Discovery

“Call me to lie down in fragrance.” D. Margoshes ~ Season of Lilac (epigraph for dVerse’s Poetics: Beginning at the End)

This large expanse of space captured with the Hubble Space Telescope features the galaxy SDSSJ225506.80+005839.9.

if there were no skies
to darken in hues of blue
to contain green scents
what would I see
but infinity’s reach
my heart torn
lungs bursting
in timeless space
racing stars
hastening at your call
arriving in final destination
to find that after all
the unmoored spinning
the vain rectifications
of physics and philosophy
that vast expanse
I was traveling through
was you


Acts 17:28
‘In him we live and move and have our being’

Dream Waves

Lisa at dVerse asks us to write a quadrille (poem of 44 words) using the word “way.” Here’s my drowsy offering as midnight creeps closer. Click on Mr. Linky to join in!


Photo by Steve Johnson from Pexels

When sleep comes my way
darkness warm like mother’s milk
lulls my hungry wakeful eyes,
I sink at last in ocean light
to caverns deep where you await
a Prospero’s Ariel caught betwixt
reflections of the world above
and the mirrors of my mind.


 

A Given Testimony

 

Is it possible from this rank earth for such flowers to grow?
Yet here they are, positing their glory for the world to see
A speculative assumption uncertain of its predication
That out of this sodden ground, mulched by weather
The boggy stink of which permeates the air
Blooms would appear from unseen dimensions
To cluster in diamond silk, emitting starry transactions
Their thrusting ebullience beyond science, even wonder
Simple testimony of leaf, stalk and flower, to primum movens*
Of power ingrained elementally to be, just be
And being, yearn hungrily for the Light that clothes it.


*primum movens (Latin): Aristotelian term for the “unmoved mover”

Flower of the Day, for Cee Neuner's FOTD, January 21, 2021
Writing prompt: Paula Light's Thursday Inspo 92 theme "flowers"

A Common-Place Jotting: “A low dishonest decade”

Auden in 1939

Common-Place or “Locus Communis” — a place to remember

Anglo-American poet W. H. Auden wrote “September 1, 1939” at the outbreak of World War II in Europe. It’s a poem that’s often quoted during times of crises such as ours, and only seems to highlight the recurring cycles of political dissimulation and media exacerbated fury that escalates into tragedy. While battling a virus, we’ve “cancelled” each other and branded each other racists and bigots. We’ve listened to politicians and oligopolies wildly denounce opponents of their agendas as terrorists. We’ve been witness to unchecked brutality this past year as our cities burned with mob violence during which thirty people were murdered, and neighborhoods and livelihoods went up in smoke while governors and mayors watched.

Auden began the poem with these words:

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

In the penultimate stanza he cautions: “We must love one another or die.” The same holds true today.

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

excerpt from W. H. Auden’s September 1, 1939

Read the complete poem at poets.org. And hear the poet Dylan Thomas read it below.

Not a Mirror

Photo by Drigo Diniz from Pexels

This is not a mirror
Ground silica back-silvered
A labyrinth to unravel your soul
But splintered fragmentation
Of all your expectations
A story to re-glue and emboss.

This is not a mirror
Portal to another world
Left-handed universe
Turnabouts of phantoms
A touch on your shoulder
That welt on your cheek.

This is not a mirror
It is an owl’s feather
A rat’s tail, a torn page
Blood of jilted lover
The sigh of an empress
Dethroned by endless war.

This is not a mirror, a mirror, a mirror.

For Dverse, Mish's Poetics: Object Poems "This is not ..."
Click on Mr. Linky and join in!

Reverie

Seated Woman, 1915 by Rik Wouters (1882-1916)

Time rebounds in dabs of paint
Watery sun soaks through space
Sensations blur
Colors seep
Diminishing lines
Reflections slur
Your hands, your face
Gaze untendered
Unbristled, still
A warm attention
Encompassing all
Formidable will
Probing memory
Dark sublime
Time rebounds in dabs of paint.


Written for D'verse, WhimsyGizmo's Quadrille (44 words)
Click on Mr. Linky & join in!

Phantasm

What cloistered walls ruminate upon
stirring phantasms where shadows abound
impaled upon pitchforks wrought
by their own sentimental celebrations.

So one shadow lingers restlessly
beyond a lichen-covered gate,
a dewy-eyed dreamer planning her escape
lured by a letter found in a copse.

“Nothing bad but what you make of it,
nothing good but what you sing of it;
from your secluded rooms now venture,
meet me beyond the trees and by water.”

Picking it up, she had clutched the letter
fondly to her breast as if from a lover
that in her mind’s eye she could clearly see,
a handsome Lothario, her knight in armor.

Photo by Timur Kozmenko from Pexels (for Sadje’s #WDYS)

So she skipped lightly down the dark lane
spinning castles-in-air to sounds melodious
and as she emerged from beyond the trees
her Lothario she spied in his dungarees.

artbyrandy at Morguefile (Fandango’s #FFC 100)

From reality she spun about and fled
back to her haunt, her daydreams to recover
and in her hands lay flowers he proffered
a lesson learned from a fanciful endeavor.

Linda's #JusJoJan "letter"; Di's #TTC "planning, sing, bad";
Kristian's #WOTD "picking"; Michelle's #WritingPrompts, "sentimental celebrations" 

A Light(hearted) Perspective

It’s the weekend, right? Let’s relax and party, maybe do a little rap for Michelle’s #JanuaryWritingPrompts (“space juice”), Sammi’s #WWP (100 words, “crucible”), and Linda’s #JusJoJan & #SOC (“limitless”). Hope you enjoy it! ❤️

Photo by Anjana C from Pexels

I know what you’re thinking
You say I’m just dreaming
Maybe drinking space juice
Telling me
you’re cool
too loose
so intellectual
not buying puffy clouds
of television charlatans
but you’re at Oprah’s book club
sold on a Joseph Campbell
mythic spiel of deity.

Listen, I’m not crazy
look at what’s been given me
my faith, a light leading me
through this dark crucible called life
I can see glory
where you deny the invisible
chasing material illusions
hanging on to your blinders
chained down, walled up
by circumstance
when you could be glorying
in the limitless grandeur¹
of God.


¹Ecclesiastes 3:11
Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.

The Student and the Teacher: A Dialogue

My teacher, what have you left me?
A marker, a pen, and an eraser
An old desk to place all the clutter
Of highlighters, clippings, and notes.

My teacher, what have you left me?
A love for the details of things
To get at the heart of a matter
Regardless how tedious the chore.

My student, what have you left me?
Time passes but I can’t forget
Eager minds straining to gather
Knowledge as pebbles from a brook.

My student, what have you left me?
Your joy in finding your passion
Excitement overcoming discouragement
So honoring me as your guide.

Written for Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers   
Genre: Poetry
Word count: 100 words 
PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields 
Click on the frog and join the party!