Kerfe

Portrait of Kerfe from our lunch a few weeks ago.

are we not what we are

are we not what we are s

The deities do not really know
me, nor I them.
I understand not their reasoning.
I do not bow down
to their invisible forces.
My days do not depend on
meeting their needs–
they do not guide me
or light my path.

Chance made me,
chance and circumstances
beyond their control.

I do not look like them,
nor do I follow
their arbitrary whims.
Who I am is a mystery–
mine, not theirs.
When I cease to be
I will become
part of the mystery too.

are we not close up 4s

I will not join them
or serve them
or sing their praises.

I will sing the songs
of my people speaking
in the voices
of the ebb and flow
of our existence,
our beginnings and our ends.

The universe will continue
with or without me, or us,
or those calculations some may choose
to rest their hopes upon.

are we not close up 1s

Sorrow will someday
fill me, like waters burning
inside a vast light–
I will lie naked and alone,
bones joined
to the many paths
my feet have trodden.

And yet joy
and yet laughter
and yet wonder
and the magic of the night sky.
And yet the wings of birds
and the shells
that come from the sea.

We are all this
and more,
already rooted and found.
We belong to what nurtures life–
the earth, the moon, the sun–
the elemental dust
given us by the stars.

are we not close up 3s

A (late) response to the Myths of the Mirror May Speculative Fiction prompt, below.  I kind of went off on a tangent with both the collage and words, but I started with Diana’s image.

Draw a Bird Day: sheltered by shadows

mountain toucan s

jeweled feathers caught
in reflected mist—cloistered
chiaroscuro

This is another brightly colored resident of the South American cloud forest, the grey-breasted mountain toucan.  As with all inhabitants of the world’s cloud forests, they are a threatened species because of habitat loss.

mountain toucan close up s

Drawn with neocolors.

 

misdirections

misdirections s

here or there
and then what?  so far
so up–then
down, between
lost and left behind–climbing
the chutes, the ladders,

the maybes
and the knotted, the
ready and
the not yet,
the pointless and the lines drawn
in the sand…which way?

misdirections close up s

A nonsense quadrille for dVerse using the word “up”.

skeleton

skeleton s

This house is
painted with blackness
until it
deconstructs
form, kills all architecture–
it lives deep below

what cannot
be seen what hides be-
neath skin what
holds nothing–
this house is not afraid–
it contains no heart

When it breathes
in, it drains out—it
knows all of
those sorrows
without names—it stands until
it falls down inside

what follows
you around—what can’t
be placed in
any land-
scape—what remains unmoved where
you least expect it

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.

skeleton close up s

 

 

sailing the mares of night

sailing the mares s

sailing the mares magnetic s

The Oracle gave me another lai, the featured poetic form at dVerse for May.  She began with darkness and ended with light.  They are always switching places it seems.

saling the mares close up s

what blackness this storm?
it covers the moon
and sky

beneath shadowed dream
wind remakes the when
of why

time sings of spring sun
the light whispers come–
don’t cry

May 2019

may close up s

Maia, Good Goddess:
garland the earth with bouquets–
unfold us shining

A circle grid for the new month.  The flowers have arrived!

may wood s

Also linking to dVerse Open Link Night.

 

Ensō

enso s

mind troubled with images
brush full of ink–
becoming empty

For the final day, NaPoWriMo asks for minimalism in word and gesture.

You can read about the Enso here.

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Shaded

shaded s

I’m standing
not in the way but
out—myself
here somewhere
yet not quite ready for this
trough that releases

emptying,
revacating the
premises–
I borrowed time
from all those appointments with
destiny, unkept

Reopen
the scar, make room for
new bloodveins,
roots, branches,
a forest to surround, sing
alive alive-O

Imagine
what strange things fortune
could reveal
in its own
time, centered in a place where
the lines intersect

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and NaPoWriMo Day 29(!) a meditation on one of my many states of being.

shaded close up s

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O! none but

O none but s

silence parched and
barren,
depleted even of rage,
of
refutations to give to death’s
denial of the eternal–
which shiver stands distilled, concentrated, cold?

Today I used yesterday’s NaPoWriMo prompt, to make Shakespeare’s sonnets our poetic inspiration.  I wanted to do a Golden Shovel poem–I like them, and I haven’t done one in a long time.  The line I used was from Shakespeare’s Sonnet XIII, “and barren rage of death’s eternal cold?”

o none but close up s

What is a Golden Shovel?  you can read about it here.  And do read both Gwendolyn Brooks and Terrance Hayes as well.

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