"chlorophyll" poems
breathing the turquoise like lavender,
and sipping the blue summer.
bitter cold clouds glide and morph lava lather,
floating whispers cut by sweet pineapple sunshine.
soon, a moment, now
rhythms ripple the sky like skipping stones
we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.
cobalt bass rumbles the earth hungry,
pumps the air with springing spirals
pushing and pulling the senses,
reverberating through cells.
heavy mud humming, stomping
echoes through our atoms dizzy;
balancing tuned body to innate electricity
the fizz of circulating lemonade energy.
we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.
strawberry melodies spilling ribbons,
dolphin leaps of the spaces inbetween beats,
lines of colours overlapping,
colliding, mixing, merging, blending
in with the forest.
washing over souls the life fire sparkles
like a clear water cleansing harmonies,
sound waves crashing against inertia.
phosphorescent glow of re-charged love
for the world, for being, animation
flowing through burnt smoky ashes
of sapphire charcoal skies;
dimmed radiation of chlorophyll emerald days.
the smell of salt, dry bark, fluffy carbon mists,
trembling lights softening the eyes'
grip on outlines, loosening lies.
watching the cycles of patterns
tumbling colours through a mill rotating,
and the silence of listening
when the music comes to an end.
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
Atoms aluminate in hydrogens gleam,
where gravity breathes on every blade
graced in chlorophyll.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 8:42 AM UTC
for Lori, Riley and Kendrick
the questioning words jump off the page,
into two hands transforming,
words shape shifting into
multicolored ink stained fingers,
now, all a chokehold on my brain,
my throaty gasps rasping from
a simplistic convolution -
single questioning deserving an answer
what are you made of?
the obvious answers left in the slow lane,
bone, tissue, rivers and arteries of blue bloods,
just oil and fuel of a containership,
but the cargo carried, that’s the real stuff
you have insight inside that cannot be seen,
self-survival instincts that morph into morals,
our shared air affects you differently,
a sense of defending, caring,
costless and costliest simultaneously,
spaghetti strands strong sinewed intertwining,
into a better human than most
to call you hero is wrongly insufficient,
but the thesaurus lends me no substitute,
weep, I do,
as the spring and summer blushing green
will not be seen by you at all, and by me,
seen now so differently,
when thinking of
soil-born courage instinctual that has no name,
but grows only in nature
what are you made of?
we know now, but knew not well,
that thing that makes you leap first,
was all you, the entirety of the best,
that exists, existed, as reminders to us,
to mine it, wear it,
medal it upon our fabric
*you three,
breathe it back, exhale it from where ever you are,
that trace chemical odor in our atmosphere,
of life-giving sweetness, a rebirthing chlorophyll freedom
that we humans all desperately need,
even just to know it exists,
and inform us*
what we need to be made of
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 5:43 PM UTC
Just two Bananas,
And a flower.
Dripping sweet thick nectar,
Hidden between the supple Banana boughs,
The soft Petals cushioned in a dark web.
The twin boughs give way to the tongue,
That reaches in below the stigma,
For a lick of the now dripping sweet,
To and fro for more.
Just two Bananas,
Covered by the thin leaves of chlorophyll,
Blowing away in the wind of a touch,
The two stick out for a sensational caress,
Just two Bananas,
And a flower.
United in pleasure
Of the tongue,
And the hand,
Moaning the Banana tree for more,
Crying sweet tears,
Moving in the direction of the eager wind,
Engulfed by a groan,
And overshadowed by Passion,
Just two sweet Bananas,
And a Flower.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 3:16 AM UTC
oh jeez...
look at how unsanitary the air can be
this area's apparently embarrassed of the error
so please excuse this breeze abuse
& breathe in deeply...heavily.
be ready for the steady supply
of thickened oxygen that's boxed me in
pressed against the rocks again
fending off that wretched wind
it bends me with its petty whims:
my lazy lungs got stretched too thin.
this air
this air...this heavy necessity
wrestling emptiness endlessly
TESTING TESTING
please inhale as you're listening
i'm invested in your empathy &
especially your circulatory circuitry
every blood cell has its worth to me
every photosynthesized sympathy
is my chlorophyll currency
& i'm spending it like burning leaves.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:44 PM UTC
Peevishness is an indigo plant
How could it not be peevish?
It's supposed to be green
How is it absorbing sunlight?
Where is the chlorophyll?
How is this happening?
This isn't what is supposed to happen
What the heck will its flowers look like?
Will THEY be green?
What creature would eat or pollinate
An INDIGO PLANT?
A manticore? A kelpie?
...
