"mauve" poems
Paris;this April sunset completely utters
utters serenely silently a cathedral
before whose upward lean magnificent face
the streets turn young with rain,
spiral acres of bloated rose
coiled within cobalt miles of sky
yield to and heed
the mauve
of twilight(who slenderly descends,
daintily carrying in her eyes the dangerous first stars)
people move love hurry in a gently
arriving gloom and
see!(the new moon
fills abruptly with sudden silver
these torn pockets of lame and begging colour)while
there and here the lithe indolent **********
Night,argues
with certain houses
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Light , curvy rays,
bending,
while traveling from air to water world.
My eyelashes - window wipers.
Crystalline lenses,
sending lovely
but blurry pictures
wait.. let me focus my retina,
underwater dream,
or is it really you?
Dark, straight silhouettes,
frightening,
falling from the busy water above
My chest - darkened vents
reaching far,
wanting lovely,
but faint pictures
I can’t wait any longer,
for the dark room to lighten
I need you to show me
I take a deep breath
And dive in again.
Debrees of scars
And piercing pain.
Your soul still mauve and blue.
I press my lips
respiring pure love into you.
Breathe your best
into the spine of my life
Expelling fortitude
And forgiveness
Hidden in this deep blue
Revitalized for the first time
This moment opened its eyes
to see the beauty
of what beneath the surface lies
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
<>¡<>
o denizen of yonder pond
you are so brave
of me so fond
your wings are crystal
beauty's grace
you're here
then gone without a trace
your body shimmers
oil's hues
mauve and purple
green and blue
tho I love you as you are
I'd rather view you
from afar
tho your love you'd like to share
please don't fly
into my hair!
<>¡<>
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC
Pink confused with white
flowers and flowers reversed
take and spill the shaded flame
darting it back
into the lamp’s horn
petals aslant darkened with mauve
red where in whorls
petal lays its glow upon petal
round flamegreen throats
petals radiant with transpiercing light
contending
above
the leaves
reaching up their modest green
from the pot’s rim
and there, wholly dark, the ***
gay with rough moss.
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if ever there were
gods or goddesses of desert
of the drylands
of parched earth some call home
they would be surprised to learn
of the miracle of
this Spring deluge
unfurling forth
from deep within
the crusty dermis
of this sublunar territory:
hydrangea and ***** apple flower,
intermingling their hues
of mauve and lilacs,
as well as the color of sky
blooms of the succulents
popping open
in celebratory dance
in wild fuschia
sunray butter:
a dazzling botanic trance
hollyhocks of magenta,
veils of bougainvellia, too
sweetpea clusters
curling in the trellis
weaving heavy-scented magic
through and through
a private orchard of lemon tree, and apple
olive and pistachio grove
One would not guess
the endless giving
of this desert treasure trove
And I feel like a goddess
of mythology softly spun
like Demeter, or Ceres
ancient Egyptian Renenutet
my hands spread out
in the licks of gentle sun
for as spring pours forth its honey
all through this barren land
I , too reawake
and flush out all the infected,
dust-scratched sand
I welcome in
the waters of abundance,
of love, of light under stars
let new energy wash out
old poisons
my radiance spilling far
Reaching out unto the Universe,
cradling this heart
I cup the buds of blooms,
of nectar
to inseminate my dark
allowing me
to release the past
and seed within me, lit
the atoms
of new
start
unfolding bit
by tender
bit
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 10:05 AM UTC
my eyes finally rested,
the perfect shade of pain's gray
Hers swiftly burned copper-red
we're bound to disappoint
along the way
always looking up to
someone out-of-reach
stammering over words,
just to make a point
the point is dull, anyway.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
sometimes she daydreams about life the way i do about death. it's ironic, i know: black and white aren't meant to be grey and the rumbling hum of expletives digging into mauve lips pass through like desaturated light to translucent statures. it makes everything seem sweeter than it looks. she thinks the ache feels lukewarm, just like those half-hearted smiles she gives out like presents on a holiday, and she may be right. pain is not cold, it covers your entire heart with microwaved fingers, leaving burn marks that leave chars and ashes. snaps the purple heartstrings and clumsily tries to mend it.
(i love you because you're corporeal, she murmurs, you keep me sane)
she's spider-webbed, sung gossamer and silk while her bar lines drip with ink. and she seems moonstruck—because of me she says and blooms throughout my epiphanies. fancies herself a ghost, a wisp, something ethereal that lingers on my lips like a kiss. and she lingers, oh she does. toppling from the skies and collapsing into my rib-cage, she stays, blushing rose-like and thriving. velvet and constellations of blood clots patter against her skin. it blooms like she blooms, a paint splattered canvas meant for all to see.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
Perhaps your body is composed of thousands of stars.
