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With the Moon on my Wings

swan moon totem s

The past holds the door with the moon on my wings
between now and before with the moon on my wings.

I look to the tree with the moon on my wings
for the power of three with the moon on my wings.

The threshold unfolding with the moon on my wings,
releasing and holding with the moon on my wings.

I look to the earth with the moon on my wings
for death and rebirth with the moon on my wings.

birds s

What will be has an end with the moon on my wings
that will fade and begin with the moon on my wings.

I look to the stones with the moon on my wings
to honor the bones with the moon on my wings.

Water that flows with the moon on my wings,
stillness that grows with the moon on my wings.

I look to the air with the moon on my wings
for what is not there with the moon on my wings.

maiden mother crone s

On the spiral is spun with the moon on my wings
what belongs to no one with the moon on my wings.

I create and I heal with the moon on my wings,
I hide and reveal with the moon on my wings.

Do you know me by name with the moon on my wings?
I begin and remain with the moon on my wings.

shrine

My response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I used the ghazal form, which was a dVerse prompt last week.  I had many false starts, which is why I missed the cut off to post it there.  I just couldn’t find a rhythm.

The poem I ended up with sounded eerily familiar to me–like I had done something similar before.  And I had–one of Jane Dougherty’s poetry prompts, for a ghazal, resulted in almost exactly the same format, and was also based in myth.  “Mother of Winds”–you can see it here.

 

That Which Hath Wings

spiral crows 2s

“Curse not the king, no, not even in thy thoughts, and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber; for a bird of the air shall carry thy voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.” –Ecclesiastes 10:20

Black is for nothing
waiting—shadow bird, mirrored
particles of air

of skies that open
wings, hold inside the absent
voice that shatters all

which is, which becomes,
which hath grown darkness—veiled words
becoming matter—

Nothing is waiting,
nothing sings but the silence.
All is black on black,

formless, flying on
feathers’ breath, and all shall be
now and forever

nothing nothing no
thing nothing nothing nothing
nothing nothing no

cries no conjuring–
every thing zeros falls in
to black as black is–

Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge this week is “Raven”.  I have many a crow poem and many pieces of crow art in some form of completion, and this is a poem I’ve been worrying for awhile.  I changed its form recently from a series of shadormas to haikus.  I think the shorter stanzas are better.  But it’s still a work in progress.

Yesterday I was walking on 153rd Street, which borders Trinity Cemetery, and I heard some crows–then many many crows–looking up, a murder, circling and calling against the blue sky.  I haven’t seen that in the city before.  And I thought, well, I have artwork for that too.

What it signified I don’t yet know.

crow tree sky

apolcalyptic crow 2s

 wondering why then suddenly where
the crow
diving divining reflecting sky scrying
the crow
and the tree and the meaning of be
the birth in the sky and the void in the flow
rising in greyness
the mystery flying
letting and leaving the tree now receiving
the question
crow
carries that no one can see
the sky grey the tree
the crow

always leaving

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt above.  I can no more resist a crow than the moon.

apolcalyptic crow1s

Also linking to open link night on dVerse.

apolcalyptic crows wht s

Fare Thee Well (Year of the Rooster)

folkloric rooster s

“When your rooster crows at the break a dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone…”
–Bob Dylan, “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right”

You say you’re leaving–
but your crowing lingers,
louder than the blackest cry,

echoing down that dark side
where your soul wanders, lost,
afraid to open either window or door.

Did you really once love?
I wonder not why, but how–
how and where and who—

Who? The call that you can’t hear
is not for you.  Not your name,
but a chorus for a new dawn—

(when you’ll be gone)–bound
for a land beyond the telling.
It’s all right then; it’s all right.

It’s Draw-a-Bird Day, and I’d like to say (almost) good-bye to the Year of the Rooster.  I did 3 Bird Day posts with roosters last year, but my initial post, for the Chinese New Year in 2017, has an eerie similarity to this (not so fond) goodbye.  As I said in that post: “The disruption of the Year of the Monkey gives way to more intensity….the cockiness of the Year of the Rooster.  Most of the predictions I read online for 2017 were not too positive.  They recommended keeping your head down, staying organized, and working hard.”  My poem even mentioned the Dark Side.

Let’s hope the Year of the Dog is kinder to birds (and all other living creatures as well).

 

 

Draw a Bird Day Jan.2018

Kerfe emailed me to remind me it’s Draw a Bird Day. I drew a bird of many colors in ink then filled in with trusty NeoColors.

This is direct steal from the Brookdale Park Conservancy. It was so cute and clever that I had to copy it. Whomever did this logo is very clever! I will send them a donation to atone for being a thief.

