Fertilization

I arrive in the setting sun—mask of dusk
lifting and merging me into vapor, air
flowered and fearless, singing with agelessness

of birds that echo wordless wishes, on shores
of colored galaxies, swimming to the moon,
currents eddying me to the very core,

turning me into elements, atoms strewn
with fire, with earth, with oceans, with breath, the light
coming from everywhere, vortexed emotion

exposed and whirling in ecstatic surprise
halfway between particled and synthesized

 

A terza rima for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt above.  I had quite a few false starts with this sonnet form.  Loosening up the rhymes helped, but I think I also hadn’t found the right subject.

Sue’s photo in my mind did not really represent something literal, although a number of stories I’ve read in response did well with a literal interpretation.  It felt good to get out my collage box after so long away from it and explore what I saw, and then try to find words that enlarged on that.

 

Navigation

hindered by clouds, I
struggle to translate signals
revealed by dark sails—

the sea paired with hidden winds
disturbing the horizon

For Colleen’s #Tanka Tuesday words, slow and work, also using the Secret Keeper’s words this week: rock joint inner sight sail.  And perhaps a hint of the harbinger, suggested by Sarah at dVerse.

 

Garden Paths

1
Green comes murmuring
between never and always

Secrets bloom

The trees know
every bird in its season,
how air flowers the wind,
why earth listens
to clouds
breathing

The Oracle gave me two responses to Sue Vincent’s garden prompt, above.  She was whispering “spring” in my ear.

2
We must breathe
in rhythm with time
as a vast open eternity

No need to remember
which stars awaken us
dancing like wildflowers
dazzled with perfumed song

We are but voices sailing
on wings of magic green fire

sheer

mountains
remain steep,
unclimbed–
oceans
deep,
uncrossed—

you are caught
in the waning light–
insubstantial, particled,
a quintessence
mythical and undisclosed—

you are nowhere–
not down, not up–
you are not returning
soon, ever, or again–

you are
not
you are

soaring
beyond

sheer

A quadrille for dVerse considering the word steep.

 

amidst a fierce and wandering tempest

I was thinking about winter, and considering both Colleen’s prompt words, cold and storm, and Sue Vincent’s photo prompt below.  The Oracle definitely surprised (and delighted) me with the final line.

ancient roots murmur
beneath frosted clouds of trees–
wind bursts into song

 

Quickening

Put it together–
give it wings, luminescence–
send it like a star

joining myth to mystery,
the unkempt shadows of night—

Go, fill it with sound,
ringing and dancing around
the core of the tree—

Mend its beginning, the dark
of the seeded centering—

Release it into
exhalations of wonder,
a netted ceiling

filling the cracked branches with
a shared ancestry of light

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  It goes nicely with my theme today of branches.

 

Weekend Painting 12/2/18

I saw a bunch of chairs thrown out on the curb. They looked interesting so I snapped a shot.

Little sketch I did- actually after I painted the chairs on Arches paper.

And a random landscape (for Kerfe) done mostly with a wide flat brush.

Have a good week!

unforsaken

I thought I would visit the Oracle this week to see what She had to say about Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

  I had already done my painting, and I guess it’s not surprising that the Oracle confirmed that many treasures lie below the surface, even in the darkest times.

rocks breathe ancient bones,
fertile earth of pure starlight–
deep spirit rivers

climbing windpaths into air–
the murmuring of seedsong

 

Possibilities

roots
fill with
nourishment,
ancient woodsong–
earth provides a bier,
untroubled by short days,
groves of lengthening shadows–
sleeping undisturbed, deep, waiting,
threads gather in anticipation–
life awakening to become itself

Ethereee for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday words, afraid and grave.

Also linked to dVerse open link night.

Midvein

Each thought leads to branches
without signposts or landmarks to guide the way.
It doesn’t bother me
because my stories travel

within their own lodes.
Each thought leads to branches–
sometimes empty, sometimes overflowing,
tangled and obvolute.

I pause to watch anything, everything
that catches me in its web.
Each thought leads to branches–
I can’t count high enough.

I don’t know if I belong here,
or which way points to where I go.
My destination lies somewhere beyond journeying–
each thought leads to branches.

My response, a bit late, to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  This has been a chaotic week, and we’re only halfway there…

Another quatern, another circle.  I am on repeat.