weaving light
waves that cross over
in curved lines,
waves that land
inside the pause of the edge,
waves that linger cusped–
a small piece
of time, and yet it
fills me up–
I balance,
holding on to tides synapsed
between spells and signs
Peter Mungkuri’s “Country with Trees”, above, is the current Kick-About prompt. The layering of the different elements got me thinking about an idea from Claudia McGill that I had copied and saved which I recently found when sorting out files.
She took a magazine and tore pages partially out to create a new layered collage-like image. I did not have any magazines with trees, but I have lots of surfing magazines I bought on eBay because they are full of images of sea and sky to use in collage. So I layered the ocean.
My poem is a shadorma quadrille for dVerse, using the word provided by Linda, linger.
The Oracle, once again, discarded all my original words and replaced them with her own. And perhaps not so strangely I found a collage I did a few weeks ago that fit perfectly.
ask the blue wind why
it cries as if nothing sails
on moonshadowed seas
we sleep in the languages
of water whispered dreams
phantasma
goria exposed
by shadows
dissolving
into borrowed wings eclipsed
by casting out light
I’m behind a few weeks on posting my contributions to the Kick-About, but this is the most recent, a collage inspired by Sheila Legge’s Phantom of Surrealism, above. Masked in roses, she was photographed in a white dress and gloves, surrounded by pigeons in Trafalgar Square, a performance inspired by a painting by Dali.
I was drawn to the statuesque quality of the photo, particularly given the location, and I can never resist using birds in a collage.
And of course we all don our own masks–some are just more obvious than others.
where is the center?
always moving–
I can’t locate
the pivot
always moving–
the place of stillness,
the pivot
of this labyrinth
stillness
retracing
this labyrinth
emerging
retracing
beginning
emerging
expanding
to begin,
I relocate–
expanding
the center
For Earthweal, where Ingrid asks us to consider our labyrinthine times.
I had written my own poem earlier in the week, but since the anniversary of 9/11 is on a Saturday, I also consulted the Oracle. We are both feeling the shadows and the ache.
ghosted, these
ruins—shadows left
imprinted
on this day–
each returning resurrects
the ache of absence
beneath blue skies
death shows up
raining red
the day lives raw
our dreams ache
with rust and blood
language is shadowed
as if love
will never be recalled
music whispers
on the wind
through still light
More questions from the Oracle.
stars awake fireborn
breathing vast ferocious joy
into dazzled dark
where is the door of always?
who parses the voice of time?
After I post my birds on memadtwo tomorrow, I’m taking a break from the internet for a few weeks. Enjoy the rest of your summer!
more
and more
crow-
ded in-
to less and
less—un-
fold-
ed and
folded a-
gain each new day–
do I need
to know
who
I am?
words scatter
like air–
gone,
disa-
ppeared
David at the skeptic’s kaddish introduced me to the waltz wave, an poetry form that asks you to separate the syllables for some of your words. I like to do this, especially in shadorma.
I found it to be a challenge, especially to find the right subject matter for this kind of verse. In the end I wrote two, both of which seemed to go well with an old collage I had done which was based on a painting by Redon.
do
dreams fly
or
tunnel?
flow or stun?
spiral
to
the cen-
ter or spin
out to the far-
thest away?
will they
em-
brace or
turn around?
para-
llel
or de-
part?
For Colleen’s #Tanka Tuesday, poet’s choice.
Also linking to dVerse OLN, hosted by Mish.
“It doesn’t make a damned bit of difference who wins the war to someone who’s dead.”
― Joseph Heller
“And a step backward, after making a wrong turn, is a step in the right direction.”
–Kurt Vonnegut
August 6 marks the 76th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima, which was followed by the bombing of Nagasaki on August 9—the only time nuclear weapons have been used in war.
Between 130,000 and 230,000 people were killed, mostly civilians. Many of those who survived the bombing itself were stricken with radiation sickness and died painful and premature deaths.
The story of 12-year-old Sadako Sasaki’s attempt to make 1000 origami cranes after falling ill with leukemia turned the Japanese Crane, long a symbol of immortality, into a symbol of the wish for nuclear disarmament and world peace.
There are currently less than 1800 Japanese cranes surviving in the wild, for the usual human reasons—loss of habitat and food sources, pollution and poisioning, poaching, disease.
And so it goes…
burning floods
birds singing silent
ash and bones
For Frank’s haibun prompt at dVerse, August. I’ve written about this in August and used these images several times before.
This is our cry.
This is our prayer.
Peace in the world.
–inscription on the Children’s Peace Monument in Hiroshima
http://www.nippon.com/en/images/k00009/
Sadako Sasaki was a toddler living in Hiroshima when it was bombed by the United States. Ten years later she died as a result of leukemia, “the atomic bomb disease.” If you don’t know the story of Sadako and the 1000 Cranes, you can read about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sadako_and_the_Thousand_Paper_Cranes
Another mostly sleepless night. But the Oracle sees beauty in those hours too. And how else would I have seen the sliver of the moon?
And look closely on the right–there’s Saturn too.
who is this self
sailing slowly through the dark
always away
blue with haunted oceans
flying from the ghosts of time
breathless as the dance
of skyholes
lingering in starfire
awakening the open eyes
of this goodnight
