Stardust Souls

NASA/SDO/AIA, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

We stardust souls are eternal, yet needing a flesh costume to affect and interact in the physical world. So we subject ourselves to the death-rebirth trauma of being born, forgetting most of our knowledge and wisdom in the process.

Then we grow and learn what we can in a lifetime. Laughter and joy. Friendship. Hope and despair. Love and hate. Pain and anguish.

When the flesh grows weak and old, we die and remember everything from the beginning of time. Remember the reason we undertake life again and again. Only to once again choose the flesh costume. Hoping this time we’ll be able to awaken the flesh’s animal soul enough to impart some of our wisdom. Knowing that all we can hope to become, are messengers. 

Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things.

© RedCat


Written for Prosery: Here’s the thing about existing at dVerse. Where we write prose, maximum 144 words, incorporating a line of poetry.

Tonight’s line is from a favorite poet.

“Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart which safely exists in the center of all things? – from Rainer Maria Rilke, “Heartbeat.”


Raven Dream Flight – April Ekphrastic Challenge

Jane Cornwell

A raven came to me one stormy night
As I lay contemplating ending life
Taking me on a wild curious flight

First we flew through my years, where abuse ran rife
Showing me every deep unhealed wound
Then the raven took me to afterlife

We flew over the souls that abuse drowned
A pungent dead sea bordered by crushed dreams
My guide said that’s where my thoughts had be bound

She saw me flinch when hearing the seas screams
Clacked her beak knowingly as my tears fell
And flew on navigating by moonbeams

We alighted in a field of seashells
Bathing me in pearlescent healing light
She said you’ll find freedom through an inkwell

With one of my feathers you’ll demons smite
Don’t worry it will as before regrow
Heal yourself and others as you pain write

Follow the stream to the source of your flow
Learn how to unravel fates twisted thread
Where Death chooses which souls to rebirth go

The last thing I saw was Death’s smiling head
Before waking remade in a sundrenched bed

©RedCat


My forth poem for GloPoWriMo and April Ekprastic Challenge. As in January, writing to works of art is changing my writing. How I prepare for writing, for example doing more research on mythology and symbolism. So this time I spent a while reading up more on ravens, Valkyries and Psychopomps’ and other shape shifting spirit guides.

Also I seem to write longer more intricate pieces then I usually do. :-)

Written in Terza rima, a form first known to be used by the Italian poet Dante Alighieri in Divine Comedy, completed in 1320.
It’s a three-line stanza using chain rhyme in the pattern ABA BCB CDC etc. There is no limit to the number of lines, but poems written in terza rima end with either a single line or in a couplet repeating the rhyme of the middle line of the final tercet.

Also incorporating three words from the Skyloverwordlist words: pungent, curious, sea shell.

To see all art and read all poems for today go to The Wombwell Rainbow.


April Ekphrastic Challenge – GloPoWriMo 2021

Dark Stairwell – A Haibun

Photo by Francesco Ungaro from Pexels

A dark stairwell. My cat meowing and howling in his box. The grownups swearing over the scratches they got when forcing him in. My mothers volatile mood. Grief flashing to rage, flashing to confused numbness flashing back to grief.

My aunts and uncles have strange whispering voices. Walking on eggshells. Afraid to do or say anything that reminds us. Like it’s possible to forget.
Like it’s possible to step out of the endless loop of grief and confusion.

I did not understand. How could daddy just be gone forever? And who is that stranger looking out of my mother’s eyes?

Like a plucked flower
A rootless child drifts astray
Unseen and unloved

©RedCat


Written for Walk with me down Memory Lane… today’s Haibun prompt over at dVerse.

I’m one of those that might have opted out of this one, knowing the punch in some of my memories. Also knowing I do not have them all. Nearly everything before my fathers death, two months before my sixth birthday. And two months before my younger siblings birth. Are built up by photo albums and my mother’s stories. And those stories tended to shift over the years. Even today, if one of her children mentions a story she told us over, and over, and over again – only to be met with a blank stare and a totally new story.

Both of us have long ago lost the sense that we will ever know the truth. We have our own memories, as far back as they go. Beyond that we will never know.

And I, again, ended up with fragments so small I don’t know what the memory is about. And this memory, of the dark stairwell, in the house we’re moving out of just weeks after my father passed away.

I have no pictures of that time. But I do have this from what seems a happier time then I can remember.


©RedCat
Photo by Ravi Kant from Pexels

Ride, Trip, Life – January Ekphrastic Challenge, January 10

Marcel Herms – Heel het leven is een storm en een chaos der ziel

This ride will turn you round
Spin you round and round

Twist this way and that way
Confuse up and down until you sway

Like a reed in wind
As branches twinned in whirlwind

Stormy chaos reign
Soul drains as hot tears rain

The trip will demand red blood shed
Til the scythe severs your thread

©RedCat

To read the other poems for today go to Wombwell Rainbow.


Marcel Herms

A Dutch visual artist. He is also one of the two men behind the publishing house Petrichor. Freedom is very important in the visual work of Marcel Herms. In his paintings he can express who he really is in complete freedom. Without the social barriers of everyday life.
There is a strong relationship with music. Like music, Herms’ art is about autonomy, freedom, passion, color and rhythm. You can hear the rhythm of the colors, the rhythm of the brushstrokes, the raging cry of the pencil, the subtle melody of a collage. The figures in his paintings rotate around you in shock, they are heavily abstracted, making it unclear what they are doing. Sometimes they look like people, monsters, children or animals, or something in between. Sometimes they disappear to be replaced immediately or to take on a different guise. The paintings invite the viewer to join this journey. Free-spirited.

