In Blue Sea Whispers

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.

Watching, Waiting

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!

Early Morning

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
yes~

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.

If I Ask

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.

The Story of Flowers

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.

Moon Mornings

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,

and if

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.

Watching the Breakers

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.

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.

Almost: Before or After

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

words

of peace

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.

Beneath the Storm Clouds

 

116876902_3537937762886128_8091612955751681893_o

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.

 

109338887_3492557997424105_4274034038699989426_o

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.

What Then?

 

512px-Above_the_Clouds_at_Sunrise_Frederic_Edwin_Church

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,

 

~what then,~

 

sings the universe,

what comes next?

 

What will your ferocious heart

celebrate

 

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.