imagining spring

tree window 3s

We have welcoming blue skies today, although it is cold. But the Oracle, at least, is thinking ahead.

tree window 2s

These photos were taken in March of 2016–March! not that far away–of Central Park, reflected in the windows of the Jewish Museum on Fifth Avenue.

are you dazzled
with green trees oceans
of air and sky

breathe in then out
surrounded by blueborn
mornings that spill
secrets and then

laugh

linking to earthweal open link weekend

410,336

piles of names,
ghosts–absent empty
erased gone

erased, gone–
we can’t remember
comprehend

comprehend
them—we are finite
thinkers, minds

thinkers, minds
too crammed with daily
survival

survival–
and yet why is it
no one asks

no one asks
us to stop listen
a moment

a moment–
so many voices
now silent

now silent—
is it too much of
a burden

a burden
to carry them here
alongside

alongside
the living—hold them,
take them in

take them in–
mourn–no longer just
piles of names

For Frank Tassone’s haikai challenge #174 justice.

Art from my Metropolis post last May amidst the height of the NYC pandemic, when much of the rest of the country thought it was our fault, and would stay here. It was a relief to see our President ask us to remember all of those who have been lost–not just in NYC, but from every corner of the United States and also the world.

synergies

nina birthday mandala s

bejeweled
with eyes reflecting
mysteries
blossoming
in every season day and night
and on each new hour–

embryos
in expectation
of bursting
into song,
nestled in the openings
between yes and no–

shall we dance?
the shadows linger,
dissolving
into dusk–
and still our bodies listen
and repeat, reply,

riding dreams
past waves of darkness,
not asking
how each sky
contains the endlessness of
spinning leaping light–

claiming wings
invisible yet
tangible,
our steps rise
following silent music,
orchestrated flight

that repeats,
always being born
perfectly
uncontained–
we have been cast out like seeds–
resplendent, alive

A shadorma chain for Merril’s prompt at dVerse, connections, and Brendan’s earthweal challenge, entanglement. With more art from the archives.

Warnings

My emotional distances keep expanding.  They measure every room I enter, every landscape that passes through my eyes.  The center swims increasingly away from the edges of my being.  The gap is great and undefined.

Shadowshapes of figures frame the shore.  Hands cast their lines into my depths, searching for a reflection, fishing for a response to their repeated inquiries.

How long can I stay afloat?  The gravity of this world exhausts me. Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, so incomplete.  I have forgotten it–the one key to survival that is unnecessary but crucial.

I’m trying to recall the images that connect to my lingering feelings of kinship  The light flickers, attempts to enter, but my eyes refuse it.  They look sentient, but they are no longer open for business.  Closed, the sign says.  Can’t you read it?—“CLOSED”.

For the dVerse Prosery, Linda has selected a line from Mary Oliver: Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy, from her poem “Spring Azures”.

who sings and with what tongue

Not only is this totally different from the poem I started to write, but the Oracle took me in a completely unexpected direction. She also led me right to an old piece of art that fit, one whose origin I’ve forgotten. She clearly had a message for me. If I could just decipher it…

we are but thoughts
mad gardens of whispering wind
soaring on shadows
cast by wordstorms

ask how or why
and be chanted
into the music
of timeless dreams

Poem up at the Ekphrastic Review

where does the body lie?

a prisoner of gravity,
it remains forever outside of dreams

unfit for the spiritship,
a vessel of startled complexity–
open, unbounded, secret, extreme

Picture

I wrote the original version (much revised) of the above 42 poem at the same time I wrote my haibun, Unattached, which is published on The Ekphrastic Review today, along with Jane’s lyrical poem, Bronze Dreams, and other varied responses to Frida Kahlo’s painting, The Dream.

My collage is once again based on a tarot card, this the the Four of Swords. Kahlo’s paining reminded me very much of the iconic Rider-Waite card, but my own interpretation drifts in between the card and the painting. I could not find out if Kahlo ever studied tarot, but she was friends with many of the Surrealists, who certainly played with its symbolism. The Four of Swords is a card of restoration and healing, just like Frida’s Dream.

I placed a photo of the interior of an Egyptian sarcophagus in the sky. The figure painted there is the sky goddess Nut, who “spreads out her arms protectively to receive the deceased. (s)He is sheltered by her, is adsorbed into her body, and emerges reborn” (Rose-Marie and Rainer Hagen, “Egypt”).

You can read my poem (and Jane’s) here. My thanks once again to editor Lorette C. Luzajic for supporting my work and the interaction between the visual and written arts.

grey morning

rain muffles the noises
of the heavy shrouded dawn

the city unfolds slowly,
tentatively,
as cars whoosh water in the wake
of the bursting clouds

blackness dissolves into spectral mist
the spots of windowlight disappear

colorless facades take their place
as the horizon shifts

the sense of yesterday lingers

like a pause waiting
between opposing forces
for one or the other
to tip the wheel around

today becomes a space

reserved for nothing
empty of ambition
of any sense
of being connected

pull the covers up

close your eyes

For dVerse MTB, hosted by Grace, where the poetic device is imagery.

The Daily Question

And what of this life?

The mind sets itself, darkening,
wandering through a self-contained maze.

But here’s the sun, shining on my face–
melting the brittle brumal pathways
that detour spirit.

In the middle of the afternoon, on a clear day, the sun shines between the buildings across the street right into my windows. The other day just as I took a break and lay down on my couch, savoring the warmth, this version of John Denver’s “Sunshine” came on the radio.

Which of course made me think of George Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun”.

Gifts. For this week’s earthweal challenge.

31 xian (Seeking Union)

To open,
join opposites.
Receive what is given.
Let the unexpected pathway
unfold.

This poem was first posted in 2018, inspired by Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and I Ching 31, which appeared in the envelope collage I did based on a linear print by Joan Mitchell.

I read many interpretations of this hexagram, and tried to distill what I thought was its essential message.

Shelter encloses, but it opens, too.

For earthweal, open link weekend.