Once again, the Oracle made me work hard. I did not intend this to accompany the image I did for the Kick-About challenge last week, but I think that, strangely, it works. I’m sure the Oracle is acquainted with the vase-goddess who inspired the collage.
do our secrets listen to the night?
starry-eyed ghosts
opening like sails in wild air
lingering at windows
like haunted skyvoices
wordclouds dancing on oceans of dark
What do we say to death when
it insists on arriving despite the fact that we
are not ready? We still have love
that needs to be given. We
haven’t said all that we feel
to those who need to know. It
is never the right time, is it? That’s all.
(a shovel poem after Robert S. Carroll “This Much”)
I get daily emails of poetry from several sources. I don’t have time to read them all, but I look at least one every day. Yesterday when I opened the Rattle email to the poem “This Much” by Robert S. Carroll, about the death of his father, I was stopped in my tracks. I read it over several times, and then wrote this shovel poem from the ending thought “When we love, we feel it all”. I urge you to read Carroll’s poem here.
For dVerse OLN, hosted by Sanaa, and another response to Sarah’s prompt to have a conversation with another poet/poem.
I know everyone is obsessed with Donald Trump right now, but 4000 people died yesterday in the United States from Covid-19.
child of my past, you
have not traveled far enough
to forget troubles
that once stood before you—ones
you could not tell from the ones
that had been left be
hind—sometimes to understand
means to leave, and some
times it requires being held
by what you could not keep—you
can never find all
the pieces to the puzzle
at the same time—but
so much remains—release what
is lost–make ways to be found
Sarah at dVerse asked us to have a conversation with a poem we read in the last year that resonated with us. Last week I was listening to some poems being read on Brain Pickings, and one particular Emily Dickinson poem, read by Patti Smith, stayed in my mind. As I listened to it several times, I wrote down the words that jumped out at me, and started to make my own poem with them. I sometimes do this when listening to poetry, and find that the emotional tone influences what I write, even if the subject I write about turns out to be totally different.
Sarah’s prompt made me return to and revise the poem, and I thought it went well with a collage I just finished too, based on the Tarot Nine of Wands. I love all kinds of cards, and the symbolism of Tarot is especially rich for the kinds of imagery I use in my collages. Nine of Wands is a card of resilience.
You can read Emily Dickinson’s poem #600, I Was Once a Child, and hear Patti Smith reading it, at Brain Pickings, here.
The Oracle really made me work today.
when there is not enough
moonmist for sleep
ask time to be still
let music whisper like light
do not dream shadow language
into the wind
sail like stargardens
of shining sky
* carl jung
stars appear
reflected, freshly
pressed–falling
into place
like the Fool’s card—zero played
openly, surprised
The Fool is ever walking beside us, but we are free to choose its wonder and possibility rather than its ignorance and recklessness.
Happy New Year!
It doesn’t matter if you say
no
in fact: why not?
go ahead
I’m taking it with a grain of salt
It’s a blessing in disguise
I may have missed the boat but
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it
in fact: the sky’s the limit
And if I’m not playing
with a full deck: so what?
I’ve got an ace in the hole
I’ve got the whole nine yards
I’ve got all the time in the world
Take a wild guess–what’s in my hand?
Gobbledygook? Only a joke?
Hullabaloo? Mirrors and smoke?
Juggle to play–where will they land?
Diamonds and kings? Jack and a Trump?
Ace in the hole? Or just a hunch?
Song and a dance–strike up the band!
Monkeys are here–business to make–
Chickens are counted–won’t calculate.
Quick! Heads or tails? Where do you stand?
Not fair at all? Surely you jest–
I’m just a card–take a wild guess.
Two final fools for 2020, both from 2016. I wonder what inspired me that year? Let’s hope 2021 deals us all a better hand.
angels without bodies
heads with wings
gazing with dismay
upon humanity–
where indeed?
did they come from
will they go?
and who knows
who they are
who we are
and why we are
on opposite sides?
who is this? who
petitions the heavens
surrounded by sky waves
encased in a floating shell
held by cherubs–
the sun waits
uncertain afraid
while multiple madonnas
hover above
the mission grounds–
what is the mission?
of this line drawn
over and under–
who drew it?
who was first
to deny kinship
to question the connection
between we and they–
is it just a matter
of transposing
the words the sounds?
what prayers must Our Lady
carry past the pleading priests?
over the waves
through the clouds
into the night
where the moon waits
patient and wise
For the earthweal challenge A FEAST OF EARTH FOOLS. Once again, I am uncertain if my answer fulfills the question. But I believe the moon, patroness of lunatics, deserves a seat at earth’s table.
Part of this poem came out of something I wrote about an engraving in the Hispanic Museum celebrating Our Lady of Guadalupe. It was an unhappy scene I thought–even the angels looked distressed. The sun appeared to be attempting to hide. Only the three visions of the Lady seemed to hold any real spiritual essence. It was titled “Recognizing the Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe”–clearly what was needed was to recognize the night.
impossible orb
bewildered
are you divining
the moon? Lunatic
they call you
celestial tricks
circumnavigate
on the verge
forever pending
A lune poem from 2016 for tonight’s full moon.
…and continuing the year’s end of fools. My collage is also a Fool Tarot Card, Zero. Where we need to start for 2021.
What fools, what fools, what fools these mortals be
what fools to mimic riches glitter fame
what fools to in those masks refinement see
what fools embraceth folly without shame
Where every likeness hath its own deceit
wherein it looketh match to opposite
pretended twin to answer in repeat
the shoe that forceth toes and heel to fit
With voices like to painted artifice
with jaws that stretcheth into polished teeth
with promises that proveth meaningless
duplicity a smile cached underneath
And will the masquerade yet come undone?
I fear the jester killeth us with fun.
The Earthweal challenge this week is titled A FEAST OF EARTH FOOLS. Brendan has asked us to “Mix your human essence with another living entity”, in the spirit of the ancient seasonal celebrations that invite reversals, chaos, and ghosts into the world in order to transform it.
I’ve often written about fools, and decided to repost some of them this week, while considering how to answer Brendan’s invitation. It’s not a bad idea this time of year to consider the folly of humankind.
This poem was written in April 2016 for Shakespeare’s birthday, and Talk Like Shakespeare Day (yes it really exists).
Perhaps the rain and windstorm of Christmas Eve is a beginning towards washing away the darkness of 2020. Of course, as the Oracle reminds us, it’s never that simple.
I was pleased to have 3 pieces selected for The Ephrastic Review’s Christmas day post: Weathering, Our Lady of Toil and Trouble, and Mari Lwyd . You can read them here
away from the rain
shadows still ache with light
storms rip together apart
yet sea and sky sing roses
in the mothertongue
of the moon
ask what you want
for the dreams
you need
Also linking to earthweal Open Link Weekend.
