gather well
in preparation
for winter
give good thanks
harvest the sharing
nature’s gifts
day then night
opposite equal
complete whole
wheel turning
the waning of light
enfolding
I’ve borrowed this birdlings collage from the archives to illustrate Frank Tassone’s #Haikai Challenge this week, autumn/spring equinox.
I haven’t seen the birdlings since my previous move–they may be in storage. But they are always here in spirit.
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
–Sylvia Plath, “You’re”
feet to the stars
two places at once
and moon-skulled–
who will ride the ghost horse?
two places at once
floating on nothing–
who will ride the ghost horse,
the pulse of here and now?
floating on nothing
above the bones of the landscape–
the pulse of here and now
on every breath–
above the bones of the landscape,
casting the spirit away
on every breath–
sojourners through the dark,
casting the spirit away,
spiraled like serpents–
sojourners through the dark,
upside down, reversed,
spiraling like serpents
and moon-skulled–
upside down, reversed–
feet to the stars
This is what I was trying to post when I realized they had switched me to the block editor and I could not figure out how to add an image. I actually did finally figure it out, but I still dislike it and find all the extra steps necessary to put a post together annoying. I am glad to still be able to do things the simple and direct way through WP Admin.
Jade, at dVerse, posted in Poetics about clowns and their many manifestations. She gave us a choice of using clown in our poem, or using a line from one of the three poems she provided for illustration. I chose the Plath line quoted above–could I resist the word “moon-skulled”?
My poem, Our Lady of Scarlet, based on a painting of Marchesa di Casati, by Augustus John, is posted today on The Ekphrastic Review, along with Jane Dougherty and other writers. I did not look up the Marchesa until after I had written my poem, but I think the artist captured the essence of her life in his portrait. What I saw without knowing the facts seems very close to the truth.
You can read my poem here.
My thanks once again to editor Lorette C. Luzajic for supporting my work and the interaction between the visual and written arts.
I was told by several people I could post the old way by going to WP Admin–and it works. I will still be absent for awhile as I am entering the final stages of moving–I’m packing up my computer today. But I’ll be back before the end of September.
You can sometimes combine the beginning with the end. But take care. The interplay must never be rippled—look for translucence, a changing density that mirrors the journey of the stars. Listen, then turn around. Threaded into the horizon you will sometimes find the edges. Two of nothing will show you the way.
The clock invited me into its worn house, where twice a day there was a meeting place that balanced on the verge of departure. Forward or backward? I became lost in the movement, spinning around into all directions, endlessly lost inside each new location.
If I had found the common denominator…if I had been able to reconfigure what was left behind…if I could have traveled in tandem with the shadows…but if is not when. It is over, said and done.
It was a time and there was never enough of it.
For Prosery Monday at dVerse, Merril gave us a quote from Allison Adelle Hedge Coke: when it is over said and done/it was a time/and there was never enough of it. I ended up writing with a stream of consciousness hangover.
For my art, I took an old collage and superimposed it on a newish painting in Photoshop. As soon as I read the quote I thought immediately of this song.
Sea, moon, sails–
are words a story?
Wonder. Where.
The journey
ends. Compassed and jibed. Adrift
and dreaming. Betides.
A shadorma for Colleen’s #tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for circled and squared, and for Sarah at dVerse who asks us to consider boats.
Once again I’ve dipped into my art archives for the illustrations.
In my childhood, even our suburban house was only half a block from woods and meadows and creeks to explore. We had no devices to keep us indoors, and we went outside at every chance. There were still open spaces, for butterflies dragonflies tadpoles bees creeks meadows woods trees rocks sky prickers blackberries colors and clouds and wind—we ran wild, my mother just told us to be home for dinner, who does that now? They would take your children away from you.
I had the companionship of trees plants wild things animals and such clouds to contemplate–I used to lie on my back in the grass and just look at the sky, what was I thinking? Maybe thoughts beyond thought before thought. Now my mind is so busy it never stops to just be and let the world run through like a river like the wind.
watching my
child-self lying in
a bed of
green—tree bird
sky—everything is opened
up, shining—the world
explodes in
to a forever,
endless waves
merging as
they ebb and flow—cascading
landscapes shouting yes!
