Shadows Amidst the Spring Light

Shadows wind through the spring green,
recalling winter, they carry the scent of blood
and despair driven by lies, the play of elaborate schemes,
and delirious dreams and desire blown into the after time,

and I ache,
wishing, wondering if I see light,
honeyed rays through verdant trees,
the pink-petaled spray of hope—

full of ever and always,
somewhere my mother is in a garden
or gazing at an azure sea,

she takes her brush,
erases the storms, the grey-clouded earth,
paints bright color on her canvas,

and I wake to birdsong and feathered-wishes
diamond bright in the still dark sky.

The Magnetic Poetry Oracle knows everything. The political situation here in the U.S. is quite troubling; Mother’s Day is tomorrow, and it’s spring. We collaborated on this poem.

The Birth of Venus

Odilon Redon, Birth of Venus

If, bare-breasted, moon-blooded,
I bloom
above the blue sea, in diamond-sprayed splendor,

then ask—why

I am woman-formed
of raw winds and whispered light,
green-gowned and peach-scented—
but as a day here and away–

I am time-stilled
beyond recalling fiddle beats
from the shadows,
where a thousand ruins stand,
sun-petal-swept and silent.

I am all—
most eternal, champagne cool,
velvet fire,
seeing, embracing secrets,
the delicious brilliance of star breath,
dancing in darkness.

My May Day poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. As usual, even though I thought this poem would go one way, she sent me somewhere else.

Never, Always Ask

Ask if
the sea still glitters diamond-bright
in the sunshine,

and if
it recalls the whispers of
a thousand stars, the humming of the moon,

the voices of time, a champagne cloud of color
vanishing to form again

never, always

ask why
some don’t know the delicious dazzle
of light’s brilliant kiss,

and can’t feel the universe’s embrace, lingering
in an ocean breeze.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.

Spring Meditation

Ask, as if the still water answers
with blue-blown ripples, and
a tiny thousand lights sing of spring.

What is the question dancing out and in
from shadowed wings,
on the feathered limbs of just-greening trees?

Or this? How life comes
and ends, in whispered sounds
and pastel hues—

ducks quack and geese honk,
the buds of daffodils bob swan-like on sprouting stems–

you recall all the questions never asked
or answered–

she lived a long life,
her laugh mixed with bright blooms,
summer dreams in a garden

red and pink. Past and future are
heart-haunted, but sweet
like birdsong in honeyed glow.

Now, you embrace the after—
the flowering dawn and the caramel glow–and
the secret smile of the morning

calls to you, not why,
but always.

I collaborated with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She’s feeling philosophical on this first morning of spring, and I’m still asking questions.

Waiting

A thousand wonder-worries cloud the night—but

play in shadows and in light,
soar in time, moon-drunk, star-dazzled,
as wind whispers to water, flow, live–

and if you dream, recall
the luscious, languid sighs
of pink-petaled branches after the storm,
and the cool-blue smell of sky and air—

waiting

in honeyed sunglow,
watching the diamond spray
of spring rain on ripening buds,

waiting,

for the moment to embrace
color, to heal the world.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows spring is on its way.

Eurydice to Orpheus

Dear Orpheus, I hope this letter finds you well.
I don’t know how long it will take to reach you—
the service here is somewhat unreliable, and truth to tell,
it’s hard to get through,

Charon is cranky, and the ferry service rather slow–
But what I really wanted to say–
don’t wait for me. I mean, you’re not immortal. Show
the world your music, play

those magical riffs. To be honest, I was mad–
I mean really, you just had to look?
I struggled, so sad
and it took. . .

it seemed forever, but time is different here.
I’m finally settled, fitting in—
of course, I miss the sun, the light, the clear
blue sky, warm skin.

(Our shadows shapes of what has been,)

And—I’ve met someone.
He makes me laugh,
he’s a bit tone deaf, but he’s so much fun—
he works on Hade’s general staff.

So, take care, my love. I wish you all good things,
though I hope you’ve learned more self-control.
Our life together is gone. We’ve cut the strings.
Perhaps we’ll meet again, soul-to-soul–

unless you become a star. . .I heard a rumor about your lyre.

With fond remembrance, Eurydice.

For dVerse, where Sanaa is hosting. She has asked us to write an epistolary poem. I had a bit of fun with this.

Spring Dreams

If gods of darkness devour the brilliance of the sun,
and secret sadness lingers long into always—

recall the blush-dance of the vast world waking
to the healing laughter of birdsong
carried on a kiss of blue-sky breath,
and watch the flower-fire dazzle red and pink—

a thousand dreams dreamt, a thousand dreams waiting
for you.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows that my spirits were lifted by seeing signs of spring this week.

A Promise

if after heart-haunted nights, I ask for light,
then so do the blue-shadowed trees, their whispers
a symphony in my head–
spring waking–a rhythmic poem winged
in exuberant crow-dance,
a promised gift,
carried on diamond-sparkled water.

I ask, I listen, I watch, I believe

stars sing, soaring through time,
reborn in bird and berry, bloomed in rose.

My poem from the Oracle. She made me work a bit, so I gave her the Redon painting. We’ve had snow, sleet, ice, and rain this week, and today the wind is gusting–but the sun is shining, and each day it rises a bit earlier and sets a bit later.

A Window Opening

^{La Naissance de Vénus ( The Birth of Venus ), pastel painting by Odilon Redon}

The storm blows black,
and sea screams rise,
urging the moon to cry,

and silver whispers fall

in after-aches,
time sits languidly swimming with ifs–

let it-

sing a song of dreams held fast
in violet light, shining with tiny beats,
the music of stars, sailing on ocean breath

a kiss, a heart-voice,
a window opening.

Today’s message from the magnetic poetry Oracle.

Wishes in the Snow-2

Whispers in the Wind, Part 2

Inside, in fire-glow,
away from the cold, away from snow,
we rested, in a refuge protected,
not safe, but for now undetected

by soldiers–or anyone—
no shouts, no cries, no guns,
no sounds, only the peaceful glow
of firelight, away from snow,

we ate the bread,
and settled there by embers red,
Manya told tales of a wondrous bird,
the golden peacock, and how she stirred

the winds, and carried words
unpinned from time—this magical bird
of wondrous hue, could soar through space,
bring words—or us!– to any place.

And so, we settled in the fire-glow,
away from cold, away from snow—
soon, I dreamt of peacock song, not scream,
coming from a golden gleam,

and there she was with wings so wide
that we could sit, and with her glide
into the sky throughout the night. Somehow, I know
far from soldiers and the snow,

I’ll hug Mama and climb on Papa’s knee,
we’ll be together, you and me,

we’ll watch the she-fishes, by the blue sea,

and we’ll be warm, we’ll laugh with glee

away from cold, soldiers, and snow. Free.

Another narrative poem. Part 1 of this poem (here) was inspired by the art of the ekphrastic challenge. Some readers indicated they wanted more to the story. The Golden Peacock is a symbol in Yiddish folksongs. Peacocks make a sort of screaming sound, but I imagine the Golden Peacock singing, perhaps like a nightingale, only even more beautiful.
I’m linking this to dVerse where Lillian is hosting Open Link Night, even though I’m posting this on Friday morning.