The Oracle was feeling visionary this morning. She knows I had a restless night, and the full moon was shining in my window.
bedreamed away–
a shadow
of who what am I
sailing on the whispering wind–
an arc of light
in a gown of moonmist
singing the sea
A nonet from the Oracle for NaPoWriMo and Muri’s April Scavenger Hunt.
I want to be drunk with moon music
sing a thousand ships through shadows
still the mad wind that cries death
live inside the language
of the skylit sea–
time whispers spring
above my
rain-soaked
sleep
On Saturday the Oracle has Her say.
out on this melting edge–
a fool sailing through oceans
of haunted broken heartstars,
the poison of decaying days–
I ask how dark it must be
to awaken the tears of angels,
the ferocious fire of your gods
after the bitter blows
storms of blood rain
we whisper please
but death does not reply
the sun rose as if dreamed
the moon still inside the sky
This message from the Oracle recalled the Dylan song One Too Many Mornings (and a thousand miles behind). Sometimes it feels like that’s where we’re stuck right now.
The Oracle gave me the first two stanzas of this one right away, but I had to work for the last two. I really wanted to use “secrets” but she was having no part of it. There are too many secrets floating around already.
every after walks through
the long dark between
who can we ask
if always becomes lost?
when will these deep paths of why
grow roots that follow light?
beneath nightsongs of a wandering moon
we listen to nothing—ancient and wild
Another old collage done for one of Sue Vincent’s prompts.
Cohen wrote this song in 1992.
I can’t dispute the Oracle’s words.
black blows the skywind–
raw shadowships raining
the bitter storm language of lies
into the bare breasts
of dead mothers
you ask for spring
and the music of love
when the sun is swimming
through seas of boiling blood—
what can grow here?
“There is no glory in battle worth the blood it costs.”
–General Dwight D. Eisenhower
Since Nina and I started blogging in 2014 I’ve posted far too much art about war.
This is my third try with the Oracle this morning. She was having no parts of anything but reality.
beneath here
the shadow waits–
whispers ache with pleading blood–
who can dream the black sky
into moonlight,
turn this time from its mad
worship of death?
our ship rocks through sleepless seas,
asking why the wind sings
only with the bitter tongues of hate
The Oracle started out giving me dark images, but reminded me that dark is always followed by light.
air lingers
waiting for breath
picture a dark sky
with no star voices
to be born
is a remembering
of foolish joy
the magic secret
of a vast awakening
heart
The first part of this one went quickly, but the Oracle made me work for the last 2 lines. Only when I decided to see if I could make the word “illusions” would She let me complete it. “Life is but a dream” or so they say.
sleep whispers
in tongues of blue mist–
as if moons
seadream light
though shadows above still water–
illusions of time
K. 