Limitless constellations make up your fingertips
your eyelashes
and the curvatures in your ears.
Galaxies are interwoven under your skin and how you glow.
You glow like the moon in the sky when it is at its brightest.
When nothing compares to the sight of the moon and the tiny specks in the sky are just insignificant floating circles.
Your hair flows like the Nile River.
Boundless, pristine water overflowing at my fingertips.
You are more than the ocean; you are all the bodies of water in the earth combined.
You are the last drop of coffee in my old, vintage, mauve red mug.
The last caffeine induced sip that flows through my oesophagus with a relinquishing taste of sweetness.
You are the sweet nectar that hummingbirds look for in flowers and when they can't find flowers with a taste that will satisfy them, they settle on trees.
You are the trees that produce oxygen, and the branches of the trees that tower over me like a netted blanket.
You are the cotton blanket keeping me warm on windy or rainy days because it doesn't snow in the Philippines.
But if you were snow, I would gather you in a plastic container and keep you in my ice compartment so you wouldn't melt.
You make me feel like I'm melting.
Like every possible emotion i possess flows out of me like vapor.
And you are the smoke that forms after you've blown the flame of a candle; you gently float in the air surrounding the space where the flame used to be.
You are the compacted tissues in my chest; you fill the void I once had.
You comprise my veins, my arteries and vesicles; you are a vessel of euphoric elation.
You are my utopia.
You are.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 9:22 AM UTC
People take the world as they see it themselves
some see black
some see white
many see grey
as for me?
I see it for what it is....technicolored.
Life is far to wonderful and bright too see it as simple black
it is too deep and mysterious to be only white
it is too exciting and amazing to be described as grey
There's a reason that there is color present everywhere.
If the world were colorless, so life would be.
But the autumn leaves are crimson and gold and apricot
The halls in which we walk are of light saphron and amber
The city streets in which we trod are spurted with shades of periwinkle and magenta
The meadows through which we stroll have flowers of violet and buds of rose
The trees with which we have our yuletide celebration are the solemn green
Life is as we see it
dont be strapped down to bland colors like
grey white black
Life is color
Furious Scarlet
Dejected Sapphire
Joyful Fuscia
Envious Sage
Playful Yellow
Even as you look in the mirror, colors are shown to you.
I see
eyes of chocolate
cheeks of mauve
teeth of pearl
lips of ruby
skin of gold
Even my soul is multicolored in all its numerous facets
Dont let yourself be barred into the cell of neutrality
See life for the rainbow that it truly is.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
I look again upon the sky as I have done so many times before.
To see the change of natures' palette as sun sinks beyond horizon's floor.
The blue of daytime sky and the wisps of white and mottled gray,
give-way to golden inlaid mauve upon red curtain as amber fades away.
Hues of golden yellow that were present short moments before,
now lost beyond the silhouetted landscape as if cast to distant shore.
Flame upon the heavens, cloud lit as if scattered, precious jewels.
Colours of natures palette so vibrant, disobeying all artistic rules.
silhouettes of birds in flight etched in black upon the fading light,
All traversing in rapid beat of wing, to seek shelter from the night.
Trees and distant vistas mere shadows where sun did slide away,
as palette welcomes the new nighttime bidding farewell to passing day.
Aug 16, 2022
Aug 16, 2022 at 10:32 AM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
At the sound of my name, I see the faces
turn and smiles of many friends;
Queen Sue of Ruikruya in her lilac silks,
Queen Sarita of Khaikar in orange silks,
Queen Deb of Daegeral in magenta,
Queen Kim of Geniael in creams,
Queen Robin of Naeneiana in periwinkles,
Queen Fawn of Yuamor in red-violets,
Queen Dawn of Khesian in dandelion-orange,
Queen Jugnu of Enuryn in jade-greens,
Queen Yidna of Puhan in indigos,
Queen Cne of Phelyra in turquoise,
Queen Xaela of Lonusea in peach,
Queen Ayumi of Wadia in tan-gold,
Queen Sheila of Naizzuzia in cornflower-blue,
Queen Stars of Yurithireatha in green-yellow
✿⊰✲⊱✿
King Edmund and his wife in matching
forest-greens attires,
King Omni of Khaniel in silvers,
King Emeka of Ghalali in white,
King Devon of Monait in blue-violets,
King Fugue of Thavia in blacks,
King Yacov of Igrador in olive-green,
King Joseph of Eaqellurene in bronze,
King Fredrick of Emirinait in mauve,
King Rob of Balan in sea-green,
King John of Khesian in melon-red,
King Aslam of Ikaesa in deep plum,
King Brandon of Huarean in ocher,
King Kikodinho of Izugalla in taupe,
King Jobira of Zavalon in orange-red
and many many more.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
And last but not least, King Paul of
Luciuscemi himself in emerald-and-gold.
