“Many hands make light work.” “Too many cooks spoil the broth.” –Common Proverbs
In those years of privation, seeking salvation in sparks of hope and glory— quiet desperation, ceaseless threats, a story overtold but left bereft, unlearned through epochs here or anywhere– in bombs’ red glare and burning air– I dreamt of cake,
and of Mother and aunts—too many hands at mixing stands, beating butter and eggs, then sifted flour, timing minutes turned to hours— and there I sat, a bud within the warmth of light-filled bower.
Now, when cake comes at any time– with coffee, or perhaps some wine, without the help of the long-lost many, the cake’s too sweet—I’m spoiled by plenty.
This poem is not autobiographical. It’s for my dVerse prompt today. Come join us as we write poems influenced by proverbs.
The moon hums and the sun sings, and feathered things with outstretched wings soar into the light
dazzling white, the egrets’ flight, the eagles’ glide, a majestic sight above my head
and down below, the scent of dead attract the vulture’s blooded head— but even they fly
with graceful beauty in the sky circling round—hello, goodbye— life comes and goes
the questions everybody knows, and none can answer, I suppose there’s beauty in that, too–
science can tell us why the sky is blue, yet perceiving it, is that new? Do we name things so that we see–
or does sight come, and we feel free– And still, we disagree about the color of the sea,
fields of grain, and climbing vines lost to asphalt, modern signs of progress made,
decisions that now cascade, a waterfall, decisions weighed spinning in retrograde, still we shine
in setting sun, sipping wine, fruits of field and vine, talking as time slow-walks–
a paradox—the universe’s sleight– time, truth, the beauty of the feathered light.
We went to Blue Cork Winery in Williamstown, NJ this past week, where our daughter gave a talk—a brief history of sangria–and then guided us through making our own using a white and red base they supplied, along with fruit and juices. It was a fun event, and of course we bought a bottle of wine to take home, too. I’m still finishing that chapter, so I apologize for my slow response time here. Also, I’m hosting dVerse Poetics tomorrow.
My dreams–a language-storm of do, or not, I try to recall
and wonder who are you— and which is me— all is enigma and mystery,
like a portrait-sitter lost in time sublime or shaded, half-smile, three-quarter face a hint of her wishes, or the artist’s embrace
of unconscious desire, inspiration in symbols of her worth, still in last laugh– she gazes into the future,
can she imagine how she’ll be carted through wars, another spoil, a wall-hung prize, monster-cherished–
the attraction of beauty to the beast— opposites, and circles of the sun and moon–
with light comes shadow, honeyed joy and bitter sorrow alternate—the universe’s tessellated patterns
as time moves on. . .
Now, little bird silent-sitter, waiting to strike– living dinosaur, a portrait, too.
We finally have a beautiful day after days of oppressive heat, humid, and storms.
I just finished The Night Portrait, a novel by Laura Morelli. I enjoyed both the writing and the story. It takes place in the fifteenth century as Leonardo da Vinci is painting Cecilia Gallerani, then the young mistress of Ludovico Sforza, and during WWII as the Nazis and confiscated art, and the Monuments Men are trying to find the stolen art.
We watched an Icelandic series on Netflix called Katla. If you like dark brooding Scandi-noir mixed with a bit of the supernatural, you’ll like it. It reminded me a little bit of the German series Dark. It’s about a town, now nearly deserted because an underwater volcano has started erupting, and mysterious things begin happening. . .We were really intrigued by it and finished the series in a few nights.
We also watched the first episode of season 4 of Unforgotten (PBS). I’m excited that it’s back on.
The sea whispers ,not of a thousand deaths but dreams it aches to recall, time and star-shine–
covered by a cloud-blanket, it murmurs again and again, as fleets of diamond ships sail across and into tomorrow.
And if I sleep, perhaps I feel a petal-spray of moon-breathed secrets before dawn comes, berry-bright, to banish them–
yet seeded within, they might yet bloom.
I was disconcerted by the change in the Magnetic Poetry Oracle’s site. There are different categories now for the tiles, and the format has also changed. Nevertheless, she came through (of course). I’ve been having vivid lucid dreams recently. It seems like they are trying to tell me important things that I can’t quite recall when I wake, but I think the ideas are there, just below the surface.
“Sueñito, it means ‘little dream.’” –In the Heights
Three crows sit on an uprooted tree, gods, fate, or destiny? Day to night, birth to death, changes come— love and regrets,
of words unspoken, of dreams unachieved,
but in the balance of all things–
seeds are planted, and eggs hatched, in fertile soil, with care and light, life blooms, the cycle resumes,
seasons spun in revolutions of the earth, and thoughts that spark like stars, the universe of the mind, our Milky Way inside
in glittering array. Sometimes enlightenment comes our way,
dream-born, though dreams evolve with the dancing of your heart and the echoes of the stars,
the fire in your eyes and reflections from the sky, the whys and when return again revolving into something new—
the evolution of dreams come true.
We are dust from the stars, and rise from the sea, we wing and dive–fate or fait accompli? Ever-soaring dreams blowing through earth, sky, and blue-water flowing.
It is definitely summer in southern NJ! Heat, humidity, storms—and then an occasional beautiful day. We went out once this week for a trivia night at a winery. We were not allowed to have our phones out during the rounds, so I only got this one photo.
Merril’s Movie Club—We watched two movies this week, and I would watch both of them again. One you’ve probably heard of, and one you probably have not heard about. Our friends invited us to a movie night at their house, so we could watch In the Heights. (We don’t have HBO, and they do. It’s also playing in theaters.) You may or may not know that I love musicals, and this one combines Lin Manual Miranda’s songs with old-fashioned movie musical choreography and vision. Dreams (and immigrants and DREAMers) is a recurring theme in the movie. All the actors are wonderful. My friend, Pat (the one in charge of rainbows) had a bounty of farm-fresh summer vegetables and made a grilled a vegetable lasagna. I made brownies because. . .well, chocolate.
