summoning

summoning s

Who
you seem to be complete
a smile like ripe fruit

What
you are everything
a palace and a simple path

When
reduced to molecules of grey light
sewn with stars

Where
a valley and a clear mountain stream
a tree growing inside a fabulous beast

Why
you are beyond and over
crowding me with vastness

How
newborn and ancient
an omen only just imagined

Withal
you take my hand unlayer
my heart open me and fly

summoning close up s

Being allergic, I am petless to answer the NaPoWriMo Day 29 prompt, but my dreams are full of creatures of all kinds.

Patti Griffin wrote this wonderful song for her dog.

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(all the things) I never meant

all the things s

Sorry is
a reflex, a word in
cluding all
regrets for
ever, past and future, large,
tiny, unnoticed–

What was done,
what should have been done–
can we know
what will sprout
from mistakenly planted
words, expectations?

Should I take
back those seeds, wish them
gone, destroy
what was born
when unknowing became theft?
Who will unsing those

Songs?

all the things close up s

The NaPoWriMo prompt for today is “to write a non-apology for the things you’ve stolen”.  I’m very quick to say sorry, but there are always layers of meaning underneath.

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magic carpet

magic carpet ride close up s

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Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt. based on the concept of the language of flowers, fit perfectly with Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, below.  Fields of bluebells belong to the fairies.

Once again, I did a watercolor ground and then a separate watercolor for the trees, which I cut apart and placed on the ground.  Then I consulted with the Oracle.  She did not disappoint.

magic carpet ground close up s

ghostlight lingers blue
sailing haunted on flowersong
surrounded by magic

the listening voices of trees

here fools fly starborn
dancing like angels
into the sacred rhythms
of earth

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I consider rivers

i consider rivers s

Interiors are slowly
folding in—where do they go?–
invisibly departing
with each new exhalation
of air, to be reflected
in the afternoon sun, held
light on the wing of a bird,

to travel with the rivers,
following liquid paths that
enjoin our lost ways to sing,
reaching beyond the other
side, to become vast, unmapped,
unlocated everywhere–
to be cast out, opening–

What is it we seek?–the stuff
that accumulates, broken,
unrepairable, layered
over landscapes unable
to breathe? or will we become
unclenched, holding nothing but
earth wrapped up in endless sky?

I consider rivers close up s

Frank at dVerse challenged us to write a 7 line poem with a positive feeling.  I’m not sure this exactly meets the positive bar, but it’s headed more that way than a lot of what I’ve recently written.  I also used 7 syllables in each line, which I seem to remember as a form I saw somewhere, although I can’t remember where.

This is also my offering, off prompt, for NaPoWriMo.  Art inspired by Diebenkorn.

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Lavendar Moon

lavendar moon s

we are try
-ing to breathe, desperate
for clean air
uninfect
-ed by greed, ego, exploit
-ation, pollution

the moon does
not belong to you–
she belongs
to the night
sky, the cycle of light re
-turning from the dark

she dances
vast elemental
orbits to
time centered
beyond your indifference, your
vainglory, your lies

full lavendar moon s

For the NaPoWriMo day 7 prompt, a poem based on a news article.  You can find the news story I used here.  I took the photo, above, out my window at dusk last night.

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The art is inspired once again by Matisse.  And Los Lobos, with a great video rendition of Kiko.

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here comes the sun

here comes the sun s

here comes the sun magnetic

Magnetic dream poetry for NaPoWriMo and Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

here comes the sun close up s

 

Crow shades
the light as dawn walks
between the secrets
of my night

Listen

Roots breathe air
into birds
climbing bright song
through tendriled dark

Follow the wind

The Oracle, as always, gives good advice.

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in the country of the blind

country of the blind s

how is survival?
is it away beyond?–
a lost sense of arrival,
neither here nor gone–

is it away beyond,
tethered unto itself?–
neither here nor gone,
undefined, unfelt,

tethered unto itself,
like stars fading at dawn–
undefined, unfelt,
a whispered shadow song

like stars fading at dawn–
a journey, a myth,
a whispered shadow song
of silence and death–

A journey, a myth,
a lost sense of arrival
in silence and death–
how is survival?

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A pantoum for NaPoWriMo, where we consider rhymes, and Jane Dougherty’s Pictures and Poetry Challenge where she posted the Turner painting, above, and some words from the Francis Ledwidge poem The Dead Kings as inspiration.

country of the blind close up s

My painting was inspired by the Turner painting, and Ron Sexsmith provides the musical coda.

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as morning returns

as light returns 1s

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I consulted the Oracle while considering Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  This morning I was up as the sun was rising and even though there are no trees nearby I could hear the birds waking the day as they do every spring.  It was a welcome sound.

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I did a lot of fiddling myself with the art–first I painted a soft background, and then I did some more intense stripes on a separate piece of paper.  I cut those up and tried a number of arrangements.  It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I started, but satisfying nonetheless.

as light returns 3s

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as morning returns

light fiddles with sky
mist, the thousand green forest
languages, blue wind

whispers of pink moon gardens–
dream shadows swimming through time

as light returns 4s