Enough and More

^{Odilon Redon, Flower Clouds}

Enough and More

Here trees and birds brush-kiss the feathered sky
in blue-on-blue reflections, breathe a sigh.

No pause, no hesitation comes, so wise
trees are, roots down, boughs high, as birds they rise

bright-eyed, wings spread, and yes, I’d fly with you,
outstretched into the blue of sky and through.

And then, we’d float on mirrored sea, our boat
enwrapped in harmony, the world remote.

I’d watch the heron strut, fish-dive, and soar–
yes, this is enough, I’d need nothing more.

Some readers might be confused about the day from the image, but it fits so perfectly.
A poem in couplets, rhymed, iambic pentameter, for dVerse. I couldn’t quite manage to make all of the couplets closed. This is a revision of a poem that coincidentally, I wrote almost exactly two years ago for another dVerse prompt.

In a song never his

^{Odilon Redon, Orpheus}

In a song never his

he seeks peace in the bird world,
in songs not his own,
in squirrel harmonies and
the deep-breathed rhythm of trees,
the long exhale of winter
in dusk’s violet

he thinks how love climbs like vines–
how easily they wither
but drop dream-seeds to sleep under the rustle
of rust-rotted leaf blankets

as seasons pass beneath gnarled roots-
fingers pointing down–

while he above thinks,
our earth, our light, how blue!

Sometimes the Oracle makes you work, and other times, she just says, “here you go.”

Don’t Ask the Moon

^{Odilon Redon, The Boat}

Don’t Ask the Moon

Imagine the world without
the cycles of dawn’s kiss planted on a sheet of blue,
and evening’s fish with their scale-scattered glimmer
lighting the indigo sea and shimmering on the river.

I wonder if there was a was–
or color or light–
before what came before such things

as bird and bee-breathed blooms,
a blanket of daffodils laid upon the grass,
and the song of the wind in the trees, or frost flowers’
blossoming clouds of white,

but the moon says, “Don’t ask. Behold! You know.”

I had a hard time focusing on the Oracle this morning–and, well, she and the moon work together. I think this is a new to me Redon, too.

The Oracle and the Adventurer

^{Odilon Redon, “Mystery,”}

The Oracle and the Adventurer

Later you think—

if she was sitting,
how did she seem to push—

urging you onwards,
time moving in swift, smooth beats,
your skin sun-sweat soaked
and sea chilled,

aches recalled in dawn’s rust light,
along with the “why” you asked her,

and her enigmatic reply—
mad drunks and dreams.

This one came right away in one try from the Oracle, using mostly her words. I think it’s a companion poem to the story she gave Jane recently. I don’t remember this Redon painting. I suppose the Oracle led me to it, too.

Shadows and Light

^{Reflection, Odilon Redon}

Shadows and Light

Who—if not my shadow—
recalls the honeyed light

when the black-dressed sky
scorns even diamond studs?

She asks–says please—
the fiddler plays
to owl-wings’ whispered beat

and then, the moon chimes a lullaby
through prismatic clouds,

while below ghosts dance
in the shadows cast

to vanish with the robin’s chirp
in the dawn’s sharp radish sky.

It took a couple tries with the Oracle. She waited until I was really focusing. 😏

For My Parents

^{Odilon Redon, Orpheus}

For My Parents

Light,
red, hot pink, and cool blue
reflected, refracted
from then to beyond

where casting shadows
like parents on children, larger than life
neither existing without the other,

at least not as they were.

I think if
my father
if my mother—

all the questions I never asked.

If they are light–never gone,
the breath of stars, infinitesimal and infinite
a never-ending melody of dream colors, heard
and almost remembered.

Both of my parents were born in August. I’ve been thinking about them, and of course, the Oracle knows. And extra ifs for Derrick.

I’m sharing this with dVerse, Open Link Night.

Summer Night: Haibun

^{Odilon Redon, Flower Clouds}

Summer Night

We lay on the grassy expanse between the college dormitories. We’re firm-skinned and flat-bellied, our hearts are full of passion, our heads full of dreams. We gaze up at the clouds sailing across the moonlit sky like the days, months, and years of a time-lapsed nature film. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Almost fifty years later, I still remember that wonder.

make a wish
on moonflower clouds–
remember

Valley Forge, summer of 1974

I’m hosting Haibun Monday with the prompt “Look Up!” Join us.

Behold what blossoms

^{Odilon Redon, “The Muse on Pegasus”}

Behold what blossoms

1.
Men stormed and crushed what was
beauty died in a thousand deaths.
Do you recall?
The TV elaborated in detail,
lingering, a voyeur at the window
savoring sweat and blood.

2.
We waited for the aliens to come,
to connect, to repair our corrupted hard drive,
to find the correct interface—
a galactic effort
to find the lost password
stored in a safe, but unknown location.

3.
The stars whispered,
and I caught the thoughts,
planted them like seeds
and when the flowers bloomed,
I placed them in vases,
to light the dark corners of the world.

4.
The moon sang a symphony
as she soared higher and higher–
first the trees noticed
silver drifting up from swaying boughs,
then birds, and then dolphins and whales,
but we slept on.

5.
After the dream-ships sailed into shadows,
dawn came
as if the goddess, delirious, and drunk on joy
sprayed peach champagne onto the clouds
to drip and puddle on the river’s surface,
and time flows on. Behold, what blossoms.

I really struggled to get a poem from the Oracle this morning. I finally ended-up with this cadralor.

Carpe Diem

^{Odilon Redon, Dante and Beatrice}

Carpe Diem

How is the sky blue
when the world is grey-shrouded,

where sunflowers drip with blood,
and parades are strewn-confetti-terror?

Today, the sun and clouds are a lemon meringue pie.
Celebrate with me. Make memories of bird-dawns and moon-songs,
wine-kisses and laughter. We’ll ignore tomorrow.

A poem for dVerse. I’m hosting Quadrille Monday. The prompt word is celebrate, as we’re celebrating the 11th anniversary of dVerse this week.

Chance

^{Odilon Redon, Flower Clouds}

Chance

The moon grows and shrinks
in ancient cycles, but I, but each of us
born, in a moment between if and never—
more like a cloud . . . the endless possibilities.

Sometimes the Oracle gets right to the point. She also knows what we talked about at dinner last night.