"fuchsia" poems
---
i
blue grey clouds
of crushed
velvet
sunlight
tears
the
seams
ii
embers of
delicate peach
ignite flames
of fuchsia
the orb of
sun burns colors
away to ashes
blown into floes
of white
mare's
tails
iii
tiny bird
settles restless
on the
highest
branch
flits
away
iv
wind
through
the weathered stones
cries then whispers
luring
the children
who lie within our ribs
to break free
and sing
songs
of
play
v
mamalaria
cactus
wears her
wreath
of
pale
lavender
flowers
sings to
her babes
clustered
below
saguaro
listens
soulsurvivor
(C) 9/13/2015
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
~
*O Painter
with thy own eye
would thee
paint me in mine own natural hue
prithee paint me as i am,
imperfections
and blemishes true
Load thy brush
with colors sundry
to maketh yond first pure sweep
across the ****** frieze,
fill'd with pangs of hunger.
paint me as i standeth
bethought, in deep
With mine own love and mine own desire,
blurring the edges unclean
with mine own regrets
and mine own mental gyre,
in mine own natural age,
of deep forest green
O Painter
Paint me sinister turquoise,
in lavender and maroon,
combine the amethyst and amber
blend the iceberg
and the indigo moon.
Paint me as i standeth,
prithee see with thy eye
a mistress in yond lady plight
Prithee paint me all i am
i cullionly
a mistress in all yond lady might
Paint me in the optimistic
silv'r of dawn,
but don’t miss the purple
to shade the bruise
of the bygone.
paint me in the sky blue journal
O Painter
Paint me as a unique template
smudge black white and grizzled
merging all the colors of thy palette.
col'r me a rainbow
in a rainy drizzle
Paint me tall so yond i standeth
loftier than any mountain
Paint me as a dram bird, delicate
with soft feathers silken
Paint me harmony, as a violin
so yond i can sing thy solitary tune
paint me as thy poetry
with song and melody
wrapp'd in a cocoon
O Painter
paint me as a dream yond rises
in did saturate colors
with a steady upbeat flight awry
tint, a fluttering
of a quite quaint butterfly
Portray me with endurance
imbue so bold and bright
doth not hesitate
to depict mine own mind
in profound fuchsia and white.
Useth the colors yond thee would borrow
Thy palette not yet exsufflicate
Paint mine own loss and mine own sorrow
in search of a shade so ******
Adorn mine own heart in glowing garnet
at which hour thee paint mine own love
add a true broken blue shade
of the cloud and the rain above;
Study mine own dry sorrow
in mine own soul
useth any shade thee plaited
soften the edges of control
in a tinge of xanthene.
O Painter
Prithee paint me
Mine own passion and mine own spirit
shall has't a crimson r'd hint
mine own remorse and mine own regret
shall reflect an ink stain print
Paint me in mine own eye so true
O Painter
but add a dash of courage too*
~
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC
Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs,
Eyes rolled by white sticks,
Ears cupping the sea's incoherences,
You house your unnerving head -- God-ball,
Lens of mercies,
Your stooges
Plying their wild cells in my keel's shadow,
Pushing by like hearts,
Red stigmata at the very center,
Riding the rip tide to the nearest point of
departure,
Dragging their Jesus hair.
Did I escape, I wonder?
My mind winds to you
Old barnacled umbilicus, Atlantic cable,
Keeping itself, it seems, in a state of miraculous
repair.
In any case, you are always there,
Tremulous breath at the end of my line,
Curve of water upleaping
To my water rod, dazzling and grateful,
Touching and *******
I didn't call you.
I didn't call you at all.
Nevertheless, nevertheless
You steamed to me over the sea,
Fat and red, a placenta
Paralyzing the kicking lovers.
Cobra light
Squeezing the breath from the blood bells
Of the fuchsia. I could draw no breath,
Dead and moneyless,
Overexposed, like an X-ray.
Who do you think you are?
A Communion wafer? Blubbery Mary?
I shall take no bite of your body,
Bottle in which I live,
Ghastly Vatican.
I am sick to death of hot salt.
