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
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.
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.”
Ingrid is our host over at dVerse Poets Pub for Prosery this week. And we have been give the inspirational line “And bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness.” from “Lines written a small distance from my house” by William Wordsworth. Oh my, what a wondrous thing, to give over one whole day to the sheer joy of idleness, let’s see what we can do.
Random Musings – I brought no book
I love to sit amongst the trees and read. Words flow from page to eye to mind to heart to soul and I am filled. But not today. Today I brought no book, naught to read but the starlings’ murmuration designs. For this one day, I will give myself over to idleness. I will laugh at the Jays as they scold me for such lack of industry and treasure wind’s languid passing. I will breathe in the air and caress the earth, and I will be filled.
Frank is our host at dVerse for haibuns this week. We are asked to focus on the present moment for our haibun. Life is made up of moments, precious, terrifying, beautiful moments. Once in awhile, it all comes together and for just that moment, life is perfect.
Standing on the overlook, gazing at the fairytale landscape below. Orange and yellow stones painted with the colors of the setting sun, and the azure sky. You wrap an arm around my waist, and the moment is perfect.
I watch as the shadow of a butterfly dances across the floor, refracted through the sun and glass. Blending with hospital floors and furniture, forming abstract shapes. A cloud passes over the sun. I lose the shadow dance. The doctor walks in. You are alive. My heart overflows with gratitude, and the moment is perfect.
Spring warms the flowers the wind filled with promise and blessings not yet known
De (aka WhimsyGizmo) is hosting Quadrilles at dVerse Poets Pub and has asked for a poem about “bother” what bothers us, what do we find bothersome? What gets us hot and bothered? Hmmm … as I poke my muse repeatedly until she finally gets tired of being bothered and manages to convey some sort of inspiration.
Dreams of Late — a quadrille
At night of late dark dreams have come frightening and bothersome dark shapes I cannot see swoop, harass and bother me moonless skies throughout the night colors fading from my sight searching for the moon’s bright light I wake to find it’s all illusion
Laura is our host for dVerse poetics this week asking us for a poem based on paintings, or the titles of paintings. Do visit the pub for all the fascinating details.
I must say this was fun and challenging. I chose “Convergence” by Jackson Pollock and started with a painterly poem based on the title, an attempt to paint for you the vision I see when I think about “convergence.” Then, when I looked up the actual artwork, the words came out much different even though (for me) the feeling was the same. I should have expected the unexpected from Pollock’s work. I must say, I see much stargazing in my future because of this prompt so thank you ever so much Laura.
Convergence Part 1 — a painterly poem
convergence of planets align on a starry night leaning back on my elbows watching the indigo sky devolve into the stars of Orion the new moon rises in Gemini your lips graze my throat draws a shuddering breath you point out Betelgeuse, a red star burning bright, and Rigel steadfast and true your arm wraps around me as I shiver, stealing warmth from your body against the night air expectantly, I breathe you in and exhale into your kiss let the convergence begin
Convergence Part 2 an ekphrastic poem
Lines converge in distant galaxies harsh black and white splashes of red and gold Orion Nebula filled with gaseous debris, vapors and mist kiss of the heavens strength of the eons womb of the stars
Kim is our host for Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub, “the challenge is to write a metaphor poem that starts with the words ‘This being human is…’ You can compare being human to anything you want: a building or place, an object, something natural or something manufactured, a ritual or an everyday act. It is up to you to explore whatever it is in your poem.”
Humanity of Trees
This being human is a tree rooted deep within the earth yet reaching toward the sky drinking in the sunshine and pondering the eternal mystery of the moon and stars and our own humanity one tree with many branches each with thousands of leaves that sway and dance with the wind offering shade and shelter to all who seek respite, a quantum of solace and renewal always growing, always changing the wisdom of the seasons leaves that fade and fall in a flurry of color breathtaking reminders of the beauty of letting go this being human is… beautiful
For dVerse Poets Pub where Sarahsouthwest is hosting quadrilles. Our inspiration for this edition is “swift”
Poetry and Madness
My thoughts flit and dive like starlings and swifts always aflight, with glimpses of exquisite confusion My mind buzzing like cicadas in summer with memories of magic afire with scraps of poetry and madness a fevered rhythm of need as the sun swiftly sets
For Tuesday’s Poetics where Mish is hosting, asks us. “Writing from a perspective other than our own is a great challenge. We’ve had some very interesting prompts over the years where we have climbed out of our comfort zones to look through a new lens. That has usually involved looking through the eyes of another person. I’d like to float a little further into the unknown and suggest we take the perspective of a color. (or “colour’ as we spell it in Canada)”
Cattle in stark relief exposed black silhouettes juxtaposed against my gentle winter hue would you notice if I were blue perhaps shade of summer green but all unnoticed I remain unseen
Wait for the waxing pink moon as amber buds begin to bloom I am not some lifeless tone but fragile glass and precious stone, like the shine in lovers’ eyes I am fading sunset’s golden prize