Their Stories

Their Stories

^{Vincent van Gogh, Olive Grove}

“(There are) many stories which are not on paper, they are written in the bodies and minds of women.”
— Amrita Pritam

Browse the archives, finger-brush ancient tablets
looking for their names—

you may find a few,
the chattel and relicts of men,

repositories of seeds, like the Earth,
their roots in deep-time connection,

they whisper stories–
conquest, war-spoils, love, and loss,
their children, don’t forget.

A double dVerse challenge:
a poem inspired by a line from the work of Punjabi poet Amrita Pritam, and a quadrille (44-word poem ) containing the word “browse.”

Some of you know I’m a historian. I’ve spent a lot of time in archives trying to uncover women’s stories.

All the Echoed Whys

^{Vincent van Gogh, “Starry Night Over the Rhone,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons}

All delirious and bitter,
whispers in blue-shadow light—
“needs must,” she says,
the TV on, urging their mad dreams
of what if—

But after,
when the lathered red lust is over,
and death chants crushed,
who recalls us?
Through mist, I watch the moon—sleep, sing, shine.
And as the fiddler sprays a thousand diamonds into the sky
they soar, time-aching with echoed whys.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. This time, she really gave me everything (except echo). She obviously knows what’s going on in the world.

All the Dreams Seed-Sprung

Small seeds, scattered, sown
in sun-tilled ground, to sprout and grow

visions, love—what might be
ideas, art, poetry–

so–watered and tended, to propagate,
expanding

hopes, desires,
questions asked and answered—yes–
marriage, a family, paintings, books—or

starry-fields of flowered-dreams, seed-sprung,
everlasting.

I’m hosting Quadrille Monday today at dVerse. The prompt word is seed. Come join us!

Dreams Unknotted

“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.”
–Vincent van Gogh to his brother Theo, 1888

In wavy lines and shimmering spots,
his knotted thoughts, unspooled

the counted crows, a postman, impasto
flowers’ golden glow–

but most of all the stars, not stilled,
the night a colored motion sea–

ripples of what he saw–and dreams of what might be

A quadrille for dVerse, where Mish asked us to use the word “knot.” I read this article today about how after van Gogh’s death, the sale of his paintings—then valuable—paid for his sister Willemien’s care in a mental asylum. I suppose it helped her, but I also felt it was so tragic that she spent decades—almost forty years–there.

Before the Before, and After

Before the before
of star-danced light
and rippling time, before
there was what is now,
what was

wonder

in the after, in the bang and crash
of stellar flare and dust, there was
a time of infinite possibilities–

chance,

our meeting, or fate? All that was before,
leading to it. In the crash and bang of bodies,
we’re born

and give birth to others. And in the after,
the wonder of infinite possibilities,

chances we take, paths to follow, as the light
of the past twinkles on future dreams.

For dVerse, where Peter asks us to think about turns in poetry.

Is it All?

Vincent van Gogh, Starry Night Over the Rhone

 

Is it all

a dark dance? Fools laugh

from a vast

emptiness—

hearts or brain? I remember

stars’ light lingers long–

 

time’s magic

seen after it’s gone–

heart’s-fire,

black-erased,

loss and embraced balanced, moon-

aches and pink roses

 

beneath a blue sky–

both ifs existing

in time and

in dreams, we

soar through diamond-sprayed skies, sing

with stars. Shine, reborn.

 

 

My message from the Oracle in a Shadorma sequence, also for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday challenge. 

 

 

 

 

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. . .

They Sing and Dance Across the Sky

Vincent Van Gogh, Starry Night

 

The stars fill the sky

even when we can’t see them

they shine and sing—

 

a glowing, tumbling wing

of feathered sounds that swing

across their incandescent surfaces–

 

this sound, a lover’s soft sigh,

a parent’s croon,

a celestial lullaby

 

of wonder and why.

 

This is for dVerse,where De asked us to use the word fill in a quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words. My first lines came from Jane wondering a few days ago what it would be like to see the stars during the day. I suspect Vincent could hear their songs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is Always Magic: A Birthday Poem for Myself

Breathe away sad rhythms,

wake to morning joy—

go celebrate life’s dazzling color

 

(eat cake)

 

Listen to the poetry of the stars kissing the night sky

and remember to embrace the lingering blue

as the clouds dance in brilliant-red fire–

 

explore time’s window and the universe’s ifs

but live your heart—

there is always magic

 

(the ghosts of your ancestors smile).

 

 

The Oracle gave me this poem for my birthday.  I forgot to take a screen shot of the final version of the tiles, and we collaborated a bit, but she did tell me to eat cake.

 

Night Wind

The sky is dark,

I wait for the dawn–

branches tremble in the wind,

the silence broken with a moan,

the wind carries dreams and desire.

 

A gogyohka for dVerse Open Link Night (even though it’s now Friday morning here).