Iced, flakes
Lavender - this sky
Up, over, beyond, around
And inside

Dawns a deep desire

Such is the whisper
Such is the sight
Of a beautiful, beautiful
Tanzanite.

Tanzanite
Just when you think it will rain forever.
That you’ll never see the sun again.
A small accident of wonderful happens.
Hot glazed doughnuts fall out of the sky.

She wore blue boots.
A diamond stud in her perfect nose.
And a ring the color of a cautionary tale.
Naturally— she was blonde.

An uncomplicated spark leapt between us.
Like something out of an IKEA box.
Only a fool believes in love at first sight.
A wise man needs an hour in an airport bar.

I slipped a dime into the dark slot of her cleavage.
And tugged gently on her red lacquered finger.
She guessed my weight and read my fortune.
Looked into me like an x-ray machine.

The problem with airplanes is they fly away.
She kissed me on both cheeks like a French girl.
Then disappeared into jet fumes and freezing rain.
A vapor trail of possibility or pipe dream.

The next day I climbed a windmill.
Like a Portuguese sailor in the rigging.
I scribbled a message onto a cocktail napkin.
And stuffed it into a bottle.

Then I pitched it into the desert sea.
It arced like a golden comet.
And splashed into the sand and sage.
Throwing sparks of Tanzanite.

The color of her boots.

As seen through amber in the colors of Venus and Saturn;
Sun opens upon her face as gold spills in spun blonde,
And the rose’s thorn brings about liquid rubies
That drips on the youngest lily of the valley.
Butterflies aligned with the unseen Mars on the horizon
Scatter as their wings seem to burn away in the
Brilliant firelight, touching the water that reveals
Sapphires in liquid form; an affinity for Neptune that
Dangles on her fluttering eyelashes alive with what she sees!

More rubies fall in the emerald vast as her fingers move
Across the vine, and the crystals tear through the dahlias
Like the storms of Jupiter this canopy veils!
They rest among the pink rhinestones that resemble
Cherry blossoms in perfect discord when the last one
Is drained of its color under a wooden bridge at
The foot of the forest; an old bridge covered in patchy moss,
Showing its long years of absent footsteps.
They are only distant memories to the *****,
Who emerges from the brush and drinks
From the stream in constant relief.

I watch her majesty fading her vibrant colors at sunset when
Uranus drifts. The colors fall into onyx when the sap of
The trees resemble amethyst in the moonlight.
And Mercury holding more silver falls in the stream with her
And all of her plume that we cherish as much as
Her earthly leaves, for we use both as covers for sleep.
Daydreams entwine with nightmares and become as cold
As Pluto. Ice lingers as tanzanite tears in those bright eyes;
Diamond eyes that cut through the towering clouds to discover
Stars that are made of everything here!

how do i even begin to describe this color,
because it is so
******* versatile.

firstly it is the color of royalty and magic--

stuff of fairy tales that leap from the page
and into your mind's eye.
richly-hued gowns reach the polished floor;
crowns and scepters shine with amethyst,
with jasper,
with tanzanite.
this color shines in the stardust of a wizard's cloak,
shimmering in the candlelight as he pours over texts and trinkets
with a glowy-eyed owl brooding on his shoulder.
it billows from the smoke of a witch's potion--
eye of newt and
wing of bat and
toe of frog
combine into a roiling haze that will make the princess
fall in love and then kiss death.