Green as eunuchs, your wishes
Hiss at my sins.
Off, off, eely tentacle!
There is nothing between us.
19.4k
ABOVE THE FUCHSIA COLORED CITY
IS A FRENCH ROSE COLORED SKY,
COLORED AS ANOTHER NAME
OTHER THAN THE CLOUDS OF WHITE
SALT AND BONES.
THE CITY'S AIR SMELL OF GREY
ELEPHANT'S BREATH AND POETRY.
I BLAME THE LEMONADE COLORED
RAIN THAT DIDN'T FALL TODAY
FOR THIS CONUNDRUM.
MAYBE THE RAIN IS PROBABLY
SOMEWHERE SITTING STILL
IN THE HOT SEAT OR MAYBE IN
HEAVEN'S COLORLESS TIGHTLY
CLOSED LAP.
SITTING
THERE
THINKING
WHAT
COLORS
GO
BEST
WITH
WILD
EMOTIONS?
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:34 PM UTC
I pop a pomegranate seed.
It bleeds,
Delicate fuchsia delight,
Mineral scented, warm, bright,
Full of nectar and promise
(now wasted)
I pop another one,
In a soft cove on my arm-
A slight dip between two veins -
And watch the blushing drop
Edge closer to my elbow. Stop.
A third time,
With the fury of fear
Tiptoeing listlessly in my mind,
Like raindrops on a rooftop.
It is sweet, and ******
A waste of time but an act of god
Nonetheless.
I crave the sound and texture of it,
So a fourth time comes around.
By now, the citrus is overpowering
But I keep going,
For the sake of purity,
For the sake of the shock of vibrance
On deathly pale skin.
When my arm is covered in juice,
I give up.
There's no sense in envying the wasted.
Scarlet sticks.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 3:53 PM UTC
From my window,
in corner of an eye,
see a pink flamingo.
Broad curves,
into familiar shape,
grounded legs,
Iron weighted.
Been there
for years,
quietly sitting,
amongst roses.
Pushed by storms,
changing winds,
yet surprising,
inner strength.
Retains balance,
keeps small piece,
staked out,
of much larger plot.
Slowly losing,
it's distinctive hues.
Dissolving,
fuchsia to palest pink.
Every family
has their own,
pale pink flamingo
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
339
I tend my flowers for thee—
Bright Absentee!
My Fuchsia’s Coral Seams
Rip—while the Sower—dreams—
Geraniums—tint—and spot—
Low Daisies—dot—
My Cactus—splits her Beard
To show her throat—
Carnations—tip their spice—
And Bees—pick up—
A Hyacinth—I hid—
Puts out a Ruffled Head—
And odors fall
From flasks—so small—
You marvel how they held—
Globe Roses—break their satin glake—
Upon my Garden floor—
Yet—thou—not there—
I had as lief they bore
No Crimson—more—
Thy flower—be gay—
Her Lord—away!
It ill becometh me—
I’ll dwell in Calyx—Gray—
How modestly—alway—
Thy Daisy—
Draped for thee!
8.2k
I was down.
And so I decided I needed flowers.
But not roses. Because roses have thorns.
And I am so sensitive lately.
I decided, not mixed flowers.
Because I’m mixed up.
And I need to stabilize.
I decided, not tulips.
Because tulips droop.
I decided,
I need gerbera daisies, bright.
Because gerbera daisies stand upright.
And so I bought some
in a wonderful shade of Fuchsia.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
Whisper
Drop peonies in my eardrums
Sew violets under my skin
Take all my fragrance in and
Exhale
Pave a path of fuchsia petals
We’ll share baths with chrysanthemums, lilies, hydrangeas
And crown ourselves in wreaths of all the roses.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
there's a knot in the middle of my spine -
a knot made with flaming fuchsia rope -
that i have never been able to untangle.
my fingers aren't able to reach it quite right;
no matter how much i rub or how far i arch my back against the mattress,
the knot remains as taut as a lifeline.
and i can't cut it loose also,
i don't leave no scars on my back for i have promised myself the blade's lips can kiss my wrist and my wrist only.
there have been people who have encountered me in this life to whom i have mentioned the knot.