Calm down, indigo plant
You have a purpose for being this way
Let it be
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
In a beautiful garden
sits a pretty flower
surrounded by plant life
it's filled with music
it dances and grows
as chlorophyll flows
But a vandal comes
and digs up theflower
grabs it carelessly
ripping out good roots
soon the flower
lies alone on the street
the music, the life
everything, everyone
is gone
The flower is left alone with itself
the flower hates itself
it's ugly, its wrong, its
just not perfect
and noone tells it otherwise
there is noone else
as it fills with black hate
it ripps off its petals
and plucks out it's seeds
it starts to die
it does not look like it will last til dawn
But it does
and as soon as sunrise
a wise old woman
out for her walk
stumbles upon this
pile of sadness
she gently lifts up the flower
being careful not to rip the leaves
or break the stem
she cradles it in her wrinkly arms
and takes it to her house
she waters it
and watches it
and everday she sings to the flower
day by day she always persists
and sure enough, that flower
grows new petals
and strengthens it's stem
life flowing though it
so lyrical now
it recognises the beauty
that has always been there
One day, the woman
returns the flower to the garden
and the flower dances and sings
and worries no more
because it feels beautiful
on its own
and doesnt need the other flowers
she sings for herself
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
fool-proof umbrella
covering protégé
adorning brilliance
no purple moments
folly forgotten
iniquity barred
fountain-pen spills
in lampblack Indian ink
when letting go
rose bush on fire
in the mountain
claims
rock-hard granite
heat melting
higher meeting..so fleeting
concluding well
deep
sans senses
catch scent
wrapped in sound
sudden arrival
rivers flow yet endless
such relief exquisite
still
not quite
fruition
not yet..
four leaves wait
count a quarter
at a time
yet fretless time
caught in veins
of
chlorophyll dreams
time to fill
maturation
to come..
to plant seeds
into blazing buds
just
not yet..
S T, 13 June 2013
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
Green is the color of envy.
Green is the color of American money.
I need that money in order to survive.
Green rhymes with broccoli, kale, and dandelion.
But only not at all.
Green is just a scientific thing,
like chlorophyll.
Green is just a color.
Green doesn't mean anything;
It's just a misunderstanding between each other.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 8:15 PM UTC
I knew when I picked that tulip from the neighbour’s yard
that I wasn’t just killing a flower but something inside of me.
I didn’t know what it was, then.
(innocence.
that’s what it was.)
I didn’t know why I told them that I found the flower that way,
broken and left to rot and “all I did was save the poor thing!”
it seemed natural to weave this story rather than confess.
I felt bad about taking that flower. for stealing someone’s
pretty pink petals
that they’d undoubtedly cared for,
pruning and watering,
that’s why they looked so good.
that’s why I picked the best of the bunch.
they knew I did it.
I insisted otherwise, and received a slap on the wrist
no more severe than when I’d pushed my little sister
or spilled glitter on the new carpet.
but this wrist-slap stuck with me.
I’d discovered more than the sweet smell
of pollen or nectar or chlorophyll seeping
out the snapped portion of the stem.
when I told this lie I’d felt a joy in me that as a four-year-old
I couldn’t explain
but it made me warm.
I inhaled the shame and drowned in guilt and I thought
of how I could do this again and not get caught.
I was addicted.
and I knew it, then.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 10:18 PM UTC
blossomblister
burst
(finally)
ate out my sickness
almost turned green.
took too much chlorophyll
(for my health –
i’ve seen the ads)
drank cups and cups
each night and each swallow
chirping pleasantly
made me feel stronger, but
almost turned green.
frustration peaked
almost at snow
but not quite,
couldn’t stand the dangling
piece of peanut butter anymore
had to grab for it
sick of the lack of meaningful
(methought now meknows)
0s and 1s and all
these mouse games,
had to grab for it,
had to scream.
almost turned green.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 6:53 AM UTC
I see it in
shades of
liquid coal
slaking
my aching
thirst in
black ocean shoal
onyx crystals
washed up
in tides
of barely
peeking,
night-lava eyes
silently spoken
and through
the waters of deep
my soul is
waking up from
eons of sleep
weaving garlands
of darkest green,
seaweed tips
that I tenderly keep
strewn, in chlorophyll strips
across the stardust glow
of my naked skin
as I liquid float,
spirit whirring within
eyes bright
in illuminated
moonstone glow
picking up signals
of halted flow
This is needed here,
in this darkest of dark
waters abundant
with tight, broken sparks
shards of the living
and fragments of souls
a luminosity of darkness
making us whole
And pulsing next to me
in beauty's surprise
phosphorescent creatures,
a feast for the eyes
loving, gently brushing
my outstretched fingers-
bioluminescence divine
on my body lingers
from jellies to squid
to jet -hued sharks
knifing through layers
of dark on dark
within the
lush waters' quiet force
a dance in faded flicker
conjures the source
within the depth
of the depths
of my endlessly
wet
in my darkest of dark
between blood and sweat
penetrating the mysteries
that quake through
this heart
filling it up
as it tears it apart
smashing it
to smithereens
creating sutures
of ironic healing
until through the cracks
both wide and slight
shoots up
the flare
of my own
inner
light
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
green,
jaded by this world's jealousy
I covet only a field of young wheat
in which to lay and
watch the lemon-lime
seed heads sway in the wind.
