Tag Archive | ghazal

(nowhere) to be found

nowhere to be found close up s

it’s the alone in
the dance that makes the never
knowing so complete

Amaya at dVerse asked us to consider music that brings us to tears.  There are many candidates these days, but I chose Jackson Browne’s “For a Dancer” for it’s longevity and continued relevance in that department.  People, places, things…they are always “dancing in and out of view”.

And a ghazal for the song as well.

nowhere to be found s

In the quiet of a summer’s afternoon I think of you
in the absence that is always in this room I think of you

My mind plays tricks and mixes up the present and the past
in memories recalled and then exhumed I think of you

Bananas peaches lemons oranges strawberries and limes
in fruit that ripens and releases its perfume I think of you

I search for guidance in the symbols of mythologies and stars
in portents that appear like ghostly runes I think of you

The fiber spun and dyed the needle waiting in my hand
in threads that cross like patterns on a loom I think of you

Sometimes I seem to recognize a voice calling and turn
in the abbreviation of my nom de plume I think of you

Pay attention to the open skies.

 

Wayfaring Stranger

wayfaring stranger s

It wasn’t heaven above surrounding me like stars
on a distant shore—I wasn’t a memory like stars

I had not become a child swimming in the sun, a sleepy
summer afternoon of endless play, swinging free like stars

Hovering in the form of an invisible crown,
it was not a hurricane holding its eye to me like stars

I was not a journey through the tunneled darkness
following the trail of all things hidden ghostly like stars

Becoming what I yet wasn’t, I crossed everywhere–
in a nameless endless shedding of all identity—like stars

A poem of wandering for Ammol at DVerse, in the current featured poetic form, ghazal.  I find the form to be somewhat awkward, but I’m beginning to think maybe that’s the point of it.  It mirrors the thought process.  Or maybe I just need more practice at writing them.

wyfaring stranger close up s

 

Into Birds

jm 7b blk s

Seeds turn into trees, eggs hatch into birds–
branches sprout new leaves, merging into birds.

Trees together stand, calling to the birds–
nourishing the land, shelter to the birds.

Roots that anchor deep, filling skies like birds–
winds that secrets keep, sailing songs like birds.

Cells divide and grow, ancestor to birds–
ebbing into flow, speaking time to birds.

Through forests dense and green, dreams scatter me into birds–
though feathers stay unseen, wings open me into birds.

jm 7b left s

It seems I missed Draw-A-Bird Day yesterday, so I’ve included them in my NaPoWriMo Day 9 post.  The prompt was to relate something both large and small, and seeds and trees immediately came to mind.  And so, also, birds.

jm 7b right s

The poem is sort of a ghazal.  In the spirit of, anyway.

logo-napowrimojm 7b center s

 

 

With the Moon on my Wings

swan moon totem s

The past holds the door with the moon on my wings
between now and before with the moon on my wings.

I look to the tree with the moon on my wings
for the power of three with the moon on my wings.

The threshold unfolding with the moon on my wings,
releasing and holding with the moon on my wings.

I look to the earth with the moon on my wings
for death and rebirth with the moon on my wings.

birds s

What will be has an end with the moon on my wings
that will fade and begin with the moon on my wings.

I look to the stones with the moon on my wings
to honor the bones with the moon on my wings.

Water that flows with the moon on my wings,
stillness that grows with the moon on my wings.

I look to the air with the moon on my wings
for what is not there with the moon on my wings.

maiden mother crone s

On the spiral is spun with the moon on my wings
what belongs to no one with the moon on my wings.

I create and I heal with the moon on my wings,
I hide and reveal with the moon on my wings.

Do you know me by name with the moon on my wings?
I begin and remain with the moon on my wings.

shrine

My response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.  I used the ghazal form, which was a dVerse prompt last week.  I had many false starts, which is why I missed the cut off to post it there.  I just couldn’t find a rhythm.

The poem I ended up with sounded eerily familiar to me–like I had done something similar before.  And I had–one of Jane Dougherty’s poetry prompts, for a ghazal, resulted in almost exactly the same format, and was also based in myth.  “Mother of Winds”–you can see it here.

 

Mother of Winds

mother of winds close up s

I look to the sky for the mother of winds–
asking her why, my mother of winds.

Her chariot crosses ahead of the sun–
with you I would fly, O mother of winds.

Like you I would step from the sea born anew–
black waves choke me dry, my mother of winds.

Pledged to a journey of transforming light–
dark ravens comes crying, my mother of winds.

I married the magic expecting to merge–
false troth bound to dying, O mother of winds.

And where are the children to circle me round?
aborted by lying, cruel mother of winds.

I curse and she answers with silence and ice–
the knots are untying me, mother of winds.

1094px-The_Dawn_by_John_La_Farge,_1899,_oil_on_canvas_-_Fogg_Art_Museum,_Harvard_University_-_DSC01212

Jane Dougherty’s challenge this week was inspired by the painting of Dawn, above, and asked us to use the ghazal form:  a series of two-line verses of the same length, with a somewhat complex rhyming scheme, both internal and line-ending.  To complicate things, not everyone agrees exactly on the rules.  Two very different explanations and examples of ghazal are here and here.

mother of winds s

Dawn has many mythological sides and I incorporated some of them into my poem.  Not only is she the mother of winds, some say she birthed the planets too.