Red is the color of apples so delicious
Orange is the color of oranges and fishes
Yellow is the color of the sun in the sky
But don't look at it now, it'll burn the retina of your eye!
Green is the color of the grass and trees
Blue is the color of blueberries
Indigo is just a name for really dark blue

And Violet rhymes with nothing
But neither DO YOU!

Mirror Opposite

I am what I am?  What am I?  Hedonist, Activist, Devil, Bodhi, Perverse Geek?  I am what I am.  

I am violent tempered but always happy. I am sickened by the worlds decay but delight in the cause of the infections that lead to that same decay.  Opposite ends of the same slide rule.  I ask myself daily; “Self, what are you today?’  The response is never the same and always confusing. I am what I am.

I AM, isn’t that what God said in Genesis?  Was God indecisive too?  Fool, you are not a god!  But, I do believe a god rest in each one of us.  

I am pleasure.  Who doesn’t like to find pleasure?  Come to me.  The sweet, sweet embrace of another, the moisture of the kiss, the exhilaration of the something new, dangerous and palpable, that causes an alkali sensation to rise from your throat.  

I am what I am and that’s all that I am.  Are my forearms as big as Popeye’s?  And, just what caused that deformity anyway?  Surely not *******, as the midnight comics suggest or we would all be his brothers.  

I am Buddha.  My inner being screams in disgust at being reborn again and again and again.  I know how to break the wheel of karma but, that Ferris wheel holds wondrous deprivations along the way and who am I to not try on one or two of those hungry ghosts.  

I am Fey.  My wings clipped and banality killing me slowly.  Where is my golden acorn to plant under a full moon to renew my magic?  I am attracted to hell and repelled by a chorus of angels.  If there is really nothing better then cloud-sitting in heaven then why bother, Give me Valhalla.  At least in Valhalla  you could get good tickets to a fight.  I am a mirror.  

I reflect what society tells me while struggling against the media-ocricy that streams into my sensory organs like polluted waves from the Valdez.  A elephant seal of anarchy covered and drowning in my own conservative opinions.  

I am female hear me roar.  If for no other reason then being told that, however in touch, I can not be a feminist.  I pay homage to Aphrodite upon her shell, Dianna by her stag?  O.K. Maybe not a feminist.  How about sexist, or racist, or bigot or xenophobe?  Maybe.  

I am  Worm fodder.  I wish to believe in another world after this but hide behind science and its violently anonymous creator.  When dead will we all lie quiet as the grave in out grave as the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms get in my guts no doubt.  Would that be so bad?

I am the shade of Inubus and Quatezecotyl, Crowly and Repoche.  Lapping up their words and making a **** pile of their experiences.  What am I?  

I am what I am.  Silent when I should be loud, and an abomination when I need to be beautiful.  Polar opposite made flesh with a grin.  

What am I?  I am a Questioner.  There is no knowledge that can withstand time.  Every question is correct and every answer is wrong.  How do I know what is truth.  Is there really TRUTH or just Memorex.  

I am a Seeker of arcane thoughts and novel philosophies.  Everything has been said.  But, can it be said in a manner that makes sense at this point at this time grasshopper?  How many licks does it take to get to the center of the tootsie pop?  I want to know!  

I am the Thinker. Elbow on knee, hand on chin.  Why did they **** Copernicus?  Was it really just for a heliocentric universe or something much more political?  ROY G BIV are the colors of the rainbow but what if we could see ultraviolet and infrared?  What if I stood inside the rainbow would it be back as all the colors mixed?  I am what I am.  

I am the Adventurer.  Sword in hand and cod piece attached correctly.  I head out in search of what I question and seek and think about.  How else would you find your own truths.  Truth, not beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.  If every grain of sand is an universe unto itself then I wish to explore each and every one to delve into their faceted trivialities and pillage the knowledge from them.  

I am an organic being content to take over a new world each night in my dreams and complacently ignore my biological clock counting down to unknown oblivion.


Wolff

I have a gift for them.
I should wrap it first.
Blue and gold ribbon
wound tightly to keep contents from overflowing.

I have been preparing their gift
since my birth, gathering the pieces
year after year
trying to connect carefree summer days of youth
with the concern and worry of adults.

Many teachers are on this planet to impart some knowledge to the future generations.
Roy G BIV, Please excuse my dear aunt Sally,
Columbus sailed the ocean blue in .... Yeah, whatever.
Knowledge like this can help children attain their dreams, they say.

I want to give them something else
Inject splices of film from my life into their vision.
Let them see first hand
the memories
Let them see first hand
the mistakes, the recurring nightmares of shame and regret

Take this gift
I see them suffering from their lack of insight,
like death by dehydration
at the river’s edge
I try to make them drink.
Drink up, Drink up this gift.
But their tongues swell with the cotton mouth of youth.
Only mumblings of in-text citation and Shakespeare reach their ears.

