holiday

i have a dream s

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.
–Martin Luther King, Jr.

You would think if you shared a birthday with someone whose date of birth merits a national holiday, people would remember.  But the actual date of my own birth is still a constant confusion to many of my family and friends. (I know it’s in January…what day again?)

Maybe it’s the moving of all holidays in the U.S. to Mondays, so everyone can enjoy a long weekend.  No need to acknowledge why their employer or school is giving them a day off—the real reason for holidays is to have 3 days off in a row with no work, right?

mid-January–
voice of crow under grey skies–
how to fill the hole

mlk-2017-s

Kim at dVerse prompted us to talk about our birthday.

around repeatedly

around repeatedly s

Wherein lies the origin of mystery?
Does any story have an ending
and can any name the place
where all stories begin?

All stories are branches
of The One Story, a circle
retreating and returning
reversing and rewinding
retracing and redirecting
repeating and renewing.
Each sentence orbits and spirals
inside and out again.

Where is the place between
before and after?  Is there
even a way to find
the location of no before?

around close up s

I spiraled off a bit myself from the dVerse prompt from Merril, revolution.  Blame it on the heat.

 

reversal

reversal 3s

to recur,
move further away–
becoming
mote covered
constellated skies, stories
embroidered in blue

darkness fades
into emergence–
the tides of
return shaped
by manifestations of
ghost ships left unsailed

indigo
currents bridged between
symbol and
spirit—each
helix twisted round itself–
doubled, multiplied

reversal 2s

For dVerse, a blue quadrille, hosted by Kim.  The art is composed of two different painting experiments that accidentally fell on top of each other–I photographed them in a bunch of different ways, and added the blue with Photoshop.

reversal 1s

thought for the day

postcard 15s

wish for bird gardens
your mind will grow feathers
float through air surprised

Another one of my postcard collaborations with the collage box Oracle.  This one was done on a postcard  of Monet’s “Peace Under the Lilac Bush”

I’ve been reading a book about Monet’s water lilies.  He didn’t start those monumental paintings until he was in his 70s, and worked on them throughout the years of World War I, refusing to evacuate from his beloved home and gardens at Giverny.  I haven’t quite reached that age yet, so I guess there’s still time for a creative endeavor or two for me as well.

linked to dVerse OLN, hosted by Bjorn

 

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.

sometime room

sometime room s

rooms contain
sometime sleeping some
time awake

all day long
talk turns to singing–
the radio

night windows
open unseen sounds–
the light inside

Frank T. at dVerse gave examples of Imagist poets and poems and asked us to try our hand at it.  I don’t generally write in concrete terms, so this was a challenge for me, and I don’t think I really got very close to what Imagism is, even after reading numerous examples and attempting to imitate them.  My mind just won’t process it–I haven’t got a clue.

sometime room close up s

The collage is mostly concrete though.

shine bright

shine bright blk s

Is who we are first tribal, or is it nothing at all?—particles unjoined, the dust of eons.  How do we make sense of our place in the world as homo sapiens?  Do we even need to hold on to that identity?  Must we be labeled, categorized, forbidden, dismissed?

Embracing the isolation of our own self-definitions, we pretend to be the only ones allowed—better, exclusive, oppressed by difference.  All the while the net frays, the miracles of being turn into an infinity of voices drowning in egos with closed eyes, with closed hearts, with lost souls.

shine bright
you are everything and
like nothing else

shine bright wht s

Ammol at dVerse asks us to consider Pride Month.

Aurea

fairy tale journey complete s

Durham family mourns death of 8-year-old, first child to die from COVID-19 in North Carolina

After four days at UNC Medical Center in Chapel Hill, Aurea Soto Morales passed away June 1 from complications associated with COVID-19.

I have not
seen angels rising
nor skies fall
ing—the vast
veil that portals heavens to
earth is filled with light,

seasonless,
undivided by
space or time.
I have not
become old here, nor remained
young—all is always.

I know things
I have never seen,
riding waves
that travel the
distances concealed between
never and right now.

Love holds me
with mythical wings,
soaring gold,
scattered with
jewels of azure and night–
I can touch the moon.

grace of light s

Laura, at dVerse, asks us to write about someone who has died, someone we do not know.  “By way of poetic resurrection, we see them live again.”

Aurea as a name for girls has its root in Latin, and the meaning of Aurea is “wind; golden; dawn”

The collage is another of my postcard fictions done for a Jane Dougherty prompt in 2016, which came to my mind after seeing Merril’s Monday Morning Musings photos of light.

that they are

secrets white

The stars answer each other, singing over and through the wind.  Coming and going follows patterns that signal a chorus of light from within chords I cannot name.

We are not on the same journey, the stars and I.  We go in different directions, down the imperturbable street that seeks both its ending and beginning in a place that can’t be found.  We pass each other on separate orbits, reflected in the pulses of moontides.  We circle and spiral, held by different arrangements of time and space.

Holding the sea, I lift it to the sky, trying to capture and distill the chiaroscuro into a garment of rainbow clouds.  Join me, I ask silently.  Dance with me, become with me a kaleidoscope that shifts the darkness of chaos into currents that gyre together, a collective river of song.

secrets
become visible–
exchange of self

each to the other

Merril’s prosery prompt at dVerse quotes from poet Gwendolyn Brooks:  “We go in different directions down the imperturbable street.”

Merril posted some wonderful photos of light in her Monday Morning Musings today, and several of them reminded me of collages I had done for Jane Dougherty’s microfiction prompts.  This one is from 2016 (you can see the original post here).