I'm not manly or crafty enough to man up
& be craftsman of TLC you deserve.
A toke-nician of THC, like a Zyklon bidet
my exsufflation shafts your nerves.
But O Dark Cow up the arse w/ me,
couldn't my pissy poesy be yr
yr mephistoffee poppy,
it's frowie faust flora & Daltonism's Rose?
These drab bayleavings are my horseshoe headgear
of Ishihara voyelles.
No reams o' mine boa-blent
so consummately to acoustics
of quinqcolour corolla
as Arthur's rainbow of assonance.
No: no arch archy branch
of prismatic natter natty as prisms;
no pipecleaner petals which festoonophone
photic rootlessness 'pon a chromatocrooned
circumflex; nor mostexquisite
spectrographicanalysis (of Phlegathonic rapids' gases)
curved w/ bootivicious elan along the rhyme-bough,
as if a beauty on a rack on rewind. No,
who it does not suit to be so dark,
not like satanicmillsheened,
collierycoated guidedogs of David Blunkett,
you're gonna havta slumit
in my 7th Tunket, where a rainbow is a lamebow,
& the poet's at pyrite bottom of his pot of gold.
Best I can do for you is:
a Jospeh's kaliedocoat hanging garden of flyover,
or God's technicolour handlebar tash
when the Sun came out for 'Pride'
(hi-viz fiesta for velvetferrets & chutneydrinkers,
& Tranny Craddock & Tranny Devito
&... Him? Her? Draggy tran
twin for Hollywoodbutchered Kim Kardashian,
& Tran-ye West strumming a tranjo.
An' an am dram trans man
who used to be a woman in the wounded's white van,
wailing that she didn't wanna whannie).
Now, I'm cishet,
but as a poet,
it's often assumed, yunno,
I'm homo or atleast stye.
For this tree loves everybody
it is bright, it is lovely, it is … short
truncated yet hopeful
all the colours of the rainbow
This tree does not care who you fuck
or what you put in to which hole
This tree has no holes, no cracked old bones
just a spectrum, a bole covered in a gentle bark
no reprimand, no judgement, an open elemental heart
It has no plateau of leaves to offer shelter
but it is here and it loves you whether
you care for the woods, for the rain or not
This tree loves everybody
Its bark is deep, it is cracked, it is flawed
and though it is aged and short, truncated
by fate and the nature of this place
it is unbowed echoing all that we hope
will come to pass, for this tree is yours
it grows all the colours of the rainbow
Let it brighten your grey sky grey day
Let it remind you that things may yet change
Let it smile for you when you can't raise
enough brightness inside to chase away
all that we've lost, all that we fight for
For this tree loves everybody
and so can we all,
so can we all,
so can we all
He spent his lifetime chasing rainbows,
All the colors, bright and bold
But the years of stormy weather,
Left him lonely, gray, and old.
For the sun to make a rainbow,
There first must be some rain,
For the soul to be forgiven,
There first must be some pain.
Judge not the book you haven’t read.
Your conclusion may be wrong.
The bravest of the armies
May not be so very strong,
For when the battlefield is littered
With bloodied bodies of our youth,
There is still a final chapter,
And that chapter holds the truth.
The sun shines bright and warms us,
Then it hides behind dark clouds,
Skies overtly ominous
Suggesting funeral shrouds.
He sees the remnants of a rainbow,
Fleeting, fading fast,
Strains his aged eyes to see it,
And he prays his faith will last.
Phil Lindsey 2/11/17
on the shore
near Isle of Palms
their toes dig deep
in wet sand
until shards of shells
fashion a strip
that challenges their soles
as they tiptoe forward
A faint-hearted rainbow
bridges sea to sky above
while they walk
along the wind blown shore
She sees the arch of colors as an omen
that love fades
like the bronze backs of teenagers
turn pale in autumn’s shadows
He regards the
as a pristine promise
that their love will grow.
He attempts to link
fingers as a sign of endearment.
She smiles, swings her hands in rhythm
and quickens her pace before him
A tear from my eye
sinks down inside,
I know I'll never measure up,
and that if I mask my face,
play like a King,
no one will fill my cup.
The master is in his chamber,
each day he is growing stranger.
I stare into certain danger
from an instantaneous changer.
Untrodden paths with silver lining
don't compare to piles of gold.
Nights pass with endless pining
spent out in drowning cold.
If I had the sense not to whine,
then defence against the fine
paid in blood would not shine
or murder all the rainbows.
Everyday there is New Sky
With Cloud Adornments
Where Thunder may Choose to Speak
Or Rain Decides it will Tumble Down
Sun may Shine and Hide
In a patch of Blue
Or burst Cloud
Near or Far
A Symphony of Stars
And a Moon of many Phases
I LOVE the Heavens
And all the Treasures
To Eye Spy.