Another Thirteen Days

apolcalyptic crow 2s

1
Crow sits
in the back
of my mind,

2
insistent call
searching
for the source.

3
Crow exists as a continuation–
night overlapping with day.

printed geese 2s

4
Dark shapes,
constant motion.
Behind my eyes,
constant motion.

5
I do not know which to prefer,
black branches
or the hint of green,
the waiting
or the surprise.

6
Wings cross the sky
of my isolation,
weaving through wind
rattling the glass,
suspended
between my longing
and the possibility of flight.

There's a crow flying # if I flew

7
Am I rising or setting?
Can light return
me to my rhythms,
or will only darkness come
to fulfill my desires?

8
I send messages
by breathing,
by listening
through the silences
of birds.

9
I mark the edges
with the songs
of memory.

crow #1s

10
The sky reflects
on the questions
that weave my solitude
with songs.

11
I walk the landscapes
of the unseen,
holding the fear
of endings
in the shadows
of glittering eyes.

spiral crows 2s

12
The sun rises above the roof.
Crow calls me to attention.

13
The days remain
undivided,
uncalendared.
Like the blackbird,
unknown.

13 blackbirds s

The NaPoWriMo Day 14 prompt asks for a poem that “deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems” .  I return often to Wallace Stevens’ poem “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”.  Every time it opens new doors.  And Joni…

I have done numerous poems and works of art involving crows, and a selection of the art appears amidst the stanzas above.

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this is the place s

(all the things) I never meant

all the things s

Sorry is
a reflex, a word in
cluding all
regrets for
ever, past and future, large,
tiny, unnoticed–

What was done,
what should have been done–
can we know
what will sprout
from mistakenly planted
words, expectations?

Should I take
back those seeds, wish them
gone, destroy
what was born
when unknowing became theft?
Who will unsing those

Songs?

all the things close up s

The NaPoWriMo prompt for today is “to write a non-apology for the things you’ve stolen”.  I’m very quick to say sorry, but there are always layers of meaning underneath.

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(in a) material world

material world tree s

If I could disguise
myself as a tree—ancient,
unnoticed, unknown–

when all was wild
unruled
each day began

alive, encircled
by the present
all was strangely itself

taking refuge
without before or after
neither first nor last

accepting changes
as intrinsic
to what is

a dance
always balanced between
darkness and light

material world tree close up s

Mish, at dVerse, asked us to talk about what has been revealed to us by our present isolation.  I try to write a bit each morning and this was composed from fragments in my current notebook.

The art is from my continuing series inspired by Joan Mitchell’s trees.

stormstruck

stormstruck grid s

stormstruck magnetic

It’s clear the Oracle is feeling the world’s distress.

stormstruck close up 1s

I had a dream recently about weaving paper.  I’ve done it before, but in the dream I was using wax paper left over from monoprints (I’m low tech in my technique) and weaving painted paper through it.  I’ve been saving the wax paper images and wondering what to do with them.  I used newspaper that had been underneath my watercoloring (protecting the drawing table) and cut it into strips.  I like the interaction of layers, papers, and paint.

 

The newspaper happened to be the front pages with headlines about the Synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh in 2018.  The world seems to be falling ever deeper and deeper into a vast hole.

stormstruck close up 2s

why was
the bare sky
crying raindrunk
wind whispering
with the shadow language
of raw rusted light

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.

blessing close up s

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.

what is lost

searching s

searching magnetic scan s

The birdlings have been lost since my last move.  I didn’t make the connection between the Oracle’s message and finding them yesterday until I started thinking about art to accompany it.

birdling 3s

Reason and bearings are still lost

birdling 2s

but my family and friends are always there

what is lost

tell me to believe
the promise of wings
threaded between star and sky

the language of voices
belonging together

we receive each other as gifts
remembering the dreams
that fill rivers with shared songs

birdling 1s

 

indigenous

indigenous comp

I am nowhere indigenous.  Born in the midwestern United States, I have moved through many other regions.  My genetics are blended and confused, my blood relations scattered.  Even within the city I have called home for 45 years I belong to no single neighborhood.  No land or culture claims me as their own.

accumulating
roots of tangled earth and air
unfixed, wandering—

I occupy each season
refilled, resampled, revived

indigenous close up s

For Frank’s haibun prompt at dVerse, considering our relationship to the word indigenous, as we celebrate both Columbus Day and the native peoples who inhabited this land long before Columbus discovered it.