He wears his favourite emerald green
jacket with ruby buttons, bright gold
embroidery of suns and lions; his sleeves
stitched with pearls and rubies to match
the red sash across his chest; his trousers
black as are his boots, but even they have
gold laces.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 6:17 AM UTC
Pink confused with white
flowers and flowers reversed
take and spill the shaded flame
darting it back
into the lamp’s horn
petals aslant darkened with mauve
red where in whorls
petal lays its glow upon petal
round flamegreen throats
petals radiant with transpiercing light
contending
above
the leaves
reaching up their modest green
from the pot’s rim
and there, wholly dark, the ***
gay with rough moss.
5.2k
Connecting,
tribes on the cusp--
the lost family...
merging thought patterns
of old & new paradigms
into a geometric shipibo song
singing in moonlit sky,
smoke gray mauve clouds
are painted into the frozen lake background.
We paint
a new paradise--
together
at the table
on a sacred indigo candlelit map map
for people to set sail
on their journey through the seas of skies of their minds
guiding familiar souls
to speak their treasure light again.
We are the Indigo Pilgrims,
soul brothers reunited
after the frozen season thaws,
pushing on toward the place
where mind-flowers commence their bloom
as herb and sage slowly burns throughout the day
as the smoke dotes across the landscape
like dancing hieroglyphic clouds.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
It's summertime. The saxophone jazz
sounds are pirouettetting the waves
to find their own balance. It's a mauve
inner dance in almost everything around.
More exactly, the melodious movable
sounds become soundable movement
needing a reverberation time to dissipate
the energy. The movement releases its own
purity to become simple fecundity. The pulsed
sound waves are also old memories lost in the
natural green. The saxophone looks much
more like a Tahitian prince dancing his love
on the sand. The singing mauve sea waves
have a sadness taste at sunset. The last one
is a watery mermaid and he embraces her
while searching the high. The sounds need
touch and life. They need to dematerialize
and to disappear into the universe. The
saxophone remains a solitaire keeping
safe his evanescent hermetic equilibrium.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
He walks outside to watch as veins of electrical light sizzle in the night sky.
The rain strikes against the pavement. The water on the road slides by.
The man stands tall, his shoulder aching from his previous operation.
He looks at the blank, dark mauve sky with a frown on his face from the whole situation.
His wife sits in the kitchen, crossword in hand and letting the news play like white noise around her.
Their children, all in bed; all of them unaware of the storm parading outside or of one another.
Three out of the four are asleep while one records these events, sleep stinging her eyes.
She should sleep for her dreams take her away from the darkened skies.
But for now she will be hypnotized by the veins of light illuminating her night.
She'll watch the light pour through her window until her eyelids are too dreary for her to keep sight.
So goodnight, goodnight, goodnight
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
Ah! Stunning mauve orchid flower
a little yellow butterfly dancing above it
an orchid slightly different from others I've seen
a Phalenopsis, I believe
so succulent, so delicate
The mantis strikes!
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
When in Bohemia, she screams about
Her pastures green, but not too loud
So never have I known, that the world listens too
As a comedian, I see she belongs
But never conforms, to the song of
This nomad world, I'm glad she found it too
So run! She wants to run again
You vagabond, you're well-spent
Bohemian tendencies says, “you can't stay long”
“These kinds of commons, you won't ever get along”
Armenian, it’s such a release
Materialistic animosity
The speed of life has no value, like dollar signs
I loved an alien, who dabbled in art
Of all visage, enema of the heart
Wanderer, she's spent so much but there's that bliss in the air
So smile! It's all sorts of worthwhile
To see a world and not fret so much
Bohemian tendencies says, “be spectacular
Before the nebula men steal your fur”
In the Caribbean, you dream a kite
As your taxi, you can't walk all the time
Travel hills of puce-mauve sands, the world in trance
A true deviant, the thinking of
All dreaming thoughts, and loves begot
Tinkerer, what will we do when our brains run dry?
