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
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.”
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”