They write love poems, sicky sweet lines about prom and how his eyes twinkled like the stars.
“We will be together forever.”
They write adorable break up poems.
I want to tell them to run.
Run because that part only gets worse.
When he pawns your heart for a new leather jacket you were going to sell  to buy your childhood back,
Run.
They tell stories about bullies
on the playground.
Broken hearts and skined knees.

Please take this gift., Drink up.
I know how this goes.
None of it makes sense.
We spend 12 years trying to be cookie cutters of each other,
the rest of our lives we want to be snowflakes in January gust,
individuals dancing free in the wind

If they would just take my gift,
tip open the lid
peek inside.

This is not the end,
these four walls for four years.

I want to give this gift to you.
You need to know what I did not.
Pour your heart and soul into this.
Your life starts here.
Grab every opportunity that comes your way
Grab it like a life raft.
Love everyone,
that dorky guy in the corner, The mouth breather,
Love him the most.

I take it back,
Make your own mistakes. You are a clean slate.
Your life is that favorite coloring book,
create your masterpiece.
Go outside the lines.
Like the magic 8 ball, my answers are unclear, you fill in the details.

The bully doesn’t go away after high school,
It morphs into the bill collector, the tax assessor,
Your mother in law.
You will still be faced with deadlines, due dates.
You will still worry about how you look.
Trade your Proactive for Oil of Olay.
Your hair gel for Rogaine

The mirror reflects a new face back to you.
But you will still be you.

It is not the end, these four walls
for four years.
just the beginning.

I'd hate to be. The unlucky one. I spew all over. A whole rainbow of letters. Roy G Biv, baby. Get it?  Because I've held back for. Too long. Held in. Too much. There will be nothing left. I'll tear you down. Drag you to Hades with me. It won't be peaches and cream. Like Persephone. It'll be ugly. Disgusting. Unclean. Mean. I've bit my tongue for too long. Tasted too much blood. Nursed too many scars. When the day comes. No one will be okay. All souls disconnected. Minds altered. And if you stick around. For some more...God rest your soul

---------@----------
  The Equator
Rainbows are
level and missing
a colour, it is Green

(the in between)

Where no Leprachauns
live and why they are
called simply Roy Biv's.

Glass Ceiling
Glass Floor

An Ancient Order
Spreading Wings
From Above

The Other
A Cold Reptile
Rising Up
From Below

Clash
Played Out
On An Economic
Playing Field
Designed By Gods

Infiltrated
By Slithering Intentions

******* Complete Now
It's Obviious
Each Sphere Cut
Breeding Heavily
Signs

I'll Back Down Boys
But You Gotta Know
Them Ones
You Dont Want
Are the Very Ones
Who Helped
Democracy
Birth Free

I see you floating in the dark
Glowing in the blackness of my heart
And then you stare at me
Pupils are all I see
There you are floating in the dark

Kaleidoscope of colors in my head
Ooh, a neon Roy G. Biv
You permeate my corneas, how intriguing
The way you sit upon my nose is quite endearing

I see you floating in the dark
Glowing in the blackness of my heart
And then you stare at me
Pupils are all I see
There you are floating in the dark

When I tried you on you felt so sincere
Ooh, your purpose became quite clear
You were made for my face, like it was made for you
You’re the Shaggy to my ******-dooby-doo

I see you floating in the dark
Glowing in the blackness of my heart
And then you stare at me
Pupils are all I see
There you are floating in the dark

I was born with a deficiency.
& I smile because of it.
Fireworks that light up the sky.
Don’t explode color for me.
The seven colors of the rainbow.
Don’t lay out Roy G Biv for me.
Multifunctional digital cameras.
Don’t upload colorized for me.
The fireworks.
The rainbows.
The cameras.
All come out the same.
Colorless.
I smile because I am used to it.
Because it shows me the world for what it is.
I’m not distracted by the flashing lights.
Or the colorful reflection after the rain.
Not even the still moments of a photo.
So I see what’s real.


I live with a deficiency.
& I smile because of it.
I will never know the color of her hair.
As the wind blows it during a cool summer day.
I will never know the color of her eyes.
As the sun allows them to shine with beauty.
I will never witness her skin tone.
My deficiency doesn’t allow it.
I smile because I’m used to it.
Because it shows me who she really is.
The very essence of what makes her glow.
What my deficiency does allow.
I see her soul.
What her hair cannot conger.
I see her heart.
What her eyes cannot frame.
I see her love.
What her skin cannot contain.
So I see what’s real.

