are the days
moving on, circling
through? or are
they giving up, slowing down,
following the un
of tidings reaching for shore
lines that aren’t there–echos of
from folds of pages–
not maps, but
sparkling against the stardust
of reflected nights–
there and then not now
as omens—uncaught, eddied
by prevailing winds
For my February grid, another mandala. We are still mired in confusing times. Too many trees, not enough forest.
Sometimes a change of perspective can clarify, or at least calm the stormy seas.
The Oracle is, as always, right. Even though the clouds are covering the moon, I’m singing with Aretha and the wind.
bitter language will not
chase away the raw shadows
chant your blues
into the sky–
ask the wind to sing with you
beneath this pink moon
Nina gave me a magnetic board for consulting the Oracle. This was her first message…of course she had to mention this week’s full moon!
In between all the rain and wind, it was a clear, if misty, night. I like the way the moon mirrored the streetlight rising over the buildings too.
breathe spirit from within
be nothing but a moon song
speaking with the wind
Its light spills out from everywhere—the moon–
a lantern in the sky, a mirrored sea
projecting the between of tide’s return,
throwing its questions at infinity.
The landscape shimmers, particles on fire–
breathes in, impatient, waiting with the stars
for orbits to conjoin as shadowed blood
that spills out, falling into otherwise.
Bewitched by moon beams, pushing into pull,
the spirits of the night become themselves–
a coiled diffusion standing in two worlds,
a melody that casts the wind with spells.
Transparent on the air, invisible–
the ancient shores of galaxies still call.
DVerse is featuring the sonnet form this month. I always have difficulty with sonnets , which is why it’s taken me so long to compose even one.
The clouds cooperated and gave me a chance to see the magical moon last night. It’s beautiful this evening, too, and equally enchanting.
My dream is singing
my dream is death rising
My dream calls spirits
my dream frees ghosts that are me
My dream is all eyes
my dream is everywhere here
Trust the keeper
trust the howling caught inside
trust the chaos and the night
I know some cultures have 13 names for the moon year, but I’m going with this being the Blue Wolf Moon. Hopefully, a harbinger of better times for all–
Paul Simon said that one man’s ceiling is another man’s floor. Whose floor is the sky? Does it open at night to spill the dance of the stars, the sailing of the moon, into our earth-bound feet?
Moving toward eclipse–
double reckoning of light
bearing winter’s tides.
My windows become eyes to let the nightshine in.
Could I resist the dVerse winter moon haibun prompt?
This was my best photo of the first New Year’s Moon (that’s a rubber band that was on the floor…how did that happen?).
hunting, calling, longing,
gathering beginnings and ends–
I haven’t tried a cinquain for Colleen’s Poetry Challenge yet, but it seemed to fit the beautiful full moon of the New Year. I often find strict rules help in focusing my thoughts, and that was definitely the case here.
And no, you haven’t seen the last of that moon in my art and words…