to hear the sussurant whispers
as the heads, heavy with potential
rub one to another
in a constant dance.
feeling the earth warm beneath me
the smell of growth and verdancy
pungent in my nostrils.
contemplating chlorophyll and photosynthesis
. ... and cell structures
watching a olive green grasshopper
crawl up the stalk of the plant and
balance on the head, before leaping
into the field,
absorbed within the
shuffling hues of green.
melding with the rythm of the ants
as they march and
marveling at the butterflys dance
green, green,
seeding into my self,
growing little tendrils of life....
that tickle my weary soul and
etch a smile upon my face...
green.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC
It’s starting to cool down here in Connecticut. Leaves are falling, like giant, burnt snowflakes (science says that trees send chemical signals to their branches to clip leaves away).
Peter borrowed a friend's toy-like, pea green, Fiat-500 convertible and we drove into the country to see the turning leaves. We hiked a bit too and stopped, in Mystic, for seafood.
I never realized just how theatrical trees could be, with their few, simple, chlorophyll tricks and how reflective still lakes could be. Wowzer, just - wowzer.
There are some things that should never be shared. Like a toothbrush, an iPad, lipstick, strawberry stroopwafels, a slice of pizza or a secret lover (that last one just sounded good). But life is good, I can share that. We’re young, dramatic sophomores with good hair products and we’re at it, working and playing hard.
Ahh.. ok, upon consultation, I have to add that some of us are in their mid-twenties with only a few good years left.
Did I mention that we climbed up a twisty lighthouse staircase too? Peter always thinks people should take the stairs, and not the elevators, “You want to have muscles and bones that work when you’re eighty,” He says. Since he’s closer to eighty than I am, when we’re not carrying furniture, I let him have his way. Of course, he’s never been to up Lisa’s 50th floor townhouse either.
My mom told me that they’re off to Poland again, over the holidays, for another tour with “Doctors without Borders” **** war). Lisa’s parents have (kindly) invited me to share their high-rise utopia again this year. Who knows, maybe Peter will have his chance to try those stairs.
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 3:30 PM UTC
Her intense presence
does something tender,
to his heart;
that eludes words.
When she speaks,
in a soft soothing tone,
the pain she suffers,
submerges, goes missing.
How much she endures,
how long,
he can't fathom.
A silent grief
binds them together;
he is the mirror
that faithfully reflects.
He feels now
the gentle spread of moisture
enveloping them both;
dried up skin
on his face comes to life again.
Lips, curled up dry leaves,
are pumped up with chlorophyll,
turn towards her, the sun.
He dissolves,
in the thought
of her pain,
becomes her tear drops,
roll down and fall
one
by
one.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
Sub-zero temperatures aren't conducive to photosynthesis
chlorophyll stuck in veins
freezing and thick, viscous
right-o
tips **** and ****
try to circulate nutrients
but nature cannot be altered
facts cannot be opinionated
tell that to the judge
small claims and chain gangs
game changing fame slanger
falling to the feet of the tall
once and for all
can't just sit and wait
procreate
at least **********
when all else fails
and it will
at least there are the simple pleasures
of air and light and sound
all around
and heightend senses of reality
and *******
and laughs, smiles
miles and miles
swimming in confusion
just want a touch
isn't too much
for a night on the town
lost, never found
alone in the dark
with another
not too long
just too right.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 1:13 AM UTC
The haggard lawn is tired of the long hot summer now September has arrived.
Its seedy moustache is no longer luxuriant, but wiry;
A snake-like thing that has ambitiously unfurled without the full quotient of chlorophyll.
It is time to offer the sward the privilege of a cut.
Man moves towards machine, assuming simplicity.
But mower is asleep and will not fire.
At first he tries the simple fixes; fuel is present, spark plugs in place.
But the horticultural haircut remains undone,
As the tease of utility leads him to try louder, less sensitive approaches.
