October
2014
White Tissues
a thousand years ago
I had to do the shopping,
(short story, irrelevant)
angry, she,
always angry,
the ex called me careless+...
never quite remembered to buy
the no~color tissues,
white only, on the list ordered,
to avoid decorative mismatch clash
to not offend the bathroom guests's
sensibilities and refined fleshy color palettes,
and not to match thereby,
to unduly reveal
the mismatch of
two lives incompatible
she ****** the color from my life...
still now,
buy only
whitely, precisely,
always,
for the colors
in my life, of my life,
have now been returned to me
but they are best cherished,
visible inside, looking out,
painted filter to enhance,
to reveal!
the joys inherent
in the colors of a
refunded, redounding rebounding,
re-fined happiness internal
tissues white now employed
to store the joy colored in colorful tears,
re-defying re-de-finding-fining
the contrast
from the sorry past,
tears now in living color
shed while writing
this happy colored vignette
~~
Poems of Color
just too much
colorless cold,
to decamp to,
sit upon
the well weathered Adirondack throne
that is by his name,
by the cold waters,
now winter coated with
white-capped amber bluewaves
arriving jack-frosted on the lifeless beach
over this weathered sanctum,
natures supremacy reigns,
no matter the season or
his faulty human body's
weak reasoning,
it rules,
despite your frail poetic absence
but without your imposition
upon companion grey,
ensconced patiently
in that rarified atmosphere,
where and when
the sea sword
knights and inspires
the benign, benighted poet,
the human in him
frets and worries
where and when
ever again,
will nature deign to rain
poems upon him and his
winter-storaged writing organs?
the poet,
through his own
winnowy window reflection,
sees the sight of
the empty chair
between him and the sea air and
pondering more,
how shall he ever write
in the upcoming months of bleak?
through the frost-edged glass,
that old chair,
now sudden animated,
sensing his poetic human presence,
it turns toward its missing occupant,
voice aged reassuring,
speaking,
rhyming,
it chants,
somber intoning...
*"the poems writ yet still undiscovered
but inscribed upon
my weathered slats and armrests,
have your name and no other,
therefore, there fired,
perforce,
they await your return,
come spring...come summer
now is the season of your hibernation,
we sense your fearful
winter forebodings and
speculations of consternation
know these unopened poems
are in fluid stored,
when you return
to our joint station,
we jointly will celebrate their
first day of naissance
you are charged,
you sole possess the
eye colored liquid visions
to see them
in the splinters and the breezes
through to their natural
childbirth revelation"*
~~~
The Colors of Life Everlasting
blondes, brunettes, redheads,
the goodbye colors of the
street's tree choir members
and their leafy gowned denizens,
the good stiff chill upon them,
the selfsame chill,
in my anguished mind,
now hiding
those partial unclothed trees,
to me sing,
a comfort food song
heard above the quiet terror of the
noises of a winter's wind precursors
*"we green,
will be again
tho old,
spring green
is signature of our almost
life everlasting
once you wee were,
free green uncaring, youthful,
presumptuous presuming
that you too were,
in possession of
life everlasting
your colors
have changed too,
the process,
your process, different,
unlike our scheduled
rebirthing maintenance
yours a continuum slide,
with no reversal allowed,
no returning
you
to your first days of
crayon drawing youth,
unlike us,
a calculus of impossibility
we will turn young again
for many seasons more,
you,
never will
new eyes will feast upon our
glories refreshed
and love our
green visor shade cast
yet special are you,
the man-poet
who was chosen
by forces controlling,
to see and to tell,
witness-write of our annualization
during our overlapping
frames in time
when to the shade of hades
your physic sent,
our limbs, our leaves, our lives,
as-long-as-they-too-shall-last,
will cover thy remains and
give your poems back to the
sultry summer breeze from
whence they came,
and the colors
of your words
will be then
the colors
of your life everlasting"*
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
October
2014
White Tissues
a thousand years ago
I had to do the shopping,
(short story, irrelevant)
angry, she,
always angry,
the ex called me careless+...
never quite remembered to buy
the no~color tissues,
white only, on the list ordered,
to avoid decorative mismatch clash
to not offend the bathroom guests's
sensibilities and refined fleshy color palettes,
and not to match thereby,
to unduly reveal
the mismatch of
two lives incompatible
she ****** the color from my life...
still now,
buy only
whitely, precisely,
always,
for the colors
in my life, of my life,
have now been returned to me
but they are best cherished,
visible inside, looking out,
painted filter to enhance,
to reveal!
the joys inherent
in the colors of a
refunded, redounding rebounding,
re-fined happiness internal
tissues white now employed
to store the joy colored in colorful tears,
re-defying re-de-finding-fining
the contrast
from the sorry past,
tears now in living color
shed while writing
this happy colored vignette
~~
Poems of Color
just too much
colorless cold,
to decamp to,
sit upon
the well weathered Adirondack throne
that is by his name,
by the cold waters,
now winter coated with
white-capped amber bluewaves
arriving jack-frosted on the lifeless beach
over this weathered sanctum,
natures supremacy reigns,
no matter the season or
his faulty human body's
weak reasoning,
it rules,
despite your frail poetic absence
but without your imposition
upon companion grey,
ensconced patiently
in that rarified atmosphere,
where and when
the sea sword
knights and inspires
the benign, benighted poet,
the human in him
frets and worries
where and when
ever again,
will nature deign to rain
poems upon him and his
winter-storaged writing organs?
the poet,
through his own
winnowy window reflection,
sees the sight of
the empty chair
between him and the sea air and
pondering more,
how shall he ever write
in the upcoming months of bleak?
through the frost-edged glass,
that old chair,
now sudden animated,
sensing his poetic human presence,
it turns toward its missing occupant,
voice aged reassuring,
speaking,
rhyming,
it chants,
somber intoning...
*"the poems writ yet still undiscovered
but inscribed upon
my weathered slats and armrests,
have your name and no other,
therefore, there fired,
perforce,
they await your return,
come spring...come summer
now is the season of your hibernation,
we sense your fearful
winter forebodings and
speculations of consternation
know these unopened poems
are in fluid stored,
when you return
to our joint station,
we jointly will celebrate their
first day of naissance
you are charged,
you sole possess the
eye colored liquid visions
to see them
in the splinters and the breezes
through to their natural
childbirth revelation"*
~~~
The Colors of Life Everlasting
blondes, brunettes, redheads,
the goodbye colors of the
street's tree choir members
and their leafy gowned denizens,
the good stiff chill upon them,
the selfsame chill,
in my anguished mind,
now hiding
those partial unclothed trees,
to me sing,
a comfort food song
heard above the quiet terror of the
noises of a winter's wind precursors
*"we green,
will be again
tho old,
spring green
is signature of our almost
life everlasting
once you wee were,
free green uncaring, youthful,
presumptuous presuming
that you too were,
in possession of
life everlasting
your colors
have changed too,
the process,
your process, different,
unlike our scheduled
rebirthing maintenance
yours a continuum slide,
with no reversal allowed,
no returning
you
to your first days of
crayon drawing youth,
unlike us,
a calculus of impossibility
we will turn young again
for many seasons more,
you,
never will
new eyes will feast upon our
glories refreshed
and love our
green visor shade cast
yet special are you,
the man-poet
who was chosen
by forces controlling,
to see and to tell,
witness-write of our annualization
during our overlapping
frames in time
when to the shade of hades
your physic sent,
our limbs, our leaves, our lives,
as-long-as-they-too-shall-last,
will cover thy remains and
give your poems back to the
sultry summer breeze from
whence they came,
and the colors
of your words
will be then
the colors
of your life everlasting"*
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