Ask What They See: NaPoWriMo, Day 3

Marc Chagall, The Blue Fiddler

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. 😏

The Whys of After and Before

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.

The daffodils are starting to bloom.

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.

Spring Meditation

Ask, as if the still water answers
with blue-blown ripples, and
a tiny thousand lights sing of spring.

What is the question dancing out and in
from shadowed wings,
on the feathered limbs of just-greening trees?

Or this? How life comes
and ends, in whispered sounds
and pastel hues—

ducks quack and geese honk,
the buds of daffodils bob swan-like on sprouting stems–

you recall all the questions never asked
or answered–

she lived a long life,
her laugh mixed with bright blooms,
summer dreams in a garden

red and pink. Past and future are
heart-haunted, but sweet
like birdsong in honeyed glow.

Now, you embrace the after—
the flowering dawn and the caramel glow–and
the secret smile of the morning

calls to you, not why,
but always.

I collaborated with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She’s feeling philosophical on this first morning of spring, and I’m still asking questions.

Waiting

A thousand wonder-worries cloud the night—but

play in shadows and in light,
soar in time, moon-drunk, star-dazzled,
as wind whispers to water, flow, live–

and if you dream, recall
the luscious, languid sighs
of pink-petaled branches after the storm,
and the cool-blue smell of sky and air—

waiting

in honeyed sunglow,
watching the diamond spray
of spring rain on ripening buds,

waiting,

for the moment to embrace
color, to heal the world.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows spring is on its way.

Would You?

^{Chagall, The Blue Fiddler}

How is your life a language
of whispered dreams? Aches and honey
beneath the tiny thousand lights, crushed diamonds
shining to recall the delirious dazzle of before

~and if~

you could ask the fiddler
to play pink-petaled spring, would you?
And hold the sky still, timeless
for a moment, black blown away, birdsong rippling blue.

Another puente from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows spring is coming, and she was crying out for a blue painting. I almost went with Franz Marc, but this Chagall fits so perfectly.

Spring Dreams

If gods of darkness devour the brilliance of the sun,
and secret sadness lingers long into always—

recall the blush-dance of the vast world waking
to the healing laughter of birdsong
carried on a kiss of blue-sky breath,
and watch the flower-fire dazzle red and pink—

a thousand dreams dreamt, a thousand dreams waiting
for you.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows that my spirits were lifted by seeing signs of spring this week.

A Promise

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.

A Window Opening

^{La Naissance de Vénus ( The Birth of Venus ), pastel painting by Odilon Redon}

The storm blows black,
and sea screams rise,
urging the moon to cry,

and silver whispers fall

in after-aches,
time sits languidly swimming with ifs–

let it-

sing a song of dreams held fast
in violet light, shining with tiny beats,
the music of stars, sailing on ocean breath

a kiss, a heart-voice,
a window opening.

Today’s message from the magnetic poetry Oracle.

Listen to Heart-songs

^{–Sylvia Schreiber}

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

~if~

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.

A Dream

• 

  Odilon Redon, “Red Boat”

I dream of water–
tiny sea-tongues lick and spray the rocks,
and purple shadows prance;
a sparkle-dance, in blue expanse,
the gulls’ wings in white flutter.

From a red boat,
the laughter floats,
turns clouds to golden-yellow flowers.

And if the wind whispers,
what do you want?
I’d say all this–
and a thousand pink-petalled springs,
the light of peace,
and you.

My collaborative poem with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle and Odilon Redon. The Oracle seems to be in a good mood today.