I will die with a deficiency.
& I smile because of it.
When the world becomes fragile.
I won’t see the red of the flames.
When the world becomes damaged.
I won’t see the blue of the flood.
When the world becomes a waste land.
I won’t see the color fade.
Because my deficiency took that a long time ago.
I smile because I’m used to it.
& it made my life beautiful.
Even though I saw black & white.
My canvass was colored with my heart.
& that is where my imagination runs wild.


I was blessed with a deficiency.
& I smile because of it.
Because I knew never to be afraid.

This is a poem about nothing at all
and no one in particular

It's simply about my mistakes
that are an array of paints in front of me
Assorted by Roy G. Biv's rules of regulation
If I try to remove an acrylic faux pas
they won't be in order and nothing will make sense

So I guess all I can do is paint a self-portrait
using all of my colorful blunders
and attempt to make it beautiful

But I know I'm much too modern
and much too childish
for closed-minded critics to appreciate.

You beg me with your white wash
A silent, aching pull of color
Splash your crimson love all over
Line me with your charcoal dawn
All day long I listen
In the car on the way home
Your plastic wrapper muffled
Seductive word play between your surface and my finger tips
Itch
Twitch
Ggg//l...iiiiitcH
Pull in fast. Race inside.

Turn.
Everything.
Off.

Sitting before you now in silence
contemplation
To form third eye visions with brush
With stroke
Approach with caution...

(spaced out between constellations for fifteen minutes)

Sudden flurry of movement
Glasses tinkling
Water droplets dance in the late afternoon sun
Wild banshee hair tangled
Softly around excited shoulders
Hues. Dyes. Pigments.
Littered in jars aplenty
Coursing through my veins

You may run red but I, I run rainbow
Exquisite Roy G Biv slit wrist theory

*You have to die in order to be reborn.

i’m of that particularly pretentious belief that each and every one of us is larger than the biological self

our connections can reach far beyond far beyond the movement of our mouths into something metaphyiscal.

the crazy biology teacher at my old high school knew this and she sent herself into a panic over my brother’s white aura.

and in this roy-gee-biv of being, gold means good. blue means beautiful.  red means you’re hot and dangerous but i’m gonna touch you anyway.  green means get the **** away from me you freak.  

i can tell you with celestial certainty that my aura is spiders.

spiders.  spider moms and spider dads making millions of spider babies on my soul.  spiders crawling all over my face and out of my mouth.  spiders crawling out of my shirtsleeves.  spiders in my hair.  

i invite you to bathe in the light of my spiders.

i make people uncomfortable. i frighten small children.  i make grown men run away in terror.  i have high corners so i’m prone to webs.  i bask in the warmth of damp basements and nauseated screams.  

while my brother is busy being a pure soul.  while red seems out of reach.  while all the colors mix together in fantastic combinations unavailable in any box of crayons, i’ll be watching you all.  silently with my spiders.  judging.

It was a colorful town on the river down.
Full of promise, white fences, green fields and rainbow trout.
Pearl snap purple striped shirts and shiny silver belt buckles.
The sound of classic twang rang aloud from speakers abound...
Seeking ever-present pink cheek disguises and marigold sundresses,
Light's intent never bent by heaven-sent country curves so supple and round. Repent.

No surprises to speak of,
No stresses less be told.
No rumor-fueled chuckles,  
No sleek compromises,
No barely fair careless hot messes...Yet to unfold and demise us.
The night calls,
The sun falls,
the moon's face crawls high into the above dark space.
All is peaceful and quiet by the day's review and so defines this place.
On cue, old is devoured by new.
Dawn again.
So abruptly & suddenly skews the universe.
Every curved dress is swooned to pine and guess.
Roy G. rides in, out of the blue,
painting the whole town red,
in the yellow high hot of the day,
with a country mile bright white smile in kind
and black heart, leaving a broken heart pile behind.
Mr. Biv slips out in the black of night.
His indifference blinding beyond the spectrum of light.

by R.Craig David-09/2015

This is the story;
The story of a lie.
A little lie they call love.

Love comes first,
Love comes last,
Love is the poison
That makes you crass.

Love is the truth,
Love is a lie,
Love is the pain
That brings a tear to your eye.

Love is weakness,
Love is power,
Love will tear you down
And build you like a tower.

I have a love;
The best one yet!
They make my heart warm
But make it fret.

I wonder sometimes
If I'd be better off
Without any love
Spilling out of the trough (heart)

Then I remember
"Where there is pain
There is an answer."
And love prevails again.

But what is this curse?
The crumbling of my soul,
The only thing to make me hurt
And it takes it's toll?

How long can I last?
How long can I live?
My mind is crazed like colors
"ROY G BIV"

And perhaps I am to blame.
I hurt them more,
Even when I make a fix.
The word of truth I implore.

But what is the curse?
A false happiness?
True love right in front of you
With no way for you to caress?

How sad, how sad.
Hence now I make this plea:
Love is mad, and certainly
Love is not for me.