a couple of people only nodded and avoided my troubled eyes.
some people have had the pleasure of fastening it even tighter.
experienced sailors with impressive tying skills,
that can secure an entire ship of agony and relentless torture to a worn and raw anchor as heavy as my body,
with the vessel of malicious fingernails and empty words.
most people have only soothed my aching back with gentle fingers;
caressed and patted the knot with a tight lip drawn upon the face
and pitied my sorrow with forbearing eyes.
no one has ever cared to untie the unforgiving knot.
no one has reached out to pull the burning end of the rope and set it loose.
no one has carelessly ripped out of me the sigh i have been guarding in the hollow of my throat for so long.
no one has set me free.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC
Evergreen and ivory
Turquoise tears bleed ebony
Fuchsia trees bear violet cherries
Blood oranges,
Mushroom clouds and ashberries.
These are the thoughts that grace my mind
As I turn to leave
Garden gnomes and rose scraped knees
Faster now
Faster than before
Kiss me golden,
Less, then more
And tell me who I am.
Coteries and clandestine deals
Soft-sweet midnight chamomile
And indigo aspirations
Somber February celebrations
Anniversaries white and red
Blue and green and white and red
And can you keep a secret?
Black-tea memories always slap me sleepless
And I have never known quite exactly how I feel.
Clementines suspended in yellow lamplight
Cross it out to scarlet rewrite.
Beige mountains and Alaskan hills
Crescent moon and sawdust mills
Silver smiles on a benign boat
Blessed if I'm an allusion to a footnote.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
*In the frost garbed winter all I could notice was her
While delicately she let the tea fall into the cup
Her spell binding beauty magically won me over
Roaring oceans in her eyes
The sun bathes in them to
Birth dawns to embellish her skies
I noticed over the cup of tea
Spring sprouted alive in her smile
Fuchsia gave away on her cheeks
She tames seasons in her own style
I noticed over another cup of tea
Winds matted her hair with wild lilies
Her every step like favours on carpeted heavens
She commanded every breath in the stone alleys
I noticed over the cups of tea*....
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
ghagras twirling
veils swirling
anklets tinkling
silver at her neck
how she adorns herself!
regal as a queen
but cannot conceal
her banjara soul
gypsy blood flows in her veins
a thousand stars alight upon her veil
fuchsia and orange set fire to the dusk
twilight is thick with her magic
she sways with the grace of a peacock
bends like a willow to the breeze
dances in celebration of her soul
her smile a universal knowing
none can slow her pace
beauty this wild leaves only a trace
slips airily past eyes
drunk with desire
to beguile the moon in his heaven
she answers the call of the wanderer within
casts only laughter on the restless wind
this desert rose
this woman child
this gypsy queen
this banjara
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
I am but a single
dry dead leaf
laying beneath an endless willow tree
around the waters bend
close to the toadstool pow-wows
only inhabited by the faeries.
& the moon- she still shine,
captured but by a sphere, yet so free
her light may breathe
a chilling, frigid touch
between the memories you
have buried so deep.
So please do not fret your wondrous mind
over all of your insecurities,
though she may shine with a chilling reminder
I promise that in your eyes
a beautiful soul
is all she sees.
As my mind races I feel
I am unable to describe
the exact emotion you
have gently
injected into my mind.
My eyelids grow heavy
my minds afloat to space
all that is left in my world as I know it,
is the perfection on your face
You see darling,
I am a hija de la luna;
the stars will align with
Castor & Pollux
Cancer, Aphrodite, & Fortuna.
They greet me as old friends,
join me in my nights of fantasy.
tell me darling what do these strange constellations mean?
Oh how I pity thy cataracts
eyes white & glassy
but I promise the warmth will melt your frozen gaze
& in time, you will see.
The horizon shifts as I do to you,
how long do you wish to be at sea?
Alas, you know my poison
doubt seeps into my skin
like an 80 patch.
Through thick & thin,
even on the sorest of feet
I will skip merrily along your path.
Round my head I gaze,
The sky has been stained
with fuchsia & clementine
among the blues.
tell me again, how may I find your presence within the hues?
