Listen, as Crow caws your future— winter goes, spring appears, cycles repeat forever, light to dark to light
from before time, it resonates– the afterlight of star-birds flapping their bright-feathered wings, and traveling on.
Ghost glimmers spot the sky. Humming with the moon, the sea sighs, everything connected. Now, listen again. See?
A Shadorma chain for NaPoWriMo, Day 8 inspired by my walk this morning. The crows have been so active, and right now a mockingbird is putting on quite a concert from a nearby tree. It’s a good time of year to look around and listen. Since I’m writing a daily poem for the Ekphrastic challenge, and I’m behind on all my work, I’m mostly not writing for the prompts this year. But, I do love the shadorma form. 😏
With stories, we entertain, ascertain, explain the past, another glass of wine drained, slow or fast–
is it enough? We remember to forget
how seasons turn, grey to green, but loved ones gone, remain unseen
like ghosts white blossoms drift leaving trails . . .we follow.
It’s poetry month, and I’m having a hard time getting anything else done between all the poetry writing and reading. So, I’m making my usual Monday Morning Musings very short and combining it with the dVerse quadrille prompt, where Linda asks us to write about wine.
Passover ended yesterday. I celebrated with pasta, garlic bread, and wine. During a traditional Passover Seder (Seder means order), we tell the story of the Exodus and during the course of the night drink four glasses of wine. My family, when we’re together, does a very untraditional Seder, and we drink maybe one, two. . . maybe more. I’m looking forward to seeing them someday soon.
Merril’s Movie Club: We watched Quo Vadis, Aida? It’s Bosnia and Herzegovina’s Oscar entry, and it’s a harrowing and heartbreaking, but also an excellent and nuanced movie. It chronicles the failure of the UN peacekeeping forces and the mass genocide by Serbian army in Srebrenica, as seen through the eyes of UN interpreter. The director said she had been waiting for someone to tell this difficult story, but she finally did so herself, and she does so without relying on showing tons of blood and gore. It’s available to rent on Amazon. We also watched Mank(Netflix). We both enjoyed it. It tells a fictional story of 1930s-1940s Hollywood, and the making of Citizen Kane, centered on Herman J. Mankiewicz, the writer, played by Gary Oldman. I thought Amanda Seyfried as Marion Davies was particularly good.
to power pose with practiced smile, and walk her steps and run a mile, to dial back time, and stay a while her fear of dying.
But, turning, turning, turning the Moon still glows, the sun’s still burning, And see? The green man, he’s returning to bloom the ground with flowers ‘round
where once all seemed cold and dying, awakened seeds from dreams untying, raise their tendrils trying, trying– seeking warmth and air.
Now the robin sings it clear– another orbit, another year.
This is for Paul Brookes’ Ekphrastic Challenge. This one was a difficult one for me. The poem is based on the two pieces of art above. To see all the art and poems, visit Wombwell Rainbow. This is also my NaPoWriMo poem, since I know I will not have time to get to the prompt today. So many poems, so little time! 😀
Spring comes again, another year, the ghosts stand here, but still the flowers bloom and rise.
The world is ever broken and lies are widespread and spoken– but there is light in the skies,
where geese honk and crows call, they find their mates, and above all, the songs of robin and mockingbird fly
ever as March winds wail and gust— ashes to ashes, dust to dust— the moon hums, so wise
is she, she sees beyond what has been spawned, duplicity and disease, the whys
of our existence. Yet hope comes on those wings, that trope clichéd, but all the same it cries
the truth—light in flight— longer days, golden bright flowers–each day a surprise
in bloom. And now, we vaccinate, for some, it’s come too late, and there’s no way to minimize
the loss and despair. Another year, the ghosts stand here, but still the flowers bloom and rise.
The wind is gusting this morning! Last year, Passover was at the beginning of April. We did a Zoom Passover with our daughters, and then near the end of Passover on a Monday, our Mickey cat died. The following Saturday, my mom died of Covid. This year, no one really was up for doing a Zoom Passover. I cooked some of the usual foods though, and my husband and I did our own Seder on the second night, as I was recovering from getting my second vaccine on the first night. Our daughters made the matzah covers when they were very little, and I cherish them. There is definitely hope in the air with spring and vaccines. And we are looking forward to getting together with other vaccinated family members soon.
No movies this week, but we’re on the second season of Shtisel (Netflix), and I really am so caught up with this family! I also listened to a radio play—a play we had seen in production at the Arden Theater that was reworked as a radio play, 74 Seconds to Judgement. It was very well done, and I enjoyed hearing it. I also read Klara and the Sun I highly recommend it. The book has been reviewed all over the place.
