The moon sighs and sings, a luscious silver spray in blue, the fiddler plays along, repeating feather trills, the universe’s secret smiles–
now watch the ghosts dance, bird-winged, eternal– or almost–
and ask what they see, and if they dream, or revel in argent glow,
their hearts recalling when and never, before shadows and the afterlight of a thousand stars in song.
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt asks us to create a “Personal Universal Deck,” a card deck of words. I like the idea of creating my own word deck, but today I’m basing my poem on words from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. We have a standing Saturday date to collaborate, and I wouldn’t want to upset her. 😏
Why have I never seen the turn of spring to summer, overnight the moonlight sings sweetly into possible
the cycles—storms to sun, a daffodil, then a rose.
And if time winds through the shadows, why do I not see that beneath the ancient after, all the befores–
a language barely spoken, questions asked and lost
like faded blooms. But still, the promise, like a smile, recalled, in the robin’s song at dawn.
It took some work to get a message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle today. I’m taking it easy after my second Covid vaccine yesterday, but the moon was humming early this morning and a robin was singing. Tonight is the start of Passover.
if after heart-haunted nights, I ask for light, then so do the blue-shadowed trees, their whispers a symphony in my head– spring waking–a rhythmic poem winged in exuberant crow-dance, a promised gift, carried on diamond-sparkled water.
I ask, I listen, I watch, I believe
stars sing, soaring through time, reborn in bird and berry, bloomed in rose.
My poem from the Oracle. She made me work a bit, so I gave her the Redon painting. We’ve had snow, sleet, ice, and rain this week, and today the wind is gusting–but the sun is shining, and each day it rises a bit earlier and sets a bit later.
Listen to heart-songs– the breath of eternity, as ocean-kissed air dances with brilliant sparkle-light, and white-cat clouds pounce with joy at the blue-blanketed sky, wondering
ghosts hide in the shadows, perhaps they linger to tell their secrets– imprisoned between before and after, they wind-whisper in the fever-blush of morning sky, and silent-laugh in the night— at your smile from the window.
A late message from the Oracle today. We’ve had blue sky and sparkling water the last couple of days. As I was getting ready to post this, I looked up and saw this painting of my mom’s. It doesn’t have a title or date that I know of, but it seemed to fit.