Don’t Ask the Moon

^{Odilon Redon, The Boat}

Don’t Ask the Moon

Imagine the world without
the cycles of dawn’s kiss planted on a sheet of blue,
and evening’s fish with their scale-scattered glimmer
lighting the indigo sea and shimmering on the river.

I wonder if there was a was–
or color or light–
before what came before such things

as bird and bee-breathed blooms,
a blanket of daffodils laid upon the grass,
and the song of the wind in the trees, or frost flowers’
blossoming clouds of white,

but the moon says, “Don’t ask. Behold! You know.”

I had a hard time focusing on the Oracle this morning–and, well, she and the moon work together. I think this is a new to me Redon, too.

Sun-Follower

Odilon Redon, “Béatrice”

Who wants to watch the time?
The sun whispers, her hot-petaled head
sweating light. Together we soar into the beyond.
And if I ask about purple storms and darkness,
she only sings of golden rays,
and if I ask about after, she murmurs of the dawn
in rose-colored poetry, trailing a feathered sigh.
She is an ancient wanderer. I follow her through shadows
not remembering
before, only this timeless circling.

The Magnetic Poetry Oracle gave me most of the words right away today. She may have been watching the eclipse this week.

A Vision

She asks if
you can see it–the cool blue of time–
sprays of rose-pink, leaf-green,
cerulean, indigo, and diamond-sprinkled light–
a storm-dance of life to
the secret songs of stars and
the harmony of moon-music—listen–
now, the whisper of blood-dreams,
and the language of wind and sky,
dark voices of decay join bright beams–
an exhale–
the brilliant breath of the universe,
an icy cloud of fever-flowers soars
into the after,
leaving a trail, ferocious, wild, aching—
almost there, dazzled,
you ask if
this is a beginning or an ending? But
she is gone.

The Magnetic Poetry Oracle gave me a oracle poem. She gave me “ask if” every time I tried it.

What Then?

 

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.

Truth and Beauty

 

Moon,

fragment

of larger

star-tossed bodies,

do you ring the rings,

in rhythmic melodies,

beauty unheard by mortals?

Rocky surface a void–or not–

universal truths of the cosmos

perhaps not universal or the truth.

 

This is an etheree for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday challenge, using synonyms for empty and space. I read that astronomers have discovered 20 new moons circling Saturn, making a total of 82.

I’m taking a quick poetry break. I’m sorry I’m so behind on reading posts. The book is almost done.

 

 

 

Is it, Was it, Ever Thus?

Show me the beauty

beneath mist a thousand pictures,

in shadow whispers

time’s music urges, please

recall when,

and if—

was it so

or no?

 

 

Claude Monet, “Waterloo Bridge, Effect of Fog,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

The Oracle was being coy today. It took me a few attempts to coax anything from her, and then apparently she looked outside my window to see the misty day.

The Scent of Wonder: Quadrille

The child peppered the sky with questions,

Why do my tears and the ocean taste salty?

Why does this plant taste like lemon,

but my cat smells like nutmeg?

A moon-breeze carried the scent of roses and wonder–

she understood then, everything is connected.

 

This is for dVerse. Kim has asked us to write a quadrille using some form of the word pepper in honor of the 50^th Anniversary of the Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.