Sarah at earthweal asked us to think how we connected with nature in childhood. I took sentences and lines from 5 previous posts–especially I remembered writing about this subject in a collaboration I did with Claudia McGill, and the bulk of the text is from there.
The art was done as a homage to artist Thornton Dial–I took his title, Stars of Everything, and made my own collage and accompanying words. He knew about the power of art.
“Art is like a bright star up ahead in the darkness of the world. It can lead peoples through the darkness and help them from being afraid of the darkness….Art is a guide for every person who is looking for something.”
–Thornton Dial
I hold my own hand
and step into that place
I don’t know and can’t see–
I was always making it up,
but in reaction,
waiting for clues–
Now I see only myself,
my indecision mirroring back
and making me hesitate–
More than a crossroads–
paths appear everywhere
as the center shifts–
I sway with choices–
pick a card, any card–
eeny meeny miny mo
I wrote this for the earthweal weekly challenge strange world. When I went to post it today, I realized it’s the 75th anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing, so I decided to include some of the art and words from my previous 70th anniversary post.
The madness of humanity has been evident for a long time.
no meaning no sense
words are lost is there a way
to stop this bleeding
What are we going to do about it?
This is our cry.
This is our prayer.
Peace in the world.
–inscription on the Children’s Peace Monument in Hiroshima
http://www.nippon.com/en/images/k00009/
also linking to dVerse OLN hosted by Lillian
Do we bless the worn, the weary,
the visible scars?
or do we replace what remains
and begin again, forget?
What do we owe the elements
that lack breath?
They too hold spirits–
remembering, keeping watch—
sentinals of imperfect journeys–
the everything of alive
For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.
Because of all the energy usage due to the heat, Con Ed has been threatening power outages for weeks. Now it’s the tropical storm/hurricane. I haven’t had power problems except for intermittent internet. So if I’m not around much, that’s why.
The day was packing heat,
hanging it like a curtain
between me and the world–
dampening all sound,
clogging the airways,
slowing synapses down.
The open windows
provided no threshold
of relief–no wind
came knocking.
You can neither forecast
nor change
the way the currents
move you, or strand you
unmoved, trapped
in a density that refuses
to vacate.
Some days have wings–
but most rely on gravity
to anchor them–
to keep them
safe from the whims
of Gods.
The Kick-About #7 Challenge is Walter Richard Sickert’s painting, Ennui, above. Ennui is most closely associated with boredom, but it is heavy with an attitude that it seems to me is mostly posturing. It’s a self-indulgence of the privileged who needn’t even be bothered with the daily tasks of life like cooking or washing clothes, or even gardening, as they have servants to deal with such mundane things.
Boredom infers monotony which does reflect the world many of us inhabit right now–the endless days and hours that we can’t keep track of anymore. But it’s not really boredom. I have no problem filling my days, though I can’t always point to what exactly it is I’ve filled them with. But I find it hard to focus, to find motivation, and I’m often anxious and uneasy and feel unsettled and displaced. The relentless heat is no help.
That’s what I tried to capture in my August grid and poem. The pandemic world of now seems to box you in, surround you with a sameness of grey.
The eye in my grid is a serendipitous borrowing from Marcy Erb.
I stand facing the ocean
tides of wing and air–
time fades into mystery,
emptied of illusions
tides of wing and air
held in light–
emptied of illusions
I swim in dream languages
held in light
horizon merges into skylandsea–
I swim in dream languages,
wordless songs that awaken stories
horizon merges into skylandsea
consumed by rivers of stars–
wordless songs that awaken stories
mirrored in ethereal blue
consumed by rivers of stars
time fades into mystery–
mirrored in ethereal blue
I stand facing the ocean
For earthweal, sacred (sea)scapes. How many poems have I written about the sea? As many as I have about birds and stars and moons. This unrhymed pantoum contains lines from many of them. The artwork is from my many previous ocean-themed posts as well.
