Jay Hall Connaway, Public Domain, Wikipedia
But do you still ache for dreams
crushed by purple-shadowed storms? Fever-hearted, you watch the diamond glitters of sun-licked rocks,
~and after, you breathe, cooled,~
smelling all the ifs in blue sea whispers,
you drink it in– yet even so, the wind asks why time both haunts and heals.
Another sensory sort of poem. This time it’s my Saturday message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.
Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield, November. ©️ Merril D. Smith, 2020
Ask am I crushed?
Ugly tongues and the elaborate-haired fiddler screech, while the dead cry in a thousand aching hearts
~but dream shadows sing in blue, waking~
I watching the light whispering if
to pink-shimmered water, recalling how time flows, after moon to sun
The Oracle always knows. Just as I was about to post this, news came that Joe Biden will be our next president! YES!
Heron, Early Morning on the Delaware at Red Bank Battlefield, October. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2020
Love lives a thousand times,
a dazzle of moon music; star sighs through lightless sky and blood dreams
~the wind whispers, and the river murmurs
and if we listen–
under deep cover, the earth remembers, blooms over and over again.
My message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows the world, the seasons, and all about deep time.
Winslow Homer, “Watching the Breakers” 1891
Moonlight’s sea-spray songs
lather, pound, and lick the rocks, in dream whispers they shape-shift through purple mist, bear away time-aches, turning black to blue
~as I watch~
the sky blushes pink–
and is it enough to wing away the dark-shadowed night? And if I ask what love is, will the white-feathered wind answer hope?
Today’s message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.
Odilon Redon, “Ophelia Among the Flowers”
If I go with an ache—
honeyed dreams I recall, the blood moon urging love, soaring pink over the forest. We watched its cool beauty as rusted leaves fell,
~whispering of summer~
a thousand times, the moon sings–
and broken ghost-hearts listen with almost breaths, embrace the dark sky’s light poetry to wake, lingering as flowers, at peace
Another puente. The Oracle gave me this myth, and perhaps it’s also appropriate for World Mental Health Day.
I day-dance with the clouds
in lazy rhythm and soft light of peach-misted mornings, the moon singing goodbye, the sun smiling to wake with fire-sky homes, hearts,
the wild things come
to haunt you in the night look at the stars, singing from then as time circles and remembers what was
and what will be
the boy asks?
Do you hear the laugh carried on a breeze? It’s the trees, I say, tickled by the wind, sharing their joy.
A late message from the Oracle today. She loves the puente form so much, that she gives me doubles. 😏 I kept getting interrupted today, and then Ricky the Cat was helping me. . . I love morning moons, and I was happy to see this one setting over the Delaware River this morning. It’s very small in the photo, but it’s there.
Bitter at after, done with
his red rose lies revealed– ripping her raw, till she became wind, water– a purple storm surging, crashing on the rocks
~in shadowed mist~
dreams are created,
embracing all the ifs born of hope—or despair—lingering like the caress of the sea in the touch of a salt breeze, recalling what once was and the words that would never be said.
Winslow Homer, “Watching the Breakers” 1891
My message from the Oracle took some work today, but it finally came through, and then a bit of added inspiration from Winslow Homer. Thanks to Jane Dougherty for sharing a fix for the formatting.
Are we almost at after?
The lies of fevered fools still fly high,
fiddling as the world burns, aches, screams
and shadow figures whisper more and faster
the ferocious fight for air,
for a breath
you listen for if in the poetry of rose-tipped dawns,
when the sky smiles through clouds in bird-voiced joy,
here the scent of coffee, a cat at the window
gazing at the light of beyond, and maybe
there will be more
of perfumed breezes from blue-green oceans
of brilliant color in the darkness,
the echo of star-music, whose rhythm beats in our hearts,
recalling the before.
Today’s message from the Oracle. A double-puente, I suppose. I can’t get the spacing right.
Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield
Beneath the storm clouds
purple mist shrouds the horizon,
as cool winds blow away summer dreams
to rain into the ocean, vast and timeless
leaving a breath of perfume
~drifting in the air~
pink fish fly, and you wonder what if,
as you watch the sun with his dazzle-tongue
paint gold across a fresh blue canvas,
while diamonds sparkle on ruby-red petals,
ephemeral jewels—a smile remembered.
Another puente from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She knows about the storms here, of course. Every day the sky seems to go from grey to blue to grey again. We’ve been fortunate–all around us, people have lost power and faced flooded homes, roads, and business. Last night though, the storm got a bit scary with lots of thunder and lightning and a tornado warning.
Above the Clouds at Sunrise, Frederic Church
Some days are like a drunk goddess
in delirious abandon
toppled her glass,
sending red and pink streams
to drift like rose petals amidst
brilliant blues and greens–
until the clouds gather in grey-browed fury
and the sea roars,
sings the universe,
what comes next?
What will your ferocious heart
as time dances
through if and when–
will you remember the slow smile of twilight,
the kiss of flower-perfumed air?
My message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She likes to mix some humor in her warnings.