Poetry joy is open—
come dance!
Voices color a universe
with words breathing perfume
and bleeding.
Celebrate and linger–
remembering when, yet, and
always after. . .
in blue clouds of time
The Oracle gave me this bit of joy today. I think it means I should write poetry today and not bother with anything else. 🙂
I think of my dad today and how he admired Tony Hillerman’s novels, mysteries involving the Navajo Tribal Police. Once he wrote Mr. Hillerman a letter and received a gracious reply. It’s been twenty years now since my father died. He’d be ninety-nine today—perhaps he’d have new favorite books and authors. He was a man filled with passion—for food, women, art, history–and for his children and grandchildren. He thought we were the best and brightest, no question. Though he expected all to wait upon him–courtiers of the court of Lee–yet—he was generous with love, presents, and hundreds of restaurant meals. He was always proud of me and assigned my first book to his history classes. (Sorry). I wish my dad was still here to read my words. I love you, Dad. I miss you.
yellow-green stems grow
vivid blooms in summer’s heat—
then red-gold leaves fall
This is for open link night at dVerse, where Lillian is hosting. I’ve given a nod to National Book Lovers Day in my Haibun.
Spring breeze bewitches,
twitches–
fills you with an itch
to stretch and grow,
to flow
with rivers
you quiver,
undulating in delight.
Fall breeze calls–
unhitch–
enthralling you,
you switch
your sights–
to fly with geese
in victory’s V,
fleeing
through gloaming’s violet light.
This is for dVerse, now celebrating its seventh anniversary. Happy Anniversary! Grace has asked us to write a quadrille (a poem of 44 words) using the word itch.
The moon,
gorgeous gown’d
waxes at sea
on a bed of water.
Some say, she will swim,
then soar,
but I smell rain,
my feet rocked,
chanting wants,
honey music
of skin and sweat—
and you heed my moans–
the storm–
so, sleep
in the mists of time.
Félix Ziem, “The Call of the Sirens,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
A Saturday morning visit to the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. I’m not sure if I should feel empowered or forewarned.
Just before dawn, the mockingbird sings, an extensive string of melodies. Does he advertise his riches, or is he protecting his nest? I listen, captivated by his song. I take a mental snapshot of this moment to hold it tight within my cache of memories. Marked for now, but memories do not stay fixed on a map. The maple tree in which the mockingbird sits is ravaged by disease, and soon it will be cut, leaving only a stump. The birds will have to move on, flying into the air–soon gone like a thought.
dawn beguiles with song–
with bells of trills and warbling,
summer mornings ring
This Haibun is for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for bewitch and treasure.
Through the water symphony
a blue ache
of shadow and moans,
a language recalling
within us
all time’s frantic urges
of why, never, and when.
Words from my Saturday visit to the poetry Oracle.
24: “Saw a poem float by just beneath the surface, ” from Jim Harrison, Songs of Unreason
25: “A violent windstorm the night before the solstice,” from Jim Harrison, Solstice Litany
Words ebbed and flowed through my dreams
unanchored by reason, more emotion, it seemed
till thrown a line, anchored, moored a bit by thought
upon awaking, they shimmered briefly, caught
then released, to float beneath the surface—at peace.
William Heritage Winery
I saw them again, set sail by the wind
before the solstice, against the clouds, pinned
then caught by a breeze, they flew through the sky
I drank some wine, and wondered how and why
they come and go—and all the things we do not know—
why time can move both fast and slow
and when waves tumble, where do they go,
and how love can vanish, or it lasts
from youth to grow through challenges, steadfast
through dreams that ebb and flow,
like the sea, eternal, like the stars’ shimmering glow–
beacons of light in the night, ever thus, saving us.
Summer Solstice
William Heritage Winery
A bit different for my Monday Morning Musings because today is our 40th wedding anniversary.
I’m linking this to Jilly’s Day 24 and Day 25 of her 28 Days of Unreason, poetry inspired by the work of poet Jim Harrison. I will catch up on reading tomorrow.
We saw waves of flowers yesterday, and a couple just beginning married life. Light, shadows, bending time and space.
Waves of Flowers and Love
in Philadelphia
I told the poet,
I think
I think
of my dad more now,
of love not really disguised
but not quite recognized,
now the way broken
and the words unspoken.
Those days
trips to places,
open spaces,
drives to historical sites,
we always stopped
to eat,
no outing ever complete
without food,
and those restaurants,
the lingering traces,
scents and memories mined,
and entwined
with all the things
we never said–
too late regret
for what was,
remembered,
perhaps imperfectly.
Seeking to flee
our parents
and love—
the things as children
we never see
but now–
so much of them
(unfinished)
in me.
This goes with my Unfinished from a few days ago. Robert Okaji’s “Empty Cup,” got me started. I realize it also fits Jilly’s Day 16 (yesterday’s) quotation for her 28 Days of Unreason, poetry inspired by Jim Harrison’s poetry.
“You can’t write the clear biography
of the aches and pains inside your skull”
~ Harrison from Skull / Songs of Unreason
“The hardest part is when the river
is too swift and goes underground for days on end”~Jim Harrison from Songs of Unreason
Here,
heedless of morning light
or evening flight
of geese across
the river runs,
through history
of people who
in transitory transit
camped along its banks
when silver shad streamed,
fished for oysters and pearls
of wisdom
flowing from,
with,
to
the sea.
Rolling river
pushes and pulls
life through seasons
and time
changes
everything.
Turn, turn
around
and underground
the hidden bones
turn, turn
to dust–
ghosts walk
beside the water
dreaming of what was,
waiting for what will be.
Delaware River
This is for Day 14 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason–poetry inspired by the poetry of Jim Harrison.
“It is the burden of life to be many ages
without seeing the end of time.”
–Jim Harrison, From “Seven in the Woods,” in Dead Man’s Float
Dawn pursues him–
Play me a song on your lyre.
Look at me! Over here,
I’m a goddess,
be with me, my dear.
I’ll be your wife
and you’ll be granted eternal life.
It will be grand–
we’ll promenade upon the strands
of space and time–
always in our prime,
oh, it’s wonderful to be a god.
Oh, no.
Oops.
Sorry, my mistake.
I was so taken by your beauty–
(remember that time at the lake?)
I forgot to ask that you
be given eternal youth.
A sad truth, I’m afraid,
you’ll have to be brave
to see many ages
without seeing the end of time.
I’m not sure I can bear it—
but I’ll see that you have some care
when I have to lock you up away somewhere. . .
Ah, how we gods suffer
the curse of the divine.
A bit of fun this time for Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason based on Jim Harrison’s poetry. Today is Day 5.
