summoning

summoning s

songs rising, the path becomes
a spiral intersecting
the surface of forgotten
dreams, the edge of the held breath
which abides in all places,
a luminescence engraved
on the far side of the light

A sevens poem (via Jane Dougherty) for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  Once again, even as I am constrained by what images I find in my collage box, they manage to take me somewhere I would not have found on my own.

summoning close up s

Also linked to OLN on dVerse, hosted by Lillian.

 

reconciliation

reconciliation s

I am
always only
partway there–

I know what to avoid
but not how
to release what has departed.

I used to chase the seasons–
now I wait for what is given–
intangible substances–

the perimeter expands,
the sky is higher,
placed carefully in the interval.

The predictable
always takes you by surprise–
you can still retreat

but you can’t follow any forecast–
the combinations are secret
and without form.

What remains is reflection–
the transient continually rearranged
into something resembling a life.

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  Magpies seem to be one of those places where opposites meet.  What we take away from them depends on what we bring.

reconciliation close up s

 

 

gathering

gathering s

singing the stones,
ancient and yet still present
in wind that rustles
the trees—the way the birds rise
as one from branches to meet
the glowing edge of the sky

A bussokusekika  (written in a 5-7-5-7-7-7 pattern) for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I recently saw several poets using this form, and decided to try it myself.

gathering close up s

Still listening to the wind.

 

rooted

rooted close up s

I am looking for the parts of me I have lost. Where are they?

The invisible ones, I mean. Not the bones beneath skin, the blood red pulsing, not even the magic helix—no, the stuff that I can only sense inside my thoughts—the currents that should contain all those things that have lived through me, leaving their imprints on my past, on my wishes and dreams, on the choices I have yet to make.

My emptiness continues without plan or path. I recross myself and return over and over to the places I imagine I have already been.

Something sparkles in the branches, catching my attention. I glimpse light moving, connecting one thread to another, forming patterns.  I breathe in my existence.

They have been waiting for me, kept in trust for my return—these memories were left here with the trees.

This is in response to another old photo prompt of Sue Vincent’s (above), from May.  I did the art but never wrote anything to go with it.  Merril’s prosery prompt at dVerse, to use Jo Harjo’s words, “These memories were left here with the trees” in 144 words of prose, reminded me of the photo, so I pulled out the painting again.

rooted s

 

moonwind

moonwind s

moonwind magnetic s

I didn’t intend this poem to be for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, but it fit with my painting so well that it became my response–with help from the Oracle, of course.

moonwind close up 2s

When I visited the Oracle this morning, I could find no finish for any of my starts.  So I went on with my day.  When I came back, I began with a thought that completely revised itself several times before I was done.

moonwind asked light
to follow into dark–
an ancient path of secrets
fertile with earth air–
verdant roots growing spirit
from the colors of dawn–
wandering vivid and shining
between deep and wild

I’ve had too many gloomy thoughts lately.  The Oracle knows the healing power of the earth.  And tonight the half-moon, misty with clouds of hope.

moonwind close up 3s