we mark time
with numbers, naming
and then divided—each month
we begin again,
of days in
in fact they overlap—clouds,
sun, showers, flowers
A small shadorma chain for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday theme of beginnings and endings, picked by Yvette M. Calleiro. I meant to do something completely different with the circles of flowers I cut out, and perhaps I’ll explore that idea later. I got distracted with layering them in different ways.
When I was out walking yesterday I discovered a community garden on West 90th Street–full of tulips. I’ll be visiting it again, to see what’s in bloom in the coming months.
I went back to the turret house I photographed a few weeks ago to try to get a better photo of both the building and the entrance door. Above is the door.
And here’s a view of the entire house, taken from the park across the street on Riverside Drive.
This was my original photo.
I’m also posting some (to me) magical flowers I keep seeing on my walks in Riverside Park. I tried to figure out what they were online with no luck. Does anyone know?
I know exactly where they are–at 106 Street–because there is the statue of Franz Sigel across the street at the top of the steps. My longest residence anywhere in my life was up those steps, down 106 Street one block, and in the middle of the block to the left on West End Avenue. But I’ve never seen these flowers before.
I hope they continue to plant them every year!
It’s Thursday, so I’m linking to Thursday Doors.
long green days
open like roses
like fresh dreams
into clear blue skies
That’s my hope for June anyway.
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
wild gardens wander
we follow after
shine over summer
spring fall and winter
beneath blue murmur
listen as nature’s
cloud air and water
the moon a flower
and yet we
shout, we run through skies
like fire. Where
do we live?
Our voices surround the trees,
our dances timeless.
We are deep,
We entwine with movements, with
stillness, with the air,
that grow green and then
the wind. We fall apart and
We have no
surfaces, no years
to count or
We laugh like creatures with wings
scattering clear light.
Our form is
unmeasured. We speak
in no know
we need no reason. No one
can tell you our names.
NaPoWriMo has asked us to spread joy today.
me at first light as
used to do,
but not with words—birdchoir sings
through me: “rise and shine!”
My mother did not believe in sleeping in…when she decided it was time to get up, even on non-school days, she would waltz in, open the blinds, and announce, “Rise and Shine!” One of the delights of spring for me is that my alarm is the light and the birds (I never close my blinds)–but I always hear my mother’s voice joining the chorus.
I worked on my monthly grid all week, waiting for the NaPoWriMo prompt to do the accompanying poem. This is not really a recipe, but I think it’s close enough. The grid was inspired by numerous photos of tulip festivals from all over the world…rows and rows of beautiful color. April!
I consulted the Magnetic Oracle for a haiku to go with my May grid.
moon blossoms between
rain root and seed song—bird boughs
blanket the wild wind
I got lost in another dream. I was on the edge, searching for a map. I fell onto the blue river of time. The flowers growing together inside the stars cast me home with song, just like you do.
I started with “dear friend”, and the Oracle sent me a lovely message for Nina. This blog, and my art and writing, would not be here without her encouragement and support. Thank you my friend!
For NaPoWriMo Day 28. Almost there…
Collage inspired by Joan Mitchell’s painting “Ici”.
Joan Mitchell painted sunflowers, over and over, which always makes me think of Van Gogh (as she did, too, although her colors are softer, her strokes open and layered lightly)—the intense yellows and burning oranges, the ground a mysterious combination of blue and green. My father’s Aunt Lil often talked about that undefinable intermixture of hues, which also glowed behind her favorite painting of almond blossoms.
Aunt Lil taught my brothers and me to play poker, ignoring my mother’s silent Protestant disapproval. She was a champion bridge player, a potter (I still have a vase), a judge’s secretary, a woman who became far larger that the life that had been mapped out for her in the early 20th century. She was the daughter who lived at home and took care of her mother until her mother died. They watched the Saturday Night Fights every weekend on TV.
She called my father Chickie, and came to Sunday dinner often when we lived in Baltimore.
They say her fiancée died before they could marry.
Your laugh infectious,
opening like a flower–
I smile in return.
I’m not sure this answers the Day 10 NaPoWriMo prompt for multiple things happening at the same time…but certainly the mind rambles and holds many images and thoughts at the same time, even if we can only write it out in sequence afterwards.