Illusion

illusion close up s

I saw the sun opening
the sky—and I thought
you were meant to be
rooted in my breath

I wanted you to be
 the glowing light,
a reflection of colors
echoing the unknown

I thought you were
the songs of soft radiant
birded air, a melody
surrounding me

I imagined beautiful
patterns like tattoos,
shapes of the infinite
in your eyes

But you are not
a mirror of my visions–
I hold a map
to what isn’t there

An apostrophe poem, as prompted by Amaya at dVerse, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt above.  Also strongly influenced by Jane Dougherty’s response to Sue’s photo.

illusion s

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”.

weightless__reaching close up comp

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.

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.