beginnings fall in
to ends—threads of song braided
into rainbowed clouds
light and form cascade, flying
in tandem—mist layered sky
For Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #149, waterfall, and inspired by Ken Gierke’s wonderful photos of Niagara Falls.
For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above. Our skies have been like this on and off for a few weeks now.
here sky language dreams
enormous symphonies
sings in the tongues
of a thousand winds
beneath the shadows
of the hidden moon
storms wait
playing the music
of still bare light
Wherein lies the origin of mystery?
Does any story have an ending
and can any name the place
where all stories begin?
All stories are branches
of The One Story, a circle
retreating and returning
reversing and rewinding
retracing and redirecting
repeating and renewing.
Each sentence orbits and spirals
inside and out again.
Where is the place between
before and after? Is there
even a way to find
the location of no before?
I spiraled off a bit myself from the dVerse prompt from Merril, revolution. Blame it on the heat.
visions of windsong–
waves play currents of magic
painting textured light
Inspired by the photos of Phil Gomm, I tried to recreate one of his beautiful fields. I will need to explore this further, and of course, as always, I think it needs some stitching. (I’ll add that in my spare time…)
For Trank Tassone’s #haikai challenge #148 summer meadow.
It’s so unbearably hot here, it’s hard to find much motivation. Con Ed keeps calling to warn me the power might go off due to everyone overloading the grid by using their air conditioners. (I have open windows and 3 fans.) They are promising us a break on Friday.
time
distills
into the
slow motion of
half-forgotten hours–
astral sunsets emerge
inside the dense dazzled air–
waiting to join the fading light
that veils the edge between earth and sky
A nonet for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and Colleen’s #tanka Tuesday, with synonyms for blessed and hex, provided by Anita Dawes.
I did two rorschach paintings which turned out slightly different.
But somehow I always end up with wings.
The Oracle sent me a gentle reminder today.
sealight whispers
beneath the shadow moon
never sing the black
dream language–
be sky above water,
shining like a mothership
sailing through the dark
Night moves inside itself–
closes, hidden,
expanding, letting go–
suddenly singing
Closes, hidden,
opens again, opens
suddenly singing
infinity
Opens again, opens
an interstice–
infinity
trying to fly—
An interstice
spiraling out of its shell,
trying to fly
into the stars
Spiraling out of its shell,
a nomad rising
into the stars,
painting the sky
a nomad, rising,
expanding, letting go–
painting the sky,
night moves inside itself
For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.
I haven’t written a pantoum in awhile.
sky clouds rain–
suddenly letting
go, transformed–
drunk vortex,
mélange of thunder swirling–
spilling wind water
A shadorma for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday words, kind and shift. Thesaurus.com says mélange is a synonym for kind. I think it’s a bit of a stretch, but I love the sound of it.
And the storm really did break those 100 degree days into a more seasonal 80.
Can things become ghosts?
What crosses over
into immateriality?
The pressed flower between
the pages of a book–
can things become ghosts?
The rocks shaped by wind and rain–
the water reflecting the sun–
what crosses over?
the wings glimpsed through trees–
will we all traverse
into immateriality?
A cascade for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above. It has an air of timelessness.
K. 