He collaborates with many different authors, poets, visual artists and audio artists from around the world and his work is published by many different publishers.

www.marcelherms.nl

www.uitgeverijpetrichor.nl

Kingdom of Karmic Weaving Fates – January Ekphrastic Challenge, January 8

Marcel Herms – Der Tod ist ein Dandy auf einem Pferd
(Death is a Dandy on a Horse)

Now, now! Dear soul!
I’ve done this countless times before.
I move between and between.
It wouldn’t do to be forever seen.
I divert with the screech of an owl.
Even though, I pity souls killed by neglect and foul.
I don’t recommend staying as a ghost.
Even though together you would be a mighty host.
Now! Peek beneath my cowl!
Look into the void, and honk like a lost wildfowl.
My eyes are the portals.
Transporting all Bardo states mortals.
Handing you off at the gates.
Of the Kingdom of karmic weaving fates.

©RedCat

This is the second day of the January Ekphrastic Challenge. To see all artwork and read all poetry go to,
THE WOMBWELL RAINBOW.
My poem today is inspired by Marcel Herms – Der Tod ist ein Dandy auf einem Pferd.
(Death is a Dandy on a Horse)

It was a long time since I used my school learnt German. As I translated the title, some part of my mind said it was more than a artwork title. Maybe a line from a poem, or a song, or a philosophic text. Got a happy, albeit loud, surprise when I found it’s a 1985 song – Der Tod Ist Ein Dandy by Einstürzende Neubauten.
Industrial synth that sounds like a migraine attack feels.

Listen carefully!

Marcel Herms

A Dutch visual artist. He is also one of the two men behind the publishing house Petrichor. Freedom is very important in the visual work of Marcel Herms. In his paintings he can express who he really is in complete freedom. Without the social barriers of everyday life.
There is a strong relationship with music. Like music, Herms’ art is about autonomy, freedom, passion, color and rhythm. You can hear the rhythm of the colors, the rhythm of the brushstrokes, the raging cry of the pencil, the subtle melody of a collage. The figures in his paintings rotate around you in shock, they are heavily abstracted, making it unclear what they are doing. Sometimes they look like people, monsters, children or animals, or something in between. Sometimes they disappear to be replaced immediately or to take on a different guise. The paintings invite the viewer to join this journey. Free-spirited.

He collaborates with many different authors, poets, visual artists and audio artists from around the world and his work is published by many different publishers.

www.marcelherms.nl

www.uitgeverijpetrichor.nl

Spring Day in the Garden

Photo by Quang Nguyen Vinh on Pexels.com

A day spent in the garden
Looking after our earthly warden
Nature connect body, and mind hearten

Hastening springs return
Northerners after light and warmth yearn
Freeing us from yearly nocturne

Breaking old stems
Brittle like broken dreams
Shattering with puffs of remembers screams

Raking skeletal leaves
Like collecting trauma debris
Heavy dead limbs are energy thieves

Cutting budless branches
Composting leads to new life chances
We all participate in life’s death-rebirth dances

Physical meditation of leaves and soil
Releasing old growth that goals foil
Mindfulness by aware present bodily toil

© REDCAT

On prompt today for day 18 of GloPoWriMo – to write an ode to life’s small pleasures.

Photo by Abby Chung on Pexels.com

GloPoWriMo 2020

DAY 1 – Build a New Start
DAY 2 – Beloved Bookstore
DAY 3 – Sunshine and Hail
DAY 4 – Isolation Dating
DAY 5 –Staring out a Windowpane
DAY 6 – Casanova Comes Closer
DAY 7 – Swirling Colors of my Mind
DAY 8 – White – Red – Black
DAY 9 – Different World After
DAY 10 – Spring Hay(na)ku
DAY 11 – Love – Hay(na)ku
DAY 12 – Make Art – Triolet inspired
by Neil Gaiman and Chris Riddell
DAY 13 – What did you think would happen
to a child left on my doorstep?
DAY 14 – Ballad of the Lost Poet
DAY 15 – Writer’s class – Hay(na)ku
DAY 16 – What is a Nomad without a Tribe?
DAY 17 – Pale Spring, Here Again, Nature Awake
DAY 18 – Spring Day in the Garden
DAY 19 – Close Couplets
DAY 20 – Lost in Love’s First Flush
DAY 21 – She Tasted Like Memory
DAY 22 – Struggling Mind
DAY 23 – Written in the book of dust
DAY 24 – At the end of every week, Friday-Cozy!
DAY 25 – Slip, Crack, Shatter
DAY 26 – Humans Really Don’t Know
DAY 27 – April Rain
DAY 28 – Greeting the Watch Horse
DAY 29 – Letter of Hope
DAY 30 – Witches Walpurgis Night Preparation

Under Morpheus watchful eyes

Ribax [CC BY-SA]

Once there where red blood flowing
Warm pleasurable hands roving
Eyes that shone with desire
Passion life require

Now there’s only bone and dust
Longing
Fading memories of lust

In my dreams we
Live and love and laugh
Like I never wrote your epitaph

Under Morpheus watchful eyes
Together to the skies we rise
Our souls fly seaward on the wings of a bird

When the truth is
You are long dead and interred

© REDCAT

Written for January Writing Prompt #2 at Free Verse Revolution.

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