don’t write of birds, without imagery, striking and unique—
heron as last-man-standing, or as deserted, steepled church– show, don’t tell.
But how do I ignore the rose-tipped notes dropped in robin’s song,
the smokey, dripped-ash warnings croaked from mouths of crows?
For dVerse, where we are asked to write a quadrille (a poem of 44 words) using the word “bird.” In my part of the world, we’re enjoying a few days of unseasonable warm weather. The birds are beginning to chirp and sing of spring, perhaps looking for mates, too. Not a full predawn choir yet, but robins are beginning to chirp before sunrise. (American robins are members of the thrush family. They’re larger than European robins, though named for them because of their red breasts. We have large flocks of them. At least some of them here in S. Jersey remain all year. They have a very cheery song.)
I’ve shared this cover before, but I really love it. If you’ve never heard it, it’s worth listening to. It’s from a few years ago, but the preservation of indigenous languages and culture seems particularly timely in the current political climate.
When dreams die, no longer dazzling or delicious, decayed,
dashed on rocks, deaccessioned from the mind,
yet held in a file, marked “Someday,”
I think how we exist, sometimes awakening the universe–
our own individual universes– with if and after love, illness, war,
a migration of thoughts, like birds in spring,
spring will come, the ghostly onion sun will become a peach,
Sunset with oak branches–after days of grey.
flowers will raise their faces to it and smile, open their mouths to sing
with the robins already forming their pre-dawn choir,
and the goose and gander will gather – soon there will be goslings,
while the river and time run, always forwards, never back, never stopping as they sweep us along,
the way dreams do.
Hello again. We switched to Daylight Saving Time yesterday. I hate these time changes. There is no reason for us to switch back and forth. Fortunately, I don’t have to follow a schedule, except my own internal one, so right now, I went to bed a little later and slept a little later (as did the cats). But what an unnecessary annoyance for those who must get to work or school!
And then there’s the war, that might be called a war or not, depending on who is speaking and when. And the spineless Republicans who can’t say no to the decaying and diminished man in the White House who wore one of his baseball caps (on sale at his online store!) to the dignified transfer of the remains of six soldiers killed in his unnecessary and probably illegal war. I wonder if people who voted because they didn’t like the price of eggs are having any regrets now. What will they say when we face all sorts of shortages and sky-rocketing prices for oil, gas, and electricity, as well as a faltering economy? How can anyone still support the so obviously deranged man? Obviously none of them care about the girls killed in the school in Iran. Are we going to attack Cuba next? What is going to happen here? He is so desperate to cover up the Epstein files and to stay in power that he will allow anything to happen. He, his family, and his cronies here and abroad just keep getting richer. But at least Noem is out. And yesterday when we were out at our local weekly protest, which formed as an anti-ICE and pro-immigrant rally and includes giving items for local food pantries, it seems to me that there was mostly and more positive support. There were a couple of men who yelled “F—k you” at us in VERY angry voices (so angry because people care about others?), and a few people gave us the finger, but there were lots of loud honks and voices of support. Standing on that corner in springlike weather was much more pleasant than shivering there a few weeks ago.
Last week after my sister’s funeral—was that only a week ago?—the weather was rainy most of the week. It was grey and dreary. If it wasn’t raining, it looked like it was about to. I didn’t do many walks outside. I did get out to breakfast one day with my friends, which was delightful. (Thank you, Pat and Irene!) We’re going to have a few unseasonably warm days before it gets colder again. We actually had a beautiful sunset last night instead of grey, and we now have lots of crocuses in bloom, and green shoots starting to poke up from the ground. Yes, I’m looking for any beauty and joy now.
Open Windows:
On Saturday, we streamed the movie, The Secret Agent. We had seen previews for it months ago, and I had wanted to see it in the theater, but we kept missing it. I was very confused at the beginning of the movie, but I liked how the pieces of the story were revealed and fit together. It’s set in 1970s Brazil during Carnival season, and it concerns a research professor who is trying to escape the hit men who are after him. This is the time of the military dictatorship. The man finds refuge in an apartment house with others who are trying to escape. The movie has surreal and amusing scenes, as well as thriller moments and gun fights. I’d like to watch it again sometime. Here’s a review from NPR.