Wrap yourself within my blanket
of ease & security.
Trust me with your life or not,
for I want to be
there, when you most
need me
You cannot help
you are a broken bird
I cannot deny my psyche as it worries
*does a dove not care about her nest back home
when she soars above
the sea?*
Next to the beating arrhythmia
you try hold dear ‘twixt your ribs
my favourite poem of yours has changed
where I will weave a small nest
dream of your lips
& the sound of rain.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
applying his
lingual buds
to the smooth
lush of her
thighs she rippled
as a lava lake,
no stone skipped
just
melting milk, lapped up
in hungry pulses
cream of silk
pounding thunder
in consonants of
taut skin drum
nuances in vowels
uttered in
animal dissonance
his bristled breath
all over her
fingers
salivary intentions
over rim of lip
feeding the emptiness,
a holy vessel
more ancient than
before time
now ready
to be filled by the
essence of feminine
pineapple juice drizzling
firebud glistening
in fuchsia exposure
open gateway
to divine outpour
a sacrificial altar
of unmasked psyche
completely stripped of
any pellicle
his palms firmly
planted in hot muscle
thumbs parting
glory's hole
deer at the saltlick
lost in the velvet
just pour it in
thick molasses
not stifling,
only honeyed bark
multi-hued like
eucalyptus deglupta
in buttery tips
dripping love,
all over her lips
and just like that, in
slick-painted dabs
of their own
acrylic-drip art
just like that
in the wild
and thick
explodes the ache
of her
ripped
apart
heart
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
At an airport garden in Hong Kong
I sit and refresh my traveling spirit
amidst an effusion of lucky bamboo
Crepe white and fuchsia orchids
coyly fan their geisha faces
The Morning Sun, at first a pale opal ember
climbing over slumbering, stone-washed
mountains
Roars into brilliance
like a golden Peacock Dragon
strutting through China blue skies
I smile inwardly....
let the moment sweep me off my feet
Breathe in......
colors, sights, sounds
gifts....fullness
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
#*Paper flowers bloom
Lush Fuchsia bougainvillea
Cover the arbour*#
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 9:06 AM UTC
Good morning rooster
How do you do?
It’s the crack of dawn
You cock-a-doodle-do
You sit on your perch pride fully and woo
Standing mighty and bold you call your brood for food
Sleek and graceful you do the cockerel waltz
Strutting vaudeville statuesque
Crowing to proclaim your territory
You stand protecting your roost
***** and brave
Watching for predators coming your way
The alpha male
Your earlobes and crown are blood red like a bird of paradise
Your steel beak as strong as a saw
Your feather mane chestnut drapes over your back
Your breast fuchsia and emerald quill
Your silken tail an extended fan
You run free reign on my ranch
A thousand chickens roost in my barn
You rearrange my garden while pecking for nourishment
Eating up all the insects and brown recluses in my yard
In dust you and your flock bathe
You even watch over the hens eggs
Your calls distinct and powerful
When you are still and content sweet singing rings
You are friendly to humans
And can even be domesticated
Stay here Roo
We will protect you
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 7:10 AM UTC
Little one,
try not to be
so broken.
Save a shuddering
breath or two,
you've already spoken.
Little one,
emotions,
energy
is spent,
vent,
vent now little one,
cry on my collarbone.
Nerves and naves
may fail you
but I will never leave you alone.
I need red.
Give me purple,
fuchsia, and maroon.
All of the colors that sear your insides;
carnivals come too soon.
Little one,
let it out,
just
save me some.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
You are the light
streaming through the wings of a Phengaris Arion, butterfly.
The real blue a divergence
from the brilliant hybrid lanterns,
your radiant eyes.
I walked in reckless,
The slash the superheated steel,
ate the sea and drank the sky, died, and flew.
From the outside I came to you,
a reflection, you, yourself,
pineapple slices on banana leaf.
Curtain the day, let the glass go dark,
place the mattress on the lawn,
spawn nightmares in the street,
revel in an autumn rain, the dull dark white,
the blazing black awaiting dawn.
