moon

winter solstice 2020

the moon reflects–
caught between inside and out
returning the light

For Frank Tassone’s haikai challenge collection, I have chosen #170, Solstice II, December 19th. These are photos I took of the moon, which appeared briefly that night between the buildings. The clouds soon moved in, dashing any hopes of seeing the two planets in conjunction.

What most interested me about the photos was that the half moon appeared most clearly as a reflection caught in the glass of my window. Perhaps that’s all we can really hope to see this year–a mirrored image capturing what fleetingly enters our field of vision if we are lucky enough to be looking that way.

december morning

The Oracle was feeling mellow this morning. I can use some mellow.

This photo was taken out my window of last month’s (nearly) full moon.

here beneath this thick blue
winter world
I watch the murmur
of almost dawn

seeds rooted in the night
tendriling a path through
dark into day

I follow still
spirited full with secrets
breathed by the moon

innervisions

yellow
mellow moon
is the color

blue
velvet moon
is the color

red
blood moon
is the color

green
–not easy–
(but then nothing ever)

is (quite) the color
of the amphibious moon
music of my mind

Mention a color, and all kinds of music comes into my mind. Grace at dVerse has us thinking about musical synesthesia. Stevie Wonder has it. It has nothing to do with the vision of your eyes.

If the circle opens, will it become a line? (new moon/almost like praying)

I wanted to reblog my response to an old prompt of Sue Vincent’s in honor of the New Moon this weekend. The Oracle had something to say about it too.

In my original post, I explained my inspiration: I discovered this week that the plural for luna mare (moon sea) is lunar maria …is that wonderful, or what?  So when I saw Sue Vincent’s Luna photo prompt, above, I had to incorporate it into my response.

Here’s the poem I wrote for Sue’s photo:

The arc of
lunar mountains, edged
dark with bays
of basalt…
Maria!—your names reflect
as mirrors to fill

with sorrow,
forgetfulness, snakes,
storms and fear.
Can we find
the sea of tranquility
and sail into dreams?

between is and if only
we listen
as earth grows restless

breathing wild ancient song
beneath murmuring leaves

climbing windshine
over rock rooted paths

wandering through the hidden secrets
of the moon’s dark night

And of course this song is still and always appropriate.

You can see 14 other interpretations of “Maria” here.

Also linking to Earthweal Open Link Weekend.

how she flies

I’ve been working on this collage all week, and I asked the Oracle about it.

moon dances

open nevertime

ask air to let nightflower ghosts
bleed spirits like wild dark
star angels

the rhythm of eternity
wakes the secrets of fools–
voices that devour the hauntings
lingering in the icy oceans
of desire

Also linking again to Earthweal’s moondance.

autumn moon (bundled in hope and fear)

The shadows follow my intersections with the moonlight as I move the ground with my feet.  I am not thinking of who I am or where I might be going.

Cocooned in myself I walk alone, yet I remain threaded to the aliveness of what passes me by.  I cross paths and spiral through scattered clouds, patterned in parallel with the shining dark sky.

who
enters this
circle of night?

 

More moon meditations for Frank Tassone’s haibun prompt at dVerse.

sailing the moon

ghost ships rise
along the crescent,
shadowing
their moonmasts–
sails blurred blue into oceans–
dusk stilled into night

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt of August 20, below.

I posted my original painting on memadtwo with the Oracle’s meditation on Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  I was dissatisfied with it and intensified the dark for the painting above.  I had written the poem at that time as well (even though I was offline), and it complements the Oracle’s words I think.

The crescent moon circle was taken from one of my photos, but I think I should have glued it down.  A small task I will get to soon.

Also sending good wishes to Sue as she deals with a serious illness.

Falling

 

We pretend
to own what we claim–
plant our flags
build fences
carry weapons in our hands–
exchange life for gold.

Do we think
we can circumscribe
the secrets
of the moon
with a padlock and a key?
We just keep falling

like black holes–
misunderstanding
reflected
light—the ebb
and flow of seas and seasons–
uncapturable.

Lillian at dVerse provided 4 images from artist Catrin Welz-Stein and asked us to choose one as ekphrastic inspiration.  I chose the image below.

I’ve taken a few liberties with my interpretation.  The collage box always has something to tell me.