the way out is also the way in

the way out s

a journey far from home
outside of existence
filled with voices
containing only silence

outside of existence
the mirror turns away
containing only silence
the echoes of opening

the mirror turns away
reflected in portals
the echoes of opening
where time remains lost

reflected in portals
held in absentia
all time remains lost
until the stars sing

held in absentia
amid the unexplained
until the stars sing
souls crossing over

amid the unexplained
filled with voices
souls crossing over
a journey returning home

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Another pantoum.  Ammol at dVerse asks us to consider portals.

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Overtures

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Would you be crowned with jewels
or a garland of blooms?
a silence eternal or fleeting?

Would you seek a throne
or a resting place between?
a looking out or within?

perhaps a bed of meadow,
a ceiling of stars–
the earth beneath you—

Would you always be as you are?
or would you have your seasons,
knowing that change contains

both sweetness and sting—
that life gathers
in anticipation of emptying—

that everything constructs
the form that contains
its end?

More questions, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

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Also linking to dVerse OLN, hosted by Mish.

Beware of Darkness

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What can I do to contain the presence that isn’t here?  Take my fear, tie it into knots around his neck, raise the window, and let out the dark as his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream?

The door opens and absence returns.  I wash everything again, dripping silence onto the bare floor where I stand unsupported.  The stains won’t come out of the air.  They remain, unmoving, like the clock whose numbers have blurred into thick ghostlights.  Unclean, these words piled up like dirty dishes, this blackness that sucks all reflections into the other side of the mirror.

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Is dead ever really dead?  Is dead ever the ending of anything until all beginnings cease?  Can the universe uncreate being, collapse time beyond infinity, disintegrate energy into its opposite?  Become a vortex spinning itself into a before that never

existed,

unmattering–

gone, gone, gone?

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For dVerse prosery, where Bjorn has given us a phrase from Maya Angelou: “his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream”.

 

interchange

interchange s

interchange magnetic

Some thoughts from the Oracle about Sue Vincent’s photo prompt above.  The photo looked familiar so I searched through my archives and found my previous response.  The painting I did was quite different, but the words seem eerily applicable to my present relationship to the world–“this false night, this held breath”.  Am I who I was before?

Incompletion s

am I who I was
before
the ocean remembered me?–
only a fool’s voice
sailing blue—

I listen for the words
of cloud magic
to open this asking path
into the dancing skies of always

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summoning

summoning s

Who
you seem to be complete
a smile like ripe fruit

What
you are everything
a palace and a simple path

When
reduced to molecules of grey light
sewn with stars

Where
a valley and a clear mountain stream
a tree growing inside a fabulous beast

Why
you are beyond and over
crowding me with vastness

How
newborn and ancient
an omen only just imagined

Withal
you take my hand unlayer
my heart open me and fly

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Being allergic, I am petless to answer the NaPoWriMo Day 29 prompt, but my dreams are full of creatures of all kinds.

Patti Griffin wrote this wonderful song for her dog.

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the circle game part 2

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Times Square is empty, like the weather—grey now, the colors drained like the empty subway cars, residing hidden in tenements, written in the isolation of morning coffee.  The Sunday newspaper remains undelivered (again) as even that thread of connection frays into feral cats in dark corners and the shadows of crows haunting the hometown I never knew.

All of this is imaginary, of course—flora and fauna are absent from this enclosed space, except as chimera, impoverished by the boredom of my own company, the same jeans and shirt waiting to be worn like the trackless days.  No Significant Other to keep me in, and an invisible barrier blocking me from leaving.  Outside my window a graffiti of exclamation points greets me each day behind the passing cars and on clear evenings I say “Goodnight Moon”, remembering bedtimes with small bodies close and sleepy and warm.

But the lines have been drawn, and as Joni reminds me, the seasons still go round and round.  We’re always captive on the carousel of time.

tomorrow
blue skies
growing new wings

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The NaPoWriMo prompt today was “to fill out, in five minutes or less, the following “Almanac Questionnaire.” Then, use your responses as to basis for a poem.”  You can see the questionnaire here.

 

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mad enchantment

mad enchantment mandala s

mad enchantment s

mad enchantment–
a swarm, a flock, a host–
winged spirits

Bjorn has us going through out bookshelves for his dVerse prompt.  I brought very few books to my temporary apartment, thinking I would make frequent visits to the library.  Most of what is here are art books with exiting titles like “Matisse” or “Chagall”.  Still, I managed to put together a haiku-like book poem.

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Then I did one with CDs, which offered a better selection.

wise up ghost s

Wise up ghost:
I’m not there.
Life’s too short.

 

 

Nature’s Way (Earth Day 2020)

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“Only when the last tree has died and the last river has been poisoned and the last fish has been caught will we realize we cannot eat money.”—Cree Proverb

I attended the first Earth Day celebration in Washington DC in 1970.  I was 18 years old, full of hope and energy.  It seemed to me then that humans were listening to the Earth’s warnings.  We would clean up the air, the water, the soil, we would consume less, learn to live both sustainably and without the psychic and financial gaps of artificial hierarchy.

Fifty years later, and we lose more species every year.  The ice caps are melting, the violent weather increasing, the extremes of everything becoming the norm.  Seasons are disappearing.  Many of the world’s peoples have no place to call home.

All those things we “need”, all those conveniences we can’t live without, all those changes we are too busy or discouraged to fight for…

new characters but
the same stories—remembered
in the light of now

earth mandala comp

The NaPoWriMo Day 22 prompt is to take a proverb from a culture not your own and use it to inspire your writing.  Many cultures have proverbs that counsel us to be good caretakers of the earth, but the Cree words seemed especially appropriate.

I’ve done posts and earth-inspired art many times over the years, and the art here is taken from some of them.

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