Beneath the Storm Clouds

 

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Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield

Beneath the storm clouds

purple mist shrouds the horizon,

as cool winds blow away summer dreams

to rain into the ocean, vast and timeless

leaving a breath of perfume

 

~drifting in the air~

 

pink fish fly, and you wonder what if,

as you watch the sun with his dazzle-tongue

paint gold across a fresh blue canvas,

while diamonds sparkle on ruby-red petals,

ephemeral jewels—a smile remembered.

 

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Another puente from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows about the storms here, of course. Every day the sky seems to go from grey to blue to grey again. We’ve been fortunate–all around us, people have lost power and faced flooded homes, roads, and business. Last night though, the storm got a bit scary with lots of thunder and lightning and a tornado warning.

What Then?

 

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Above the Clouds at Sunrise, Frederic Church

 

Some days are like a drunk goddess

in delirious abandon

 

toppled her glass,

sending red and pink streams

 

to drift like rose petals amidst

brilliant blues and greens–

 

until the clouds gather in grey-browed fury

and the sea roars,

 

~what then,~

 

sings the universe,

what comes next?

 

What will your ferocious heart

celebrate

 

as time dances

through if and when–

 

will you remember the slow smile of twilight,

the kiss of flower-perfumed air?

 

My message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She likes to mix some humor in her warnings.

Still Soaring

Monday Morning Afternoon Musings:

 

Between the misty amethyst

and the brilliant blue—there’s a pause

in the morning’s soft pink music, a rest

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Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield, National Park, NJ, shortly after sunrise. July 2020 ©️ Merril D. Smith 2020

 

before the restart of staccato cardinal chirps,

the flute of robin trills,

and the crescendo of crow caws

 

burst through the feathered clouds,

with the bright blue of belonging—

here and now

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Delaware River, West Deptford, NJ. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2020

 

I walk

along the day’s determined path,

yet debating

 

both path and determined,

the ifs, whens, and whys

of going further, beyond

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I found an almost hidden path.

to find something else

hidden

like words within

 

waiting to be spoken.

 

“Eat chocolate,” my sisters say,

and share the thought of our mother’s laugh

echoing from the past,

 

flowing like a river through time,

all the versions of me and you,

the world

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in both the radiance of the sun

and the silvery shimmer of the moon,
pale blue and green,

 

and when I wish upon the ghost glow

of a thousand stars

I feel the dust of dreams

 

within and without,

as feathers fly from the sky

to land at my feet in trails of white light

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silent, at rest,

here, now

bits of something larger, still soaring.

A late edition of my Monday musings. I think Jane and I challenged each other to use the Love set of tiles from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. The Oracle and I once again collaborated, with more inspiration from my morning walks.

I’ve been baking with summer fruit, but I do indeed have a chocolate stash.

 

Merril’s Movie Club: We watched Radioactive (Amazon Prime, 2020), a new movie about Marie Curie. I wanted this to be wonderful, but it wasn’t. It was OK, but she was such a brilliant woman, and this, sadly, is not a movie that shines. We also watched Straight Up(Netflix), a sort of rom com where a young man who may be gay, but isn’t sure, finds his soul mate is a woman. It was enjoyable, but not great.

So we went back to darker stuff: we started watching Bordertown, a Finnish series on Netflix. So far, it’s very good. I like “Scandi-noir,” and shows that explore family life as well as the crimes.

 

 

 

 

 

The Blue of New Beginnings

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Flowers seen during my walk this morning.

 

Flowers almost embrace

the blushing clouds of morning

broken by a kiss of light,

and the blue of new beginnings

lifts the purple shadows

and soars

 

~through an open window~

 

birdsong, music of summer mornings

calls rain, recalls life

in honeyed glow—

dream whispers that linger

in pink sprays, above the trees

the wind sings if, when, now.

 

My message, another puente, from the Oracle. She likes to be a bit enigmatic, but she knew–of course–that I went out for a long walk this morning.

 

 

 

 

In the Vast Before

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NASA Goddard Space Flight Center from Greenbelt, MD, USA [Public domain]

With a dazzle dance, a star is born

to linger into the when 

and what of time

do they know or remember?

 

And does a ghost eye eternity

with darkness or cool calm?

If is the faint trace of a kiss,

 

~in the vast before~

 

there was a laughing breeze

that healed hearts–

open a window—

 

look for the brilliant cloud,

a pink blush wrapped in blue,

carrying the magic of ever

and after, reach for its shadows and light.

 

Another variation on the puente form from the Oracle.

Embrace It

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In shadow dreams,

the moon whispers, honey-voiced,

of wonders and if

love comes like a summer storm

 

embrace it–

 

but bring a cat–

and champagne–

for time circles

haunted by almost and never—

through open windows—look, listen

as the universe laughs

in sparkling light

 

a spray of diamonds on velvet,

beyond reach, but constant.

 

It took some time to get my message from the Oracle today–though she was very clear about the cat and champagne.

 

 

 

 

 

Celebrate. . .but

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Sunrise, Pitman Golf Course, June 2020

 

Celebrate,

but listen–

not to the naked fool.

 

Drink,

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

 

time offers

 

a window open to always,

never, and ever after

reflected in the glass,

 

past and future

in a brilliant cloud,

ghosts

 

leaving a trace in the air,

like perfume, I breathe in

the scent of caramel and coffee

 

that floats,

like a smile of, for

eternity.

 

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.

 

In the Ever and After

 

ferocious eternity, a blush away

in a brilliant cloud—

 

listening for home,

I soar in search of time,

 

and if

I find, hear

 

the cosmos

in full-flowered rhapsody,

 

it is always a world

with dream language

 

like glass

and ocean, light-filled

 

ascending

with a thousand laughing wings

 

(wake, listen)

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not Never, Always

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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,

 

~reaching~

 

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

for hope,

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And All Is

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Guillermo Gómez Gil, “Moonrise,” Public domain

 

These storms pound, over and over

the wind screams, the sea moans,

recalling what?

 

Days of blue sky,

summer friends,

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.