focus on the wheel– bright star calls for the moonshot embellished with birds
Sanaa at dVerse introduced us to minimalist photography and Glenn A. Buttkus’s site “South Sound Minimalist Photos.” She offered 12 photos to choose to respond to, and I chose the one below.
I couldn’t resist consulting with the collage box oracle, and creating a piece of junk mail art on the back of one of the hundreds of flyers I’ve received in the mail for the NYC primary for mayor. I hope you don’t mind my loose interpretation Glenn!
You can see see more of Glenn’s wonderful photos here.
rooted red the colors spill out confettied above ground dancing towards the sun singing a chorus of blooms
Last year I participated in POPO the August POetry POstcard Fest–where the challenge is to send a different postcard with a poem you’ve composed for each day in August, 31 in all. I meant to post 2 cards every few weeks and finish up just before POPO 2021. But in my usual fashion, I’m only now posting the third pair.
I decided to do shadormas, as they would fit easily on the back of a postcard, and to connect them through repeating part of the last line of each poem to the first line of the poem for the next day. The last line of the poem from day 4 was “visible, rooted”
a chorus of absurdity reaches for the empty mind to fill it with visions of nothing at all
I did not have a theme for the actual postcards I made in 2020, but this year I’m going to continue with the moon photos I did for the Kick-About. You don’t need to make or alter your own postcards, though–at least one I received last year was just a post office postcard with a poem on it. Or you can just buy 3l postcards and write a poem on the front or back or both.
A number of people last year expressed interest in participating this year, so here’s the link if you want to sign up. It’s not only a fun creative challenge, but you end up with 31 interesting postcard poems from all over the United States and the world. Twenty days until registration closes.
arise to witching hour, the moon eclipsing the sun– in afterlight crow echoes his own call
gathered clouds, a bower of reflected light returned, unwrapping into daylight from its pall
orbits overlapping, crossing time as well as space– a hush that parallels the day’s forestall
twin umbras pause, passing– opposites in brief embrace– Aurora wakes, released to fly withal
Another kerf poem, for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday, where Gwen Plano has provided the words Dawn & Twilight. My apartment doesn’t face east at all, but the eclipsed sunrise felt very different yesterday, veiled and stilled, and the crows had a lot to say about it.
Sailing in potions. The aftermath transformed from apparition into gold. Navigating in the middle of above and below, breath and fire.
How to make a path through the shoreless sea. How to find what was left behind on its phantom boundaries.
Coiled and enclosed by emotions that have no name. Entangled in a web of circumstance.
To be alive is always a risk.
Who acknowledges your vulnerabilites? What are the objects of your devotion? When will your unknowable secrets be revealed? Where is the entrance to the far side of the darkest extremity?
Why? and why not?
We too are ensnared, following your edges into a maze of decay. We are unable to meet your gaze until it’s too late. We always search for you beyond the point of no return.
All those ghoststones, weighed down by too many betrayals. The intersection of desire and fear that paralyzes completion. The piercing shards of the broken mirror.
The spiral grows tighter, less controlled. The waves isolate and discard. The horizon is lost, the voices drowned in a desperate merging of man and beast. Which one remains after the inevitable inferno?
The distance between was always an illusion.
Last month Visual Verse had a very intriguing image, with a serpent like creature, as its ekphrastic prompt. Even before I wrote a response, I wanted to do a visual response as well. You can see the original image and the published responses here.
My prose poem wasn’t chosen for publication, but I finally made my collage and revised the text a bit for Tricia Sankey’s dVerse prompt exploring risk.
I found this painting/collage the other day–I know I’ve used it before, but I thought it would be useful for something else, so I saved it in my ideas space. When I read the Oracle’s message this morning, it seemed like she knew ahead of time where it belonged.
recall the dreamlight time as a living being shadows shining through the raw sky
did what you thought you never needed show you how
to still the stormcry into moonships singing the language of seaforests?
you drift along, along and along, without wind or sea– can you see yourself moving? or is everything drifting? is it all doldrums, your mind sailing on doldrums, on emptiness, what is no longer there—was anything ever there?
you long to immerse yourself, to immerse your body in the sea, the primal waters of the sea– to float and forget, to dive and immerse yourself in life’s womb, to close your eyes, to shrink, becoming a stone waiting to be cast and skipped rippling back to where you belong—
where do you belong?
you drift along…
Laura at dVerse has us repeating ourselves. Not difficult for me, as my mind likes to travel back and forth and revisit what it has already said before.