Meanwhile, the rotary monster relishes its narcoleptic interlude,
And the grass grows on.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
Beams shoot, pierce, being.
Cross light, torch, hydrogen star seams.
The universe fabric'd slightly, by photon lattices,
Making salad, for ingestion purposes, of lettuces
Energy. Chlorophyll. Gathering.
Spectral blue/red (465 nm/665 nm) Smattering.
Frankenstein piece of art worn leather.
Earth is stitched lava, magma sewn together.
Forming the lawn face of all reality.
Reality is suburbia to the string.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
When the breeze whisks decaying
Leaves across the chlorophyll
Starved carpet of the baseball field,
It's clear that life renews
As does the human spirit
Play Ball!!!!
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
I am two:thirty heat lightning.
Inconquerable flashes of my elemental fury
leap from grumbling cloud to dewy earth,
dancing naked under a smoky moon. I am a burning
offering to the sodium lamp sentinels looming golden
over black tar; there is tobacco sown
into my every pore. I am the underestimated
weight of fog rolling off the meadow's swollen calf
river, the heavy lowing of labor pains, the thick
croak of the year's last bullfrog. I am the first
crunch of dying light, the gray tinge of wood smoke
on chlorophyll burned red. The sting of my icy breath
creeps into sleeping eyelids, through every crack
in waterlogged armor. My frosty four o'clock
is no place for strangers. The frozen silence
does not know my strength. I will bend the world
with feet of glass. In time, the weight will break
my own limbs, expose their green, soft meat.
I am the green shoots of daffodils sharp,
triumphantly cleaving the rested dirt. There is yellow
warpaint across my forehead, a crown of blistering elegance
glazed by wings of stubborn three:thirty ice. I am resilient
and eternal—perennial—blooming to a cold, white moon.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
we sit on the windowsill,
your cold fingertips grasp my thigh.
drinking cranberry juice, pretending it's red wine and that we're somewhere else right now.
somewhere where only we exist, somewhere pleasant and fulfilling. somewhere where
plants grow and leaves turn into dust
when the slightest breeze hits their tips,
where the chlorophyll soothes the atmosphere with oxygen and green.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
Like the flow that is time
I'm drifting like a leaf floating on the cool waters
Torn from the branches where I originated
Other leaves floating to their destination
The chlorophyll breaking down the colors of green pigments
Slowly wilting away internally
The surface turning brittle and shatter at one's grasp
Lying there until the start of rebirth
Once again, the cradles reveal a new identity
The branches supporting the developing life
Transporting basic necessities of life
Until the cycle begin once again and the leaf starts to drift away
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC
Suddenly the sun has gone
Away from the lilac skies
The sky's black-blue
Suddenly the sun has gone
Away from the lilac skies
The sky's black-blue
I've caught the flu
I've caught the flu of wintertime
Incandescence through chlorophyll
Visible via the clouds of mist
Dew on leaves
Woolen skin and
Leather gloved fists
New flowers bloom
Dawn's the age of gloom
The merry days of Yuletide
And the days of never-ending nights
Darkened alleys
Seem like mountain valley
My nose can't smell
My throat can't speak
Like the desert my skin is dry
Fiery heaven
These campfires
Peanuts roasting
I can hear their noise
O! These days of sickened voice.
I've caught the flu of wintertime
Incandescence through chlorophyll
Visible via the clouds of mist
Dew on leaves
Woolen skin and
Leather gloved fists
New flowers bloom
Dawn's the age of gloom
The merry days of Yuletide
And the days of never-ending nights
Darkened alleys
Seem like mountain valley
My nose can't smell
My throat can't speak
Like the desert my skin is dry
Fiery heaven
These campfires
Peanuts roasting
I can hear their noise
O! These days of sickened voice.
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 2:00 PM UTC
I am rotting
every leaf ungracefully falling
used my branch for temporary support
I won't make the leaves stay
they've lost all their chlorophyll
they were causing unnecessary weight
I know its winter
its been winter for the past few years
I cant keep every leaf
but so many are falling off
I'm staying alive
because with every leaf that falls
winter is closer to an end
and spring comes nearer
flowers will bloom
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
chlorophyll green,
verdent, colour me trees
freeze dry to
amber, yellow, cardinal red liquid gold, titian, xanthous, carmine, deepwine burgandy, magenta, saffron, orange, rubicant, henna, bronze and copper burnished, cracked terracotta
and then finally...
bittersweet crumpled brown
what a pallette of cold night air painting daubed on wooded canvas'
life portrayed in leaf-ed glory
all before our autumnal eyes
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC