Wayfaring Stranger

It wasn’t heaven above surrounding me like stars
on a distant shore—I wasn’t a memory like stars

I had not become a child swimming in the sun, a sleepy
summer afternoon of endless play, swinging free like stars

Hovering in the form of an invisible crown,
it was not a hurricane holding its eye to me like stars

I was not a journey through the tunneled darkness
following the trail of all things hidden ghostly like stars

Becoming what I yet wasn’t, I crossed everywhere–
in a nameless endless shedding of all identity—like stars

A poem of wandering for Ammol at DVerse, in the current featured poetic form, ghazal.  I find the form to be somewhat awkward, but I’m beginning to think maybe that’s the point of it.  It mirrors the thought process.  Or maybe I just need more practice at writing them.

 

Kerfe (version 2)

Not to brag but I think this might be one of my best portraits. This caught something of my friend Kerfe. Like I’ve said before Kerfe is aging very well. She still looks like the knit designer I met at Fairtex Mills all those many years ago.

I guess it’s her good bone structure.

Kerfe, I hope you like this one.

Reveiled

We are tracing broken shadowed dreams,
lines that curve and end up on the edge–
these places that come back
and close the door

Lines that curve and end up on edges
that cannot be reached
through any door–
both sides spiraling

They cannot be breached–
they remain, still, abandoned
by both sides, spiraling,
bathed in an untranslatable light

They remain still, abandoned–
we freeze them into frames
bathed in an untranslatable light–
we want to keep them safe, unchanged

We freeze them into frames
that hold our lives like clenched fists–
we want to keep ourselves safe, unchanged,
imprisoned in a maze of rooms

We hold our lives in clenched fists
that deny the landscape of after–
imprisoned in a maze of rooms
from the country of before

Lost in the landscape of after,
these places come back
from the country of before–
we are tracing broken shadowed dreams

A pantoum for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

 

moonflower

In honor of this month’s May flower full moon, the Oracle gave me a lai nouveau.  I know dVerse has moved on to the ghazal already, but I’m not ready yet for June which is still a full week away.

the moon a flower
cloud air and water
gentle
wild gardens wander
secrets uncover
cycle
we follow after
blossoming color

shine over summer
spring fall and winter
fertile
beneath blue murmur
listen as nature’s
soul fills
cloud air and water
the moon a flower

 

Poem up at The Ekphrastic Review

My poem “Free at Last” was among those chosen to accompany the painting  “Ninos”, by Fidelio Ponce de Leon, at The Ekphrastic Review.  You can see the artwork and read it, along with the rest of those selected, here.

My thanks once again to editor Lorette C. Luzajic for supporting my work and the interaction between the visual and written arts.

Kerfe

Portrait of Kerfe from our lunch a few weeks ago.

are we not what we are

The deities do not really know
me, nor I them.
I understand not their reasoning.
I do not bow down
to their invisible forces.
My days do not depend on
meeting their needs–
they do not guide me
or light my path.

Chance made me,
chance and circumstances
beyond their control.

I do not look like them,
nor do I follow
their arbitrary whims.
Who I am is a mystery–
mine, not theirs.
When I cease to be
I will become
part of the mystery too.

I will not join them
or serve them
or sing their praises.

I will sing the songs
of my people speaking
in the voices
of the ebb and flow
of our existence,
our beginnings and our ends.

The universe will continue
with or without me, or us,
or those calculations some may choose
to rest their hopes upon.

Sorrow will someday
fill me, like waters burning
inside a vast light–
I will lie naked and alone,
bones joined
to the many paths
my feet have trodden.

And yet joy
and yet laughter
and yet wonder
and the magic of the night sky.
And yet the wings of birds
and the shells
that come from the sea.

We are all this
and more,
already rooted and found.
We belong to what nurtures life–
the earth, the moon, the sun–
the elemental dust
given us by the stars.

A (late) response to the Myths of the Mirror May Speculative Fiction prompt, below.  I kind of went off on a tangent with both the collage and words, but I started with Diana’s image.

Draw a Bird Day: sheltered by shadows

jeweled feathers caught
in reflected mist—cloistered
chiaroscuro

This is another brightly colored resident of the South American cloud forest, the grey-breasted mountain toucan.  As with all inhabitants of the world’s cloud forests, they are a threatened species because of habitat loss.

Drawn with neocolors.

 

misdirections

here or there
and then what?  so far
so up–then
down, between
lost and left behind–climbing
the chutes, the ladders,

the maybes
and the knotted, the
ready and
the not yet,
the pointless and the lines drawn
in the sand…which way?

A nonsense quadrille for dVerse using the word “up”.

skeleton

This house is
painted with blackness
until it
deconstructs
form, kills all architecture–
it lives deep below

what cannot
be seen what hides be-
neath skin what
holds nothing–
this house is not afraid–
it contains no heart

When it breathes
in, it drains out—it
knows all of
those sorrows
without names—it stands until
it falls down inside

what follows
you around—what can’t
be placed in
any land-
scape—what remains unmoved where
you least expect it

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.