Why have I never seen the turn of spring to summer, overnight the moonlight sings sweetly into possible
the cycles—storms to sun, a daffodil, then a rose.
And if time winds through the shadows, why do I not see that beneath the ancient after, all the befores–
a language barely spoken, questions asked and lost
like faded blooms. But still, the promise, like a smile, recalled, in the robin’s song at dawn.
It took some work to get a message from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle today. I’m taking it easy after my second Covid vaccine yesterday, but the moon was humming early this morning and a robin was singing. Tonight is the start of Passover.
Once more, we tilt, revolve again toward light– winter gone, the robins sing to welcome spring as dark days pass, earth’s hues ignite
swifter than the bullets’ hate-filled flight, blue jays and red cardinals soar bright-winged, once more, we tilt, revolve again toward light.
Now in daffodil glow, the poets write of love and fate, and April’s state—that sting as dark days pass. Earth’s hues ignite,
but the moon hums to fade their sight and around us all the constellations ring– once more, we tilt, revolve again toward light.
With shots in arms, we find delight in friends and bowers, and nature’s might. As dark days pass, Earth’s hues ignite–
not in bombs, or gunshot fight, but flowers bright. Against despair and doom, to hope we cling once more. Now tilt, revolve again toward light. Watch! Dark days pass, and Earth’s hues ignite.
For dVerse, where Peter asks us to write poems that circle in some way. I was determined to write a villanelle, since I haven’t written one for a long time. I used Sarah’s template when she hosted the villanelle form for dVerse.
On the first day of spring, I take my shadow for a walk she doesn’t talk—but the crows do remembered views, the death and blight–
a year has passed upside-down and inside-out, and birdsong comes again, devours the dark as dawn glows bright from each spring night
after winds of winter go, and summer storms not yet here, she knows, to go softly on tippy-toes, then stop, perch till too soon off like a bird in flight
she soars—another year– but while she’s here—oh! She flicks colors with her feathered wings yellow, pink, purple, white—the sight
of all these tiny, bright beautiful things brings more song and whispered longings— all things yearn, and we turn, yearn, learn spring returns, despite
would-be tyrants and corona drops spread from the unmasked walking brain-dead, threads of lives unraveled and songs unsung—yet, listen, see– birds, bees, tender buds in bloom—and the light!
It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it? Now spring is back. The crows are once again very busy, the songbirds have started singing before dawn, and the light lasts longer each day. Even the cold mornings now don’t stay cold. There are still ignorant people spreading lies, and new strains of the virus also spreading, but hopefully, more people will be vaccinated before too long. I get my second vaccine later this week. We started watchingShtisel(Netflix). It’s a family drama about a religious Jewish family in Jerusalem. We’re enjoying it. We’re still on Season 1. The third season is dropping this week.
I made chana masala and garlic naan on Friday night.
We walk under an azure sky, a dream of golden glow and light-sprayed air where color blooms,
drifts in the air, swinging, winging on elegant peacock wings, it slides to the ground and bobbing, red hen-headed says
look at me, and we do and see
we are sun-drinking, blinking in the spring light uncorked, afloat, soaking in warmth and wine, awakened
to the possibilities of time, and aware of the artlessness of nature’s art. Nothing can compare—
and there is no way to counterfeit a spring day. But words can remind me to recall the mockingbird’s song, the dazzling shimmer of sunlight on blue water, and the way we laughed,
and how I drank deeply love and laughter, the color of garnets, glowing in the setting sun.
Today it is cold and windy, but last week, we had some perfect, beautiful spring days. Spring is definitely capricious. It’s still the pandemic, but we actually got out to some new venues, while remaining safe and socially distant. We sat outside at William Heritage Vineyards, where the chickens were walking about and looking for handouts. We visited Grounds for Sculpture on the most beautiful day.
Merril’s Movie/Theater/TV Club: We watched the Lantern Theater’s production of The Craftsman. This is an excellent play by Bruce Graham and a well-done production. (We saw it in the theater, too.) You can still buy tickets to stream it. It’s based on the true story of Han van Meegeren, who was prosecuted in the Netherlands for selling art to Nazis, particularly Vermeers. It turns out the van Meegeren painted the works himself. The play has a lot to say about art, art criticism, the law, and collaboration with enemies. We also finished the Belgian mystery The Break (Netflix), which we both enjoyed.