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.
And in the after of dreams do you whisper why, as purple shadows hover, drift, shift, slide, and sigh? Death-doused year passes, robins come again, pinked dawn sings—hope comes, hands clasped
we embrace, sun’s soft shimmer attracts gathered gulls, to hear mockingbird perform– warbles and chatter. Cruelty of spring comes in remembrance–lives lost— but still—daffodils.
For dVerse, Grace has asked us to write a seguidilla.
“The Seguidilla is: • stanzaic, written in any number of 2 part septets. (7 lines) • syllabic, 7-5-7-5 : 5-7-5 per line. There is a slight pause between L4 and L5 suggesting L4 should be end-stopped. • rhymed by assonance xAxABxB or xAxABAB. x being unrhymed. True rhyme is generally not used. • composed with a volta or change in thought between L4 and L5. • sometimes serves as a conclusion for another verse.”
Yesterday was the anniversary of the declaration of the current pandemic. Last April my mom died of Covid, the same week one of our cats died. But I’m feeling hope in the air with vaccinations and spring weather. Yesterday, our first daffodil of the season bloomed. This morning, I heard a mockingbird putting on quite a concert.
There is still sorrow and dread assuaged with sweets, and song, and bread baked fresh; poetry written, and novels read, Netflix binged, and movies seen,
yet, the days are longer and lighter, shoots are rising, nature’s colors brighter, and the crocus petals closed tight and tighter open in the noonday sun, beside the growing green
geese nibble, pair, and rest for goslings soon to come, at Spring’s bequest color blooms–though winter’s winds still test— March is capricious, betwixt and between
unsure of what’s to come, but what is not in doubt is getting a vaccine, we get the shot. With a jab, some peace of mind, who would have thought the joy in scheduling? We’ve been
in a holding pattern for so long, the world in pain, but now in spring with rising sun and gentle rain, science promoted, the orange stain demoted, the Oval Office sanitized, the government wiped clean–
dreams can rise again. Not yet, but soon, we may hug and sit together in a room, immune, though not immortal, we bloom like spring blossoms, and fighting demons seen
or not. Each step, uncertain, a shot in the dark, but we draw back the curtain and let in the light.
Well, it’s still the pandemic, and we still haven’t gone anywhere—except to get vaccines. My husband and I both got our first vaccines on Friday. We were at separate places and received different vaccines. Because the weather is supposed to be springlike later this week, we may venture out to do some outdoor, socially distanced activities. It’s still cold this morning, but the sun is shining.
Merril’s Movie/TV/Book Club: We watched The Vigil(Amazon). It’s set in Brooklyn, and concerns a man who has left the Hassidic world but agrees to be a shomer, a person who watches over a dead body for a night. There he confronts real and psychological demons. It’s a horror movie, but not the mad slasher bloody kind. It’s in Yiddish and English. I thought it was very well done, and one to think about. We watched the first season and started the second season of The Break (Netflix, in French), a mystery series set in Belgium. It starts out like the typical show of this sort—a detective with a troubled past comes to a small town and investigates a murder. However, this one really does develop into something else. I don’t want to spoil it, but he is also must confront some inner demons. I really enjoyed season 1, and I’m eager to see how season 2 will play out. I don’t mention all the things I read, but I just finished Before the Ruins, a debut novel by Victoria Gosling. It’s also sort of a mystery with inner demons; a multi-layered book with a bit of a gothic-tinge. The story is slowly revealed, and it shifts back and forth in time. The writing is beautiful. It took me a little while to get into it, but once I was, I was.
Moon song drifts, over pink-glowed sea. Gulls gather to hear the tune and circle-dance, catching currents, sing along
with dawn moon’s farewell. Remember me tonight-– her refrain floats, feather-white, and fleeting, falls to warming earth
is planted as sparkling star-gulls flock to light, and geese pair, delight to share longer days, and moon-song blooms white.
For dVerse Open Link Night where Linda is hosting. This is a shadorma sequence that I’m also linking to Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday challenge. I said about the top photo that the gulls in the picture look liked stars, and Colleen called them “star-gulls.” Originally, I was going to share a diatelle I wrote about the Hindenburg, which Linda mentioned on the dVerse prompt. However, I can’t ignore it was a Nazi propaganda ship, and the poem got very dark, and I feel more like celebrating spring today. Our crocuses are starting to bloom!
reminders that life is fraught, though there may be tranquility–
death comes to all–the lesser and the mighty fall–
and the world turns upside-down, through the wormhole
we go into another place,
embrace darkness, or find grace
in doing what is good and right
find the cracks that let in light–
I looked down a found a bit of magic.
and though I see shadows, I walk on
listening for birdsong, watching for dawn.
Delaware River at sunrise, April 2020. West Deptford, NJ
I don’t go anywhere anymore, except for walks, where I get a dose of the natural world to counteract the anxiety, fear, and the news of the crazies and the supporters of the horror in the White House. I have to remind of all the good people—my family and friends—and you readers, of course. I decided to go into the reopened park this morning, but I won’t do that again. There were too many people even at 7:30 AM to make it comfortable for me. I put on a mask (no one else was wearing one), and then it was difficult to walk quickly and breathe. I left and continued my walk down streets where no one was around, so I could walk without a mask. WP won’t let me upload my masked face photo.
No movies this week, we’re binging Star Trek: Discovery. It’s good to see Star Fleet heroes and people with morals. And I also started watching The Good Fight. I’m reminded how I like all the shows Michelle King and Robert King create: The Good Wife, Brain Dead, Evil—good actors and stories with a touch of quirkiness. Their shows always have wonderful supporting actors, too.
Shadows and reflections. Thank goodness for this little guy.
So. . .many of you know I’ve had a rough couple of weeks, and I stopped participating in this year’s NaPoWriMo and other prompts. But, here’s one on-prompt for the last day of NaPoWriMo to write a poem about something that returns. I felt like doing a bit of rhyme.