cascade

Star Children

stardust embodied–
matter merely a vessel
for luminous spirit–
did you find what was lost?

the spiraling center
returned to elemental form–
in life but not of it–
stardust embodied

opening into dreamtime,
orbiting the moon,
spinning to the farthest away–
matter merely a vessel

empty spaces crossing
infinite galaxies–
wings sailing oceans
of luminous spirit

a welcoming heart, a gentle touch,
warm arms to enclose you
in peaceful sleep–
did you find what was lost?

I did these embroidered watercolors and accompanying poem for the Kick-About prompt that asked us to look at the Père Lachaise Cemetery. My response was inspired by the Jewish Children’s Memorial, below.

Today is International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

In memory of all our lost children, all those without homes. The numbers grow larger every day.

in tandem 1 and 2 (Earth Day 2022)

when you leave yourself behind,
where do you go?–
clouds a shimmering path

blue like a robin’s egg–
this liquid sky, darkening into shadow–
when you leave yourself behind

does the mirror look back
like a lake regarding the sky?
where do you go?

do fish see themselves in the stars?
do birds ride feathered waves?–
clouds a shimmering path

The prompt for NaPoWriMo today was to write a poem that uses repetition. That prompt was made for me. I had been working on and off all week for a poem for Sherry’s prompt at earthweal, to write from that place of holding onto wildness of soul. I thought that today, Earth Day, would be the time to post it.

So I took my ideas and made a cascade, but there were ideas left over, so I did a pantoum too. You can never have too much repetition in my poetry world.

when you leave yourself behind
(clouds a shimmering path)
where do you go?–
windsong the surface

clouds a shimmering path,
the lake regarding the sky–
windsong the surface
displaced by light

the lake regarding the sky–
as it hues the reflection
displaced by light,
does the mirror look back?

as the earth hues reflection,
do fish see themselves in the stars?
does the mirror look back
when birds ride feathered waves?

do fish see themselves in the stars
on the remnants of moontides?
when birds ride feathered waves,
do they flow into calligraphy?

on the remnants of moontides,
where do you go?
will you flow like calligraphy,
leave yourself behind?

As I’ve noted before, I attended the first Earth Day celebration in 1970 in Washington DC. Not too much has changed since then. We can do better.

Serpent’s Tale

The serpent grew wings–
emerging from the cosmic egg,
it became a bird.

Embracing the tree of life
and all of spirit’s progeny,
the serpent grew wings.

Beginning as a vast secret
of stars and swirling light
emerging from the cosmic egg

The serpent shed its skin
and imagined miracles.
It became a bird.

The NaPoWriMo prompt today was to write a poem about a mythical person or creature doing something unusual . My response is not exactly on prompt–I took a mythical creature but I reimagined it into hope instead of despair. As Brendan at earthweal says: let’s celebrate radical hope — that hope whose only basis is our faith in the wonder of life and our capacity to embrace it.

The form I used for the poem is the Cascade, one of Muri’s April scavenger hunt poetic prompts. I’d forgotten how much I like it–thanks Muri!

I did not have to look far into my Redon-inspired collages for a mythological subject. The stitched mandala is from my constellation series–this is the Phoenix, first published on Pure Haiku.

Your ashes illume,
cradled beyond day and night – 
great is the unknown.

transposed by all that has taken both place and time

the reflection absorbs me–
torn pieces of rainbows,
all those things left undone
turning the inside out–

windows with no edges,
mirrors of light waves,
disintegration–
the reflection absorbs me–

don’t fence me in you say–
your words pile up in layers
that turn into
pieces of rainbows—

I am suspended between,
my replies tangled up
with the silence of the dead–
all those things left undone

all those unsent messages–
castaways held captive
on ships without a shore—
turning us inside out

Jade, at dVerse, has us considering edges.

Art from the archives with a cascade poem.

Sisters

We remain ourselves, enigmatic–
a paired paradox
of who we are–sisters
bound by blood and expectation.

Our portrait is a puzzle
to which we hold the pieces–
together we can complete it—but only
if we remain ourselves, enigmatic.

We are both similar and neither
without being either
identical or opposite–
a paired paradox.

We hold the mirror up lightly,
confronted by our artificial reflections,
the complex and divergent shades
of who we are—sisters.

But to you we reveal nothing–
only these parallel arrangements–
the outlines of our surface disguises,
bound by blood and expectation.

I wrote this cascade for The Ekphrastic Review challenge, Theodore Chasseriau’s painting The Two Sisters. I did not think it would be published, and it wasn’t.

