what? forms shimmering,
there—breaking into bits of
color, sprinkled light–
air, you can’t quite be
lieve, place, what
you thought you
saw, significant portions
of which have faded
memories that have
the lost and found of the mind,
a vast space without
tangled up with myth,
how do we discern
what is true?
maybe what is real
wrapped together in spirits
that are beyond sense
Brendan at earthweal discussed land-spirits and asked us to write about a local spirit. My locale has been NYC for 50 years, but within the city it has been constantly on the move. I thought first of birds and trees, which made me think of my own trees that move with me from place to place. My lemon trees are nearly 30 years old, grown from seeds planted by my older daughter as a young child. I also have a corn plant tree, rescued from the basement discard room in an apartment building I lived in briefly about 15 years ago.
I carry their spirits with me, but I have also given them form from time to time. Like the plants, they provide companionship and continuity, a living connection to reciprocal relationships that exist without needing any specific place or time.
Black is the color of creation.
The void is beginning.
Emptiness must be filled.
You can’t have something without nothing.
And how does that apply to imaginary beings?
Must there also be a counterpart that’s real?
Must every question have an answer and every answer a question?
Catch the words–
in context they become magic.
Recreate the patterns that create potential,
the map to being born.
A cloud is like breathing.
Breathing is like catching.
Catching is like stopping time.
Stopping time is like an earthquake.
An earthquake is like a heart beating fast.
A heart beating fast is like drumming.
Drumming is like dancing.
Dancing is like a bird.
A bird is like flowers.
Flowers are like a rainbow.
A rainbow is like a song.
A song is like the universe.
The universe is like a wheel.
The void is pregnant.
The journey is alive.
Do we get broken so we can be fixed?
For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, from August 2017. I’ve been missing Sue’s prompts. Sending this one out to her along with wishes for healing, a good night’s sleep, and the taste of a strong cup of coffee.
Also linking to Earthweal Open Link Weekend.
to say no—but what
does that word
“I don’t understand”?—
“I don’t want
to deal with it”?—what
the sounds hard and long? if you
take away the n
what is left?–
only a surprise,
a sense of
filled with possibility–
the magic of ”o!”
The Kick-About prompt this week features a photo of the Cottingley fairies, above, taken by two girls in England in 1917. Looking at the photo from the vantage point of digital manipulation in 2020, it’s easy to laugh at the fact that anyone could have actually believed that they were “real”. And yet…
(and here I find I must make more birdlings)
Are fairies true? Are birdlings?
give good thanks
harvest the sharing
day then night
the waning of light
I’ve borrowed this birdlings collage from the archives to illustrate Frank Tassone’s #Haikai Challenge this week, autumn/spring equinox.
I haven’t seen the birdlings since my previous move–they may be in storage. But they are always here in spirit.
Imagine a window
in a wall that is constructed
of fear and superstition
Imagine an open window–
it does not exist because
no one has built a wall for it
bloomings that subsist only
in the invisible world of the window
growing in the unseen air,
releasing the imprisoned breath
Imagine a window,
a portal to what isn’t there–
a borderless unceilinged sky
Laura at dVerse asks us to make some room. And Sherry at earthweal asks us to consider all that is wrong with the world and how we can make things right. As John Lennon knew, our ability to change is often just a failure of our imagination.
I thought the birdlings were appropriate to these words. And the window is an old collage based on the work of Miriam Schapiro, who knew a thing or two about both portals and collage.
A message from the Oracle inspired by Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.
It seemed to call for an appearance by the birdlings.
sails the ghosts of star angels
born into the breath
of winged trees
oceans flying on air
sky opening itself
like some foolish heart
I visited the Geek Oracle for a change of pace, and the birdlings seemed once again appropriate to the message.
open this world
this network through which we
light names each star
while galactic flames stream
out of the living source
what do you want?
My poem “Hallowed Be” is among the responses to Goya’s “El Conjuro” posted today at The Ekphrastic Review.
As it’s Draw a Bird Day, I’ve enlisted the newly returned birdlings for my collage response (along with some actual birds and the moon).
You can see Goya’s painting and read my poem, and all the other responses, here. My thanks to editor Lorette Luzajic for once again including my work in this bi-weekly challenge
The Oracle gave me birds today. I’ve resurrected the birdlings to accompany the words. I don’t know where the real birdlings are in my disorganized office, but I have photos of their past adventures. I used this for one of Jane Daugherty’s Yeats prompts a couple years ago.
The blue jays have been drowning everyone out all summer on my street, but recently a crow has been trading barbs with them.
crow and blue jay
ferociously awake morning–
linger like steel dazzled glass
remember who you are–
a fool for wild voices,
sailing a secret ocean
of star fever dancing
Keeping the Secret Keeper, whose words I used for Jane’s prompt, in my thoughts too.