the always of after
leaves why to wither
lonely without root
or vine
how can never become
when?
who seeds the birdwind?
ask this quiet deep light
growing into moonsong
The Oracle was full of questions today. As are we all.
mandala
the beach at night
can moonlight tumble?
reflections transformed by waves–
diamonds in the foam
moonlight tumbles–
reflections transformed–
diamond foam
moon
light
foam
For Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday where the theme, chosen by Franci Hoffman, is the night sky. I did not get to the beach this year, but I’m remembering the magic of past summer nights by the ocean.
And once again using art from the archives.
our voices echo through distances we cannot span
life spills out
into uncontrolled
spaces—still
mystery,
still yearning for parallel
growth, revelation—
who and where
do we think we are?
tiny ex
plosions look
ing for intersecting lines
that collide and cross,
waving brains
tides hands energy
electric
magnetic–
mapping the unseen
with disturbances,
promises
of what could have been–
had lighyears
been compressed
into overlapping sounds—each
a mirrored reply
Marcy Erb’s prompt for the Kick-About #11 was the planet Trappist 1e, an earth-sized planet orbiting the Trappist-1 dwarf star 40 light years from Earth. What makes it special? Scientists believe it is potentially habitable.
But not the entire planet–“there would be only a sliver of habitability”–as the planet does not itself rotate–one side is always facing towards the sun, and the other side is always in darkness. The habitable area is called the teminator line, or in more familiar terms, the twilight zone, as it is always stranded between the darkness and the light.
The idea of a sliver of habitability seems relevant to the current situation on earth–the balance of the ecosystem is delicate, and we are narrowing that sliver day by day. My two mandalas represent my idea of Trappist 1e and the waves of exploration and communication we are sending out in the hopes of finding another blue and green island in the vast dark cosmic sea.
equinox
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.
Time Has Come Today
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.
unexplained
gathered in
like harmony
spilling out
like wings
like harmony
a stillness
like wings
unfolding
in stillness
each chord
unfolding
the world
each chord
filling
the world
with song
filling
the edges
with song
reaching
the edges
uncontained
reaching
the invisible
uncontained
singing
the invisible
to eternity
singing
beyond reason
to infinity
all needs
beyond reason
spilling out
all needs met
and gathered in
An unrhymed pantoum for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.
co(r)vid nights
For Frank Tassone’s #haikai challenge 151, autumn storm/darkness. I wanted a much gentler vision, but the Oracle was having no part of it.
delirious sleep
pounding its raw grey stormchant
wind language dreaming
mad with shadows whispering
in a momentary light
Fore and Aft
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.
stars of everything
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
hollering (75th anniversary of Hiroshima)
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
