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Resolving the Equations

resolving the equations s

Multiply the circumstances–
What rises to the occasion?
What remains, over and over,
expecting to return again?

Look between—what is divided?
Multiply the circumstances.
What is buried?  Which measurements
contain dust and ashes, which bones?

Around the patterned interval
tricks appear as what they are not.
Multiply the circumstances–
ghostlines projected in the air.

Symbols transforming the unseen–
abridged, compounded, mythical–
saved by neither fortune nor fate–
(multiply the circumstances)

A quatern for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  This is another repeating form–the same idea, but with its own distinct rhythm.

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A Strange Beauty

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a strange beauty magnetic s

I consulted the Oracle with Colleen’s #Tanka Tuesday words–creepy and color.

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The Oracle is definitely tuned into World Weather.  The poetic form is etheree.

This
eerie
sky moans in
shadow music–
purple languages
of dreams drunk on black blues–
stormmist spraying chanted screams
on mad frantic whispering winds–
unrisen suns sleepwalking beneath
a moonless sea crying beauty and blood.

The art shows the underpainting on the left, and the finished painting photographed in two different lights, middle and right.

strange beauty 3s

This one is photographed with overhead light.

Poem up at The Ekphrastic Review

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My poem, Number 7, inspired by the Anne Ryan collage of the same name, is up at The Ekphrastic Review, along with eleven other varied and interesting poetic responses. My thanks to Lorette Luzajic for selecting and posting my work, and for providing a wonderful forum for ekphrastic poetry and art.

The mandala, above, was also inspired by Anne Ryan’s art.  You can read more about her and see more of her work here.

Incompletion

Incompletion s

Tomorrow it will be gone–
this false night,
this held breath–
we are undreamed.

Light falls scattered
without gravity,
a sliver of reflected time–
tomorrow it will be gone,

out there towards never.
It resembles matter,
although it has no form–
this false night,

pure, unbroken–
(that’s what I imagine–
healed and levitating into always)
This held breath—

it neither comes nor goes.
Listening, it does not reply–
(we’ve lost our knowledge of sleep)–
we are undreamed.

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  Another mysterious landscape.

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Another cascade poem.

 

Draw a Bird Day: Which Bird?

which bird s

I thought I saw blue jays, but red feathers and whistles turned them into cardinals. I thought I saw cardinals, but the starlings stole their song.  I thought I saw starlings, but they grew huge and then they laughed in a raucous crow chorus.

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Which bird? you ask, which
bird?—sparrows, tiny sparrows–
wings to wish upon

This is based on a fragment of a dream that came back to me with the birds in the morning.  All five birds mentioned are often both heard and seen outside my windows and doors (and, apparently, also in my dreams).

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The Ways of Self-Salvation 2

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Demanding patience, spirit grows deep–
nourished and carried near to the heart.
Waiting, waiting, my soul for to keep–
shadows breathing and falling apart.

Nourished and carried near to the heart–
the third eye opens, window and mirror.
Shadows breathing and falling apart–
beginning is singing, ending is near.

The third eye opens, window and mirror–
the ripeness growing, large and complete.
Beginning is singing, ending is near–
emptying follows, head and then feet

The ripeness growing, large and complete–
rocking inside a musical voice.
Emptying follows, head and then feet–
atoms laughing in naked warm noise.

Rocking inside a musical voice–
no thoughts to speak, no dreams to word.
Atoms laughing in naked warm noise–
diving like oceans, skying like birds.

No thoughts to speak, no dreams to word–
demanding patience, spirit grows deep.
Diving like oceans, skying like birds–
waiting, waiting, my soul for to keep.

I don’t normally post twice in the same day, but Jane Dougherty’s pantoum, “It was not a night like this”, reminded me a lot of this one I wrote last year, which was based on a poem I wrote a very long time ago.

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I’m also linking it to the dVerse narrative prompt, although I too am not sure it is exactly what Bjorn is looking for.

Poems and Art at “the song is…”

if it's magic s

Marianne Szlyk, at “the song is…” has posted 3 of my poems with accompanying artwork as part of her tribute to musicians born in the 50s.  The Prince and Police-inspired work appeared on the blog, but the Stevie Wonder-inspired art and poem are new.

She also has some wonderful musical links at the bottom of the post (as she always does), and I’d just like to quote from Stevie, first from the song “As”, and then from his words, spoken before he sang that song at Aretha Franklin’s Homegoing service.

“Change your words into truths
And then change that truth into love”

“Let’s make LOVE great again”

Thanks, Marianne, for featuring my work, and for your continuing support of music, art, and words.

You can see the post here.

 

We Sleep

we sleep s

Dreaming of brightness–
in parallel lines we walk silent,
our unshadowed bodies
like paper cutouts against the night sky.

In parallel lines we walk silent–
there are truths, but we prefer to bend them.
Like paper cutouts against the night sky,
we can no longer define our direction.

There are truths, but we prefer to bend them
and let them grow unattended.
We can no longer define our direction
or what we mean when we say the word “why?”

Our unshadowed bodies
stand still as the world spins onward–
we do not know where or how, but we are
dreaming of brightness.

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and linked to dVerse Open Link Night.

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Another pantoum, with some fan shaped paper I found online.  Another aspect of the circle.

 

Ringling

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Layering, I spin
turmoil—sparkled spheres reveal
the unplanned design

A fierce dance, a brazen leap–
vortexed and saturated

For Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for vigor and energy, and for Sarah at dVerse, who asked us to think about the circus.

carnival close up s

My life has been too chaotic to do collage, so I’ve been doing watercolor circles, some with stitching, some with monoprint on top.  This one has monoprint.  Although I am slowly learning how to exert some control over the results, there are always surprises.  Like a circus.

In Middle English the word ringling means “the sound made by something ringling; ringing, jingling, tinkling”.  I also like the association it evokes with rings, and circles in general.

 

Disembodied

disembodied s

It lies shallow on this earth.
It is found in what is left behind.
It cannot be contained.

It welcomes no fire to undarken the night.
It shelters the breath of absence.
It lies shallow on this earth.

It opens to what is not there.
It stands silent like the shadow of a scream.
It is found in what is left behind.

It has no name,
this collection of bones–
it cannot be contained.

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  The poem is another cascade.

disembodied close up 2s