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

 

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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.

 

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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?

 

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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.

The Blue of New Beginnings

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Flowers seen during my walk this morning.

 

Flowers almost embrace

the blushing clouds of morning

broken by a kiss of light,

and the blue of new beginnings

lifts the purple shadows

and soars

 

~through an open window~

 

birdsong, music of summer mornings

calls rain, recalls life

in honeyed glow—

dream whispers that linger

in pink sprays, above the trees

the wind sings if, when, now.

 

My message, another puente, from the Oracle. She likes to be a bit enigmatic, but she knew–of course–that I went out for a long walk this morning.

 

 

 

 

In the Vast Before

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NASA Goddard Space Flight Center from Greenbelt, MD, USA [Public domain]

 

With a dazzle dance, a star is born

to linger into the when 

and what of time

do they know or remember?

 

And does a ghost eye eternity

with darkness or cool calm?

If is the faint trace of a kiss,

 

~in the vast before~

 

there was a laughing breeze

that healed hearts–

open a window—

 

look for the brilliant cloud,

a pink blush wrapped in blue,

carrying the magic of ever

and after, reach for its shadows and light.

 

Another variation on the puente form from the Oracle.

Celebrate. . .but

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Sunrise, Pitman Golf Course, June 2020

 

Celebrate,

but listen–

not to the naked fool.

 

Drink,

but not the dark brews

of pseudo-science and demagogues.

 

Celebrate and drink 

in the dazzling beauty of sky, sea, and flowers

that bloom and dance in the breeze.

 

Listen for good,

for healing and laughter,

for all the ifs

 

time offers

 

a window open to always,

never, and ever after

reflected in the glass,

 

past and future

in a brilliant cloud,

ghosts

 

leaving a trace in the air,

like perfume, I breathe in

the scent of caramel and coffee

 

that floats,

like a smile of, for

eternity.

 

My message from the Oracle. She does love the Puente form, even though she likes to play with it.

It’s Independence Day here in the U.S., the fourth of July, when we celebrate the anniversary of when the Second Continental Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence in 1776. The Oracle is obviously disgusted with the display the current and supremely ignorant inhabitant of the White House decided to put on last night, where he played to the basest of his base.

 

Not Never, Always

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My mother sings in dreams,

not of death, but light

holding promises of if–

soar, she cries,

why whisper what you want

when your words can fly,

 

~reaching~

 

for you, I wake,

as the robins rouse the sun

to blossom in apricot splendor.

Their voices carry on the wind–

a song that makes the flowers dance,

and I watch, at peace

 

~in this moment~

 

the world searches

for hope,

sending out wishes on stars

with a laugh,

time sings through a thousand rivers,

not of never, but of always.

 

I tried several sets of tiles, and the Oracle kept giving me the same words. I hope I interpreted her message correctly. A Puente is technically two stanzas connected by a bridge stanza, but the Oracle had more to say, so this is a double Puente.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Dream of Ancient Light

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Franz Marc, The Dream

 

Born of ferocious fire clouds—

angel or ghost?

An almost there, like

a trace of perfume lingering

in the indigo night

from bright blooms blanketing fields

in colored harmony

 

~vivid and haunting~

 

somehow like a dream–

of verdant paths with deer and ponies,

where we bird-fly over the bluest river

into the secret of when

and what was, and here—

we follow tendrils of sun-songs

to the ancient light of then and if. . . forever.

 

The Oracle made me work for this puente today.  The humidity has lifted, and a mockingbird is putting on a concert in my backyard.

 

 

.

 

 

 

The Moments Between

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Odilon Redon, “The Muse on Pegasus”

 

In the moments between

the dream hours

she joins my father

in the timeless night–

not asking if this universe

is real or true,

 

~only that it is~

 

all I can embrace–

the magic of a laugh,

the sun dancing in

the promise of a new morning,

and the rhapsodic songs of the stars,

lingering.

 

The Oracle gave me nearly all the words for this puente, so–I just went with it.