From the Remains of the Day

From the remains of the day

the Harvest Moon rises resplendent

Diana, the light-bearer, lingers,

glowing

reapers gather grains

sustaining bodies and souls

embracing,

creating life–

Diana hums,

the tune echoes in a mother’s lullaby

(unaware of wars and strife)

babies sleep in peace

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George Hemming Mason, “The Harvest Moon,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

This is a quadrille for the dVerse Open Link Night. I’ve paid tribute (tried to) to both the Harvest Moon and Kazuo Ishiguro, who won this year’s Nobel Prize in literature, announced yesterday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Violin: Haibun

I awaken in a clean bed, my curls still soap-and-water-damp, but no longer tangled with tears and sweat. Kind people have taken me in–giving me a home and a violin to replace the one Papa gave me years ago. The one the soldiers smashed. It is old, this violin, and as I cradle it under my chin, I wonder what secrets it carries beneath its varnished surface, what tunes lie buried within the fine wood. I look out the window to see the stars, fairy lights that twinkle and beckon in the dark. I quietly hum an old folk tune, the motif of the piece I’m writing, blending old and new–a continuous and repeated theme, as in life, a melody of sorrow and hope. And now, from my window, I see the dawn– pink, orange, and red wings feather-brushed across the sky above the golden sun. The day is bright with magic and possibility. I am ready to greet it.

 

The strings laugh and cry,

sing music of many souls

through light and dark clouds

life twinkles brightly, then blinks

to fly through space, dance through time

 

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Lorenzo Lippi, “Allegorie der Musik” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

This haibun is for Colleen Chesebro’s weekly poetry challenge. The prompt words were fairy and magic. She is celebrated fairies and the summer solstice this weekend. Go visit her!

 

Fools and Oceans

Do we remember poetry and desire, come eternity?

embrace old rhythms of green and lingering life,

a brilliant blush,

a fired heart—

listen to this blue salt ocean, Fool,

the angel said,

magic lies here, there, all about and after

it dances and laughs, surrounding you like perfume–

go breathe peace and heal

 

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Caspar David Friedrich, “Northern Sea in the Moonlight,” 1823-1824 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

I’m in the midst of crazy writing and editing. The Oracle knew just what to say. I added some punctuation. I hope she doesn’t mind.

Ghost in a City of Ruins: NaPoWriMo

I go through the motions of living, looking for food. We’ve been at war for—I don’t know how long. I don’t remember how The War started. I don’t remember why. I go through the motions, pretend I’m still alive, but I’m hollow and crumbling like the buildings around me. Once I was young and pretty; I loved and was loved. But it does no good to remember. There is only The War now. The bombing starts again, and I run for shelter. The instinct to live is strong. The barrage goes on all night. Boom, thud, crash. Boom, thud, crash, scream. As the sun peeks over the horizon, shyly as if wondering if it should stay, I crawl from my shelter. The bright glow illuminates the destruction of my world. I am a ghost in a city of ruins.

 

In the peace of dawn

rivulets flow, salty tears,

a sea of sorrow

coursing through ruins, blood-red

flowers float amidst rubble

 

I wake. A woman is treating my wounds. She takes my hand and leads me to others. There is food. There is water. I hear a sound, wonder what it is. A child’s giggle. Slowly—I’ve almost forgotten how—slowly, I smile.

 

Hope watered with tears

a seed nurtured with kindness

a hardened heart smiles

Embed from Getty Images

 

This is Day 27, NaPoWriMo.   This haibun is for Colleen Chesebro’s Weekly Poetry Challenge. The prompt words were “peace” and “tear.”

I didn’t want this poem to be of any particular time and place, but yesterday, I heard a story on NPR about a woman who is one of the “White Helmets” in Syria.  I also thought of Fred Roger’s oft-repeated line “to look for the helpers.”

