scattered light
truths that elude
our eyes live in dreams
waiting for the mind
to recognize them
on waking
My response to Merril Smith’s poem Blue Pony Dreams.
I’m posting this for Open Link Night at dVerse.
Image source: Wikimedia Commons (Blue Horses by Franz Marc)
Midnight in the Sea of Darkness
Stealing
silently from the shallow depths
of the offshore shoals
Darkness
stolen from the holds
of a thousand sunken ships
Crept
to the broad base
of the tapered, towering torch
Enshrouding
the magnificence of a midnight sun
in the fog of a final farewell
Swallowing
the hulk of a stranded ship
within the silence of the sea
Anchoring
yet another immortal member
of a fleet frozen in darkness
Standing Alone, Dwight’s poem at Roth Poetry, brought to mind this poem, written in 1998.
The background image is a print from an engraving by John Horsburg of J. M. W. Turner’s artwork of Bell Rock Lighthouse during a storm from the northeast, available at The Library of Congress and found at Wikimedia Commons.
Consider Perspective
And the relative nature
of scale. Those who find
the need to be circumspect
by isolating issues without
recognizing their impact
on others reveal their
petty nature with no regard
for the welfare of society,
assuring their place
as mere footnotes
in history.
This is my response to Thursday Photo Prompt: Stone #writephoto,
from Sue Vincent at Daily Echo, with her photo.
Center of Darkness
Ignore his voice at your own peril.
Though seemingly vacuous,
know that it is meant to pull us
into the darkness
he would have surround us.
The base emotions of fear and greed,
the center of his own darkness,
would be the law of the land
should enough fall for his appeal.
Stand against that voice,
that wall with a blackness
greater than any thicket,
more a forest dark
where blood runs thin
and none are expected
to find kinship in diversity.
This my first attempt to meet the prompt for Jilly’s Days of Unreason Challenge – here Day #23 – which offers this quote from Jim Harrison:
“His mind’s all black thickets and blood” from Songs of Unreason.
Image source: gocomics.com (© Jim Morin, Miami Herald)
What Remains
See me now as I am and know
that mine is not a sad story.
My life could be held
in a feather, seemingly
insignificant, but with countless
strands holding both troubled times
and the promise delivered
by blue skies. Dipped in ink
to spill its tales, or carried on the wind
to those who have known me,
it speaks of a life lived.
See me now and know me.
This is my response to Thursday Photo Prompt: Remains #writephoto, from Sue Vincent at Daily Echo. Sue has provided two photos for this week’s prompt.
Before the Fall
In that moment of anticipation
laced with exhilaration,
do you contemplate
the consequences, consider
your place in the greater scheme
or deem it immaterial,
merely a leaf going
where the wind takes you?
The Daily Post Photo Challenge: Liquid
(Click image for larger view in new tab)
Moon Over the Hollow
Never winter. Yes, we would
gaze at the moon, feel its glow
off the snowy fields, but never
while sitting around an open fire.
The warmth of the wood stove was too enticing
for that. Summer and fall were the times.
Whether glowing coals were stretching
the heat of an August day long into night
or crackling flames were staving off the creeping
chill of late October, we could look skyward
in awe at the Milky Way and watch
that magnificent orb as it cleared the ridge.
Sitting at the edge of the wood,
watching it rise over the valley, did we
even know about super moons
in those days?
Or did we just know, as we tried to touch it?
Today’s full moon (January 31, 2018) is the third consecutive “supermoon.” Being the second full moon in January makes it a “blue moon.” To complete the trifecta, it’s also a “blood moon” in parts of the world that get to experience a full lunar eclipse (central and eastern Asia, Indonesia, New Zealand and Australia). The eclipse filtering out blue light lends a red hue to it. This is the first time a “super blue blood moon” has occurred in 150 years.
During the eighties we would visit my parents at their retirement home in the country. Sitting around an open fire, the night sky was a special treat.
Super Blue Blood Moon
from slooh.com via YouTube
Top image: January 2018 Blue Moon (click both images for larger view)
This space holds no resentment.
Anguish and despair
were its contents,
thanks to you.
(I thought, in spite
of my longing.)
Time heals, perspective
its gift. Recognition
through introspection.
Memories fade,
the space that held them
nearly gone.
The one-word Daily Prompt from the WordPress Daily Post is cavity.
Fade from Black
What then, when ink turns to grey
and the words that rest on the page,
once alive, begin to fade
and take with them thoughts
and emotions that kept us anchored here?
Will poetry continue to live in our minds?
This is my response to The Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Prompt #126, with the words rest, grey, ink, alive & here.
framing the years
time, the line
we cannot box, never
finding a final corner
passing on to form
the next box
and the next
a snake
with the mind of Escher
defining the vortex
the core of existence
drawn through time
expressed between that line
A response to Kerfe’s January 2018, at method two madness
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