The prompt for today’s written poem is to write a voyage poem.
The Six of Swords
The woman in the azure blue scarf
and the horns of the moon on her brow
reached out and turned another card.
And it was the very last card you wanted to see.
And it was the only card you wanted.
This is for your hopes and fears, she said,
For that which you desire may be
also that which you most dread.
* * * *
You hear the voice from your dream:
You will take a voyage by water.
In the prow of the barge, head bowed
by the weight of all that is passing.
The ferryman at work in the stern.
The promised isle before you.
Almost you can feel the breezes
that beckon from across the water,
but the grey mist of the shore behind
still wraps you like a cloak.
Soon you will feel the child stir beside you.
Soon you will raise your head to the sunrise.
Soon will come the moment
when you cross from the tale of what was
to the story of what will be.
1. Phoebe is back in the hollow; I noticed it first as it sat in the Poetree where my first poems of April are hanging.
2. Robin singing the sun to birth and singing it to sleep again this evening. A day bookmarked by robinsong cannot go far awry.
3. Daffodils are finally blooming!
4. The shadberry bush that toppled in the ice has sent up quite a number of healthy spars from the twisted stump. And the buds on the branches from the fallen main trunk are ready to burst into fuzzy bloom, despite the trauma to their main source.
5. Do-overs. Starting right back at the beginning of the argument. Okay, this time I will not be bossy, and you will not be sulky. Let’s try to figure this out again. And it works!
May we walk in Beauty!
(Conversation at the dinner table tonight:
Whining Child: Why am I being served last? <Giving a glance at Mom, who will be serving herself last> Or next to last?
Mom <who rarely pulls out the religion card>: Hmmm. Do you know what Jesus said about that?
Dad: Give me more pasta?)