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harbinger

harbinger blk s

the blue of
darkness is
a blank canvas

from translucent music
comes
the shadow
of hope

moonbird rising
toward
the center of deep
light

It took me a long time to see the hat in Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above–to my eyes the form on the sign was a magical creature, perched on the threshold.  So I just went with it.

harbinger close up s

The collage box Oracle knows what the world needs now…

Poem at the Ekphrastic Review

devil 2 text s

My poem “(and the devil too)”, a response to a mysterious painting by Omar Odeh, is up at The Ekphrastic Review, along with seven other wonderful illuminations of Odeh’s work.  My thanks to editor Lorette C. Luzajic for including my collage poem amongst all the words, and for connecting me to the work of this artist.

(and the devil too) s

filling the margins,
spirits clinging to shadows–
the witching hour

The title is taken from a song by XTC, “Dear God”, a still (sadly) appropriate commentary on the world that we humans have made for themselves.

over and over

 

never ending

eternity magnetic s

What dark fire is this
melting the air with fresh blood?
endless broken days,

ghost voices lingering in
an eternity of tears

 

beyond lines and measures

beyond lines and measures s

The moon pauses, listening–
a painted backdrop bathed in blue,
a song returning to its beginnings–
Is it a permanent fixture or a trick of light?

A painted backdrop bathed in blue,
a tunnel lined with apparitions–
is it a permanent fixture or a trick of light?
The world approaches blackness,

a tunnel lined with apparitions,
lost in the far realms of the spectrum.
The world approaches blackness,
a stillness that eliminates the horizon.

Lost in the far realms of the spectrum,
unseen crows echo across the gap
with a stillness that eliminates the horizon–
is this the voice that calls the dying?

Unseen crows echo across the gap—
(there should be weeping)–
is this the voice that calls the dying?
There is not enough air here to hold my tears.

There should be weeping,
there should be an explosion of colors pulling at the soul–
but there is not enough air here to hold tears,
to keep the promise of breath.

There should be an explosion of colors pulling at the soul–
infinite branches of trees crowned with rainbows of wings.
How to keep the promise of breath,
to find the path of stars that carries the spirit home?

Branches, trees, rainbows, wings:
will you return life to its beginning?
Find me the path of stars that carries the spirit home–
the moon pauses, listening.

Another (non-rhyming) pantoum, for the Myths of the Mirror prompt for March, above.  dVerse is featuring pantoums this month, and Victoria has just written a post with suggestions to help in the writing of this form.

beyond lines and measures close up s

I would also like to dedicate these words to The Secret Keeper, whose passing was noted by her friend Shawn this week.  The many poems she inspired with her prompts live on.

 

Unmasked

unmasked s

This face is not the one I wore yesterday. Recast as abstraction, it chases illusions that will pilot my borrowed dreams.  Today I am a galaxy of song, light, color and dance.

If I turn around
will I recollect myself
or pass myself by?

unmasked close up s

A haibun for the dVerse prompt of Mardi Gras, using synonyms for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday words “follow” and “lead”.  The collage is based on a Cajun Mardi Gras mask.  I also made the haibun a quadrille of 44 words after being inspired by Jane and Merril’s use of this very short form.

Otherworld

otherworld wht s

Our years collected and worn–
blurred images of moving light,
multiplied as remnants of form
in a place where days have no weight

Blurred images of moving light,
wandering rooted yet unearthed–
in a place where days have no weight
our location is always inferred

Wandering rooted yet unearthed,
entwined in threads of air–
our location is always inferred
like outlines of skeletal prayer

Entwined in threads of air,
our voices echo in disarray–
like outlines of skeletal prayer,
a presence hovering halfway

Our voices echo in disarray–
unbodied, but too tangled to deny–
a presence hovering halfway,
an absence dancing in the sky

Unbodied, but too tangled to deny–
multiplied as remnants of form–
our absence dancing in the sky,
our years collected and worn

Another pantoum, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  This started out as a very different poem, but I think the Oracle is still hanging around.

otherworld close up s

dVerse is featuring the Pantoum this month.  In case you haven’t noticed, it’s a form I like a lot.

Of Water She Speaks

of water s

of water magnetic s

The Oracle keeps her eye on the weather.

of water close up s

I took the title from a proverb, no doubt also the work of the Oracle:

“The moon, her face be red,
Of water she speaks.”

Must light have storms?

Goddess of purple mist
dreams the sky away
with rain

Ask the sun
about blue wind and red seas,
the enormous moon and the thousand ships
that go from here to there
from delirious to mad

 

Draw-a-Bird Day: Barn Owl

ghost owl face s

White wings
carrying souls
listening to shadows
navigating the deepest night
ghost owl
navigating the deepest night
listening to shadows
opening worlds
beyond

A mirror cinquain for Colleen’s #tanka Tuesday, poet’s choice of words.

I love the faces of owls.  The barn owl can look quite ghostly, especially at night, and yet there are also many colors reflected in the feathers.  Barn owls are found almost everywhere in the world.

barn owl face s

The Owl can be the familiar to Athena’s wisdom or to Lilith as goddess of Death.  Or both at the same time, perhaps.

Also linking to dVerse Open Link Night, hosted this week by Grace.

 

Overcast

overcast s

Seeds catch the air, scattering, dispersing, falling. They burrow under the earth, embedded, laden with green.  They wait to be painted in rainbows, to laugh with joy as they open and seek the sky.  They remember the kisses of bees.

The North Wind pushes back, sunless and relentless, chilling its moisture into frozen blankets of grey.

Sleeplessness holds me–
I like awake, listening,
heavy with the dark.

overcast close up s

Merril at dVerse asked us to consider March Madness, using the haibun form.

Verging

verging s

Opening, we become desconstructed by the wind–
returned to air and light
we become shadows,
we become veils and mirrors

Returned to air and light
we become vessels and messengers–
we become veils and mirrors,
we become what is seen with closed eyes

We become vessels and messengers,
we become feathers and then wings–
we become what is seen with closed eyes
and we dance like birds flying

verging right s

We become feathers and then wings–
we become the not that is–
as we dance like birds flying
we become the pull of the unknown

We become the not that is,
we become the winter that becomes spring–
we become the pull of the unknown,
of summer that falls always into winter again

verging left s

We become the winter that becomes spring,
reflecting the outline of what isn’t there–
of summer that falls always into winter again,
a framework for revenants

Reflecting the outline of what isn’t there,
we become shadows,
a framework for revenants–
opening, we become deconstructed by the wind

A pantoum for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  This one is unrhymed.  I think you can play with the form and still keep the circle if you keep the repetition of lines in place, and I always like to have the first and last lines be the same.  Here’s another one I did for one of Sue’s photos last year that also involves openings:  We Sleep.

verging center s

dVerse is featuring the Pantoum for the month of March.  You can read about it and follow the link to the the ever-growing library of poems here.