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turning 2s

Demented, unwanted, our dances are old–
we do not fear the dark.

We cast into circles, the moon for to hold–
demented, unwanted, our dances are old.

Our revenants echo as mountains unfold–
like orbiting stars, their shadows embark.

Demented, unwanted, our dances are old–
we do not fear the dark.

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s prompt photo, above, and also a conversation I had with a friend about a movie she had seen about Africa’s witch camps.

turning 1s

I did two different collage interpretations.

turning 2 close up middle s

The poem is a triolet.  I’m still caught in repetition and rhyme.

turning 1 close up bottom s

Societies all over the world attempt to contain and isolate the difficult and problematic, the despairing, the abandoned, the female, the elderly, the ill, children, anyone inconvenient–there are witch camps everywhere if you care to look.



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.


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.


Wolf Dream

blue wolf moon s

My dream is singing
my dream is death rising

My dream calls spirits
my dream frees ghosts that are me

My dream is all eyes
my dream is everywhere here

Trust the keeper
trust the howling caught inside
trust the chaos and the night

blue moon comp

I know some cultures have 13 names for the moon year, but I’m going with this being the Blue Wolf Moon.  Hopefully, a harbinger of better times for all–


moon on the floor s

Paul Simon said that one man’s ceiling is another man’s floor. Whose floor is the sky?  Does it open at night to spill the dance of the stars, the sailing of the moon, into our earth-bound feet?

Moving toward eclipse–
double reckoning of light
bearing winter’s tides.

My windows become eyes to let the nightshine in.


Could I resist the dVerse winter moon haibun prompt?

This was my best photo of the first New Year’s Moon (that’s a rubber band that was on the floor…how did that happen?).

Moon Gardens

moon gardens black s

moon gardens magnetic

between night and dark
rest secret longings
pure songs
wandering in moon gardens
shaded with ancient air

The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to use a phrase from someone else’s work to spark a poem.  I got the phrase “moon garden” not from a poem but from Michael Chabon’s wonderful book “Moonglow”.  I’ve been wanting to use it somewhere, and here it is (with the help of the Magnetic Oracle).



Moon of Wandering


Moon of wandering:
door or window?  Marked by trails
of lingered friends.  Tears.

Untested. Eons before
and after.  Dead reckoning.

Once again I’ve combined the word prompts (or synonyms) of the secret keeper and Colleen’s tanka challenge.  Colleen also provided the mysterious picture, below.


Magnetic Poetry Saturday: Ask These


Ask these tongues
how can my dreams
shine by day
yet ache like storms

together their music rains
symphony and sky
shadowless moon

This was another collaboration with Nina and the Oracle that fit together really easily.  We decided to surprise each other today with our artwork and post separately.  I punched holes to embroider on the paper, and then decided just to leave the holes.  The weird light is because I photographed the collage taped to the window so the sun would shine through the holes.


Postcard Fiction: What She Saw, Part 3







Another ambiguous situation in a Jane Dougherty painting prompt.  I decided to go for optimism, even though that’s not my general state of mind these days.  Here’s the inspiration painting, by Iliya Repin:


And my response:


The last Postcard Fiction I did before this one was also a painting by Iliya Repin, “Freedom”, a prompt from way back in September.  I liked it so much I did it twice, and I’ll post both of them one of these days.  I collected Jane’s other microfiction prompts between that one and this one in a folder; time, of course, always gets in the way of intentions.

One thing I did during our blog break was to enter a lot of juried art shows and submit both poetry and art to journals, which I find takes a lot of time, not to mention the fact that most journals won’t accept work published on a blog. Eight of my Postcard Fictions were entered for a show of “art on paper”, but I won’t hear about acceptance or rejection until mid-January.

Dancing in the Moonlight

A riff on yesterday’s moon painting. I painted the entire paper with purple gouache and ink mixed together and did the moon and dancing figures in silver gouache. The blue was applied and dripped on afterwards.

The moon last night

A full moon and a beauty. It reminds me of the Judy Collins song “The Moon’s a Harsh Mistress”. Walking the dogs last night this moon got into my consciousness and I knocked off this version. Arches paper and gouache.