My new window looks at rooftops architecture trees and sky. My new window opens to the continuous city work of maintenance and construction going from here to there and back again the voices of cars and dogs and humans and birds. My new window is busy.
After dark my new window sparkles with other windows imprinted on dark silhouettes. The night sky changes color and texture from hour to hour and the full moon wakes me as it shines its reflected secrets into my dreaming eyes. My new window is aware.
The NaPoWriMo prompt for today is to write about what you see through a particular window. This one is in the bedroom of my new apartment. I’m so happy I have such a good view of the moon, which has woken me up every clear night for the past week.
Why do you ask me where we are? I lost my bearings long ago. Each day is different, and yet very much like all that have been or will be, amen. You ask me for maps, for calculations, but why not shower the world with devotion?
~and why should we not sing~
celebrating what is here and now but also what leaves and then returns? Every story continues beyond its ending. Why not follow it around? Why not grow wings, meet each day without imprisoning it in either space or time?
The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a poem that poses a series of questions. Since the majority of my poems ask questions, I also incorporated Merril’s dVerse prompt to write a puente.
fitzcarraldo n.an image that somehow becomes lodged deep in your brain—maybe washed there by a dream, or smuggled inside a book, or planted during a casual conversation—which then grows into a wild and impractical vision that keeps scrambling back and forth in your head like a dog stuck in a car that’s about to arrive home, just itching for a chance to leap headlong into reality.
that tiny room the one with the steps to the attic the one with only bed and dresser
nothing more fits but the window with the tree and the sky and the birds
I could leap out that window like Wendy and the Lost Boys riding the wind to faraway dreams
I could hide under the covers with a flashlight and a book a transistor radio playing
Fly Me to the Moon I could accompany myself by singing wishes on stars
on a moon that illuminates all these yearnings pulsing through the bloodsongs of my heart
What is? Why not say blue mirror, say deep well– Why not say sun light, say bright fire?
Dancing circles into braided beginnings, the meeting of earth and air
Weaving flowers to welcome back the missing and missed
Swallowing the past, planting the future– doing and being both—
Balancing the between to expand in both directions
What is? Why not say moment of birth, say the point when life begins, say spirit, breath, embodiment?
What is? Why not say the pivot of is and is not?
Sarah has given us the inspiration of Beltrane at earthweal this week. Whatever you choose to write about, remember that this is a celebration, of new life, of love and of the endless bounty of this planet.
will those still waters fail to depart after all? this center—in my ignorance– drops me in amidst a multitude of mirrors– will I drift away before even beginning to move beyond uncertainty? mind closed, immobilized by the guilt of experience, held captive by that which always leads back to this
I used Lucille Clifton’s “blessing the boats” for the Day 5 NaPoWriMo prompt, and decided to revisit the poem for the April 6 dVerse prompt from Jade (Lisa) to choose one of your favorite poems by another poet and flip the meaning on it. I’ve been working on this on and off for awhile–it’s far different than my original attempt, and probably not finished still.
I’ve done similar exercises in the past, but never tried to be so literally opposite. It’s not easy.
I think the Oracle is telling me to slow down, stop trying to do everything all at once. Don’t panic because I can’t even find the box where I packed the scotch tape. Sometimes you just need to take time to breathe.
I too like the places where categories are neither and both—indistinct forms replace the sharp edges and play with what is no longer there.
Past and future give way to presence, and dissolve who I am—nothing has yet been decided.
There is no need to consult time, to hasten the turning of the wheel–
the landscape seems different, unattached to words or specific actions as it gathers me in, murmuring my pulse with invisible currents.
Crow calls to my soul– a shadow casting deeper than darkness or light.
The NaPoWriMo prompt for today is to write a poem that responds, in some way, to another. Liu Xia is a Chinese artist, activist and poet. “Twilight” is one of the poems in her book Empty Chairs. Although that particular poem is not available online, you can read some of her other poems here.
NYC was in serious decline in the 70s–hence the famous headline, from 1975, below. Everything was falling apart, and there were vacant lots and abandoned properties everywhere.
Organizations like GrowNYC, Greenthumb, and OasisNYC began to foster community gardens in abandoned lots, renovated by volunteers from the surrounding area. Today there are nearly 600 such gardens in the city–everywhere you walk, you’ll stumble upon one. Managed by neighborhood residents, they grow all kinds of things, both edible and simply beautiful. They foster new and experienced gardeners, young and old. They sponsor art displays and performances, and act as community centers.
I used Bjorn’s prompt, at dVerse, to compose my poem for Earth Day in Anapestic Tetrameter.