Look for magic
on a fire cloud—breezing
to embrace the laughing breath of stars–
almost an eternity of rhythm–
born if and always
to linger—
so, when waked
ghosts go (never sadly)
but after-voiced lie healed,
so old and sacred,
time-kissed
and remembered–
And we will celebrate that which was
and like angels dance
over brilliant blushing skies–
a universe at peace
This the birthday poem the Oracle gave me.
Ask about coffee,
but explore champagne.
Linger at cool marble angels—
live time,
but breath the secrets of ghosts.
Wake and be dazzled.
Look! The stars smile.
Embed from Getty Images
Once again, the Oracle knows.
When the Stars were Bright
He wooed her when the stars were bright,
she liked the way he smiled at her.
He kissed her first one moonlit night–
she thought, “he is my future.”
She liked the way he smiled at her,
not knowing then his smiles would fade.
She thought, “he is my future,”
forgetting daylight darkens to evening shade.
Not knowing then his smiles would fade
when hardship came in winter cold,
forgetting daylight darkens to evening shade
and so, her youthful dreams remained untold.
When hardship came in winter cold,
he packed a bag and sailed away,
and so, her youthful dreams remained untold
to him, but she was glad he had not stayed.
He packed a bag and sailed away.
She remembered the things she had not said
to him, but she was glad he had not stayed,
caressing her belly as she lay on their bed.
He kissed her first one moonlit night
(she remembered it so well.)
He wooed her when the stars were bright–
to their babe, that’s all the story she’d tell.
Joseph Noel Paton, “Hesperus, the Evening Star, Sacred to Lovers,” 1857 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
This is for dVerse. Björn asked us to write a poetic narrative. Jane and Kerfe have me thinking of pantoums.
I wrote this while listening to the Kavanaugh hearings. . .it started out much darker. . .
“It may be the luckiest and purest thing of all to see time sharpen to a single point. To feel the world rise up and shake you hard, insisting that you rise up, too somehow. Some way.”
–Paula McClain, Love and Ruin
“We can never go back to before”
Lynn Ahrens and Steve Flaherty, “Back to Before,” Ragtime
Once we had two maple trees in front of our house. They provided shade for our house and shelter for wildlife. But they were diseased and had to be cut down. The birds and squirrels have moved on. We will plant daffodils around the stumps, and life will continue, though we can never go back to before.
green leaves turn golden,
sun sings grey skies blue again,
flowers smile hello
Once people saw tyranny and began to rebel with acts of resistance against their government and king. Time sharpened to a single point for some then. They felt the need to rise up. They launched a revolution that was bloody and horrible, as all wars are, that divided families and friends.
sweethearts say goodbye
leaves sigh and fall from the trees–
red blood on white snow
Old Pine Street Church Graveyard, Philadelphia
But it was also a revolution of words and actions that created a new nation, the first written constitutions, and gave some hope for freedom and equality to all—though that did not come about till after another war and new laws. We harken back to before, but we can never go back.
And why would we want to?
demagogue appeals
blames “The Other” for problems–
false hopes and false words
Wishing on the wood of the last Liberty Tree. Museum of the American Revolution, Philadelphia
Azure skies send us
outdoors to eat–a plus
seated where we gaze
at history and listen
to the foreign phrase
of people who pass by
and wonder why
they’re here, but know
they come and go–
in this city of hope and despair
filled with travelers
and immigrants,
rising like the nation and the sun
on the famous chair.
We watch a movie,
the wife behind the great man,
though she’s really greater than
he is,
she says she is “a kingmaker,”
but more than that—
this is
a nuanced performance
that show the complexity
of relationships—
which is
the basis of government, too,
and I think of the before
when we had a king
and bid him adieu
and now the one
who longs to be king
daily sings
(so unbirdlike he tweets
never soft and never sweet)
Will we let the kingmakers
let it happen?
Well, as the foot-tapping
musical notes, “history has its
eyes on you.”