I have brothers and no sister, but I have two daughters. They have their own special and complex world, both for and against what exists outside their relationship. I felt that strongly in Chasseriau’s painting. For my own exploration of the painting, I drew first with neocolors and then dipped them in paint to emphasize some of the color and lines. I haven’t been doing much drawing in the past year, so it feels good to just fool around with it and see what happens.

You can see the painting and published responses here.

Castle in the Sky/the earth sings

Too much and too little of everything,
this disembodied crowd of kings and fools–
the culmination of faith is a leap into the unknown–
the spaces between are all that remains.

The details of life become blurred and distorted,
fragments scattered into ghosts
reflecting the collision of bottomless dreams and desires–
too much and too little of everything.

Plans go astray, linger unrealized.
The path is long and winding and there is no map —
what makes us think we have finally found the truth?
(this disembodied crowd of kings and fools)

Does only night reveal the secret of the star?
The past follows us no matter where we go–
how little is really necessary!
The culmination of faith is a leap into the unknown.

The earth embraces us, teeming with life–
what are we looking for?  where do we belong?
Will we recognize it when we reach our destination?–
the spaces between are all that remains.

memories are
woven into tales–
time and space
expanded
and compressed—fragments scattered
like ghosts of what is

no longer
there—we know why we
seek this thing–
Divine Light–
but there is no star, only an
endless procession

escaping
from its past—still we
always come
back again,
repeating the well trodden
paths of Holy fools–

and when our
destination finds
us what will
we see?  grace
reflecting the gift of life?
or the gold of kings?

I wrote these two poems (a cascade, and a shadorma chain) in response to a painting of the daylight travels of the Magi followed by multitudes of richly garbed men which was part of the Ekphrastic Review Holiday Challenge. These did not make the cut. But when I saw the Earthweal Challenge for the change we are, I thought they fit.

I know my prompt responses often seem to veer off course, and maybe this one is also in that category. Perhaps it stems from my sense of things not fitting properly in the world–myself included–which gives me a general inability to feel I am accurately responding to anything. But I also feel that’s where “we” are at this Solstice 2020. Changes are all around us, but it’s hard to find the proper light in which to tell exactly what they are.

with more art from the archives

and it shall come to pass

selkie whit 2s

and who am I and what is he?
and how will I keep this unborn child?
are we not all changelings?

we dwell half in night’s shades,
half in sun dappled waters–
and who am I and what is he?

far away in ancient song,
and never and always, becoming three–
and how will I keep this unborn child?

green earth or deep green sea–
our very being vibrates between–
are we not all changelings?

selkie close up s

A cascade poem for dVerse, where De has us considering sea people.  I’ve used the Child Ballad, The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry, as inspiration.  The artwork was done for a previous poem on the same subject.

There are so many beautiful versions of this song.  It has been recorded by Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Maddy Prior, June Tabor, Roger McGuinn and Solas among others.  Below are  2 very different recordings, by Steeleye Span, and Port.

Woman and Ghost

woman and ghost s

I have lost the barrier
between me and the world–
tangled in the web it weaves
to keep itself from falling apart

It holds my pieces tight
and yet the space between them
opens and shifts–
I have lost the barrier

What orbit holds my destiny?
edges come and go simultaneously
as the gaps grow wider
between me and the world

Bridges retreat and paths lead
farther away from any idea
of location—fragmented, off-center,
tangled in the web it weaves

Slowly threads expand on tides
of iridescence seen only in certain lights,
raveling random and untraceable connections
to keep itself from falling apart

woman and ghost close up s

An ekphrastic response to “Woman and Ghost”, which was gifted to me by the wonderful Claudia McGill, who has also gifted me with inspiration, support, and friendship.

You can follow her on her blogs:
https://claudiamcgill.wordpress.com/
https://claudiamcgillart.wordpress.com/
https://claudiamcgilladvice.wordpress.com/

For the NaPoWriMo day 20 prompt: “write a poem about a handmade or homemade gift that you have received”.

napo2020button1-1

The poetic form I used is cascade.

ghostlight

ghostlight shadows s

that picture in your mind–
where does it go?
inside the mirror

the memory projects
the future looking at the past–
that picture in your mind,

that dislocation of now,
that reversal of an ending–
where does it go?

who will reap
what was shown
inside the mirror?

Michael_E._Arth_-Moscow_Metro-_oil_painting,_1980

For Jane Dougherty’s Words and Pictures poetry challenge, above, a painting entitled Moscow Metro by Michael E. Arth.  She suggested a cascade poem.

ghostlight close up s

As my collage box is fairly bare in my new location, I had no children to incorporate into my collage.  I improvised with a Michelangelo sculpture from a reference book I bought at a library book sale, and cut outs from the New York Times, which comes to my door, if irregularly, these days.

Still enamored with shadows, I photographed it first with my plant shadows on top.

ghostlight s