Yesterday, I participated in Paul Short’s The Book Bag Open Mic. It was an intimate group with outstanding poetry, and Paul is such a great host. You can follow him on socials @paulwritespoems to find out about the next one. He also hosts a writing group, which will meet again on Zoom at the end of the month.
We started Season 6, the final season of Peaky Blinders. So, we’ll be ready for the movie. 😊
Current reading. I should finish this book today, Skylark by Paula McLain. I needed a Merril book, and this one, from my local library fit the bill—multiple timelines, characters I care about, and beautiful writing. There are recurring motifs/metaphors of life underground and above ground in Paris—and birds and rivers!
The next No Kings protest is scheduled for Saturday, March 28. There are three large protests planned in my area that I know about: Camden, Glassboro, and Philadelphia. Find one in your area here.
Thank you to editors Nick Allison and Rachel Armes-McLaughlin for selecting this poem for publication in the anthology What We Hold On To and for sharing it on the site. You can read the entire anthology for free, and/or purchase a copy. It’s a wonderful collection!
They were never a couple, though linked in time, truth, and trouble,
god-cursed, unaware/ too aware of self, prophecies of death, a belief
half-held. She calls, calls, calls, while he ignores; his eyes are wells
that catch his own reflection, attraction at first sight, a romance drawn
with self-deception. Doomed from the start, never together, cards dealt by fate, edict,
or self-design. She yearned; he disregarded– too much ego, not enough—love unrequited.
A poem written for dVerse where we were to write at least 6 couplets ending in half or para rhyme and focusing on a couple or the number 2. A rhyme did slip in (sorry), but it’s mid-line, not end. I’m not sure about the poem, but it was a good challenge and an exercise for my brain. And it only occurred to me just now, that there’s a nod to spring with the narcissus flowers in the painting.
February was so crazy–events early in the month, then snowstorms, political horrors, and global strife–I completely forgot to post that my poem, “Balanced,” was published by Gleam. My thanks to Lori Howe and the editorial team. Gleam only publishes a form called the cadralor, which consists of 5 distinct, imagist stanzas that come together at the end with a sense of love/yearning. It’s a difficult form to get right. Submissions open again in June, if you want to try it. You can read my cadralor here:
war in the Middle East spread with dragon-tongue swipes, flickering flames, bombing in Lebanon, my older child said, more deaths–
March, named for the war god, laughs, teases us with crocuses then icy rain,
there are contrails in the blue, there are ghosts in the grey, shimmer-spirits shift, as we
march, we are marching onward, topsy-turvy tumbling
toward destruction led by the easily led decrepit, demented would-be- dictator
(“war is peace”)
we are sacred prisoners of the moon, fire-dancers of the sun,
we bleed, we celebrate, we bleed some more,
inattentive to tree rhythms, and river rhymes, yet sensing the echoes of the past, yearning for the future perfect tense,
hope, a note in a bottle willing to be found,
not shattered on rocks, as currents change course,
knowing our star will blush and kiss the horizon, then wake the next day,
and if I, you, we must go, let us be at peace as my sister is now,
let us work for peace, especially for children— all children
let us think of others’ peace— whatever their color or religion,
let us think of peace flying through blue-breezed sky and beyond, and we open-souled in flight,
becoming clouds, rain, and infinite light, once again stars.
