippling and listen to the wind sigh.
The Oracle knows everything, including all about my almost daily morning walk and mourning ritual of throwing a stone into the river as I stop for a moment and think about my mom.
“This remarkable spiral galaxy, known as NGC 4651, may look serene and peaceful as it swirls in the vast, silent emptiness of space, but don’t be fooled — it keeps a violent secret. It is believed that this galaxy consumed another smaller galaxy to become the large and beautiful spiral that we observe today. Although only a telescope like the NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope, which captured this image, could give us a picture this clear, NGC 4651 can also be observed with an amateur telescope — so if you have a telescope at home and a star-gazing eye, look out for this glittering carnivorous spiral.” Text credit: ESA (European Space Agency) Image credit: ESA/Hubble & NASA, D. Leonard
ask a ghost
how the universe wakes
with icy champagne kisses
spiraling in time,
feeding between sound
drifts from the stars
you wish upon–
you dream of if
and promises made
with smiles and tears
in the language of hope.
Another puente from my collaboration with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. I used words from two sets of tiles.
An ache—and after–
in rain whispers,
and dappled light
~winging through trees~
the crows call, and I laugh
a dream of ifs, why, and how
love is a recalled–
the scent of roses
on a summer breeze, lingering.
A puente from a collaboration with the Poetry Oracle. She truly does know everything. My mother died one week ago.