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.
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
~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.
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.
Sunrise, Pitman Golf Course, June 2020
not to the naked fool.
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
a window open to always,
never, and ever after
reflected in the glass,
past and future
in a brilliant cloud,
leaving a trace in the air,
like perfume, I breathe in
the scent of caramel and coffee
like a smile of, for
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.
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,
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
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.
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.
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,
The Oracle gave me nearly all the words for this puente, so–I just went with it.