Summer Solstice

SUMMER SOLSTICE

June 21, 2011

Early today, the sun leaps brilliantly over the horizon, taking a long, spellbound jump, spinning in slow motion his legs and arms, gliding, a bird of prey.

Rising light casts drawn-out shadows running up and down hills and dales. Atop a summit warming rays outspread.

Colors explode, life bursting in dread of death. Stunning dyes ink the sky, veins and washes.

Bright droplets of flowers splash across a palette of meadows. Floating trees at their base join to luminous shades.

Silver rivers transmute into gold. Forest regiments guard eyes hiding beneath shadowy green canopies, shading hands.

Fulsome clouds tumble, hay rolls in a royal blue field. The wind, freshly laving, puffs memories, ardent.

The longest day is glorious, a shining bracelet of hours—agate streaked orange and blue at dawn, dazzling quartz at noon, orange sapphire at dusk. Night fastens the end with a snap.

Originally published in New Asian Writing (May 7, 2015) at http://www.new-asian-writing.com/summer-solstice-by-gonzalinho-da-costa/

Summer Solstice Sunrise over Stonehenge (June 21, 2005) by Andrew Dunn

The Song of Creation

THE SONG OF CREATION

To Gerard Manley Hopkins

Creation sings of the glory of God.

We do not hear it but see it

In brilliant interstices

Opening and closing

Of trees waving to and fro

When the world is radiant,

In glittering leaves,

Beaming stones,

Mountain streams, flashing

Metal foil flattened

By fists, smoothed

By hands.

The blind hear the song in the trees yearning to speak.

They inhale it in the attenuated wind,

Taste it in fruits bursting with water.

Bending down to touch the earth,

They become one with the beginning of all things,

Pushing roots into the soil,

Unfolding leaves,

Joining hands with the sun and the dead

Brought back to life.

Originally published in Blue Heron Review, Issue 3 (Winter 2015)

We do not hear it but see it in brilliant interstices opening and closing...

Bread

BREAD

Hot fresh bread, breakfast time:

Fragrant, not a flower,

Warming, not a fire,

Lively, not a flame,

Soothing, not a salve,

Kindly, not a caress;

Dark honey wheat,

Black oat barley,

Sweet cinnamon raisin,

Savory apple walnut,

Ciabatta, Foccacia, Pita,

Bublik, Chapati, Pandesal—

Parmesan, Romano—two-cheese,

Sunflower, sesame, fennel—three-seed,

Every type of loaf

Bundled in brown wrapper,

Crackling in your embrace,

Steaming scented clouds,

Breathe deeply

Atop a mountain;

Billowing, fluffy blanket,

Pull it up,

Tuck it snug

Beneath your chin;

Bracing, poppy fireside,

Cross your arms,

Hold it to your heart.

Fed in deepest winter,

Bathed at height of summer,

Refreshed when day is dry,

Sheltered when life is wet,

Healed when you are pierced,

Becalmed…even after you are violently shaken,

Remade in hope,

Transformed in joy,

Nourished, uplifted…blessed:

Every good thing comes to you

As a loaf of bread.

Originally published in IthacaLit (September 27, 2014)

Every good thing comes to you as a loaf of bread.

Tag-Ulan

TAG-ULAN

Earth dwells in a tent, suffused in light weakly estranged from darkness.

The lowering sky is a mordant mangkukulam, invisible. He eyeballs anxious passersby chary of tripping bolts of black magic.

Moisture wafting from the soil lingers indefinably like fine confection melting between the teeth.

The wind rises and falls. Stillness settles into a corner, waiting, a dog curling opposite the front door.

Expectancy is a recurring dream—pregnant storm clouds, the space between breaths, promise of a child, the moment before crossing over, hope that rises to heaven.

When the rain arrives, it bursts into flames.

The spectacle is electrifying: a flash flood, a sprinter bounding forward, a dog barking excitedly.

Originally published in New Asian Writing (May 7, 2015) at http://www.new-asian-writing.com/tag-ulan-by-gonzalinho-da-costa/

The lowering sky is a mordant mangkukulam...