mind weaved with colour
green for go
a red car
tanned skin
eyes of blue
oxygenated red rivers of blood
blue lips
dead eyes
strangled song.

scared to fall,
but more scared
of never flying,
so i sit at the edge
and wait.

Jump to the river, what did I see?
A black-eyed angel swimming with me
A pool full of stars and astral cars
Oh all the things I used to see
All my lovers were there with me
All my fears were turning into nothing
A slow dagger to make me feel
It hurts less when we are free
Jump on the world, what did I see?
A wolf trying to dream in his sleep
A pool full of sharks, and magnesium sparks
Oh all the things I used to believe
All my friends were there for me
All my fears were calling it quits
A push on the head to make me feel
It hurts more than when I start to breathe.

I break into a million pieces
sharp, attune, ready to puncture

Step all over my broken pieces and bleed into me
I want them to suffer as I have

blue fire surrounds you
tints you sacred
extends itself in waves
to all who meet you
saves
them from their ignorance
and the a-theism of their minds
saves
them from their dis-ease of the heart
begins to bond them to themselves
and baptizes them in the Blood

this is no strange fire
it is the fire of the burning bush
the fire that leads by night
and is smoke by day
ever present in the wilderness
of exodus:
the blue fire of Love


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater

Now I rest, for here I build heaven,
Within these glades of ever-expanding tranquility, on the edge of infinity.
Here I shall find a place for my idyl,
Down by where the corn fields lead.
That which I sow shall not be forgotten,
Lest I grow weary of my Harvest deeds.
And that which is dead shall reresurrection!—
Abundance! abundance!—
Like the changing of the autumn leaves.

i believe in a gentle kind of love
all soft and soothing and
just right
when i am so terribly, irritatingly fragile
fingers running down my back while we lie
rib to rib, heart to heart
listening to the beat, and to the breath
and perhaps it is that, in this world of rough and tumble
of screaming and aching, to believe in a love kind and sweet is
a naivety but i find that
because of all this roaring outside our window, i much prefer
to think of that love sweet and kind
and us, tangled around each other, i think, yes

i find that i believe in a gentle sort of love