painting

if I call will you come

1
an enchantment spelled
in the blue whisper of your voice
disembodied in the dim light–
a pretense of sushi and saki–
a stolen hour

2
the stitches accumulate,
suspended from needles
awakening color and fiber
into patterns, images,
ideas, dreams

3
a glittering ocean of blue
starlight afloat
massive celestial waves
unmoored no longer conjoined–
an ancient sentient land

4
how can I remain here,
undecided on the edge,
an intruder seeking
to override forces
I neither recognize nor understand?

5
all tautness,
the bow hovers between
contingencies, conclusions, desires–
I hold my breath
inside the heart’s beating wings

The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a poem in which you first recall someone you used to know closely but are no longer in touch with, then a job you used to have but no longer do, and then a piece of art that you saw once and that has stuck with you over time. Finally, close the poem with an unanswerable question. A prompt that seems ready made for a cadralor. The first four stanzas answer the prompt. Stanza 5 is the conclusion required by the cadralor form, the one that illuminates a gleaming thread that runs obliquely through the unrelated stanzas and answers the compelling question: “For what do you yearn?”

Ode to the Octopus

You think me a delicacy,
braised and grilled with tangy sauce–
raw, prepared as sushi–
in a salad perhaps, tossed.
You think my senses merely serve
to aid in my survival–
that my existence
is secondary to what you deserve–
a special meal without rival.
And what of my disappearance?

My body is all potential,
alien to your bones–
my way of life, untranslatable
as words or thought alone.
I study you, your habits,
both curious and sly–
resisting my captivity,
escaping from your limits–
forcing you to abide
with me if me you wish to study.

I am my own canvas, I paint
colors with light and disguise–
my form always in flux, I create
patterns of magic, surprise.
Once we were one, at home
in the sea, the waters of birth–
since opened by history, cleaved–
now you claim land as your own,
along with all creatures of earth–
disenchanted inside your vast greed.

When I saw the NaPoWriMo prompt this morning, to write a poem that anthropomorphizes a kind of food, the first thing that came to mind was how I could never eat octopus again after reading Peter Godfrey Smith’s book about them, Other Minds. These paintings are from a previous post where I also used the voice of a cephalopod, though not from the point of view of being eaten.

I promised Muri I would attempt an Ode–just as difficult as I expected. And this one needs work. But the octopus is more than worthy as a subject for one

Wonderland

Feed your head they said—what does that
really mean?  How can any time
be larger than now, more extreme
than here, this cosmic habitat?

Microscopic, yet infinite–
reflected, a mirrored convex
lens—adjust, open, refocus
your inner outer space—do you
need to follow white rabbits to
become unbounded—curious?

An espinela poem for Muri’s April Scavenger Hunt with vision as its subject, and following the NaPoWriMo prompt to write a poem that starts with a command. “Feed your head” was, somewhat strangely, the first command that popped into my mind (along with some Jefferson Airplane playing in the background), and fortuitously I had these cut up paintings from the Kick About prompt based on Marie Menken’s film “Lights”, which worked well with the words.

It’s all in context, perspective, how open your senses are to what surrounds you. What you notice. What notices you.

Five Answers to the Same Question Blues

When you stand beside the ocean
    resonating with each wave,
Shimmering beside the ocean
    ebbing flowing with each wave,
It’s as if you’re moving with it
    spiraling and uncontained.

When the moon shines in your window
    and it wakes you with its light,
Near full moon shines in your window
    wakes you up with silver light,
Even shadows turn to magic
    and everything’s all right.

When the birds begin the morning
    fill the air up with their song,
Robin cardinal and blue jay
    sing the sun up with their song,
Even grey days seem to open
    make you feel like you belong.

If someone should think about you
    get in touch just say hello,
An old friend is thinking of you
    gets in touch to let you know,
All your worries are forgotten
    all those things that brought you low.

Then your mind distills and empties
    leaving room for what you’re not,
All those thoughts retreat get quiet
    now there’s room for what you’re not,
You can hear life’s heartbeat whisper
    you give thanks for what you’ve got.

For NaPoWriMo Day 18 where the prompt is to to write your own poem that provides five answers to the same question – without ever specifically identifying the question that is being answered. and Muri’s April Scavenger Hunt where one of the prompts is to write a blues poem.

the welkin ring

and could I be mistaken for a bird?–
whirled inside an everchanging sky,
suspended ocean-bound in waves of air
and carried clear, aloft, bestirred–
a vast and overwhelming need to fly
above the trees, beyond and anywhere

like rainbows cast unanchored toward the ground
my thoughts unravel, specters drawn and spare–
I try to hold my occult gravity,
but find the words, my wings, have disappeared
without a sound

A curtal sonnet for NaPoWriMo Day 16.

as it is

…and so it begins with essence—unmeasured, all-seeing, untranslatable, present.

What is really there–here?  Everywhere.  It gathers nowhere, takes all in.  Releases the vast emptiness of center.  Unpredictable but never random.  Jumping through and crossing over.  Falling down down down into the other side of what was never, into the opposite of what is.

Only the light. The compass that points in all directions, overlapping and then merging into pure vibration.  A conduit of currents, waves with wings, voices without identifiable form or name.  Pinpoints glittering against the darkness, floating on the gasp of final breaths, forever on the verge.

Belonging neither to man nor to god nor to anything in between. 

Immersed in song.

This prose poem is a revision of a revision of a revision (no doubt to be continued). The art, on the other hand, was an experiment that exceeded my expectations. And so it goes.

For NaPoWriMo Day 15, on the eve of the full moon, where the prompt is to “write a poem about something you have absolutely no interest in”. To put it plainly,

I have no
interest in writing
a poem
about something I
have no interest in

But I’m enjoying reading the rants of my fellow poets on the subject.

my life

And why not I thought to myself, why not
–Robert Creeley, “Like They Say”

in the beginning and
also in the middle and the end I wonder why
I am not
someone or something else, why I
am thinking this thought
when there is so much else to
consider in the universe that is not myself–
so much waiting to be asked why
and what and how—so much I am not

Another shovel poem for Muri’s April Scavenger Hunt. And my response to the NaPoWriMo prompt write a poem that takes the form of the opening scene of the movie of your life.

Spiraling

“A Tunnel” by Vika Muse

Is this the inside of my dream?  These days I am cautious of everything—afraid of the future, the past, afraid even of my fear.  But this is not the grey noir darkness of the usual tunnels my night journeys follow.  There are no trains to miss, no staircases to nowhere.  This passageway is alive, a cocoon of possibility opening into an illuminated aperture.

And do I see rabbits?  I was born in the Year of the Rabbit.  What will we find if we enter into that light?

happy end
ings tucked away just
in case—I
whistle on the wind–
birds echo the song

Mish at dVerse has introduced us to the art of Vika Muse:

“I wish I could have manta rays in the sky… instead of Russian bombs and military airplanes. I’ve noticed that my disturbing paintings didn’t make me happier. They cause even deeper depression. So I’ve tried to draw my future. It is bright and sunny. There are no bombs and war… Only beautiful landscapes and dreamlike sky. I hope I’ll meet such a future someday…
P.S. Be empathetic with your relatives and value your lifestyle. It’s big happiness to have mundane life and safety and independence. So simple and so valuable.”

You can find her on Instagram @get.muse She is also featured on this website http://www.inprnt.com

A tankaprose for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday prompt and for the NaPoWriMo prompt to write about the possibility of good things.