The Oracle insisted I use the Mustache kit this morning, and this is what she gave me there. When I was looking in the archives for art, besides the above image, I came across another one I’ve used before. That one, below, was used for one of Jane’s Yeats challenges, which she and I had just been talking about,
“Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?” –Yeats
Crown falls with angels and stars, laughs, becomes seeds– now singing, calling to earth’s children—Come! Touch the sacred skies!
if you believe in the mystery life is poetry– growing roots–calling with the power of a stillness beyond space or time
impossibly strewn, all authority breaks down– the fierce mother speaks
impossibly strewn, feral rain roars, abstracted– wind swims through the streets
authority breaks down, chokes on forgotten questions– threads turn into knots
the fierce mother speaks– wild voices rise, converging– elemental fire
The phrase that jumped out at me when I looked at Jane’s Oracle 2 words this week was “the fierce mother speaks”. I’ve been ruminating on it all week and finally came up with a poem yesterday. I spent a long time fooling around on the computer with the above image, which took a scan of an asemic drawing I made and added some Photoshopped images. The collage is from the archives.
Also linking to Sherry’s earthweal challenge, wild souls. Whose soul is wilder than that of Mother Nature?
I submit most months to Visual Verse, and have had many poems published (thank you!). But some I like better than others. This month’s poem, “Night Journey”, is one of them. You can read it here.
My poem “passages”, written to Jo Zider’s artwork, is also up at The Ekphrastic Review. My thanks to guest editor Sandi Stromberg, and to Lorette C. Luzajic for her continued support. You can read it here.
I think the poems complement each other. Which only highlights how I return to the same themes again and again…
Snowfall. Night. The shore is distant. I dream of flying—but I remain enclosed within ice blue, glittering.
North seems far– where I am has no direction. The landscape retreats until almost all is trapped within dreams.
Barren seas echo with silence. The world cracks. Wind weeps in side chasms of solitude– the melting of time.
Sherry’s heartbreaking photo, above, that accompanied her prompt at earthweal to talk about the connections between life and the melting ice of the arctic, inspired the dreamscape of my shadorma chain, written also for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday, where Jules selected shadorma as this month’s form.
She did not remember the way, but she remembered the times, the place. She wanted to connect present to past. She did not know how or where to begin, and yet she needed to try to construct that bridge. Words were all she had now.
Two ways, really, even though she always pretended they were the same. Or maybe it was only her longing that failed to understand that they were two, not one.
She had been dreaming of a river. A man, a boat. Trees, weeping, or was that her own voice, crying on the wind? It had been summer once. Flowered. Sweet.
But here was the river again, littered with fallen leaves. What magic word would turn back the seasons, dispel the haze, repair a lifetime that had already disintegrated into dust?
Was she coming or going? In her dreams a voice kept repeating you have to choose. But between what? Who? Did she get to choose who would be waiting on the other side of the river? Or was she to be the one left waiting?
to begin, become the current– sing its song
Brendan at earthweal has more to say about rivers this week and poses the question: What voyages are found there, which deities are vast in its depths? It made me think of my response to the Kick-About #61 prompt, which was Molly Drake’s haunting song, “I Remember”.
I wasn’t aware of Molly’s connection to Nick Drake, but when I learned that she was his mother, Molly’s song immediately made me think of Nick’s song “River Man”. I took the feeling I got from both songs–a kind of remembering intertwined with uncertainty, loss, and the passing of time–and wrote the above prose poem, adding a haiku coda for earthweal, and some water art from my archives.
I visited the Oracle as usual early this morning, and her words so much reminded me of the NASA photos of Jupiter I saw recently that I did something I haven’t done in a very long time–I painted a piece of art especially for her words, rather than searching through my archives. It’s still wet, so the colors may change when it dries, and it doesn’t exactly resemble Jupiter, but it’s the spirit more than the exact image that I wanted to capture.
The cosmos is endlessly and unbelievably beautiful, despite the havoc humans may be imposing on our tiny and insignificant blue planet. A little perspective does the psyche good.
born in the blush between air and breath
like laughter dancing naked over oceans of ferocious life
the voice of the universe embraces the holes in our foolish desires
sailing them open into a vast sky of magic nights surrounded by dazzling stars
The sea gathers me in, keeps me between, a creature of neither water nor land, held forever inside spirals of moontides, echoing back into what is neither mine nor self.
Around and around the waves spin me along the path of an immense Möbius loop. I oscillate on the edge, barely there, beyond human sensing.
Deeper, extended, enhanced. I am in need of rendering. I am in need of being opened until the stars wrap around my core, untill all of me is whispered into music like light.
I absorb the flickering of images—felt but unseen, channeled within each breath, ungraspable. Always this interpolation, this blurring of what lies beyond as it merges into the finity of my body. Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings me into the place where my boundaries fall into the cosmic abyss.
For the dVerse prosery where Lisa has given us a quote from Oliver Wendell Holmes:
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:— –from The Chambered Nautilus