mandala

weightless

weightless__reaching comp

open the
sky, wash the air with
colors, sing
the wind far
and over the veiled secrets
hidden and exposed

written in
the patterns of land,
dancing on
particles
of distilled light, taking all
and then returning

voyagers
on boundless oceans
flowing be
yond, unfurled,
spinning with spirits, flying–
exploding like stars

I was revising a poem (perhaps posted before–my record-keeping is spotty at best) into shadorma form for Colleen’s #tankaTuesday choice-of-words to go with Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, when Laura’s dVerse poetics prompt appeared, with its list of -less words. “Boundless” seemed to reflect more the poem’s intent than my original “endless” (and I like the repetition of the b sounds), and there, also, was the title I needed–“weightless”.

And the spirits, if not the Force, still seem to be with me…

I’ve shown the process of my painting–first I did pure color, then I washed it out by running it under the faucet and letting it dry. I then added some subtle iridescence with a bit more color.

reaching 3s

blessing

blessing s

We gather together. We close our eyes, unlearning the darkness.

We are listening to what happens. When we don’t interfere, when we let go, unbe, untry. When we release our expectations.

We hold everything as if it weighed nothing, as if it could fit into anything at all.

What we are. Not what we think. Not what we want. Not what we fear.

The stillness of grace,
carried by stars on the wings
of birds. We listen.

For a trio of prompts–Frank asked for thoughts about Thanksgiving in his #haikai challenge this week, and for thoughts about gratitude in his haibun prompt for dVerse. Colleen in her #TankaTuesday prompt also referred to the theme of Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving at my grandparents’ was loud and chaotic–numerous adults and sometimes 11 children vying for attention.

But we never ate any meal at their house without first becoming quiet and giving thanks. It’s a ritual that perhaps deserves a revival.

snow gardens

snow gardens s

snow gardens magnetic s

I consulted the Oracle about Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above. I’m not ready for snow, but a snow garden is a nice thought.

light frosts earth’s shining
treepaths, following dawnsong
through fresh snow gardens

winter listens deep, breathing
sun secrets to spiritwinds

sunriseset

sunriseset s

Children grow
wings, flying high, far–
in the wake
we wait for
yesterday to catch up with
what they have become

Sunriseset–
the pattern of days
opening
and closing,
the inside of the circle
empties and refills

Repeating
our footsteps, echoed,
mirrored, but
not the same–
the outlines rearranging
beginning to end

Sunriseset–
the pattern of days
opening
and closing,
the inside of the circle
empties and refills

landscape-linda colleen Image by enriquelopezgarre from Pixabay

For Colleen’s #tankaTuesday photo prompt, above, selected by Linda Lee Lyberg. I’ve been looking at the image, trying to decide if it was a sunrise or a sunset in order to focus my words. This made me think of the iconic song from Fiddler on the Roof, “Sunrise Sunset”. Frank’s prompt at dVerse, to compose something in imitation of something else, made me think about trying to capture the essence of the song in a shadorma chain that also reflected the artwork.

Fiddler on the Roof resonates more than ever in these times, when so many are homeless, driven from their literal and spiritual homes by money, politics, war, ignorance, power and greed, when so many are left abandoned, wandering or imprisoned. A world that offers few peoples and places that will welcome refugees and attempt to heal the empty spaces, few places that are not afraid of strangers, of humans who are not exactly like them.

This scene in the play never fails to move me: in dark times, there is still a place to come together in hope, to light a candle, to dream.

An antidote to my poem posted on The Ekprastic Review today.

Poem up at The Ekphrastic Review

end of the day s

My poem “(at the) end of the day” was among those chosen to accompany the painting “Fin de la Jornada”, by Emilio Boggio, at The Ekphrastic Review. You can see the artwork and read it, along with Merril Smith’s prose poem “Chromatic Scales” and the rest of those selected, here.

My thanks once again to editor Lorette C. Luzajic, and guest editor Janette Schafer, for supporting my work and the interaction between the visual and written arts.

luminosity

luminosity s

eyes
open–
glowing with
intensity,
silent beneath trees,
starborne—facing skysongs
rearranging the distance
with colored light—no one knows when
or what comes before ever after