"double, double, toil and trouble...
your dreams and despair await."

this color is also one of spring.

it dots on the hills in delicate petals of
heather and lavender,
and the slightly darker
pansies and geraniums.
it scatters on the wind and leaves its perfume for
butterflies and
bumblebees and
girls in love.

before the sun rises and paints the sky in its warmth,
the world stands still in a state that is
neither dark nor light.
the stars have gone but
morning has not quite arrived to take its place;
birds are not yet chirping and
bugs and not yet buzzing--
in fact the only sound is your own mumbling
as you press your face into the pillow as though
trying to push away the responsibilities that
loom in the daytime.

it is here that this color is perhaps at its softest.

now, there is one more place this color shows itself,
though I'd rather it not be the case.

it is the shade of hurt and fear,
the shade of loneliness.
this color blooms on her back and shoulders and over her eye--
in bruises dark enough for her to seek cover-up
and a restraining order.
this color outlines the handprint of his attacker,
when he was wrenched into an alley and
stripped of his sense of security.

this color looms over the dispossessed
no matter how brightly the sun is shining.
instead of hugs and kisses,
these lost souls are met with remarks like
"loser" and
"*****" and
"****-up."
solitude is sanctuary as invisible hands
attempt to choke the life out of the outcasts.

do you see what i meant when i said
that this color is versatile?
it is a color of kingship and witchcraft,
of nature and pain.

it is not the color of singular definition.

Butterflies dissolve like honey-colored lacquer
as I wander the insides of this bright amber moon.

I look for Mother behind a shaded glow-tree.
It is there that I find her folding clouds while bluebirds
dance in the hollow of her heart…

She’s redolent like star-oil from a night-blooming cereus,
With hair never-ending like shadows
sealed from the palest of light.
Her eyes are like tanzanite orbs set ablaze.
She wears robes made of koi scales, and silk from the sea.

As I gathered pearls for her from the mouth of lapis lazuli
shores, my feet touch the chilled sands as shells scurried
from my foot-falls.

As I fetched gossamer from a crystal spider
hiding in a nearby constellation, gold web danced through
my cramoisy hair.

With all of these things, I sat beneath a niveous dune,
out of sight from Mother as I made her a necklace that
resembled the remnants of a galaxy that she once lost.

When I presented my gift, she smiled, then gently
whispered:
"The bright galaxy standing before me is more than enough."

The third stanza can be read in several ways. It depends on how you read it (as two collums, one full stanza, etc.) Hope you enjoy :)

The headlines would never see Truth.
She is too truthful.
Their lies would never believe her.
She would scream
"Beautiful land taken away."
They would shout
"New zoos opening!"
  
O' humans,
You have stolen me!
I am your beautiful prisoner.
This dark place will never be a home.
My people will dwindle down.
They will become the ice caps on this warming planet.
People will disbelieve all they want until they see the impact
"Too little, too late."
  
Down to the bone my loves will gnaw on what they can.
Mother Earth                             Is the World
Food Supplies                          Gone
Water Supplies                         Down
And Father Sun                         Forever heating up
  
Can everything truly be done
Because people wanted to have fun?
Humans are you so shallow
That you let vanity corrupt untamed lands?
  
I used to be Africa a land of beauty.
Where even the blind man could see me.
I used to be Africa a land of love.
Then you took my people and made them slaves.
I used to be Africa a land of resources.
Then you took what you could
And stole the rest.
  
My sticky molasses was not strong enough to hold me together.
Instead I stuck to more places than could be counted.
The number grew until there was no more to hold.
Coming together became a chore.
I lost little pieces here and there.
They started to grow like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slowly becoming connected together.
  
Slithering snakes snaked their way up smothering my breath.
Snakes with innocence for faces and trust for eyes.
Soon my land was used.
Minerals and gems taken.
Goodbye darling tanzanite.
Food and animals taken.
Goodbye Quagga.

Impact has come and people now try.
They start to help Mother Earth.
Reducing, reusing and recycling.  
They're efforts die as they see they cannot bear the tide.
They live with a history rooted in fame.
Now it seems their lives cannot be filled more with shame.
They stay under waiting for their blunder
to take its toll.  

They have no misery in what they see.
They do not care about my history.
I start my flame
and light the embers.
I no longer an smothered
The humans are.

We made sapphire-love.
It was tanzanite-rare,
and emerald-lucky.

I took a ruby-risk
and left us
with onyx.

