Jane Dougherty's Blog, page 14

Time patterns

Inspired by Kerfe’s Oracle 2 random word selection.

Time patterns

Brass candlesticks,
candlelight reflected in polished wood,
iron grate, logs glowing, flame-lapped,
red wine in a glass half-empty.

This could be now, could be then.
Time stands still in this place
that breathes with animal breath
and the wind blowing from the west.

Time stands still in the candle flame reflected,
in the eye of the spiral of seasons
and orbiting sun and satellite, circles, cycles
and now cyclamens, for a while.

This is all

For Colleen’s ekphrastic prompt, view from my window. The form is one I’m using often at the moment, a Fibonacci sequence of syllables arranged in a trimeric form.

This is all

This is all there is, this meadow,
dandelion gold,
woven stalks
in green.

Dandelion-gold
tapestry
mimics

woven stalks,
where hares
hide

in green
wild
nests.

Canal-walking

Across the Garonne from home, in the river plain, an abandoned poplar plantation. Silent, eerie and crossed by watercourses emptying into the canal.

We walked along a bit more of our section of the Canal du Midi, first setting off from the lock, until an un-forecast thundery hail shower sent us back to the car.

We stopped a few minutes later when the sun had come out again and walked along another bit of the way, on the wild side. The cycle track is on the other side of the canal.

Storm canal-walking

We can walk the canal forever, a road
deep and green as oceans,
still as lakes,
enigmatic water.

Deep and green as oceans,
is this storm-light.
We cower,

still as lakes,
our breath
withheld,

enigmatic water
cascading,
hail-frozen.

Flowers on the bank

For the dverse prompt.

Flowers on the bank

Look close along the grassy bank,
the green flood pouring,
look close at stems and stalks
and broad leaves hiding
pale pink-petaled gems and white,
bright spots of blue.

Look close at all the lushness,
spring life gushing
generous as dandelion-gold,
pink as clouds at dawn,
wild beauty soft as feathers falling,
honey drunk, where the bee sips.

Tautogram

Paul Brookes chose the Tautogram for us to explore last week.

I didn’t like this form much, far too exclusive. I think I have quite a rich vocabulary, but this was a struggle. Pick any letter and there will be plenty of nouns, verbs, adverbs and adjectives that begin with it, but, unless you pick ‘t’, virtually no articles, conjunctions, prepositions or pronouns, and phrases need those too. Still, struggle or not, I’ve set myself the challenge of writing one of these for each letter of the alphabet, except the silly ones. Here is ‘s’ to begin with.

Sleep

Sleep settles,
soft sand sifting,
shifting sea-green, sea-blue, sea-purple swell,
salt-scented.
Sleep searches
submerged ship-dreams,
sheet-metaled, silver-plated scavenged stars,
sinking slowly seawards.
Somnus sips
subterranean silence.

Sea

Sea serpent stirs
subterranean sous-sols,
stony-eyed, sea-wracked,
sifting shipwrecks,
squirming, squid-infested,
scattering silver-glinting,
sequin-stitched, seraph-fish,
singing storm songs.

Stars

Stars stretch,
sky-filling,
sea-reflected shimmerings,
such silver-quick scatterings,
shards.
Sun setting
sparks solstice-night sentinels,
searchlights separating
space,
solitude,
silence.

Haibun: under pressure

For the dverse prompt.

I have felt the weight of water, of clouds full of rain, of night sky, starless, black with cloud, of aches in the heart and the head and the bones, of all that we’ve lost, never had, still to do, the weight of the problems that nothing can solve, as heavy as ancient stones still standing, the weight of the sky on their broad backs.

Walking these spring fields
a million green blades bend
spring back unbroken.

Fly, into the blue

I heard this version of Volare for the first time this evening, and I love it.

Fly, into the blue

Blue is the colour of dreams,
wind, the paintbrush of the sky,
a palette of cornflower seas,
an indigo haze, jay feathers.

Wind, the paintbrush of the sky,
feathers a canvas of clouds,
where ice-crystals dance,

a palette of cornflower seas.
Dip your dream-finger into the blue,
sow windsongs in the grass,

an indigo haze. Jay feathers
strum you awake, moonstruck.
I fold your wings, hold you here.

34. (seven lines)

`I had a look at the next set of tiles and found these seven lines. The Redon is exactly right.

34.

Night scatters stars
like sea spray caught by sunlight,
to fill our sleep with their music,
violins and owl flutes,
the gruff beat of deer bark,

and shadows are shot with the light
of night-opening flowers.

Words have meanings, she says

Words have meanings, she says

Do we see how sleep clothes the stillness,
moulds it like warm wax?

Happy are those whose dreams
are shaped by gentle hands
into placid animal faces
the woven scents of day-gardens
beneath spring sun,
birdsong filling hopeful shells.

While you dream, she whispers,

Remember, want is not desire,
but lack of the life source,
the fount where birds and dogs sip,
knowing no other way to live.

Frog ditches March 24

Frog ditches March 24

Frog ditches
green scum skimming
sing from evening
beneath Venus and the crescent moon
not knowing the world will end
in green scum dried
a hard green frill
that no dinosaur will ever leave
to find a better life on shore.