The Story of Flowers

Odilon Redon, “Ophelia Among the Flowers”

If I go with an ache—
honeyed dreams I recall,
the blood moon urging love,
soaring pink over the forest.
We watched its cool beauty
as rusted leaves fell,

~whispering of summer~

a thousand times, the moon sings–
and broken ghost-hearts listen
with almost breaths, embrace
the dark sky’s light poetry
to wake, lingering as flowers,
at peace

Another puente. The Oracle gave me this myth, and perhaps it’s also appropriate for World Mental Health Day.

Gogyohka Sequence of Night Sky Dreams

Odilon Redon, Flower Clouds

Moon whispers shimmer
in gossamer dreams
we float star-sprayed with light,
our barque sails to dawn
through blooms of flower clouds

the white mast glides aglow
under golden rays,
and the azure sky is rinsed clean
in the after-morn of summer storms,
the air perfumed with sea salt

and always,
stars and moon voice secret songs
haunting eternity with ghost rhythms
surrounding us with magic,
waking us to if

The Magnetic Poetry Oracle and I collaborated on this sequence for Colleen’s Challenge using the theme “The Night Sky.”

Signpost

Odilon Redon, Panneau décoratif

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A signpost

symbol-scarred but faint,

faded from

time’s passage.

But on your heart, ancestors

created a map

 

of past words

and worlds, crisscrossed, or

parallel?

Infinite

possibilities exist—

light-time blends and bends

 

and you know

the road circles round

with tangled,

never straight lines.

There –the traces of stars’ dust

shimmers at your feet.

 

Now has passed,

the future’s ahead

like headlights

on night roads,

a guide. Turn into the spin,

drive to tomorrow.

 

This is for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday where the theme word is map. Ken’s poem inspired mine. I had intended to write a gogyohka in response, but instead ended up with another shadorma sequence, which is not exactly a response, but when I read his,  I thought of signposts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waiting, Watching, Waking

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Odilon Redon, “The Muse on Pegasus”

 

Born in a dazzle of smoke and ice,

time travelers dancing to the rhythms of the universe,

 

their songs hold secrets, a symphony un-tongued,

 

but felt and heard in the wind–

of life, death,

and a longing for love—

 

the music of lust and light,

why, and if only—

 

we turn away, when we should linger,

 

waiting for the storms to end,

and watching for dawn to come,  laughing

waking the morning blooms.

 

My Saturday collaboration with the Poetry Oracle.

 

 

The Moments Between

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Odilon Redon, “The Muse on Pegasus”

 

In the moments between

the dream hours

she joins my father

in the timeless night–

not asking if this universe

is real or true,

 

~only that it is~

 

all I can embrace–

the magic of a laugh,

the sun dancing in

the promise of a new morning,

and the rhapsodic songs of the stars,

lingering.

 

The Oracle gave me nearly all the words for this puente, so–I just went with it.

Sailing Through Time

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Redon, “Barque Mystique”

 

In a dream,

I sailed the night sky,

swallowed the music of the stars,

merged with them, glowing incandescent,

red shifting, drifting through time and beyond–

 

and when I woke,

I took your hand. We opened a door

together, began a new life,

of hopes, fears, love, tears–

ebbing, flowing, drifting through time–and beyond.

 

For  Anmol’s prompt on dVerse, “Portals,”  

I’m using this Redon painting again because it fits.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Story of Dreams and Wonder

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Reflection, Odilon Redon

 

Almost-color in the clouds–

dark ghosts–that blush-tipped feathers

wing away, the dreams that linger

 

~in the after-winds of time~

 

we watch the fire-heart of the sky

dazzle us with flower-flames–

singing songs of a thousand ifs

 

~in a shimmering symphony~

 

the heavens dance,

giant birds soar, their iridescent splendor a-flight,

traveling home, bright jewels in the night.

 

A double puente, which probably isn’t a form, from my Saturday morning collaboration with the Oracle. I’ve been having a hard time focusing the last couple of days, so I’m taking it.  And Redon, of course.

 

 

Dreams and Stars: NaPoWriMo2020, Day 16

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Redon, “Barque Mystique”

 

days turn to night

and back again–

dreams drift,

a barque on a mysterious sea

 

~above the stars dance~

 

and we reach up, swallow them–

filled with honeyed light

we whisper in shimmered tones,

leap–and fly.

 

This is a puente. I didn’t have a chance to post it yesterday for Day 16 of NaPoWriMo, but I’m off prompt. I’m linking this to dVerse’s Open Link Night, where Lillian is hosting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a Dream I Found you

Odilon_Redon_-_Béatrice

Odilon Redon, “Béatrice”

“All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.”

–Edgar Allan Poe, “A Dream Within a Dream”

 

In a dream, I found you

there, not as I knew you,

but aglow,

 

your spirit gilding your face,

and through the mist,

you reached, took my hand,

 

and gazed at me with sea-green eyes

and led me to a sailing raft

and there reclined with me.

 

Then, under blossoming clouds–

scarlet, gold, and sapphire–

we sailed into the infinite,

 

a thousand tomorrows waited.

But I awoke,

my face salty only with tears

 

and longed to sleep

and dream again and again

and forever of you.

 

Odilon_Redon_-_Flower_Clouds_-_Google_Art_Project

Odilon Redon, “Flower Clouds”

 

Lillian has asked us to write a poem about dreams at dVerse today.  I think I probably write about dreams often, but these two paintings popped into my head. Can you have an ekphrastic poem based on two sources?

 

 

In the Garden of If and When-After

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Odilon Redon, Beatrice

 

Her garden lives in ifs,

it is sweet pink whispers

beating away the black.

 

Music mists a symphony of the sea,

licking rocks

to soar and spray in the wind,

 

dream shadows play

beneath a honeyed moon,

and the sky smells of summer rain.

 

So, she watches there–

not asking why–

in timeless beauty of when-after,

 

and she sings through rose petal-light,

of blood, life, love, and life.

 

I needed this bit of surrealism. The Oracle always knows. I think this could be where she lives.