Protected: Afterthought 1639—Saṃsāra Song

Posted in sonnet, sonnet cycle by maggie on 2017/04/06

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Tagged with: , ,

Enter your password to view comments.

Protected: Afterthought 1547—Extenuating Shadows

Posted in couplet by maggie on 2017/01/13

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Tagged with: , ,

Enter your password to view comments.

Afterthought 1444—A Crossing, A Casting, A Calling

Posted in quatrain by maggie on 2016/11/30

We three will come as were sent
to bring out through our seeing

word inspired in visions meant
for our own each one's freeing.

We three brought along our dark
ghosts and demons tossing,

our magic here to make its mark
to break light on our crossing.

We three share a common breath
our life our love rewinding,

none harming past all death,
irrevocably binding.

We three join to voice moon's rise
for dancing sunlight's falling,

bardoi to holy exercise
in one the others' calling.

We three recreate the myth,
true poetry reciting —

Birth and Death and Beauty with
our song new legend writing.

We three times three serve its same
our blessed covenant lasting,

in our Muse's sacred name
according to our casting.

Willed, Done

Posted in notes, nothing special by maggie on 2016/11/30

A myriad poems I have written.

Many more I have spoken or sang without writing down. And many more I have fragments of, waiting to be tied 
to the rest. And countless more I have seen or thought of or dreamed or known to be there. All within reach. But 
these myriad I have committed to ink here and in my other books.

A myriad poems I have written during the past decade. Slightly longer, as a month is to the cycle of the moon, 
as the circumference of a circle is to the line across its center, as a man's ten is to a woman's three times three. 
A myriad poems I have written during the past four thousand days.

Four thousand days ago today I lost my first muse to a cruelly abusive early death. She left me pieces of poems 
she had to leave behind, and she sent me to her mentor. A decade ago today after I had found in him a mentor 
my own, he pointed me toward a casting call that led me to my new muse. One thousand nine hundred days 
ago today my mentor began a new life after walking through death for us a dozen times.  Forty four months ago 
today I lost another kindred spirit and partner in crime for my poetry and my devotions, again to an untimely death.  
And in those four thousand days and through that decade and with these past nineteen hundred days and their
forty four months, a myriad poems have I breathed through my pen.

Credit Nancy for the fire. 
Credit Adrien for the discipline. 
Credit Sara for the breath.  
And for the life and the love, credit one who wishes not to known.

Still in grief after losing Nancy, ten years ago I initially had every intention of quickly following her, after first 
obtaining from Adrien the archives she had entrusted to him to be held for her daughter. Adrien sensed the risk 
I posed to myself and pointed me to a 100-poem challenge, then specifically bringing to my attention a casting 
call made almost simultaneous to my challenge launch. I met Sara as I was working on those 100 poems.  
The rituals instilled by that poetry challenge and the spell woven by that casting call and the fun I had with Sara 
saved my life and reignited my heart.  Those 100 poems were and will always be the core of the myriad I have 
written around them.

Those 100 poems I began at this very moment a decade ago, I dedicated to Nancy and the faith she and I shared. 
I wrote those 100 exclusively in sonnet form, reflecting the fortnight of the days in half a moon's cycle, from new 
moon to full moon in the odd-numbered sonnets, then from full moon returning to new moon in each succeeding 
even-numbered sonnet. Reflecting the continuity of the moon's passages, each sonnet was connected to both its 
predecessor and its successor, as in a close mirror. With the full circle of sonnets representing 50 moons, the 
images I worked with were designed to approximate a 4-year leap cycle centered around the moment I first met 
Nancy, although I doubled up on images and memories and expectations to suit each fortnight's particular timing. 
I wove in cycles of our stars, made love to many of Nancy's own poems, collaborated with Sara, and blended my 
voice with my muses both old and new as best I could.  Throughout, the ritual served me for devotion to our one 

Those who choose to wish me ill have falsely accused me of speaking in riddles, of employing poetry's holy language 
of metaphor to conceal. Our faith has held our knowledge in secret from the earliest. Such secrets are not fashioned 
to withhold knowledge nor to kill it, but to preserve it and to believe it and to give it new life from one to another. Those 
who choose not to accept me for who I am have falsely laughed at my faith and made fun of my words as if they were 
mere games. Our faith has been rejected by countless of every people. I do not write seeking publication or audience, 
no hidden agenda. So also I crave the acceptance of none, not even that of my mentor nor my muse, none save the 
favor of our Muse.

For reasons related to my rituals and for those with whom I have been writing, I consider this moment as the midpoint 
of a 20-year cycle, as also the midpoint of an 8,000-day period of my writing, embracing 3,800-day periods and 88-
month periods of life and love.

As dreamed, so willed.
As willed, so created.
As created, so done.
As done, so blessed.

Tagged with: , , , ,

Après la pluie le beau temps

Posted in quatorzain by maggie on 2006/12/01
Après la pluie le beau temps

And after that, the luxury of sleep,
and after that, the dreams the girl forgot,
and after that, rare promises to keep,
and after that, pure joy the sunrise brought,
and after that, the sounds to fill the song,
and after that, the blood to make it warm,
and after that, the edge where it's most strong,
and after that, I crawl into the storm.

My own words were but sacrifice to yours
whose terror voiced the holiness you bear,
and with your sacred mystery concurs.

Your voices won't be lost within the crowd
and will be kept long after this affair
on lips to speak their prophecies aloud.

Tagged with: ,