 

 

The Angel’s Voice

 

Embed from Getty Images

 

 

In the dark of winter night

speaks the angel, fierce but sweetly,

singing in a voice commanding,

crying in a voice demanding,

with caramel breath and radiant light,

shimmering and glimmering like the star

shining, pulsing, glowing bright

twinkling, twinkling from afar,

resplendent, lustrous, but not so cheery,

brilliant, dazzling, then her query–

Why do you fight and foster hate?

Why do you listen to lies, then wait

for signs and words and soothing vows?

Don’t you sense that something’s wrong,

that freedom and choice will soon be gone?

The sun will rise on empty space

where earth once was, but now no trace,

so, light the candles and ring the bells

wreathe the doors with evergreen boughs,

but call for love and fight for right,

prevent the waning of the light.

Then she vanishes, darkness returns,

we search for angels, and the candle burns.

 

This is for Secret Keeper’s Writing Challenge.

 

The prompt words were:

Sense/Fight/Free/Voice/Choose

Happy Holidays!  Wishing all of you light in the darkness and peace, and joy in the new year.

 

 

 

Angels and Magic: Magnetic Poetry

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Walters Art Museum [Public domain, CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

 

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There are fools surrounding a god

of smoke & poison

remember angel voices caramel breath linger long,

listen–

“it is I,

time to wake”

embrace this desire & live no prisoner

fever haunted

laugh open our secret magic

never let peace go

 

 

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in warm night

a marble boy is born

the star bleeds

delicious colors

and will heal him

it is salt-rhythm poetry

glass and fire

for a wild heart

 

Saturday Magnetic Poetry. The Oracle decided to go with some magical realism, or surrealism, or perhaps it’s time for Angels in America (again).  The Oracle is cryptic.

 

The Light Shines, Over and Over

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By LacZ (Own work), “Sunlight through Pallisades,” [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

“Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in.”

–Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”

 

We pause now to gather strength

to fight for justice

over and over

to strive for courage, hope

lost and then regained

over and over

change happens for good, for bad

thoughts and actions

over and over

two steps forward, one step back

over and over

through the ages

we find the crack

to let the light shine in.

 

 

I wrote this poem yesterday afternoon before I heard of Leonard Cohen’s death. I guess it was of those strange coincidences in life that I had been thinking about him.

This poem is for Secret Keeper’s Writing Challenge.

The prompt words were: Pause/Over/Strength/Age/Change

 

The Prisoner and Full Moon Songs: Magnetic Poetry

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She dreams about a thousand sweet summers

and a gorgeous garden,

pictured love

yet life is sweat and pounding

trudging feet

ugly men chants

crush her

Mother, I soar to pink misty sky

and death my friend

 

This is for Elusive Trope’s Magnetic Poetry Saturday Challenge.  I read a report that one of the schoolgirls captured by the Boko Haram was recently found and rescued, along with her 10-month-old baby fathered by one of the men who held her prisoner. I think that inspired this poem, but then I heard this stunningly beautiful Handel aria sung by Joyce Didonato in this video.  It gives some hope amidst the despair.

But still, there was so much bleakness, so I went to the Oracle for another try.

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Full moon song

spirits breathe sweet berry harmony

color breezes

there in dark verdant forest

they wander, watch

through night

as the river murmurs

we thrive and bloom

 

 

 

Dancing Wind

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Franz Marc, “The Little Blue Horses,” 1911, Public Domain, via Wikimedia Commona

 

 

Lead me, dancing wind

on a journey of delight

tend my soul with pure sunlight.

 

Lead me, dancing wind

to find a shimmery shore,

a place of peace, without war.

 

Lead me, dancing wind

to where blue ponies play, stay,

bravely dance, in waves and spray.

 

Lead me, dancing wind

in sailing ship or small cart,

lead me now, to find my heart.

 

This is for Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Challenge.

Using these words: Brave/Tend/Pure/Lead/Dance

I feel the need for blue ponies.

 

***WP is telling me I should encourage US voters to vote by “adding a subtle prompt.” So here is link to register.  VOTE! Is that subtle enough?

Vote your conscience, but I’m With Her, and I’m voting #LoveTrumpsHate.