The Universe in Motion

Comet Hale-Bopp Attribution: Philipp Salzgeber / CC BY-SA 2.0 AT (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/at/deed.en)

Born before our before,

traveling till after our after,

ice and dust of timeless time,

 

the molecules of cosmic gases,

atoms of our world, forever

and after

 

the comet revolves through space

around the sun–our shining star–

our light-filled center, we circle it

 

year after year, through revolutions,

revelations in art, technology, war

to peace and back to war, revolve, resolve

 

to see this ball of light,

the icy comma tail–

it comes and goes

 

and we continue, revolving

electrons within us spin,

looking to connect

 

to something,

We’re attracted, we’re repulsed–

between darkness and light,

 

revolving

revolving

revolving.

 

I’m hosting dVerse Poetics today. The prompt is revolution.Come join us!

Embrace It

 

In shadow dreams,

the moon whispers, honey-voiced,

of wonders and if

love comes like a summer storm

 

embrace it–

 

but bring a cat–

and champagne–

for time circles

haunted by almost and never—

through open windows—look, listen

as the universe laughs

in sparkling light

 

a spray of diamonds on velvet,

beyond reach, but constant.

 

It took some time to get my message from the Oracle today–though she was very clear about the cat and champagne.

 

 

 

 

 

Circles

Puddle Reflection, May 2020. Upside down world, fleeting or timeless?

 

And after,

do the birds still sing–

the bardo

in-between

past and future, everything

rippling, light circles

 

to before,

the after, before

time begins,

radiant

waves humming—the sound of dreams–

forever’s spindrift.

 

A shadorma sequence for Colleen’s challenge because she admired this photo I took during a morning walk when I got caught in the rain. The challenge theme is “the day after,” chosen by Elizabeth of Tea & Paper. Also, this is Colleen’s 175^th poetry challenge!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Power: NaPoWriMo, Day 3

 

Flowers have a power–

in their beauty they fascinate,

falling in April showers,

almost without weight,

 

ethereal in form,

adrift to winds of fate–

do they weather the storm,

acclimate, accommodate

 

to changing times?

The sun’s rising position

also creates shadowed lines.

The flowers, without ambition,

 

hold some power nonetheless,

ensorcelling spirits lure squirrels and birds,

send ramblers on quixotic quests

with cockeyed verbs and lovesick words.

 

But now, robin and mockingbird know,

from the bowers, small throats mightily sing–

so, away the cold and the snow

and come the irresistible songs of spring.

 

Thus, the power of flowers

though it seems the most fleeting of things

fuels hope and love through hours

to soar high on feathered wings.

 

The prompt for Day 3 of NaPoWriMo asked us to create word banks and to use rhymes and repeat words. I took some words from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle and then went from there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Surfacing

Guillermo_Gómez_Gil_-_Salida_de_la_luna

 

I hear gorgeous music

in this sky of purple-pink–

it whispers a symphony of when

and if

 

and after

 

I go,

the sea will still sing

of blue moons

and coming storms

 

screaming in silver spray–

 

while beneath,

shadows swim

in the cool grey water

together, soaring,

 

surfacing

 

to taste the wind

on their tongues

and feel the light of distant stars

shimmering through the mist of time.

 

My Saturday morning collaboration with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. This started as a puente, but then it kept going. Sometimes the Oracle has more to say.

 

Stars Falling

Vincent van Gogh – Starry Night on the Rhone, 1888

 

Beneath a spray of tiny diamonds

the wind whispers a dream–

a poem murmured,

of a path through cloud blossoms

in the universe’s garden–

time lingers there

 

~in secret rhythms~

 

shadows dance here

under the honeyed moon

and the air carries the scent of if,

like the air before a storm,

as I wake, remembering

stars falling in fragrant petals

 

A puente from a collaboration with the Oracle. Most of the words came from one set of tiles, with a few from another set. I was dreaming poetry the other night–it wasn’t this–but the Oracle knows. . .

Impermanent and Fine

 

Sun and clouds reflected on the surface of the Delaware River, Feb. 24, 2020     Merril D. Smith

 

I watch the apricot sun settle

in feathered-grey clouds

reflected in the water

 

the rocks on the shore–

with time,

they’ll crumble

 

washed by the river,

polished by the rain,

burnished in the golden glow

 

I walk with long shadow legs

into the twilight,

as the geese honk farewell.

 

Scientists say

Betelgeuse may soon explode–

but I look up at the moon, waxing,

 

it will be here long after I’m gone,

but now, it lights my way

home to you.

 

This poem is for my dVerse prompt, Impermanence. So, I didn’t come up with anything particularly unique because I was inspired by this photo I took yesterday while walking by the river. Come join us with your thoughts.

 

 

 

Snowflakes and Time

“Every snowflake has an infinite beauty which is enhanced by knowledge that the investigator will, in all probability, never find another exactly like it.”

—Wilson Bentley

Beneath a frantic cry

a need for love

is carried on the wind

over a thousand summers

through winter storms of snow and ice,

the moon hums

***

There is no present the man says,

only past and future,

no division between beach and sea,

only water and sand

both existing together.

 

“In physics there’s no arrow of time.”

In a place beyond our beyond

the past might be the future,

perhaps time existed

before our universe.

 

My toddler daughter once asked

“Do you remember when I was in your belly

and I hiccupped and that made you laugh?”

A conversation that she no longer remembers,

but that I still do—

 

that moment in time

frozen—no–

like a movie in my mind—

the improbable (could she have remembered?),

the reality

 

of mothers and daughters

over and over through time

we’ve moved my mother to a new facility–

she is exhausted,

she is exhausting.

It is an exhausting week.

Time seems to work differently,

dragging, then suddenly gone.

The world is wind and clouds

I am housebound–

by work

not trapped–

but constrained by deadlines

and circumstances

and January grey.

 

The snowstorm-that-isn’t comes

and goes–

nevertheless, I cook and bake–

comfort food, candles, and wine

while we watch the trapped Icelandic town

caught by weather and geography,

old grievances and new politics.

The world is weary everywhere

trapped by hate,

mired in ignorance.

 

My daughter says there’s a good musician here,

if you’re not doing anything today?

We’re not

and we go

listen to music, drink some wine–

 

It’s an afternoon out

but inside—away from the wind—

a moment in time, different,

as each snowflake, and ephemeral

but carrying its unique beauty in our memories

 

through time

(whatever that may be).

 

 

It’s been a strange week with moving mom and cleaning out her old apartment. While driving, we listened to an episode of the Ted Radio Hour, Episode “Shifting Time,” first broadcast in 2015.

We’re watching an Icelandic mystery series called Trapped. We’re almost finished with the first season, and we’re enjoying it.

Endings to Beginnings to Endings

 

This may be my mother’s last move. We fold old years into new boxes; rearrange the past to fit the present. But somewhere, in some bit of time-space, the what was, still is. I stare at a painting on her wall. There’s a small red figure among the winter birch trees. Have I never noticed it before, or have I forgotten? It has always been there. I see it now.

 

Silvered bare branches

in moonlight they dream of spring–

leaves fall, new buds bloom

 

A Haibun for dVerse, where Björn has asked us to write about a beginning.

 

 

 

 

North Wind, or Ebenezer’s Dream

North wind blows

gusting. Bustling

 

come the spirits

past and future here

 

carrying scents of cinnamon,

and good cheer, meeting, greeting

 

dreams, desires—

they swirl, cross-sweeping

 

without hurry, but you scurry

because the world seems blurry

 

till you wake–settled–somehow—

allow the now.

 

A bit of fun for dVerse, where De has asked us to write a quadrille using the word spirit.