Starlings and the Sun, August 2023
Hello again. We’re into the third month of this year, and it already seems like years since January. I am SO happy to see February go. Yesterday, Monday, was my sister’s funeral. I think she would have liked the funeral service, which sounds weird, but it was what she wanted, a funeral mass. She loved choral music and singing in the choir, and the choir sang beautifully from the choir loft. My sister converted to Catholicism a few years ago. This church that she belonged to is a magnificent 19th century gothic-style stone structure with stunning stained-glass windows and a beautiful blue wall with gold stars behind the altar. It’s technically within the city limits of Philadelphia, but it’s in a neighborhood in west Philadelphia, about a half hour drive to the city center. As you know, I am not a person of faith, nor a Christian, but the priest seems like a kind, caring man, and his homily showed that he knew my sister well. His words were direct and heartfelt. The service ended with my niece, my sister’s only child, reading a moving remembrance.
Here’s a photo of me with my sisters when we were young. I’m the one in the middle. My older sister, the one who just died is on the left, and my younger sister on the right. I don’t know where this was or what we were laughing about, but we look so happy.
It’s a shame that my family is spread out in and all-around Philadelphia in every direction, including into southern New Jersey—just enough to make it difficult to gather. As a family, we didn’t really have a chance to sit and talk together afterwards. The restaurant where we enjoyed a buffet lunch with other mourners was not conducive to it. Our older child took the train—arrived Sunday night at our house and then left shortly after the funeral to get the train back to Massachusetts. Our daughter and son-in-law left early to take her sibling to the train station. Then we left soon after to drive my brother home, hoping unsuccessfully to avoid rush hour traffic.
As far as other news, well, you know what’s happening. The predator president has launched an illegal war (again ignoring Congress and the Constitution), spurred on by Fox “News,” Israel, and his and his family’s monetary interests. I do NOT understand how anyone is still supporting him. Last week, news emerged that files are missing from the Epstein Files that included testimony from a woman who claimed Tr—p raped her when she was a minor. It’s important not to let that vanish in the fog of this new war. Also, the courts have dealt the rapist and probable pedophile some blows. Keep them coming. Keep telling the truth; keep speaking out against misinformation. Protest this war and this regime whenever and however you can. I wasn’t up for it last week, but I hope to make some protests this week. Don’t forget the next No Kings protest is Saturday, March 28.
We attended a Members’ Appreciation Event at Blue Cork Winery on Sunday afternoon. It was the first I’d been out for something pleasurable since before my sister went into the hospital. It was fun to sit and drink wine, taste the special pours they served, and have lunch/dinner there—salad, pizza, sandwiches, and cookies. We sat with our daughter (who works there) and son-law, and a woman we know from book clubs and her friend. (A Goofy photo for Derrick.)
I was unbelievably excited to see some crocuses bloom last week—after the snow finally melted. We did some spring cleaning and even opened some windows during the week. But yesterday it got colder, and today there’s a cold rain with the possibility of some snow mixed in this morning. Then by the end of the week and early next week, it will be very warm. I’m hoping we won’t see ice or snow again until next winter!
We’re into Season 5 of Peaky Blinders. Really, that show has been helping me get through the last couple weeks. We’ll be finishing it around the time the movie comes out.
I think we all need a laugh, so I’m leaving you with this photo. I posted it last night with the caption, “Brothers call a high-level meeting.”
“Who lives Who dies Who tells your story?” –Lin-Manuel Miranda, Hamilton
Here is a celebration of clouds, here, a wake of robins here, ghosts drift beneath February’s skeleton branches
the seductive voice of river calms you, the shushing voice of wind asks why so many questions–
you wonder about the scent of chocolate in the air, the brilliant, caramel breath of stars,
the way ice traps light-sparkle, holds it like hoarded gold that vanishes in time.
Now the sun dies again, saturating the river with her soul-light, reflecting the beauty of this wild wonderful world back to you.
You don’t look away
from the call and response, multitudinous questions, almost-answers, countless stories
of the trout below, the gulls above, the connection between them and the flowers waiting for spring, waiting to be reborn,
all around you feel your family, friends, strangers, generations hovering like the hawk overhead,
your thoughts are like the fish suspended at river bottom in winter cold, waiting to surface,
Now Venus, dazzles in the eastern sky; Orion hunts across centuries and space—
now they’re gone in a wonderland of frost and snow–
Is there a plan–to any of this?
