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In Wait

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I meet myself without mirrors
I meet myself masked by flowers
I meet myself beyond words

Inside the air, evoke words
Inside the stones, seek mirrors
Inside the earth, bleed flowers

I find my bones among flowers
I find my bones reflecting words
I find my bones as shards of mirrors

Inserting flowers inside the mirrors of echoed words

I’ve combined the NaPoWriMo Day 21 prompt about Narcissus with Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, “Waiting”, above, which reminded me of the way a re-mirrored image can seem to have no end.

I wanted to use a poetic form with repetition, and chose the tritina, which always sounds to me like a spell being cast.

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Congregation

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Trees
rimple-
faint curtains
tucked between sky
red roses weathered wood blueming wave song

When looking for synonyms for “gather” for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday prompt, I was immediately drawn to rimple.

I decided to try a Tetractys cinquain.

Off prompt but on time for NaPoWriMo Day 20.

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Dream Pantoum

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Don’t lose the number she said.
Her face contained a message I could not read.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?

Her face contained a message I could not read.
The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Who has stolen the letters of my name?
She pretended that she had never seen me before.

The words rearranged themselves into something geometric and alien.
Don’t call me that I said.
She pretended that she had never seen me before.
No space would open to hold my configuration.

Don’t call me that I said.
The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
No space would open to hold my configuration.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.

The words stubbornly resisted my efforts to speak over them.
I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
A stranger took my hand and led me out of control.
We faded away, farther and longer away.

I tried to convey the causes of my distress.
The number blurred and then erased itself in my hand.
We faded away, farther and longer away.
Don’t lose the number she said.

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I love the puzzle of composing a pantoum.  Loosely following the Day 19 NaPoWriMo prompt to compose a poem from a story, I used the dream I had last night just before waking.  I had this stitched magazine face in mind, too, as an accompaniment.  Below is a synopsis of the source for the poem

My Dream

They gave me a name tag and a number. “Don’t lose the number,” they said, but immediately my number blurred and then erased itself.  The name was not my name, but it stubbornly resisted my efforts to mark over it.

I tried to tell the woman who seemed to be in charge that I needed to be called something different, not the letters that formed a sound that belonged to someone else. She pretended not to hear.

Someone took my seat. Someone I was sure I knew acted as if they had never seen me before.

We were supposed to write stories. I could find no notebook, no pencil or pen that belonged to me.

I sat in the back, alone.

A stranger, a tall young man, his face all glasses, took my hand and led me away. I tried to convey my distress; tell him my story.  He smiled and did not answer.

We faded away, farther and longer away.

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 Also linking to dVerse open link night.

Autumn (after Joan Mitchell)

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I am startled by silence
appearing suddenly, grey, tangled, dense–
all color has fallen away,
hanging by whispers to sharp edges and desolation.

I reach for wind–
carry me to fields where sun
returns blue to sky,
calls trees to green.

The NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 18 was to take lines from a poem (backwards, from last to first) and write a response to each line to make your own poem.  Since I have been using the art of Joan Mitchell as inspiration this month, I was pleased to find that she had published a poem, “Autumn”, in Poetry Magazine.  You can read it here.

 

Endlessly

dusk to dawn blkForever between today and tomorrow, suspended in presence. Infinite darkness mingling with perpetual light, like shadows photographing a mirror.

At first the beginning is closer than the end. Suddenly the finish has left the start far behind.

What is the measure of now? Who can hold the moving hand, the cell dividing again and again?  Where does the universe locate the particle that waves as it disappears and reappears on its random path?

Who can draw the map that connects never with always?

The remainder of
dusk meeting dawn.  What mortal
can enter the stars?

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For Day Seventeen of NaPoWriMo, I’ve done a haibun for the dVerse prompt, Lingering Day.

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on tides

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to be weight
less, sparkling colors
in water
or air, caught
ungrounded and threaded with
invisible light

My post for Day 15 of NaPoWriMo–better late than never I guess (wordpress has not been cooperative this morning either)–is inspired by Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I went off the edge of the page for my response.

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Tea with the Oracle

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tea with the Oracle

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teacup spilling clouds
of moon fruit–
tendriled secrets
from rivers of flowers–
thick with the wild longing
of animal song wandering
through birdwind

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Today for NaPoWriMo Day 14 we are dreaming–who better to consult than the Magnetic Oracle?

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At Sixes and Sevens

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“Don’t walk under any ladders,
don’t break any mirrors,
don’t spill any salt,
and don’t walk by any black cats.”
–advice for Friday the 13th

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Will climbing the sky
undo the journey below–
open the passage?

Can the crossing be
repaired?  Riven, it shatters
both inside and out.

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Gather the scattered,
the lost, the unfortunate–
season with healing.

Fly with the circle
of thirteen moons—returning
as both dark and light.

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The prompt for day 13 of NaPoWriMo involved playing with a familiar phrase.  I decided to go with superstitions, it being Friday the 13th.  They all have interesting histories,  but I was especially taken with salt as a covenant of friendship.  It was once rare and precious, as friendship always is.

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Home

jm 4a house compThe crows have followed. The blue jays.  The cardinals.  Voice calling to attention as footsteps sound toward and away from doors.  Penetrating closed windows and the background hum of the construction at the end of the block.  Dark shadows transforming into silhouettes on bare branches not yet convinced of the imminent arrival of spring.

Where is the hawk?

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new streets and sidewalks–
winter lingering, chilling–
robin’s morning song

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I recently moved 10 blocks north, a whole new blank slate to fill.

People think of cities as not-nature.  But the birds and trees tell me I’m home.

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For NaPoWriMo Day 12 haibun prompt, and linked to dVerse prompt Urban Renewal.

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Here (Ici)

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To be born.
To die.  Each journey
a sudden wave.

–Sonia Sanchez

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I seek spiders to
prepare this tendu—to be
threaded between born,

between weaving hours stretched to
hold, between the words “to die”.

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Treasures wide, deep—each
turn records time, a journey
of endless song, a

ringed cacophony—sudden,
spiraling shadow—spin wave.

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A double tanka shovel poem using Colleen’s prompt words, based on Sonia Sanchez’s wonderful haiku.  The NaPoWriMo prompt today asked us to question our future selves, but to me time circles around, and the future has little meaning in isolation.

You can read about shovel poems here, and read more of Sonia Sanchez here.

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The stitched monoprint was inspired by Joan Mitchell’s painting “Ici”.