Lisa’s hosting this week’s Poetics Challenge at the dVerse Poet, and asks us to find and share our Vatic Voice Poetry. She cites Edward Hirsch, defining “Vatic” thusly: “The vatic impulse is signaled in poetry whenever a poet speaks in a prophetic voice beyond the social realm.”
Any Day Now
Any minute now the lights will go out,
but only for a minute, only long enough
to remind us how dark The Darkness;
only long enough to leave us longing
for the return of The Light, the return
of familiar faces, the resurrection of
congeniality versus dark isolation.
Our Humanity will only reappear
once The Darkness reminds us to
stand in The Light without squinting,
without complaining; once we are
willing to bask in The Light and
remember to count our blessing.
The Darkness will only last until
we share the light to spread it.
(Per Lisa’s request, I add only these few words on this attempt: I don’t think there’s any such thing as “an ex-Hippie.” While there’s still some light left, I’m looking in the mirror, hoping to outlast the increasing Darkness, and to sharing at least a few more mornings. Peace to ALL.)
Dverse Poets Pub
~ The Vatic Voice ~
It’s Haibun Monday again, and American Haikai Master Frank J Tassone asks us to join him at the dVerse Poets Pub and create/share a Haibun (prose/haiku combo) incorporating some Moon imagery…
Almost There Moon
Can there be such a thing as a seven-eighths moon, a moon whose missing silver sliver, lost somewhere in The Milky Way, is thinner than the Dog Star’s bark, thinner than the atmosphere of Mars?
Can there be a nine-tenths moon, an un-full moon more full than this?
It’s hard to imagine such a thing; hard, this early in the morning, this late in the year, this far from wherever my vanished lover may be, which isn’t here.
last night’s fullest moon
still sings, bell-clear, this morning
dVerse Poets Pub
~ To The Moon ~
“Are these stories fact or fiction?” she asks.
He tells her some are, and some are not.
Originally published in Front Porch Review (April 2011), shared here for today’s Writers’ Pantry at Poets And Storytellers United.
Photo: Parizad Shojaei
On A Wire
Under their wings is white:
early in the morning, early
in autumn, birds, perched on lines
give new meaning to the words
‘the birds alight.’ Birds in search
of one last brightness, one last
dream of summer flight, gleam.
Spied from below, the underside
of wings is white, flares like the last
flash of another summer, undone
by autumn’s shortened light.
Poets And Storytellers United
Writers’ Pantry # 39
~ Feathers and Plums ~
Even when he steps outside
into bright sunshine
there’s still plenty of darkness
~ DARKNESS ~
Reminder: No War Is Ever Civil.
More Cool 6WS Here
All of his friends are dead or most of his friends are dead and the rest are standing in the queue, waiting, and singing a song about how much they miss their missing comrades, all of them gone even before the latest melodic lamentations could be penned, let alone recorded and sung.
Some of his friends still have their beautiful voices, but many do not. Many have vocal cords warped and transmuted by age; cords ravaged, distorted, and diminished by the prevalent contagion. Regardless of their status or age, though, they all just keep singing, and when he hears them, he wants to sing along as well, but he does not. He suddenly realizes that he has never really had a voice; that all of his previous attempts at harmony have failed, and that he has neither a clear recollection of existing lyrics, nor any capacity as a songwriter.
One of his friends bade him farewell just last night or the night before and resigned from the growing but increasingly muted chorus.
None of his few remaining friends stop singing long enough to share his silent tears.
like it or not,
have a wide-awake hole
in their middle;
and I don’t like it
or at least I didn’t,
I’ve gotten used to it.
~ HOLE ~
The second-best piece of advice I ever received came from my mother, who told me: “Ron., don’t be an asshole.”
The BEST piece of advice I ever got came from my father. He said, “Ron., listen to your mother.”
Rommy, our host at this morning’s Poets And Storytellers United asks us to consider the koshihimo, a length of long skinny fabric that is used to secure parts of a kimono or obi, to keep one part still while dealing with another bit of fabric, or to keep things held while wearing a kimono.
When he finally finishes his
early morning journal work,
he considers going back
through his previous volumes
and numbering the pages
but —smart as he is—
he knows he can’t count that high.
He thinks about all the pens
he’s ever used, tries to calculate
how many oceans of ink he’s expended.
He imagines uncurling his cursive and
deconstructing his print, laying out
all of his penstrokes end-to-end
and seeing just how many times
the line would circle the globe,
or if maybe it would form a lifeline
stretching into space to lasso the moon
or play jump-rope with Mars.
Poets And Storytellers United
Weekly Scribble #38
~ Koshihimo ~