First, a message from Lillian:

“Arte Haida,” by Duncan Nagonigwane Pheasant (Ojibwe)

Happy September to All and Welcome to Poetics! Lisa here as your pub host, offerer/server of liquid refreshment and/or tasty snacks from the magic cupboard as well as provider of today’s Poetics prompt.

Semiotics (also called semiotic studies) is the systematic study of sign processes (semiosis) and meaning-making. Semiosis is any activity, conduct, or process that involves signs, where a sign is defined as anything that communicates something, usually called a meaning, to the sign’s interpreter. — source wikipedia

Back almost forty years ago, when I was contemplating whether or not I wanted to be a parent, I remember asking my higher power to show me a sign to help with the decision. That day, a very pregnant cat came walking down our long, dirt driveway. To me, the sign was clear that yes, it was time to bring a child into the world.

Does it seem amazing that the answer was given so clearly? At the time it was for me. Since then, I have learned that looking for signs is an old practice. Also is the experience of being presented with a sign without asking and wondering how to interpret it.

Last night the very gods showed me a vision –
I fast and prayed for their intelligence – thus:
I saw Jove’s bird, the Roman eagle, winged
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanished in the sunbeams; which portends,
Unless my sins abuse my divination,
Success to th’ Roman host.

—William Shakespeare, from The Tragedy of Cymbeline, King of Britain:

I think one of a poet’s main skills is to be primed and sensitive to reading the signs that come to them.

A Flower in the Burn Scar
by Rick Anderson

I see you peeking timidly
from between the skeletal bars
of your bleached, bony fortress,
vibrant colors a sign of defiance
in this scorched grayscape.
I hear your silent exclamation
of resurgence and rebirth.

Your seed burrowed deep
as the buck sheltered you
from the raging furnace above.
He must have been fearless,
offering himself as sanctuary
to your unborn, fragile beauty
in the face of nature’s fury.

He nourishes you still, I think.
His essence feeds your tiny roots
as his spirit rises in your petals
and radiates from your golden eye.
His iron will lives within you,
reflected in your bright bloom
reaching up toward the sun.

I wonder what you see
from your apocalyptic high ground,
up among the blackened stumps,
baked cinders, and ash.
The charred hillside gives nothing
but perhaps you look toward
what will follow as you grow.

This barren charnel floor
will be healed someday.
The Mother will make it so.
She bestows her healing powers
as part of a grand design
that always lives on.
You are the hope she sends.

I was walking on a nature path a couple of days ago when the seed of today’s prompt presented itself. A little farther along the path, I saw a small feather resting on a flower blossom of a tall plant. The feather was definitely out of place, which I interpreted as a manifestation of the concept.  Or maybe it’s just that a bird lost a feather while she flew overhead and it landed on the flower. How we interpret what we experience is unique to our perceptions.

“The Blind Men and the Elephant” is a poem by John Godfrey Saxe which is based on an Indian Fable (कहानी) about 6 blind men and the elephant. (Follow the link to read the poem.)  Illustrator is unknown but source is from here.

Whether we encounter, recognize, and how we interpret signs that may or may not be clear, there is also a way that our hearts and spirits may make manifest new signs leading to fresh realities. Reading Joy Harjo’s poem, “Once the World was Perfect,” makes a believer out of me.

Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world.
Then we took it for granted.
Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind.
Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head.
And once Doubt ruptured the web,
All manner of demon thoughts
Jumped through—
We destroyed the world we had been given
For inspiration, for life—
Each stone of jealousy, each stone
Of fear, greed, envy, and hatred, put out the light.
No one was without a stone in his or her hand.
There we were,
Right back where we had started.
We were bumping into each other
In the dark.
And now we had no place to live, since we didn’t know
How to live with each other.
Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another
And shared a blanket.
A spark of kindness made a light.
The light made an opening in the darkness.
Everyone worked together to make a ladder.
A Wind Clan person climbed out first into the next world,
And then the other clans, the children of those clans, their children,
And their children, all the way through time—
To now, into this morning light to you.

What she imagines literally bends time. And who is to say it has not come to pass an infinite number of times? (Thank you to Trish, who first brought the concept to me in a way I could take it in.)

Now, Dear Poets, we have come to the parameters of the prompt. Your challenge, if you choose to accept it, is to choose one of these options:
a) recall an experience you’ve had where you’ve asked for a sign, or came upon a sign unasked-for, and interpreted it and write a poem about the experience, preferably in first person.

b) do some research and find a myth, legend, or story about asking for or interpreting signs and write a poem about what you find.

c) be the world creator and design your own signs and write a poem about it for others to be amazed and inspired by when they read it.

There are no form, time, space, or syllabic constraints on your Muse for today’s prompt. I cannot wait to see what you write!

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• Write a poem in response to the challenge.
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