Of course I had to paint color in. The black and white is very cool though.

Happy Draw a Bird Day!

daybreak

daybreak birdlings s

daybreak magnetic

I like that the Magnetic Oracle is finishing the year on a hopeful note.  And of course the words were perfect for an appearance of the birdlings.

close up 3s

shine light
through these shadows

sing this storm into sun

beneath blue skies
let us dream
soaring
on a thousand seas
of wings

I’m taking a break until the New Year.  Nina is still pretty consumed by the new work situation, but may slip in a post or two before 2018.  But we both want to wish everyone a peaceful and happy holiday season.  See you in January!

close up 2s

 

 

Leave the Path Open (plus another koan collage)

made of light s

When I was young I tried to order my life around. I thought if I played by the rules, everything would work out.  But the rules wouldn’t play back.  Once I gave in to the inevitability of life’s whims, what was happening to me became a lot more interesting.  Not easier.  Never smooth.  But sometimes I found wonder and enchantment.  And even sometimes grace.  I just needed to leave a space without expectations to be filled.

I walk through valleys
behind a path that opens–
my cup overflows.

polar bear s

 

I know, there’s a lot going on here.  Frank at dVerse asked us to consider in haibun an occasion when we were pleasantly surprised.  It was difficult for me to focus on that idea because every day I’m surprised (albeit some days more pleasantly than others).  The haibun explains why.

1008px-Hugo_Simberg_-_Näky_(1895)

I was also working on a collage for the painting Jane Dougherty challenged us with, above, by Hugo Simberg.  It doesn’t have much pleasantness about it, and my collage also looked somewhat apocalyptic to me.  But the Collage Box Oracle had its own ideas about the images.  And, somehow, it fits.

Bodies are
made of light
and shadow.
Does chaos reflect
the meaning of
The Inner Cosmology?–
Lives balanced
on the unexpected.

owl s2

…and, well, you know…owls.

 

 

 

hush

hush 3s

“…till the morning break
And the white hush end all but the loud beat
Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.”
–W.B. Yeats, from ‘To some I have talked with by the fire’

hush magnetic

Once again I dipped into Jane Dougherty’s Month of Yeats for some inspiration.  The Oracle seems to have caught a mood circling around the earth which is definitely Yeatsian.

snow4s

Above is the view out back last night, which also somehow feels right for the Oracle’s (and Yeat’s) words…

bird wings like
cloudlight caught between
frost and wind
covering winter with paths
which grow cold shining

 

Hawk watches, contained (Draw a Bird Day)

hawk full collage

In the stillness of being
feathers ruffle, answering the wind–
a place of becoming, of seeing.

Not sleeping, not dreaming–
on each moment twinned
in the stillness of being.

Intense silence teeming–
gathered complete within–
a place of becoming, of seeing.

While watching, a keying–
breath held as if pinned
in the stillness of being.

On edges a freeing–
unmoving around the rim–
a place of becoming, of seeing.

Wings sudden, untreeing–
a shift, an opening, begin
in the stillness of being–
a place of becoming, of seeing.

This hawk spent many hours on the tree outside my office window a few weeks ago.  Then all of a sudden with an opening of wings he was gone.  I first tried printing on a patchwork sky I had collaged (my photos of the hawk show a background of an almost unreal blue sky) but that didn’t work too well, so I ended up painting over it in acrylic.  I like the way the paper buckled up to give a texture to the feathers.

hawk watercolor s

I also did a watercolor on rice paper.  The stillness a hawk can embody is a surprise and delight each time I encounter it.  And with open wings…

The poem is a villanelle, a challenging form for me.  I recently read an anthology of contemporary poetry and found its poetic insistence on formlessness and unrhyming to be wearying, even though I liked quite a number of the poems.

collage hawk close up s

And Happy Draw a Bird Day!  It’s always a good day to celebrate birds.

 

December 20l7: Winter Specter

winter specter 1s

dec 2017 winter dreams

I’m a bit late with both my monthly grid (well…somewhat of a grid anyway) and Magnetic Oracle consultation.  She felt nonet-ish this week.  The poem also uses The Secret Keeper’s words from this week.

wings close up s

I had this idea to try marbling paper, so I looked online for some way to do it with household things.  I ended up with one involving shaving cream…a bit messy, and the smell!  Also the results were not all I’d hoped for.  I do think I would be more prepared if I tried it again, but only if I can find shaving cream that has no perfume…

Great
wings rip
the sky with
dreams, whispering
sun shadow’s lost time.
Will sleep serve us summer,
the language of sea gardens
chanting through sweet delirious
mist? and singing petals on the wind?

I’m hoping for some of those dreams this evening myself.