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”
it rustles with wind-sighs raking debris, lifting blood-red leaves, sifting sand for life beneath trees, between stones, yellow flowers bloom
following the sun, as we do, in expectation of magic, a breath from the sky to banish air thick with grey, to return blue-winged, pink-tipped, shedding golden feathers–
in that light almost-love as it kisses the lingering ice, transforming it— and if the steel and concrete world devours, still the birds sing in echoes of the stars, recalling the once bright, now fallen,
while peace, a wandering vine, twines, unnoticed but anticipated, like a secret waiting to be revealed in the blush of chagrined dawn after the charcoal clouds clear, swept by cerulean again.
My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. As always, she knows what’s going on.
In blue-shadowed light no men wake this tree, here haunted with ghost-eyed decay, the ice holds all prisoners
as we wait for the dazzle, fever-fire and green give eternity, and magic sails from stars
a vast universe of flower-fish, a velvet-voiced sea, if becomes now, as yesterday becomes tomorrow
and after. . .ancient incandescent light, time’s smoky smile, a laugh that echoes
through black holes to fly on gulls’ wings to float on robin song, an embrace, a lodestar.
I’m watching the snow fall, but the Oracle gave me flower-fish and fever-fire (amongst other words), and I thought of this painting. She understands time and space, and she knows everything is connected. We’re singular and part of something larger. Meanwhile, the snow will melt, the daffodils will bloom, the daisies will giggle as bees brush their petals, and sunflowers will smile, even as leaves begin to turn red, again.