Tonight, she taught me the nature of healing summer rains
Whimsical descriptions of dancing in puddles, but
Metaphors only serve to drown her pain
Dry on the surface, swearing inside the drought sustains
But dew droplets in her eyes betray her restraint
The morning after, the storm remains

Little flower, bent at the stem
Oversaturated by the self-absorbed
Her waterlogged roots weighing her down, but
In fields of bloom they still look to you
See, the weak reach for the easily used green and blue tulip hues
But her yellow petals require strength to be pulled from the meadow

When a leaf stops dancing to the music of life, and the melody of the birds has ceased, it changes to yellow and gently falls off the tree of life.

Hussein Dekmak

My kitchen is yellow
Ugly and faded
My kitchen is where
Late at night
I traded
Crumbs with a monster
A tiny little thing
That grows and grows
With growls and grumblings
She does not like the yellow
And neither say do I
Sometimes the hideous color
Makes her want to cry
So I placate her with cookies
Brownies and more
But my little monster
Throws tantrums on the floor
No amount of Nutella
Can get her off her knees
For my little monster
Has a minds disease
And I’m too busy fighting
That I can not see
The empty cartons of ice cream
Will bring her no true ease

Here it is, amidst coward days:
The bleeding yellow bears our life:
And sawn about its yellow face
The putrid oak and yellow sky.

There goes one bird, 'top yellow tree,
He sings his tune of yellow well:
"O' mossy stone, O' mossy leave;
O' marshy pond, O' sun of hell"

And **** controls the centre road;
The geese instill a command high:
And yellow rots the air we blow,
If orange peels had rotten by.

And yellow bends the faces rude
Which chatter in this chatter-box,
And once blue tide that is not blue
Has soured well and wrong enough.

If I could
be a balloon🎈

I would fly
with my happy
thoughts.

I would
touch the
skies,

And the
mountains
tops across
the globe.

If I could
be a balloon,

Yellow as
the sunshine as the fluttering fields of butterflies.


Frolicking and
hopping upon
the currents
of the warm
wind.

If I could
be a balloon,

I would be
yellow like a
sunflower.

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5-23-21