Haibun: Flower Moon Dance

I observe the morning moon perform a high-wire act. After billions of years, she knows how to balance—movement in stillness, invisible and visible, silent in song. In her silvery glow, owls hunt, tides roll, and lovers kiss. Yet, time has no meaning for her. Past and future converge and separate in rippling waves. She smiles, watching us, then blinks and we’re gone. Or not. Our ghosts, like moonflower orbs, dance on in her light.

Pink petals bloom now
where once russet leaves drifted—
the moon hums, unfazed

A Haibun for Frank’s Flower Moon prompt on dVerse. I wasn’t going to do it because I’m so behind on reading—and everything—but, the moon. . .

When the Moon Sings, NaPoWriMo, Day 17

Guillermo_Gómez_Gil_-_Salida_de_la_luna

When the moon sings,
time stills, and
after-aches sleep in the purple-shadowed night
while diamond ships sail,

~spraying if in silver light~

love comes, seafoam-born,
ephemeral and eternal
crushing worlds and driving dreams—
listen to the sky– a symphony of roses rises at dawn.

A collaboration with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle that also works for today’s NaPoWriMo prompt. She loves the moon–and the puente form.

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. 😏

When Winter Goes and Spring Arrives

She hums with cool beauty,
her whispered notes a silver stream
where trout-stars swim, or so I dream–

roof-fiddler in sky-blue; red-dawn’s flight
through charcoal-grey, the sight
of honeyed light

as winter goes, and now–
flowers color-pop their petal-heads, stand
to say hello

For Quadrille Monday at dVerse, where De asks us to use some form of the word go in a poem of 44 words.

Harvest Moon

No moonglow last night, though she was there behind the charcoal clouds. They swooped in, covering first the sun, and then the stars. Later, it rained—again—and the scent of petrichor drifted through our open windows. Summer’s last hurrah. The moon knows, and soon she will hum the song of autumn and harvests, of bread, honey, and wine.

golden moon glow
over fields of grapes and grain—
russet leaves fall

For dVerse, where Frank has asked us to write a haibun alluding to the moon. On Thursday night, we will hopefully see the Harvest Moon.

Moon Dreams

In their dreams, they sleep with the moon, though I don’t think they remember it– the moon. Kirsten says she does, but she was only three when we left. Still, it’s become our bedtime ritual to say good night to things, even if she and Lilly are too old for picture books. We have no telephones or red balloons–or kittens and mittens, for that matter. I hold on to my tattered copy of Good Night Moon—print books are rare and treasured, this one especially so because I remember Jonas reading it to the girls. They and I managed to escape on the last ship from Earth. We’ll never see it or the Moon again. We’ll never see you again. Good night, moon; good night, my love. I’ve become the old woman whispering, “hush,” but in my dreams, I sleep with you.

I’m hosting dVerse today for Prosery Monday. For this prompt, everyone must use the line “In their dreams they sleep with the moon.” It’s from Mary Oliver’s, “Death at Wind River.” Good Night Moon is a popular picture book. My husband and I had it memorized at one point. **Also, a reminder that Thursday’s dVerse will be a live event.

Tilting

512px-NASA-Apollo8-Dec24-Earthrise

Photo of the Earth taken from Apollo 8, called Earthrise (1968).

 

I see the morning moon

dream-full of spring songs—

of sap, worms, crows

 

(a murder gathers, cawing)

 

Now she hums fiercely through the clouds,

stirring my senses—

 

my mother’s alive, the call a mistake,

but my tire’s flat

on an earth that tilts, revolving.

 

This a quadrille for dVerse. De has asked us to use some form of the word “stir.” Yesterday, my sister got a call that my mom was “unresponsive.” It turns out the facility called the wrong person, and my mother was fine. However, I pulled out of my driveway and discovered my tire was flat. Fortunately, that didn’t happen when we were driving on the expressway.

Can you Blame Me?

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Moon language drifts down from the sky–

a hum, fierce and gentle

known to all who listen—

shhhhhh!—

hear the glow as it falls

lingering on treetops and river surfaces,

 

~poetry of the night~

 

vanishes as I wake

to celebrate flowering cloud-breath,

morning magic flitters in, a bird-winged song,

filling the day with possibility, and if

I smile as the universe blushes,

can you blame me?

 

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A puente from my collaboration with Oracle—I accidentally clicked out of the site, then something else came up. . .and well, it’s one of those days. Still, each day begins with promise and possibility.

 

See All Ifs

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after peach light of day,

purple shadows spray-dress sky–

moon sings, “see all ifs,”

in falling petals of time

recall its whispered music

 

I had a crazy weekend, and I didn’t get to do a proper consultation with the Oracle yesterday. The sky was beautiful last night. She must have seen it and gave me this tanka. I forgot to take a screen shot of the tiles.