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!
“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
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.
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.
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. . .
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.
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.
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).
Recall when we
watched the moon, a peach
rising—and
crying for
us? The sad music of dreams
and a thousand whys—
we want to
run after her and
ask of death,
of whispers,
ugly shadows, yet let it
go, to sleep, aching.
The Oracle, of course, knows everything, including the most recent example of human depravity. This is a double shadorma for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday Challenge, using synonyms for lead and follow
But here’s something else, a bit lighter. I’ve had this song in my head all week because of these prompt words–Carole King, Where You Lead.
Vincent Van Gogh, “The Sower,” Wikipedia Commons
Once there was a time to sow
to scatter seeds upon the ground
to water well and watch them grow
a time when hope was found
to scatter seeds upon the ground
to grow stalks of hate that bled
a time when hope was found
and lost among the dead
to grow stalks of hate that bled
that banished love and kindness
and lost among the dead
the acts of willful blindness
that banished love and kindness?
That can’t be how the story goes.
The acts of willful blindness?
Now’s the time to speak, oppose.
That can’t be how the story goes.
Plants seeds, a peaceful dream.
Now’s the time. To speak, oppose
is fine. See how wishes gleam?
Plant seeds, a peaceful dream,
to water well and watch them grow
is fine. See how wishes gleam–
once there was a time to sow?
We’re writing pantoums this month at dVerse, so here’s another one from me. There’s still time to join us.
Lillian has asked us to use some part of the verse from Ecclesiastes, which is also used in the song, “Turn, Turn, Turn” as a prompt.