Your beauty is a tempest or swirling currents,
that caress all the senses, for it lies not only before the eye,
but in the content of action and creation, the heart in your endeavors.
Forget the insincere frauds and sharks scenting sorrow,
and feeding on misery in a frenzy.
We together can blunt the teeth of the shark with our joy.
Rose pink and fuchsia, euphoric light.
The Creature from the Black Lagoon on a drive in big screen,
black and white in the night. The air is scented electric.
Bright waters ripple in the spaces between us.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
the azalea grew there
twenty years,
its grey body now
but scratchy bones,
browned blossoms
to ponder
until someone with courage
pronounces it over
cuts barren spines down,
and mulches the ground
with faded smiles
aged between pages
found saved in a shoebox
string-tied tight in darkness
will we still want spring
when we remember
our missing fuchsia
or discover
a new color to admire,
forget it ever was,
as we’ve manged
to forget laughter
in passionless winter
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 5:29 PM UTC
Sunlight gleaming
golden glimmer,
dragonflies flutter
iridescent shimmer.
Winter fading
new life showing,
winds of change
gently blowing.
Wrapped in warmth
springs embrace,
rays of happiness
dance on my face.
Blue skies, butterflies
distant laughter,
dandelions & dreams
chasing after.
Sleepy sidewalks
sprinkled in pink,
yesterdays blossoms
gone in a blink.
Amethyst, fuchsia
apricot, blush,
masterpiece sky
mother natures brush.
Willows weeping
growing shade,
crickets singing
twilight serenade.
Black & blue
glitter star-shine,
thieves of day
criminals benign.
Cheshire moon
grinning hello,
darkness falls
sunlight must go.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
1
Another space arrives. The newborn cries.
And the destiny determined:
Oven or matchstick.
Descendant of both; inheritor of another:
A machine that dreams itself into being,
Dragging its sleeping subjects after it.
Sustenance of nightmares, the food of what
God is, blood the earth pumps forth.
The plastic legacy is siphoned off,
Its artifacts cheap jewellery:
Enamel glinting white and turquoise.
Flimsy chains that never last,
And yet last forever, the paint flaking off.
So too does the rust on this delicate orchid.
It is an oracle of poisons.
2
The city burns in its incandescence.
The indelible halo
Of a lime-green candelabra
Makes light of midnight. Our slumber is
Punctured by gunshots and the drone of the
Ambulance.
Not a foot but a juggernaut,
Pandora’s box,
Sowing the seeds of your distress.
Fallout marks the potent epoch.
The neon octopus spews it back,
Invisible print on the murderous air.
Where water drinks
No diving bell can bear
The pressure of such fuchsia.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
A loaf of bread
Baked fresh
Just an
Hour past
Sea salt and
Rosemary
All mixed
Into the
Dough
A stack of
Paper
Each of the
Sixteen sheets
I made yesterday
Under the light of
The Half Moon
I used rosemary
And amber
To give it scent
Almond paste
And rose petals
For texture
Fuchsia
For color
A quill
Plucked from
The wing of a
Cawing raven
The feather’s point sharp
Its neck strong
And the smooth
Body
As black as
Night’s whisper
These are
My hidden treasures
And gifts to you
The bread will fill
Your stomach
While the paper
Drinks the ink
From that quill
Held steady in
Your hand
Use these sixteen sheets
Of rosemary and
Amber scented
Paper
To keep alive
Your sixteen years
On this Earth
Worry not of
The years after
For you will
Learn the ways
Of creating paper
The sea salt
From the loaf
The light of the
Half Moon
And the cawing
Song of the raven
Will teach you
Most important
I bid you
Take these gifts
And embrace them
With a smile
A single tear
I allow
No more
Accept that I
Have sunk to the depths
Of this sea
With the coral
And shrimp
To keep me
Company
I have lived
A grand life
With laughter and sobs
Kisses and bites
The likes
Of good
And bad
It was my time
To go
And my time
To discover
Satisfy your hunger
Fill the sixteen sheets
With your stories
And give ink to
The quill’s thirst
I bid you smile
And shed a
Single tear
I allow
No more
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 10:47 PM UTC