And amethyst-hauntings--



-LP

Memories of bruises
Velvet fit for kings
In the petals of a pansey
Oily sheen of raven's wings
The inside of a geode
Tanzanite in rarest form
The color of a baby's face
Right after it is born
It is the color indgo
To red violet of wine
Tracing stormy sunsets or
Boganvilla vines
Plums and grapes
remind one
Of purple's strange appeal
The color of great bravery
A wound which finally heals
Whatever your mentality
This collage of purple hues
Is simply a mixture of

The colors red & blue


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/2/2017

Carol of the bells shes the lady
in her arm chair twinkles
Any state jeweled fair
Prayers of garland birds
Zip it Zircon pardon me
December remember the stone
Triumph tanzanite  He's

"Superman Crimsonite"
Debutante Peacock turquoise
Applause noise and noise
"Princess Owl State Fair"
Violin ballantine clock
Her heart key silent night lock
The artist ceilng sings
"Cheeks divine she blushes

Silk fine print brushes"    
Pointsetta ruby wings
"Thomas Kincade" walls
Light the promenade
Princess gown wanderlust
Power pride sleigh ride
Eyes of the owl lady stunner

Plays royalty no brainer
"Princess Owl" tree topper

You are the daisy that refuses to drown in the rain,
instead you continue to grow even through a hurricane.
You are the special work of art that no artist could ever recreate;
such a beautiful creation that there are many people you captivate.
You are the scattered sequin-silver moon dust in the sky
illuminating the darkness, giving people hope with your own lullaby.
You spread light in waves like the sea;
you’re incredibly inspiring to many including me.
You are tanzanite - a precious stone- so rare and valuable;
to everyone you meet, you have infinite worth - and that is admirable.

yesterday we bloodied our minds
In the pursuit of crystalline love and happiness,
a balance, I know

the movement you speak of is dark,
but celestial, the moment
is at twilight.    we cut our irises
with glass fractals
full of color
      falling from the out turned palms
      of a much more vast fragility
      that once was the body unshattered.


we have been blind for millenniums

the elderly
believe we hide the moon from them at night --
they say, they can see our
transcendence of spirit even with the
transplanted steel they now have
for lookout posts,
        this frightens them,
          so candles are lit,
                antique
opaque prayers are uttered
        In frequencies

when we wake up, fingertips
crawl through graveyards of dead Gods
and redemption. this was redemption


Because our mind is a Fortress of light,
Those in the depths
climb
indigo mountains
with gnarled teeth,
         reapers.
                              down the mountain
                                   down the mountain.

gazing upwards, towards deities.  we
marvel at them because they believe if we exist,
anything is possible

        
here now, they call for you
lovely. such lovely names we thought were lost

yet, In birth we scream at
maturing generations
For allowing their aging souls of belief to
Open wide and swallow the new craze of doubt
In a strange house made of what is seen and not seen--

They look down at us,
Kiss our empty electric sockets, as
they hum lullabies
teaching small things to
hush
  hush
    hush.

What was said.?
My time here is dire,
One night it will be told
                The order of things,
When it's quiet
Sometimes knowledge is violent.

Silent.
Bodies of heavy

Left to slumber with their thoughts--It's mouth ripped off
Obey the taker, the giver of tanzanite crowns


assume not to keep it
A sharp knife at my hip, at your
Throat-- oh my

Morality has gone
Gone gone,

In the morning we plead
Forgiveness, fill our holed sacks with grain
for the winter and force upon our backs
a chest of liquor      wooded wine to sooth disease,
before attaching our hooded masks
to their bedpost

Leave without telling them why.

the mother's and fathers
Will keep gold in their pockets
and a noose around the next life they choose to live,

if we come back we will take heed
of each broken neck that failed to see
the compass of their bones

Because we were always looking down
when we preyed on Grace, waking
and dying--
Both found home inside the same second
our awareness was alive--

Terror in the north
Terror in the east
Terror in the south
Terror in the west,

we saw love In a lost world,
then doubted its
Existence.