winter

windward

the bridge to night,
hushed and wakeful,
asks me questions–
the words cast spells,

hushed and wakeful,
delicate and cobwebbed, into
ice—a sudden snow

asks me questions,
but I remain cloistered–
self-contained, undreamed—

the words cast spells–
maps sailing silent
unknown boundless seas

*Boughton, George Henry; The Lady of the Snows; Walker Art Gallery*

I started to construct a quadrille for dVerse, using the word ice given to us by Mish, and words from the Random Generator which Merril posted on Sunday. When I saw Colleen’s Ekphrastic prompt, above, it gave me a focus for what I had begun. I used the trimeric form.

of a winter’s night

the path vanishes
inside crystals—spiraled, wind
swept, alabastered

in eerie silence
stars dazzle indigo night–
sky patterns limn moon

silhouettes transform,
reconfigure the landscape–
trees close in, bow down

alone, I open
myself as if I could be
lifted by the light

I find myself in pieces–
creatured and held by branched wings

Brendan at earthweal provided a series of December images as inspiration this week. I chose the image above, which was perfect for a watercolor interpretation.

I had been struggling with my poem when I saw The Wombell Rainbow’s poetic form challenge this week. The haiku sonnet proved to be just the structure that I needed to clarify my words.

No snow here yet, just another dreary December rainy day.

cold comfort

who will hear our voices?

winter winds our walls
snow our blanket

old news now–
drowned out
by the latest atrocities

“Ukrainian Figurines” by Kirill Shevchenko (Groder) Image by Кирилл Шевченко from Pixabay

David, at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, supplied the above photo for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday this week. I recently ran across a “42” poem I had written and the form seemed just right for this prompt. The situation in Ukraine is full of questions with no easy answers.

I did these collages in my early days of blogging, when Marcy Erb and I did a number of poetry and art collaborations. The poetic excerpt that inspired this work was from Frederick Turner.

On the Death of an Infant

Latecomer, first to go,
Like the small arctic flower
Between the snow and snow,
The fragrance of an hour.

Frederick Turner (b. 1943)

Every day new things demand our attention–but let us not forget the people of Ukraine.

weathering

Even in the midst of a snowstorm, the Oracle is thinking of the moon.

raw soaring storms sing
the music of wind—we swim
dreaming beyond sleep

we ache for the still shadow
of the black moon whispering

bare beneath sea-sky
all the mother languages
held inside light

through paths long like never

The days seem shorter than usual this winter, and greyer. The Oracle knows.

always this leavetaking–
as if the wind was a light,
an ancient breathsong to follow
into rivers rooted
beneath deep forest moonshine–
a secret buried between
winter’s dark quiet
and the cloud-covered sun

into itself

into itself s

winter leaves, overlapping
with cold wind, rain,
clouds that permeate

each every day
footsteps too heavy
to follow another

enclosed in lethargy,
the hours devoid
of song, stagnant

from here to anywhere,
held in pause–
each day a tunnel

searching for openings–
starsunmoon
glowing

A quadrille for Lillian at dVerse, using the word glow.

I always like to photograph my art in natural light, but it’s so dark here today, I also did some with the overhead light on. It gives everything a yellow tone, and doesn’t show the subtle shifts in the color any better. Maybe they’re too subtle.