this blurred journey
not only nameless but
all the rhythms are abbreviated–
in a silent cinematic slow motion–
a composite of fragments
neither awake nor asleep–
a perpetual absence
what when where
For dVerse, where Linda has given us the quadrille word of slip, and earthweal, where Brendan asks, “What comes next?”
four leaf clover–
the greening magic
on different wings
June always reminds me of my childhood summers, spent almost entirely outdoors. Looking for 4-leaf clovers was one recurring activity.
calling me home
For Colleen’s #tanka tuesday, using a quote supplied by Merril Smith, below, as inspiration.
“How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world.”― William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
I’ve been in a creative funk the past few days, so I consulted the Oracle for some help with my shadorma sequence. And once again, I’m recycling some old art.
within the workings
of a life
home by remembering the
rhythms of the stars
trees that grow between
to the cycles stitched full through
what shines from the heart
Imagine a window
in a wall that is constructed
of fear and superstition
Imagine an open window–
it does not exist because
no one has built a wall for it
bloomings that subsist only
in the invisible world of the window
growing in the unseen air,
releasing the imprisoned breath
Imagine a window,
a portal to what isn’t there–
a borderless unceilinged sky
Laura at dVerse asks us to make some room. And Sherry at earthweal asks us to consider all that is wrong with the world and how we can make things right. As John Lennon knew, our ability to change is often just a failure of our imagination.
I thought the birdlings were appropriate to these words. And the window is an old collage based on the work of Miriam Schapiro, who knew a thing or two about both portals and collage.
Broadway is dark now, vacant. The only lights to be seen shine out of hastily abandoned office windows, or from traffic lights that change for invisible crowds.
Makeshift stages shrink to fit into screens, the audience now virtual. Dreams stand still, waiting between hope and grief.
dancing voices pause–
forever on the verge of
opening to spring
Billy Joel wrote this song in 1976, inspired by the NY Daily News Headline “Ford to City: Drop Dead”. And in 2020 we have a parallel line: “Trump to New York: Drop Dead”.
But we’ll be back.
For dVerse Haibun Monday, hosted by Kim. We’re thinking about Mondrian’s ‘Broadway Boogie Woogie‘.
the language of gone–
a call without a response,
so loud it can’t be
heard—a silence entombed in
itself—on the other side
My poem “Obituaries”, is one of the responses to Joaquin Torres Garcia’s painting, “Pintura” (below), posted on The Ekphrastic Review today. The three poems on this post were composed from parts of it.
Frank at dVerse challenged us to write some 5-line Japanese form poems. I must confess that I like the 5-7-5-7-7 form of the tanka, now considered by purists to be false. Whatever you call it, I still think it works well as a way to focus thought and express feelings.
the language of absence
language of gone
the before of never
the language of death
The new definitions for writing tanka and haiku confuse me, and I have no idea how to write something that will satisfy the powers that be, although I keep writing 3 and 5-line poems. And although I recognize a well-written gogyohka, and understand the single line-single breath idea, I have difficulty naming anything I’ve written with that label as well.
But and so…in my continued pruning mode, I’ve taken the posted poem (which was itself severely pruned several times) and turned it into three 5-line poems. Hopefully they fit the dVerse prompt in some manner.
My thanks to editor Lorette C. Luzajic for once again featuring my work. You can see my poem “Obituaries”–the original from which these 5-line poems were taken–and read all the other responses as well, here.