All I can see are relationships, associations, similarity– the traces of stars in everything
on this small blue dot in this vast universe
where I’m one human, significant only to myself and those who know me, what do I know?
Maybe this is a dream, we are caught in the surreal,
but I think, better to wonder,
better to live in love, to live with love, to die knowing you are loved.
Let that be the story of your life.
It seems simple, doesn’t it?
Hello again. This has been a very long, stressful week, and sad, too. On top of all the horrible things going on here in the US and in the world (see Joyce Vance here for a roundup of some of last week’s events and what’s coming this week), we learned my older sister was taken by ambulance to the hospital on Monday. I just got word that she died early this morning.
As of Thursday afternoon, treatment for her multiple issues had been discontinued, and she was receiving only pain medicine to keep her comfortable. Nobody in the family lives near this hospital. We were back and forth most days, but my niece, my sister’s only child, and my niece’s husband were at the hospital from Wednesday until yesterday afternoon. They finally left only because the current blizzard would have trapped them there at the hospital.
I did not have a close relationship with Lynne, and I hadn’t seen her for a few months before seeing her at the hospital. It was good to learn she had friends and a community in the church she joined.
On Saturday, while we were at the hospital, we took a brief walk outside and then through the art gallery that connected the hospital buildings. It was spring-like on Saturday, with temperatures in the 50sF.
When we got home from the hospital on Saturday, I drove over to the river to get some sunset photos, since I assume I won’t be at the park for a few days. We have about a foot of snow now, maybe? And it’s still snowing. It’s not as cold though as it was during the last snowstorm, and by Wednesday, the temperature will be in the 40s F. Then we’re supposed to get some rain.
So—wishing all of you, wherever you are in the world, good health and happiness. Hug your loved ones. Keep fighting the good fight. There is protest programming planned for the night of the State of the Union. The next No Kings protest is on Saturday, March 28th.
“Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.” –Langston Hughes, “Dreams”
In the darkest hours of the heart, we dare to dream, to believe
in the power of together, to lift every voice, to hold these truths as self-evident to join
hand-fasted to earth and sea, to feel it move–
words with action– to remember friends, to protect strangers,
to never forget nor erase the traces of what was— truth inscribed—
stardust and dark energy the invisible fluttering
of the heart, and in its hours, we span
the shadows in love’s penumbra,
yet feel the shimmer searching, promising
light from our own star, blooming saffron gold enough to melt frozen hearts, snow, ice
to heal with laughter, joy, the miracle of nature’s green, the death of grapes, the life of wine,
the sound of spirits in the sky, cycling round, the coming of spring.
“Butterfly Steps” at Red Bank Battlefield Park.
Hello again. There’s still snow on the ground, but it it’s getting warmer, and the days are finally starting to grow longer. I had such a difficult time getting started with this one. I consulted the Oracle, then Walt Whitman, and Langston Hughes to finish. Today is Presidents’ Day. It’s officially George Washington’s birthday celebration, even though he was born on February 22, 1732—that’s “New Style” after Great Britain adopted the Gregorian calendar in 1752. His birthdate, Old Style (Julian) was February 11, 1731. Presidents’ Day is the third Monday of February to give federal workers and others a three-day holiday. This year Valentine’s Day was on Saturday. My daughter went to a friend’s wedding this weekend, and I’m sure there were many over the weekend.