My husband and I also saw Undine, the most recent movie by German director Christian Petzold. (Rental through Amazon.) It stars the two leads from his previous movie, Transit, which my husband and I both really enjoyed. We also both liked this one, though maybe not quite as much. The movie is a sort of modern re-telling of the ancient myth of the water nymph, Undine. My husband, who had never heard of the legend of Undine, saw the movie as a metaphor of Berlin. So, it’s clearly not a movie for people who like straight-forward stories. It’s dreamy and has a beautiful score (mainly the adagio from Bach’s Concerto in D Minor, BWV 974), but also “Stayin Alive), and we had a great discussion about it afterwards.
We had some wine and cheese to nibble on while we watched the movie.
My friend’s husband says she’s in charge of rainbows, a wondrous job, I think, but she doesn’t want it. I understand, it’s a lot of responsibility– but imagine the perks—would you see all the light we cannot see? A scattering of particles, the coherence and incoherence of light—the flow of color, like a waterfall–
on the car ride home, we hear part of a Ted Talk on the radio. The speakers are discussing stars, they sing “we are stardust,” as people are setting off noisy fireworks all around us, seeking light in the sky, not realizing it’s within.
My cat leaps from his comfortable tabletop slumber at a loud bomb-like burst. I think of our other cat, dead but alive in memory, Schrödinger’s cat—and I think of the graveyard of twinkling splendor I see in the night sky, the ghost light of ancient stars, echoing.
Do some people become black holes, full of light that’s caught–and so dense, trapping anything in their path and extinguishing all sparks,
the glow of sun on water, reflections that magnify what is or what could be? We only see our own images in reflection. Perhaps it is the truth, that we— and everything—wavers—depictions that flow endlessly through time—incoherent, chimerical, shifting.
Crow circles, caws to the river, sky, air—look around you— and I try, but–
my dear friend, I’m in need of rainbows. Please see what you can do.
Yesterday, was Independence Day in the US, the Fourth of July. We got together with friends for dinner, and when we got home the neighborhood crazies were setting off fireworks for the second night in a row—but worse last night. My cat was terrified, and I was annoyed. I’m hoping we don’t have another night of it.
Merril’s Movie Club: We watched two movies this week. Coherence is a low-budget 2013 indie film that we both really enjoyed. It’s a Twilight Zone type story of a dinner party on a night when a comet is streaming by very close to the Earth. Strange things happen, but it’s better not to know in advance about them. But you may question what is real. It’s available free on Amazon Prime, and maybe elsewhere. We also watched Shiva Baby, a new movie (rental from Amazon) that we also really liked—me perhaps more than my husband because I felt like some of the people could be my relatives. Nearly all of the movie takes place at a shiva, but it’s a comedy/dramedy. We’ve all probably been stuck in awkward social situations that we can’t seem to get out of, and this movie captures that feeling perfectly.
Does the fiddler recall the shadows or sun? Dreams of a sweet peach sky, or the languid light of in-between almost, ~and if~ you ache for sea and diamond night, feel it in the chill wind’s tongue licking your cheek, and the whisper of its ancient song across a thousand miles and worlds.
My poem from the magnetic poetry Oracle. She obviously knows what is going on everywhere, and most of the words came from her. The photo is from my walk this morning. It is cooler today after the thunderstorms yesterday, and we might get more today.
We measure time in sunglow and moon-sighs, in the numbers of hellos, goodbyes– and we do it again.
We measure time in heartbeats, the food we eat, the hours spent with friends,
our hair greying, our shadows growing as wine in summer glows, easygoing
like a lazy river flowing the memories growing— love, family, companions—
Do you remember? I say, that time, this day? We celebrate the decades gone
and hope that more remain, though nothing stays the same. Still, the sun glows, the moon sighs,
hello, goodbye. Love moves through phases, so do I. Waxing, waning, silver, gold, while the sun blazes I might seem cold,
but I’ll still shine while you grow old. So, measure time in love you hold folded gently, held within–every story told.
We celebrated our wedding anniversary by walking through Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve in Bucks County, PA, and then having a delightful lunch at Martine’s Riverhouse in New Hope. We walked through the town a bit, and then walked along the canal path. We couldn’t have ordered a more beautiful day. Earlier in the week, we enjoyed wine with dear friends at William Heritage Winery. On Saturday, we visited the Philadelphia Museum of Art for the first time since the pandemic, and then walked along the Schuylkill River. It rained, and then got steamy. For dinner that night, we opened some champagne and ate Indian food from Spice Affair Indian Cuisine in Swedesboro. Then ate leftovers the next night.
Merril’s Movie Club: We re-watched the movie About Time (2013). It’s on Netflix. I’m not especially into romantic comedies, but this one is delightful. There’s time travel, family, and searching for love. I will watch almost anything with Bill Nighy, and the father-son scenes are especially touching and funny.
If in the whisper of sea, the rolling rush and breathy brush of storm-tossed waves, kissing the shore, you dream of moon-song, then wake to hear the symphony of light lingering– take my hand, in the peach-petaled sun-glow, to walk through shadows, there beneath the craggy cliffs still heart-haunted, the universe rests—yet– listen. Do you hear summer sing? Through open windows, ghosts soar embracing hereafter, as flowers bloom again, as love blooms again, as the sky blooms pink and red—again and again, and again.
Yesterday was our wedding anniversary. It’s been a long, difficult year, and Covid with new variants is still here, but with vaccinations, the world–at least my part of the world–is opening up again. The Oracle always knows. We had a beautiful day yesterday, though we didn’t go to the beach this year. (There will be photos on Monday.)