With ferocious blue-shift, the breath of ghost flowers lights the night with an eternity of dazzle, the fire-magic of before time carried in vast-voiced song measured in infinite heartbeats, drifts. . .
and if we survive the shadows, will we wonder why we didn’t cherish this light that lingers like smoke, like a kiss, like a laugh remembered?
My poem from the Oracle. It took some work today, and the first attempt before my morning walk was much darker. 😏
I dream I dreamt these dreams before, of crows’ black tildes that punctuate a violet sky and break the silence as they crocitate—
when time whispers always–and I almost see, almost know what the moon sings,
and I wonder if ghosts are the universe remembering a laugh or a smile in starlight-dazzle carried on eternity’s breezes.
Since I always visit the Magnetic Poetry Oracle on Saturdays, I also incorporated today’s NaPoWriMo prompt to take a word from Haggard Hawk’s tweets. I chose “crocitate,” which means to caw like a raven and déjà rêvé or “already dreamed.”
Say how spring soars pink-winged after the storm, and moonlight whispers dreams of if we could or never did, we urged the sky, believed the lies
of roses. The forest screams under clouds of rust,
and we must boil water again there are no more gardens or birds– here the red-breasted man flies and then is still
beneath the blue, endless as time recalling the diamond sparkle above is long dead, yet seen and heard, like the fiddle’s aching notes, a reminder of sorrow and beauty, when spring sang in pastel notes of joy and raised green tendrils to embrace the world.
My poem from the magnetic poetry Oracle. Yesterday we had a beautiful spring day. Now it’s raining, and we’re expecting some snow and strong wind gusts. Right now a mockingbird is singing outside my window. And the war in Ukraine continues.🌻 There are many organizations trying to get assistance to Ukraine. Please help, if you can. Here is one list. Here is a link to a book of poetry put together by Annick Yerem available for a donation.
it rustles with wind-sighs raking debris, lifting blood-red leaves, sifting sand for life beneath trees, between stones, yellow flowers bloom
following the sun, as we do, in expectation of magic, a breath from the sky to banish air thick with grey, to return blue-winged, pink-tipped, shedding golden feathers–
in that light almost-love as it kisses the lingering ice, transforming it— and if the steel and concrete world devours, still the birds sing in echoes of the stars, recalling the once bright, now fallen,
while peace, a wandering vine, twines, unnoticed but anticipated, like a secret waiting to be revealed in the blush of chagrined dawn after the charcoal clouds clear, swept by cerulean again.
My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. As always, she knows what’s going on.
There’s a time for wind and storms that blow and beat and will not stop
for ships at sea and stars above—or me—
but spring whispers to get the garden dressed,
cast off the dun, and wreath the ground in yellow green
as honeyed shine make petals pop and robins hop to sing
in answer to the murmur from beneath.
Now, even as the black-clouds scream, the fiddle sounds from rooftop wings
the argent light of midnight moon to hum in sync until pink-petaled bright
the dawn comes slight–yet still we ask if peace will wake
and the wind answers, almost always, in the after.
My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. The poem was not inspired by the song Turn, Turn, Turn, but it went through my head after I wrote it and was reading it over. Of course, the Oracle knows everything.
The after-sky dreams red a thousand times, sings fiddle-sweet as bitter black is cast away
light me with color-song– a thousand blues together, the river murmurs over and over and honey-tongued earth breathes green.
And if ghosts come with their fevered night secrets, they vanish in caramel clouds and champagne breezes laugh to scatter pink-petaled magic like smiles in morning light.
Last night it got very windy, but this morning is warm for February–about 50F when I got up. But, we’re supposed to have rain turning to snow after midnight tonight. Sigh. The Oracle knows all this, of course. The world is very strange right now, but even crazy truckers and conspiracy spreaders can’t stop spring from coming eventually.