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.

A Dream

I dream of water–
tiny sea-tongues lick and spray the rocks,
and purple shadows prance;
a sparkle-dance, in blue expanse,
the gulls’ wings in white flutter.

From a red boat,
the laughter floats,
turns clouds to golden-yellow flowers.

And if the wind whispers,
what do you want?
I’d say all this–
and a thousand pink-petalled springs,
the light of peace,
and you.

My collaborative poem with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle and Odilon Redon. The Oracle seems to be in a good mood today.

The Clouds Fly By

Odilon Redon, “The Muse on Pegasus

And in the after-fever, haunts and haunted linger–

but with a beat, the dream ends,
and above my bed, the moon still sings
of time and love, and endless things—

of winter aches and purple storms,
of thousands dead, and the forlorn

recalling spring, mourn the light–
today there will be no rose-pink dawn amidst the shadow-spray,
only grey.

Yet cloud-fingers point, as if to say
behold the way the diamond-sparkle plays
on the ripples there–those other days.

Your heart cries why, your head knows when
the honeyed glow comes,
you’ll see the beauty once again.

My message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. When I looked outside early this morning, I thought, there’s no rosy dawn today. It’s cold and windy, and the sky was full of dark clouds. The Oracle always knows.

Cries, Whispers, and Song

Odilon Redon, The Birth of Venus

She asks the moon when will the storm come–
then sees the sea’s tongue
wind round rocks, licking foam into a lather,

and hears a moan,
the cry of time, the language of misty death
and dreams reborn, whispering

if–
and after the shadows,
a thousand tiny diamonds shine

a spray of light against midnight blue.
She watches the flicker of lustrous wings,
listens for their song.

Today’s message from the Oracle. For those keeping track, the poem came first, but I feel like the Oracle wanted another Redon painting, and I found this one. She probably had it in mind.

After the Longest Night

After the longest night–

float a barque
on moonbeam seas, sail
past stars, glean
ghost-light of
yesterday, interlace dreams
with glimmered visions–

prophetic
muse! Sing aloud the
birth of sun
from shadow-
world–light candles, flicker-flames
to recall your hopes

barque-breezing,
caught in spindrift. Soar
moon-bound, star
searching, un-
barred, braided with sparkling dreams
to glide heart-sworn home.

Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah, so this is a December-flavored shadorma sequence of light and hope for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday challenge using synonyms for Kerfe Roig’s words, mingle and drift. I’m also linking this to dVerse Open Link Night, where Björn is hosting a live event.