the sign said catch me if you can— I inquired as to who or what, but the Universe declined to answer
instead of illuminating, it withdrew– tangled, cleft– its secrets woven into labyrinthine curves
it looked like a portal—but it was only a loophole– false passage, another de lusion full of knots
For dVerse OLN, hosted by Grace, where I’ve finally gotten around to using Jane’s Random Words for the week.. I’ve also finally produced a poem with the word “loophole” which I told Sun I was going to do months ago…
Picture credit: Britta Benson. This photograph was taken inside St. Cecilia’s Church (built in 1739), Heusenstamm, Germany.
A haynaku for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday Ekphrastic prompt, using Britta Benson’s photo, above, as inspiration. I’ve also used words from Jane’s Oracle 2.
And why not I thought to myself, why not –Robert Creeley, “Like They Say”
in the beginning and also in the middle and the end I wonder why I am not someone or something else, why I am thinking this thought when there is so much else to consider in the universe that is not myself– so much waiting to be asked–why and what and how—so much I am not
What do we remember of the womb, the world of mother-child, when we were one? Do we remember gentle waves, rocking on a seabed of safety, embraced by its self-contained shores? Do our cells forever feel the pull of oceans?—longing to find once more the lost liminal—floating free, water and earth overlapping in an intertidal dance?
Is shelter the same as home?
If we carry our belonging on our back like snails. If we build temporary abodes like caterpillars, waiting for transformation, a future entirely reconfigured, a momentary ephemeral flight.
Is there an either/or, or is it always both/and? The leaving, the long road back, the journey the same but different, a vast and endless circle, each step verged, again and again.
I stand impermanently on a threshold of sand, looking for solidity, a resting place. Where is the first mother, starborne, moonshadowed? What existed before the beginning, the original dreaming?
mystery of return—how to meet yourself
Sometimes I feel like I keep recomposing the same poem over and over. This meditation on shelter, for earthweal, is just the most current version of my repetitive state of mind.
You kept it close, hidden deep in the forest of your being.
Spellsounds, the rhythm that held so much underneath– what came before, and also the possibility of entirety constructed out of something beyond thought, beyond reasoning–
It became like singing, a chord that vibrated both inside and out, flowing from brain to blood–
It had no source, no need of one—just this blanket of aliveness, hungry for untamed light– glowing waves of particles that could neither be located or contained.
For earthweal, where Brendan asks: How else are we to sing?
I’ve spoken before about how sometimes (usually when meditating), when I’m very still, I can hear the air. I was also thinking about Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle. In the end, we are only, like the rest of the universe, particles and waves.
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.
Back when the musical “Hair” came out, some astrologers grumbled that it wasn’t really the Age of Aquarius yet. But what did we care? We were tired of the world as it was, ready for Peace Love and Understanding.
Well…maybe not.
chaotic stillness watching from the whorled center for new beginnings
During 2020 there were rumblings once again online about the REAL Age of Aquarius finally showing up. I was skeptical to say the least.
all those lost patterns– I collect them in my mind, in new rotations
It seems we had the Age of Aquarius skewed, not only in time. Yes, it’s a total tearing down and rebuilding. But it’s going to require hard work. Taking a lot of drugs and wearing tie-dye and listening to songs about love won’t do it.
all impermanence— no matter which way you turn the path continues
Can we change our entire approach to living together, not only with each other, but with the earth, its creatures, its landscape, its elements? We need to if we want to survive.
giving myself hope inside my dark wanderings– a world of wonder
When Phil asked me to choose this week’s Kick-About prompt, I thought immediately of The Age of Aquarius, because I’ve been turning over in my mind the hope that it might be real, that humanity can change. I always loved the music posters of the “Hair” era, and used them as inspiration for my neon colored paintings.
I’m looking forward to seeing all the other responses next week.
K. 