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.
Crow calls to me from above–
“Crowman are you stalking me?”
There he is—on that roof.
Call to attention–
harsh, always interrupting
the pause between the lines.
“Do you want me to look up?”
He extends the invitation again and again.
“I’m telling stories,”
shape-shifting in the interlude–
“remaking the recent past.”
how to release and how to begin–
but that part’s invisible,
stark with intention.
“…or do you hear it?”
unseen voices echo across the gap,
“and are you laughing at me?”
an interior bathed in blue–
“OK—I’m leaving that world—”
memories circle round and round–
“I’m here now, present.”
thoughts hang in the air–
“I’m unfolding those regrets.”
Crow flies over my shadow.
“Are you happy now?”
the clash of silence, unbound
Crow has been following me around for about 15 years now. I notice birds all the time, but I don’t always know what they are saying to me. I have a tendency to space out, especially when walking. Crow’s message has always been clear: get outside yourself, pay attention.
A message that’s more important than ever. For Earthweal, messages from the wild, hosted by Sherry, a revision of one of my many poems about Crow.
The NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 6 asked us to be a voice from inside Bosch’s “Garden of Earthly Delights”. Although I did a voice from outside the painting last year–On Seeing Bosch’s “Garden of Earthly Delights” –for NaPoWriMo, I couldn’t write anything from inside of it that didn’t seem too depressing for me today. So I chose another piece of Bosch’s for my Ekphrastic review.
I found the drawing above titled in 2 ways–The Trees Have Ears and the Field Has Eyes and The Hearing Forest and the Seeing Field. Both are true.
the eyes talk–
have you heard them?
they breathe music
of earth stars–
light opening everything
as if you could fly
And now I’ll visit Joni’s garden
My first bike was a childhood gift, way too big for me, that my father lovingly assembled one Christmas Eve so it would be waiting by the tree the next morning. No speeds, pedal brakes. As I grew into them I turned the wheels faster and faster until I left them behind.
It took a few years before I began pedaling my way around the city, this time with 5 speeds and hand brakes. My legs moved the wheels around and around once again, through the park, dodging traffic during transit strikes, climbing flights of stairs as the wheels bumped my body to my apartment door.
Finally I had an elevator! And then a baby. No space for cycles that were not attached to a carriage, a stroller, then tri and then bi accompanied by training wheels. My legs walked beside them, watching my children turn them around and around until they too were flying on their own, faster and faster away from my slowing path.
Now all those wheels live only in remembered rotations.
These days my legs spin in a pattern that repeats itself, over and over, in the same location. The world outside my window does the passing by.
the still point
The NaPoWriMo prompt for day 1 is “write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life”. For all our lives these days…
As I did two years ago for NaPoWriMo, I’ve been working on art to use in April for a number of months, this time inspired by the work of Matisse and Richard Diebenkorn. The circles come via Matisse.
as vessels, empty,
all this space
find the right oceans—ancient
transformed into an
whispers of traces—spirals
mirroring the sea
A shadorma duo for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday poet’s choice of words. The art inspiration is via Mish at dVerse, who introduced us to artist Beverly Dyer, and asked for an ekphrastic response to one of her paintings. I chose her grid, “Blue Story”, above, and did my own grid to match with pieces of ocean and sky.
The poem was also inspired by Joni Mitchell.