Shattered

Shattered

Sometimes it takes an earthquake
to turn the world upside down,
other times,
a chain of ragged men,
wed to false nostalgia–
the obedient true believers and the deranged
crack the engines of progress, flatten tires,
apply the brakes

till the cracks widen and inequality grows,
it is simple arithmetic,

the slippery slope of beneficial deals,
the ahistorical fiction fed to a leader
and his brethren,
unfulfilled dreams—

there is no utopia.

In the aftermath, the masks slip
the enchantment vanishes,
the prince is a cockeyed monster, not dashing,
the wishes are merely that—
the men are still ragged, still waiting,
their countries shattered

ancient wishes spray the sky like clouds

and vanish.

I don’t typically write such political poems, but the random words that Jane generated—Oracle II—demanded it.

Interface

Odilon Redon, Orpheus

Interface

Are phasers set to stun or kill?
The world paused or extinguished.
Servers have crashed,
your light is off–
Can you count on the stars?

Listen for them
in the frantic fluff of fiddle-sky,
as a voice sings in the forest,
you want what she wants,
the symphony of the universe.

What if black ship-winds pound
through time, through sleep, through me—
then part?
What if the humming moon sails out over the sea?
This is the interface,

the path of the sublime
where the sky breathes blue soul-breaths
and the earth murmurs with soft leaf rustle
while rivers sigh as dawn blushes–
the secret of harmony not gone.

My poem from the Oracle. I thought she was going to give me another cadralor because the images were all over the place, but when I came back to this after my walk, it all came together.

I am behind of reading posts and comments–just several busy days and a test assignment due. I will catch up. 😊

Random Word Poetry: The Voyage

Odilon Redon, Flower Clouds

The Voyage

Some seek the omniscient,
yet even stars die. There is no
all-knowing.

I am on, not a race, but a voyage,
swaying, tranquil, sharp, teeny, huge,
redundant—and full of surprises—a snap, a glow,
like a blue-eyed stare
from a black-and-white portrait.

A journey that weighs the ancient
and the now. Not apathetic,
aware.

Savoring the bite of cheese,
the scent of clover, a kiss—folding
them into time’s handkerchief, tucking
them away into a pocket of my mind
to hold, till I become a memory, too.

Do I have things to do? Oh well. Jane posted words from the random word generator, and of course, I couldn’t resist.

And you Follow

Reflection, Odilon Redon

And you Follow

A thousand lies fester
under rocks, spreading like mold

and Death whispers
from a shadowed ship sailing midnight seas–

ask me a secret in the darkness
carried on the lonely wind,

what if this is all?

Ask me again
in the birdsoft blue of day

after the moon has scattered her pearls
across the river’s surface

as the sun now sings,
leading you. . .somewhere–

a path you follow, a choice you’ve made,
seeds to blooms, summer to winter.

My poem from the Oracle.

Secrets

Odilon Redon, Orpheus

Secrets

In blue-chorded night, the moon murmurs secrets
so the earth is never lonely

as between friends,
the ancient words fall like petals

to take root
beneath snow blankets and on stony beaches

gulls gather them—dropping them with a laugh—
see the flowers growing amidst the rocks?

Now the storms bury and the mad men trample,
but the seeds are there,

think not only if, but when
the ghost-light of long-dead stars arrives
we feel the ache, hear the promise in infinite.

My poem from the Oracle–and this painting again seemed to fit.

The Recollection of Dreams

Odilon Redon, Orpheus

The Recollection of Dreams

In the picture,
when the music dream-splashes color
and light,
like sea waves against rocks—
we hear storms and whispers
in the red and blue,
feel heartache and love–

and if you must see the sorrow,
also recall the luscious scent of rose gardens
the taste of honey on your lips, a kiss.

My poem from the Oracle. The tile said fiddle, but the image of this Redon painting was in my head, not Chagall.

Aubade

Aubade

Odilon Redon, Flowers

Star-birds murmur
with ancient light-breath, and if

they drop a seed–or two—
a rustle in the quiet night
between cycles of moon-song,

it is the thing you almost-saw—but

the flowers are there at bird-dawn

blooming,
magical, something like love.

There are terrible things happening in the world, but I went walking on a beautiful spring morning, and the Oracle saw that, too.

A Question of Flower Light

A Question of Flower Light

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. 😏

Déjà Rêvé: NaPoWriMo2022

Odilon Redon, Orpheus

Déjà Rêvé

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.”

Ships of Joys and Sorrow

Odilon Redon, “Flower Clouds

Ship of Joys and Sorrow

We sail a boat beneath a sunny sky,
or drift under the moon, a strange wild song
of wind and wave, and light that asks us why
we sail—from whence–our hearts long to belong.
In lays of sorrow, then in joy, along
a pulse, a strum, gull-winged into the blue
of surf and clouds, joined by star-chirps, old song
blue-shifted, ancient-voiced, spin-drifted true–
the song of dreams, just glimpsed, but named, they sigh
in flutter flashed bright–hope, a dragonfly.

I’ve combined two dVerse prompts for this poem:

from Tuesday’s dVerse, using these three Lewis Carroll titles:
A boat beneath a sunny sky, A strange wild song, Lays of sorrow

Today’s dVerse challenge:
“a 10 line stanza poem (more stanzas permitted of this length)
10 syllables per line
rhyme scheme as per the Decuain or free verse if you’d prefer”