One thing, most Americans will not be doing is celebrating the current president of the United States. Surveys, including Republican scholars, consistently rank the rapist felon as the worst president the US has even had. Let us hope in the future, no one else comes close. Certainly, the Founding Fathers did not envision anyone so corrupt. In that time, honor and shame meant something, which is not to say that any of these men were perfect. The current regime has removed all mention of the enslaved people from the President’s House in Philadelphia. Washington was well-respected as the commander-in-chief and our first president. He spoke out on such things as freedom of religion; however, he was a slaveholder (many of the enslaved people on his plantation belonged to his wife, Martha, who was a wealthy widow when he married her). His will directed that his slaves be freed, but only after Martha died, but he did not have control over her slaves. To be fair, it was complicated situation, as the two sets of enslaved people had formed connections of love and friendship, and had had children. When he was in Philadelphia, Washington rotated the enslaved workers so that they could not gain freedom under Pennsylvania’s gradual abolition rule. Oney Judge, Martha’s lady’s maid, escaped in Philadelphia in 1796. She was not recaptured. Hercules, a skilled chef, who had also been in Philadelphia, escaped from Mt. Vernon in Virginia in 1797.
Sigh. Life and history are complicated.
Yet certainly we all know that some things are right and some things are wrong. Recently, federal immigration officers terrorized 4th and 5th graders in a housing development in Lindenwold, a nearby New Jersey town. Children! The bus driver drove around and managed to pick-up some of them and get them safely to school. There was a large protest in Lindenwold, NJ that has made the national news. I didn’t know about it in time to make it, but our congressman was there. We know that there are children in this regime’s concentration camps. In case you need me to spell it out, both concentration camps and traumatizing children are wrong.
The next No Kings march is March 28th.
Earlier this week, I listened to Joyce Vance in conversation with Pramila Jayapal discussing Pam Bondi’s hearing before the House. I was outraged. Bondi wouldn’t even acknowledge the survivors, and she’s apparently (and illegally) seized the search histories of congresspeople, including Jayapal, who were searching in the Epstein files. Files, which they should have been allowed to have access to without all the restrictions. The complete files have still not been released. This, too, is against the law, though Bondi appears to not understand the law or legal system at all, and insulted Jamie Raskin, an esteemed Constitutional scholar.
But there were also good things this past week and coming up. Continuing February birthday month, our older child celebrated their birthday this past week. We were able to Facetime with them and our granddaughter (whose FIRST birthday is later this month). My mother-in-law’s birthday is today. We’re going to take her out to lunch one day this week. My husband’s birthday is also this week.
On Wednesday, I attended Black Bough Poetry’s Open Mic. It was a small group, which I like, as we get to take our time and chat.
Our Thursday, I attended Paul Short’s Write Here, Right Now writing session. Unfortunately, I had to leave early to get to our daughter’s book club meeting at Blue Cork Winery. Everyone enjoyed the book, which honestly, I would never have read if it wasn’t for the book club. I wouldn’t consider Twice a great book, but it’s super-fast reading, and it’s sort of a balm of a book in these trying times. It also has a Philadelphia connection, which was fun for me.
For Valentine’s Day, we celebrated with wine and cheese from Tria. We have done this for several years. There’s an online discussion of the wine and cheese with Tria’s wine expert and “Madame Fromage,” a cheese expert (of course), who was there from France, where it was 2 AM, I think. There was a French theme with the wine and cheese, except for the chocolate stout at the end. The cheese especially was Soooooo delicious! The pairings though were perfect! Everything—the baguette, the chocolates, etc. were great. We had more of the wine and cheese last night with some soup. Getting to Tria by car to pick up the packages was not so much fun. Traffic in that part of Philadelphia was insane. I imagine the combination of Valentine’s Day, holiday weekend, and spring-like weather, sent everyone outside! But my husband said it was worth it. Our kitty boys, not used to us sitting in the dining room at this time of night, were running around in the background and watching us.
On Sunday, we saw a play (did our usual train trip) to see Blues for an Alabama Sky. It was an excellent play with great acting and well-done set and costuming. It’s about a group of friends in Harlem in the 1930s. Angel lives with her gay friend Guy, who is a costumer trying to make gowns for Josephine Baker, his idol. Delia is a social worker trying to set up a family planning clinic. Sam is an obstetrician in a local Harlem hospital. Leland is a stranger from Alabama who is smitten with Angel, and whose beliefs affect and change the course of their lives.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
