The Song of Love 1 and 2

1 Here

a handless glove, a stone
visage.  A blue orb
planted with life.  Dust
seeds blown by
cosmic winds.

Look backward to see
the future.  Ruins
of visions.  Monumental
doors to nowhere.
The detritus of humanity.
Is this all
that we wish
to leave behind?

Canto d amore - Song of love - Giorgio De Chirico - 1914

The Kick-About prompt for this week is de Chirico’s enigmatic painting “The Song of Love”, above. The collage I did evolved from a lot of other ideas, merging with Merril’s quadrille prompt at dVerse to use the word seed, and Brendan’s prompt at earthweal to write Songs of the Earth Shaman.

2  A Meditation or Maybe a Prayer

for those who ask and those
who don’t answer.  For those
who always make way and those
who have never been found.
For what we know and refuse
to acknowledge.  For what
stands in the center of what
we think we believe.  For what
remains when faith has fallen
apart.  For the times that we
begin again and the times
that seem to have no ending.
For what we hold against
others and what we keep
to ourselves.  For the impossible
and the improbable and all
the borders we draw to keep
from finding out.

Listen.  I am
waiting for you
to come home.

I needed to consider this seemingly unsolvable riddle that is human life on earth from more than one side.

How Now

grid flower close up 1s

Why do you ask me where we are? 
I lost my bearings long ago. 
Each day is different, and yet very much
like all that have been or will be, amen.
You ask me for maps, for calculations, but 
why not shower the world with devotion?

~and why should we not sing~

celebrating what is here and now
but also what leaves and then returns? 
Every story continues beyond its ending.
Why not follow it around?
Why not grow wings, meet each day
without imprisoning it in either space or time?

The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a poem that poses a series of questions. Since the majority of my poems ask questions, I also incorporated Merril’s dVerse prompt to write a puente.

fitzcarraldo

sky quilt s

fitzcarraldo n. an image that somehow becomes lodged deep in your brain—maybe washed there by a dream, or smuggled inside a book, or planted during a casual conversation—which then grows into a wild and impractical vision that keeps scrambling back and forth in your head like a dog stuck in a car that’s about to arrive home, just itching for a chance to leap headlong into reality.

that tiny room
the one with the steps to the attic
the one with only bed and dresser

nothing more fits
but the window with the tree
and the sky and the birds

I could leap out that window
like Wendy and the Lost Boys
riding the wind to faraway dreams

I could hide under the covers
with a flashlight and a book
a transistor radio playing

Fly Me to the Moon
I could accompany myself
by singing wishes on stars

on a moon that illuminates all
these yearnings pulsing through
the bloodsongs of my heart

The NaPoWriMo prompt for today was to write a poem inspired by an entry from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. What a wonderful dictionary! I will be visiting it again.

My fitzcarraldo is a bit less intense than Herzog’s…

centering

I think the Oracle is telling me to slow down, stop trying to do everything all at once. Don’t panic because I can’t even find the box where I packed the scotch tape. Sometimes you just need to take time to breathe.

breathe full deep
climb between
always and after

follow spirit about
let soul in

wander quiet paths

listening to rivers
giving songs
to the wind

Grow NYC

On the run, in retreat,
empty lots, dirty streets–
take the land, make it green–
thumbs and hearts, community.

Food to eat, flowers, herbs,
trees with branches full of birds–
an oasis filled with life–
lost then found, death defied.

I’ve been thinking about the earthweal challenge for Earth Day–what postitive steps have been taken locally to improve the environment?

NYC was in serious decline in the 70s–hence the famous headline, from 1975, below. Everything was falling apart, and there were vacant lots and abandoned properties everywhere.

Ford new york city drop dead

Organizations like GrowNYC, Greenthumb, and OasisNYC began to foster community gardens in abandoned lots, renovated by volunteers from the surrounding area. Today there are nearly 600 such gardens in the city–everywhere you walk, you’ll stumble upon one. Managed by neighborhood residents, they grow all kinds of things, both edible and simply beautiful. They foster new and experienced gardeners, young and old. They sponsor art displays and performances, and act as community centers.

I used Bjorn’s prompt, at dVerse, to compose my poem for Earth Day in Anapestic Tetrameter.

Will They Will

Age is definable but never still–
we try to hold it back, but still
our age continues to rise

We linger in the still dreams lost
ages ago, unable to move on,
still refiguring the past

Must we always be aging children?
still youthful to our inner mirror, but
aged into bitters

Into a stillness of chimeric eternity,
searching for an ageless portal
stilled beyond time

Day 21 of NaPoWriMo asks for repetition. I’m not sure this is exactly what they had in mind, but it’s where I ended up.

how to breathe

The Oracle responded immediately to the NaPoWriMo day 17 prompt of the moon. And who could blame her? It’s always a good subject for a poem, in this case, a Badger’s Hexastitch.

moonsongs
treeroot between
the ancient wanderings
of night—follow secret
animal paths
earth deep

Also linking to earthweal open link weekend.

excavations

only
stillness remained
afterwards—everything
else unearthed, uprooted,
exposed into
absence

A badger’s hexastitch for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday with synonyms for the words provided by Jude: search and lost.

And because I’ve been neglecting the NaPoWriMo prompts recently, a short Skeltonic poem for Day 16.

The sunny day
has gone away–
I want to say
it’s not OK.

It’s been a very showery April so far. Hope that portends a very flowery May.

Roig (Red)

Red is an imaginary carpet
dancing with desire,
lettering the days
with roses and birdwings.
Red is the sky
that turns the morning
into an omen, the night
into a full moon–
catching dreams
like a wayfaring balloon
painting the town with stars.

The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a poem that delves into the meaning of your first or last name. Roig means red in Catalan.

neocolor cardinal s

To Our Mother

Who gives us life–
you have many names–

the seed, the root, the vine, the flower in the field,
the lily, the rose, the fertile garden,
the cedar, the cypress, the cherry, the tree of life,
the fountain, the dew, the living waters,
the cloud raining upon the earth,
the lighthouse, the harbor, the shell and the pearl,
the star of the sea, the cresecent moon,
the morning star, the air we breathe,
the cup, the vessel, the channel, the conduit,

the food of the spirit—

You need no kingdom.

You belong to everything,
the very elements that make up
the earth and the cosmos.

You bestow mercy and grace to all,
saint and sinner alike,
rejecting both power and glory,
vengeance and servitude.

May we honor your gifts
with gratitude and humility,
mending and treasuring
the fragile balance
that sustains them.

We remain, stubbornly,
Human

Dear Humanity,

Open your eyes and your hearts.
Honor and practice what preserves life
not what destroys it.
Take only what you need,
and return as much as you can.
Be patient and persistent
and don’t lose hope.

I remain, forever and ever,
Your Mother.

NaPoWriMo asks us today to write an exchange of letters.

Also linking to earthweal. Did you know it’s Earth Month?