It is complex,
and perhaps what we need
is a nuanced performance.
Though the choice seems simple—
do what you need to do.
Do not believe the lies.
Do not support the liars.
Let’s not go back to before
when I did not have a voice,
when women did not have a choice,
when people I love could not love,
when people I admire could not vote—
keep this sinking ship afloat.
I feel time sharpening and shadows gather.
But ask the star
how it dazzles and
kisses air with joy—
We are prisoners of time,
embrace its rhythm
and smile.
Once there were two maple trees, but now they are gone. . .
yet life goes on.
We visited the Museum of the American Revolution. Saw the movie, The Wife. Trailer here.
Here is Marin Mazzie, who died last week, singing, “Back to Before.”
NGC 6744 Hubble, NASA, ESA, and the LEGUS Team
If we did not wake to lingered mornings
and flowers dancing to celebrate
a day opening,
voices with colored breath laughing
to heal the sad rhythm of haunted nights,
we would listen for stars’ fevered breath–
remember time sailing
The Oracle was full of words and wonder today.
A child, a girl, explores,
lingering with the red star.
(Open it.)
It will fool the dark cloud
and no one need live a life
bleeding, dirty, and sad.
But this then—
you must listen to
voices throb in ocean rhythms,
secrets of time and universe make magic.
Go and wake.
Let your heart breeze
with peace.
Embed from Getty Images
A bit of surrealism? A myth from the Oracle?
“Just beyond the bruised lips of consciousness.”
–Jim Harrison, “Birds Again”
I linger
for moment
just on the edge of consciousness–
why can’t we remember that moment
when we free fall
into another orbit–
that split second
we escape the mundane
to fly–
in dreams,
a secret world revealed,
opened,
I taste the stars on my lips
and wake to find the world glittering.
This is for Day 10 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason—poems inspired by Jim Harrison’s Poetry.
“What beauty in this the darkest music
over which you can hear the lightest music of human
behavior, the tender connection between men and galaxies.”–Jim Harrison from “Warbler,” in Dead Man’s Float
When all is dark and without cheer, can you hear the stars sing the light?
In music that glistens–shhh—stop and listen—you’ll hear the stars sing the light.
The baby at breast, suckling at rest, gurgles to hear the stars sing the light.
The mother, fraught, pauses in thought, smiles as she hears the stars sing the light.
When war brings the music of anger and tears, can you hear the stars sing the light?
When you march to the pipes for conflicts and strife—do you fear to hear the stars sing the light?
Tell children separated and lives negated—look up–hear the stars sing the light.
Though your life is horrid and rough, and it’s not enough–yet hear the stars sing the light.
From the cracks in the darkness, beyond the hard-hearted, do you hear the stars sing the light?
In delicate streams, when all is as seems, do you dream to hear the stars sing the light?
In tender connection, we strive for direction, seeking to hear the stars sing the light.
Thus, Merril-y I strive and away my fears drive–to hear the stars sing the light.
Yesterday was darkness, so today is light. This ghazal is for Day 7 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason–poems influenced by Jim Harrison’s poetry. Anyone can join in the fun!
Cobble me
lights, shiny bright
stepping stones–
a path to roam
up in the night,
past the moon
and her humming tune,
lightly skip
through Pleiades–
those starry seas–
make this road
wide enough for two,
and when through,
we’ll turn around
homeward bound.
This is for dVerse, where De Jackson (aka Whimsy Gizmo) has asked us to write a quadrille, a poem of 44 words, using the word cobble.
“The cost of flight is landing“
The cost of flight
is landing
heavy and earthbound
after soaring
weightless in a fantasy–
of scintillation
carried by solar winds
into a starry sea.
But then
at night,
we hear—again–
the whispers of dreams
sighing, straying souls.
We remember,
gathering their fraying tatters
making them whole,
and once more—
glide high and far,
and free.
This is for Day 2 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason using quotations from the poetry of Jim Harrison.
