gathering

gathering s

singing the stones,
ancient and yet still present
in wind that rustles
the trees—the way the birds rise
as one from branches to meet
the glowing edge of the sky

A bussokusekika  (written in a 5-7-5-7-7-7 pattern) for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I recently saw several poets using this form, and decided to try it myself.

gathering close up s

Still listening to the wind.

 

in bitter winds

in bitter winds wht s

The waters rise,
and what is held trembling
is spirited away–
and what is left is enclosed
behind layers and layers
of ice and fire.

Water becomes a weapon, fired,
swirled, and eddied–to rise
and then submerge and drown in frozen layers
of sorrow–a trembling
grief with no direction, enclosed
and then thrown away.

No place to go but away–
no beginning or end to this fire,
the intensity enclosed
inside deceptions rising
until they burst, trembling,
circling back into themselves as layers

that explode again—echoing layers
that gather far away
like stormclouds—trembling,
unable to shed anything but thunder and fire.
The waters rise,
and what is built disintegrates, enclosed

by distilled heat, frozen and enclosed
in layers
waiting to rise
from shallow graves, to fly away
on wings of fire–
released into the wind, trembling—

into this weary wind that trembles
with an unsteady rhythm both enclosed
and exposed, a soundless fire
that frays as the unstitched layers
turn away
from the sun–as it rises,

held trembling behind layers–
its songs enclosed and spirited away–
in ice and fire, the waters rise.

Always a glutton for punishment, I decided to attempt another sestina, the dVerse form of the moment, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I approached it entirely differently this time, taking some lines I had written and just using the end words as they were for the rest of the poem.  It actually seemed much easier, especially since I made no attempt to keep the lines the same length or rhythm.

in bitter winds close up s

As some have already pointed out, Sue gave us this image in 2016.  I looked for my response after I had done my new art and poem.  I was much more optimistic then, and yet the words come from a similar place.

cracked-ice-wht-s

At each stage, the path
lies untested—short, brittle
as the frozen grass.

Beyond, the sky waits—alive,
waking the young day with fire.

 

mirror

mirror s

If we count the time
and then divide it
will we understand?

If we erase it
and begin again
is that the future?

If we live through it
and remember
is that history?

If we destroy it
and forget
is that reality?

If we keep going
until we fall in
do we leave pieces
of ourselves
behind?

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

mirror close up s

A place for meditation I think.

 

in perpetuity

perpetuity comp

My vision remains unheard,
entangled in my mind–
the only opening
is through my eyes,
extending and gathering
itself in endless
constant revisions

Reflecting winds and seas,
skies and trees,
rocks and roots–
what surrounds has been
invited inside
and dwells without walls
between

perpetuity eye s

And yet I can’t turn
the inner landscape
into sounds that cohere
to understanding–
it remains unconverted
by categories
or translation

A part of being
that permeates
the center
but does not
present itself
within the constraints
of anything at all

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I painted the landscape and then tried two different overlays–one of black paper that was cut in a circle and torn, and one a collage of rock photos in my collage box.

perpetuity close up s

I’m not sure which one I like best, but I like the contrast of light and dark.

perpetuity clear s

 

 

Here

here s

“The best and easiest way to get a forest to return to any plot of cleared land is to do nothing–nothing at all, and do it for less time than you think.”
–Richard Powers, The Overstory

here magnetic s

The Oracle really got into my head today–I’ve been thinking of Richard Powers’ book about trees ever since I started reading it.  Is it possible for humans to exist in tree-time, tree-space, way above and beyond the petty grievances and obsessions of their current lives?  It seem to me if we want to survive as a species, we have to try.

here close up s

Breathe   listen
come home–grow like trees
into seed
song and then
forests–be roots blanketing
every wandering

path with wild
tendrils of green sun–
feel the earth
following
always between    belonging
to river stone light