enumeration

1
ask about cloud children
secret and ocean born

2
come dance with life
flying on foolish beginnings

3
the vast healing rhythm of green
opens slowly into always

4
stars surround the idea of time
sailing the voices of trees

5
if we listen to nothing
we can hear the universe sing

My message(s) today from the Oracle.

When I was looking for art, I stumbled on the dot collages I did for NaPoWriMo 2017. I did not do the entire month, but I did create new art for each post–the only year I’ve done that. Lately I’ve been creating a lot of the month’s art ahead of time, inspired by one or more artists’ work–Joan Mitchell, Matisse, Diebenkorn, Redon. But this might be worth trying again. I can never recreate things I’ve done in the past, so it would be interesting to see how I would approach the project now.

misdirection, or:  the politics of suicide

listing waves of change–
immense confused unwell–
a bitter solitude–
fretful shapeless still

wilderness estranged–
damaged undazzled quelled
reversed and left unmoored–
a landscape murdered killed

misunderstood deranged
hypnotic words cast spells–
a whispered mania–
the mind unravels, spills

connection broken frayed–
once Paradise, now Hell

Bjorn at dVerse gave us the challenge of writing a bref double poem. I had a lot of trouble with the rhythm of this form, a dissatisfaction that I could only resolve by making the b and c rhymes similar.

Like Punam, I looked to Jane’s Oracle 2 words for inspiration and received a similar message.

Careful

I don’t think anyone ever told me it was wrong, exactly, to spend my wishes on myself.  I could want things, ask for them, covet them, even.  But wishes were in another dimension.

The earliest thing I actually remember wishing for consistently was along the lines of “peace love and understanding”.  That was adolescence, the 60s—wasn’t every sane person wishing for the same thing? Aren’t they still?

Even now I am cautious of wishing.  But I can’t help wishing humans would consider the consequences of what we say and do, and take responsibility for what happens as a result.  And I wish fervently that we would be better caretakers of the earth and all of its inhabitants. 

And for myself, today?  I pour another cup of coffee–

watch birds
open wings, touch the sky–
all I need

For Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday where the theme chosen by Anita Dawes is what you wish for. I’m also linking to dVerse OLN, hosted by Linda.

When I was searching for this song I found more different versions of it on YouTube than any other song I’ve ever looked for. It obviously strikes a chord.

and of course, the original…

rise up

I couldn’t get the Oracle to work online this morning, so I turned to my box of magnetic tiles and arranged them on the metal magnetic poetry stand Nina gave me a few years ago. Wing was the first word to appear.

Last night I attended a Zoom memorial for a friend who died a little over a year ago. It was clear from everyone’s words that she was a shining light for all those she whose lives she intersected with. Certainly she was for me and my children, and for all her many students, some of whom spoke eloquently about her influence on their lives.

I dreamt about her–although I remember no specifics of the dream, I woke with these words on my mind–“Rise up into the truth that matters”. A fitting epitaph, We miss you Chris.

as if whispered
by a child’s dream,
magic gardens came flying–
butterfly-winged roses
inside the mothermoonship
of a songforest night

destinations

step through, not around–
inside the moon, inside dark–
be a traveler

step through, not around–
body recedes, senses flow—
become the beyond

inside the moon, inside dark,
merge with currents, remnants hewn
before conscious thought

be a traveler–
look within through lunar eyes–
transorbital guide

Sarah at dVerse provides the irresistible prompt of moon-names for October’s full moon.

I’m still obsessed with the troiku form, and I revisited my moon postcards from POPO 2021 for further inspiration.

lineage

as if always
echoes out of nowhere–
like raven shimmered,
gathered into silence,

echoed out of nowhere
on the water’s edge–
gathered into silence
like the beginning of time—

on the water’s edge,
iridescent, unfathomable–
like the beginning of time,
balanced on the horizon,

iridescent, unfathomable–
like wings thundering–
balanced on the horizon,
a whisper

like wings thundering
inside dreams–
a whisper
that begins as brume

inside dreams–
the way the sky
begins as brume,
opens and frees itself—

the way the sky
within and without
opens and frees itself,
shining

within and without–
tiny stars of stillness
shining
through light,

tiny stars of stillness–
like raven shimmered
through light–
as if always

Lindi at earthweal this week says: Write yourself into your landscape, what shapes you there and what is shaped by you? Name the gods of your rivers and skies, tell us how you live by and through them and how they live through you — let the world know they are holy! Birds always write me into wherever I am, and Crow seems to always find me. Are they gods? many ancient cultures believe so. They are certainly holy.

This pantoum was written for The Ekphrastic Review challenge which was the totem pole carved by Canadian artist Ellen Neel, below. Raven is the bottommost figure on the pole. My thanks, once again, to editor Lorette C. Luzajic for featuring my work. You can read all the responses here.

because

The Oracle insisted I use the Mustache kit this morning, and this is what she gave me there. When I was looking in the archives for art, besides the above image, I came across another one I’ve used before. That one, below, was used for one of Jane’s Yeats challenges, which she and I had just been talking about,

“Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?”
–Yeats

Crown falls with
angels and stars, laughs,
becomes seeds–
now singing,
calling to earth’s children—Come!
Touch the sacred skies!

if you believe in the mystery
life is poetry–
growing roots–calling
with the power of a stillness
beyond space or time

damaged

impossibly strewn,
all authority breaks down–
the fierce mother speaks

impossibly strewn,
feral rain roars, abstracted–
wind swims through the streets

authority breaks down,
chokes on forgotten questions–
threads turn into knots

the fierce mother speaks–
wild voices rise, converging–
elemental fire

The phrase that jumped out at me when I looked at Jane’s Oracle 2 words this week was “the fierce mother speaks”. I’ve been ruminating on it all week and finally came up with a poem yesterday. I spent a long time fooling around on the computer with the above image, which took a scan of an asemic drawing I made and added some Photoshopped images. The collage is from the archives.

Also linking to Sherry’s earthweal challenge, wild souls. Whose soul is wilder than that of Mother Nature?

I ask the Oracle about dreams

I’ve been having vivid and strange dreams this week amidst restless sleep. The moon keeps me company.

sacred fools are neither
god nor angel
not secret not magic

open to joy

they remember the rhythms
of the vast universe–
how to dance like stars
flying wild inside the sky

if you listen to breath being born
you can awaken voices

air singing oceans through trees
healing the holes
in the broken heart of night

The Oracle knows all about the moon, fools, dreams, and night.