the day lost–where did it go? did it depart or disappear? what summons took it away, left us hanging in empty wind?– scattering bits of sanity like lost laundry, unflown birds
Don’t start with contrition– how you didn’t mean to, how you rue the results of the actions that brought us all to this place where it seems the only way forward is to give up and be be swallowed by despair.
Don’t answer every question with the anger of guilt, an attack masking the refusal to ever admit that you knew the ending but thought it would not be laden with consequences, given the assurance that you would be protected.
You pretended not to see, to know, to understand the evil that seeps even through the walls of superiority and raw fear you built to keep yourself untouched by what others experience.
You dismissed the world outside your circle, considered it beyond your personal responsibility or control, your conclusions leaping into the arms of death which has no loyalty to any time or space.
Now what you didn’t do or say or think about expands to include the exclusive as well as the excluded to fade the fortunes of both the lucky and the lost.
The currents recognize no artificial boundaries. The transmission of sorrow travels into every corner of acceptance, denial, and bridge that attempts to turn back, turn away, or cross.
I know NaPoWriMo asked for a humorous rant. But my anger at the moment is not funny.
The NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 18 is to “write a poem based on the title of one of the chpaters from Susan G. Wooldridge’s Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Word“. I chose “bending light”.
The Oracle responded immediately to the NaPoWriMo day 17 prompt of the moon. And who could blame her? It’s always a good subject for a poem, in this case, a Badger’s Hexastitch.
moonsongs treeroot between the ancient wanderings of night—follow secret animal paths earth deep
Under concrete still lies the earth. Am I bridged? Do I travel on or over? The air takes my thoughts and plays with them, embroiders them, suspends them between.
Am I bridged? do I travel on or over? My fingers want to hold the windwhispers– embroider them, suspend them between the bare branches of the trees.
My fingers want to hold the windwhispers that touch the moon on her journey through the bare branches of the trees into the fullness of the reflected light.
I want to touch the moon on her journey. My own face is shadowed with uncertainty, backlit by the fullness of reflected light. My own hands are empty, unthreaded.
My own face is shadowed with uncertainty, a landscape I too often inhabit. My own hands are empty, unthreaded. I keep trying to rearrange what isn’t there–
a landscape I too often inhabit. I look for birds. I want to ask them their secrets. I keep trying to rearrange what isn’t there– how to be someone that is also everything.
I look for birds. I want to ask them their secrets. How to dance across the invisible threads. How to be someone that is also everything, crisscrossing land sea sky stars.
How to dance across the invisible threads that hold both concrete and earth, crosscrossing land sea sky stars– (the air takes my thoughts and plays with them)
This pantoum is definitely a work in progress. For NaPoWriMo day 15, and the earthweal weekly challenge: Toward an Ecopoetry.
moving the water with my feet I float on currents, my shadow following each intersection with light
not thinking who or where I am– cocooned in myself and threaded to the aliveness of what passes me passing
crossing waves tracks of lines and circles forming patterns– greeting me meeting myself, transiting
throwing time into the wind and not waiting for it– wandering in place
Kim at dVerse asks us today to write a poem in the first person that compares some trait of ours with something animal. In addition, the title should be the animal thing,
the seed, the root, the vine, the flower in the field, the lily, the rose, the fertile garden, the cedar, the cypress, the cherry, the tree of life, the fountain, the dew, the living waters, the cloud raining upon the earth, the lighthouse, the harbor, the shell and the pearl, the star of the sea, the cresecent moon, the morning star, the air we breathe, the cup, the vessel, the channel, the conduit,
the food of the spirit—
You need no kingdom.
You belong to everything, the very elements that make up the earth and the cosmos.
You bestow mercy and grace to all, saint and sinner alike, rejecting both power and glory, vengeance and servitude.
May we honor your gifts with gratitude and humility, mending and treasuring the fragile balance that sustains them.
We remain, stubbornly, Human
Dear Humanity,
Open your eyes and your hearts. Honor and practice what preserves life not what destroys it. Take only what you need, and return as much as you can. Be patient and persistent and don’t lose hope.
I remain, forever and ever, Your Mother.
NaPoWriMo asks us today to write an exchange of letters.
I did have the NaPoWriMo prompt in mind today when I visited the Oracle. At least in terms of a song. My things are mostly in boxes, not drawers, at the moment–this is my third move in the last 18 months so it’s all junk now. I was also thinking how much I would like to just take an entire day and do nothing but sleep. Which led me to James and Joni. And the Oracle obliged.
all I want is to sleep beneath a still sky– a shadow of whispered light on water moondreaming the wind