For Fandango’s flashback friday. This was originally written for dVerse Poetics on March 25, 2020 at the beginning of lockdowns and other inanities that have become part of our global “new normal.” The prompt was to contemplate what we have gained through personal (or global) crisis. What I gained from this most recent global crisis was the steadfast realization that I am far stronger than I ever realized.
Like the Moon I Rise
Like the moon, I rise from the darkness to brighten the very sky like the moon, I rise
Like the Phoenix, I rise from fire and ash I spread my wings and fly like the Phoenix, I rise
Sorrow cannot keep me down when in pools of darkness I fear to drown like the sun, I rise
every day, warm or cold every night brings good-bye but, every morning, like the sun I rise
For Fandango’s Flashback Friday — a little trip down memory lane. The idea is to repost something you wrote on this date, a previous year. It is really interesting to see how my writing has changed in the past few years. Now, I don’t always post daily so there were years when this date passed with out blog note. This is a little piece from March 11, 2019. Today also happens to be my “anniversary” of sorts. On March 11, 2007 we pulled our RV out of the driveway and became gypsies and wanderers. For your further elucidation
My first ever quadrille for dversepoets Quadrille #75: Spike up a Poem
A Spiky Situation
Tender stalks protected by thorns like iron spikes ready to impale the unwary traveler who drawn to the allure of bright blossoms pricks a finger
We curse the flower for it’s thorns rather than rejoice that the thorn bush gives us such ardent blooms
Frank is our host for dVerse haibun this week and has asked us for some “Cold Mountain” poetry. *shiver* makes me cold just to think about it.
Today, write you haibun on either one of the following options:
A Cold Mountain: the towering heights, frigid temperatures, majestic views, or existential challenges of a mountain. You could even go metaphorical, describing the cold mountain of overwhelming circumstances, or how we make mountains out of mole hills.
The Cold Mountain: a haibun that follows the influence of Hanshan (Cold Mountain), with his immediacy, concern for humanity, and deep devotion to nature.
Snow glows white in the harsh sunlight today, scorching the eyes. A misstep along the trail and I sink to my knees. Overhead a pine grosbeak twitters as I struggle to pull my frozen toes from the icy depth of the snow. Is he laughing at me I wonder. I reach the door and stamp the powder from my boots.
Inside, I carefully stoke the fire, holding my hands toward the hungry flames. But not too close. I suspend the kettle from it’s hook and go to fetch the tea. Hot liquid slides down my throat thawing my frozen belly.
A frigid moon has replaced the sun now. At this elevation cold is prevalent, harsh and sometimes deadly. But the mountain beckons the weary traveler. Weary of all that lies below, the noise, the dank air, and the humans who trod so thoughtlessly upon the earth.
Have you ever had one of those poems that just stuck in your head for like decades. It made so much sense that you quoted it all the time. But, you couldn’t actually remember the whole thing, or who wrote it, but it didn’t matter it just kept floating around in your brain with all the answers to the unanswerable questions. This is a poem I remember from my younger days. I finally looked it up and recalled the author. In case anybody needs this.
After a While
After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul and you learn love doesn’t mean leaning and company doesn’t always mean security And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts and presents aren’t always promises and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and and your eyes ahead with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child. And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight. After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong and you really do have worth and you learn and you learn with every good-bye you learn.
Lillian has provided us an interesting challenge for dVerse Poetics, to write a poem inspired by a given adage.
For today’s prompt, I’d like you to consider one of the adages/proverbs listed below as inspiration for your poem. You don’t have to include the line itself….but we should be able to guess pretty easily, which line you used as a jumping off point to create your poem. Do give the line and its source at the end of your poem, and of course, mention the poem is written for dVerse.
So do pop on over and take a look, see if you can guess which adage I chose for this.
A box of chocolates on the table tempting me to come and taste just a tiny, bitty, bite surely won’t enlarge my waist Like my life, each one is filled with choices bitter and sweet you never know until you try what fate you will meet A left when I should have turned right lead me to a long and winding path showed me life through a different sight and that has made all the difference A left or a right, choices near and far our choices show who we really are my heart flutters my mind is set take the plunge, see what I get
We have this week a rather complex assignment from Lisa at dVerse to create our own microseason. In honor of the Year of the Tiger, I’ll give it a lash, although I think my offering rather more resembles prose than anything else.
Embracing Naye final new moon of the season of the Crone
Rain on the lake as it begins to thaw as ducks paddle furiously while they can. Raindrops suspended at the tip of branches, not quite heavy enough to fall. By morning all will be frozen once again as the season of the Crone, the season of rest and restoration, enters Naye, the last new moon of her reign. The air vacillates between damp warmth and freezing cold.
Sturdy winter greens and root vegetables simmer happily in my ever-present soup pot, the scent heady with warm spice. All too soon the cold will fade, warming soups will be replaced by tender salads. Dried flowers on my mantle will give way to spring bulbs and afternoons spent curled up near the fire will be supplanted by the need to plan gardens.
But for now, the Crone still lingers while the Maiden rests. For this final new moon Naye holds the position and whispers to Spring “not yet, not yet.”