This Tunnel Has No Light at Its Ending

This Tunnel Has No Light at Its Ending

Black notes hang
in a barren equinox sky,
fade into a cry of
wonder that echoes
as though in a dark tunnel.

You balance the cup
of deep water before
a moment of stolen hope emerges
then abandon yourself
to pure gravity

before ripping apart the
warm core of your being.
Can you taste
the texture of wind,
that carries cries of forgiveness.

The memory of a crowing
cock haunts you
constantly, doesn’t it?
Life ebbs slowly when you
break your promises.
Doesn’t it?

Today, I am hosting for dVerse Meeting the Bar, Critique and Craft. We are playing with symbolism as used in poetry and literature. Can you identify the emotion I am attempting to express in this poem–a very old one that I rewrote?

Photo: racrapopulous” Free Usage


I’m “tending bar” today over at dVerse Poet’s Pub where the theme for the prompt is symbolism. I hope you’ll join us! My challenge to you is to share a symbolic poem of your own and leave a comment here, as well, letting me know what the painting and poem symbolizes to you. This is expressionistic art, which, by definition, seeks to express emotion or to elicit an emotional response. Thank you.

Credit: Image from Google, Artist’s website and name was not available.


A stretch of white.
You scrape a knife
through black, then indigo,
layer darkness,
across the horizon.
Reach for a tube of
chestnut brown,
squeeze the contents
onto the lower half
and smear.
Payne’s grey sky.
A slash of crimson,
a miniscule orb
in orange.

The Metaphor of the Elephant in the Dying Room

Artist: Borg de Nobel, all rights reserved

The Metaphor of the Elephant
in the Living Dying Room

Those final days
we spent together,
ravens peppering
the green,
green grass
outside her window…

Those elephants
exposed for what
they’d always been:
chimera of secrets held

T            L
O           O
O           O
O           O
O    I    O
       N   N

the telling made us

Over the years,
on opposite sides
of the continent
our anger
like sap from
wounded bark

like pachy-
dermic pus.

I wish I’d been there,
crawled into her bed
to hold her
when blackbirds came
to set her free.

Instead I have a memory
(a dream):
her hands touching my head.

And Butter-

Today over at dVerse Poetics Claudia Schonfeld invites us to write an Ekphrasis on the incredible artwork of Borg de Noel, a Dutch artist. One image brought to mind my sister who died at age 61 of pancreatic cancer in a period of only four weeks. I spent much of that time with her, talking about our perceptions of our difficult growing up years. We were both only 7 when our widowed parents wed. During those years my parents, well-meaning to be sure, never spoke of our deceased parents–her mother and my father. Cris sent me back home the day before she died, but came to me in a dream and laid her hands on my head (in blessing). When I received the phone call informing me of her death, I was sitting on the deck with my morning coffee. A migration of butterflies invaded the yard. As a hospice nurse, I’d witnessed apparent “event” experienced by the families of my patients. This was the first I’d encountered myself.

Even if you don’t have time to bring your own poem to the Pub, I encourage you to make it a point to stop by and read about this talented artist, and while you’re at it, taste some fine poetry.

Sarich–dVerse Poetics

Yesterday, at dVerse Poetics, Mark Kerstetter invited us to go wild. An image of Basquiat’s work prompted me to visit another contemporary artist, Michael Sarich, who is an art professor here at the University of Nevada, Reno and who, a couple of years ago, had a feature exhibit at the Nevada Museum of Art. His work is packed with symbolism. To better understand my poem, check out this link to our museum’s Docent Depot.







ou plunge
deep into water,
touch creative
wild visions
of truth.

you draw with-
in, find meaning,
reach out,
in cultural currents.
religious icon-
with Mickey
Mouse idealization.

Grasp hold of that beach
ball, keep afloat
in seas of abuse,
confused ex-
pression of
paternal lov-
ing fury.

Too bad Hitler
of well-

snuggle in your nest
fight demons
that threaten to
your work, your
(Yours truly), BE-

Michael is fighting a degenerative neurological disorder. This doesn’t keep him from conducting classes and continuing to pursue his work. I had the privilege of attending a one-day drawing class that he gave at the museum during the exhibit.

Monday Morning Writing Prompt–Dream Symbolism


Image via Wikipedia

For today’s prompt, let’s try writing a poem or flash fiction (500 words or less) using symbolism from a dream. Try a first person account from the point of view of the dreamer, write a piece based on one of your own dreams or pluck something from your imagination. If you prefer, you can choose an “awake” symbol, such as an animal totem.

Be aware that symbols mean different things for different people. For example, in my mindset a dog represents loyalty, friendship and fidelity. In the dream book I use, the author has it as aggression. Use whatever rings true for you.

Here’s just one of many resources that speaks to dream symbolism:

I have an idea milling around in my head that I hope to post later in the week.

Feathered Totems–Jingle’s Poetry Potluck






Submitted to Jingle’s Poetry Potluck:

This week’s theme is language, signs and symbols. Because I have spent much of my life in areas graced by Native American culture and spirituality, I am so aware of the many lessons taught through careful observation of the role of nature in our lives. Birds, in particular, seems to come to me–both in nature and in dreams and they are said to be messengers of the Divine. I try to attune to what they may be here to teach me. This poem touches on the symbolism of  a few of the bird totems.


Feathered Totems

I am…
the cawing Raven
crying magic, mystery,
circling your life with
power of creation.

I am…
the brilliance of the Eagle
spanning space between the earth
and sky, carrying your spirit
to the top of distant mountains.

I am…
the lowly mourning Dove
echoing the sound of longing
deep within your emptiness
that God alone can fill.

I am…
the joy of Hummingbird
dancing in the morning dew,
drinking golden nectar,
nourishing your soul.