Oh, no! Don't think about the end
To love a life in due pretence
Bohemian tendencies says, “think fair, live now”
“The world is watching with distaste of time in doubt”
As a chameleon, should she go alone?
The world is cold, except for times in colour
Her world in dance, she'll do without me
When in Bohemian, the first I've seen
Of pastel stencils through her happi-
Ness-tled in her loft home of the wind
There she goes! Ain’t she a lovely wing?
I hope she finds a world that sings
Bohemian tendencies says, “to love and to hold
But to let go, for treasures can mold”
There she goes
There she goes
There she goes
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
You, my garden of Anemone;
of periwinkle, plum, and mauve.
A fragrance of Lilacs; for my springs and summers.
A snow's aroma of a rare, rich branch of Daphne
Fenced by shrouds of Lavender and Sage.
Adorned with Irises and virulent Vervain.
The Verbena that consumes me
As I yield to it's amethyst.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
the sky sinks its blue teeth
into the mountains.
Rising on pure will
(the lurch & lift-off,
the sudden swing
into wide, white snow),
I encourage the cable.
Past the wind
& crossed tips of my skis
& the mauve shadows of pines
& the spoor of bears
& deer,
I speak to my fear,
rising, riding,
finding myself
the only thing
between snow & sky,
the link
that holds it all together.
Halfway up the wire,
we stop,
slide back a little
(a whirr of pulleys).
Astronauts circle above us today
in the television blue of space.
But the thin withers of alps
are waiting to take us too,
& this might be the moon!
We move!
Friends, this is a toy
merely for reaching mountains
merely
for skiing down.
& now we're dangling
like charms on the same bracelet
or upsidedown tightrope people
(a colossal circus!)
or absurd winged walkers,
angels in animal fur,
with mittened hands waving
& fear turning
& the mountain
like a fisherman,
reeling us all in.
So we land
on the windy peak,
touch skis to snow,
are married to our purple shadows,
& ski back down
to the unimaginable valley
leaving no footprints.
4k
whispers of mauve shadows concealed by a tinted haze of amber colored macaroni.
sometimes I glance towards the east and my rocking chair creaks and until my ambitions and dreams have evolved into an Ameoba of intelligence, the table is still set for ambitioned dance
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
She said people were seasons,
and when I first met her, I couldn't agree more.
After getting to know her, I wished that I didn't.
Her ex-lovers were Winter, and her eyes were a shade of Spring.
I could see the vulnerability of a car crash
swimming in each fountain trapped behind her emeralds.
She was beautiful in the way that could cause suicides,
and fix spider-webbed windshields after each collision of,
“Are you okay,” and, “I’m fine; I promise.”
Every story was Winter, and she was always left alone in the snow.
Mauve lips mouthed words that silently whispered,
"When is this too much? When are you going to leave?"
People are patterns,
and all she knew was the tessellation of temporary love and permanent loss.
Her hands trembled as she looked down.
She was in transit; moving after each hope of home fell apart.
And I wanted to kiss her like the world was falling apart.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
These words are a sock, soft and warm from the dryer
butterknife
palpable
lullabye
maroon
These words are bits of glass, attacking my ears:
Yaw
Ketch
Blurt
Epizeuxis
Jactation and
Mauve
These words are brass-knuckled fists to the face
Mogadishu
Rwanda
Desert One
My Lai
And
Nine One One
These words are a sneaky cat, slithering here and there
Mystery
Secretive
Lurking
Sly
Shadowy
These words are unknown to everyone but me. Private words for private thoughts.
Uiyak
Jackassdom
Nothingofanyvalue
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
~~~=<♡>=~~~
In the morning of a
Breezey mauve-pink air
in the peace in a time of silent prayer
in the breath of a
newborn child's sleep
there are memories
we will always keep
when a mother first holds her child
in the strength of a mustang
running wild
in the hush of an ocean's
silent depths
there are memories
We will never forget
eagles fly
and soar on lofty wings
infants cry when their
time of life begins
seedlings grow
from the fall of gentle rains
these are things we know
but can we fully explain?
in the rise of a harvest moon
in the scent of a rose
in fullest bloom
in the grace of a
dancer's swirling form
then our senses make us
glad we're born
in the flames of the setting sun
in softness of night that's
just begun
in the lights of the pinpricked sky
there are times we pause
to think and ponder why?
breezes blow
and yet are never seen
there's a mind
that can only think a dream
can you touch the light
of falling stars
these are things we know
but can we prove they are?
in the roar of a breaking wave
we are kept from the
cradle to the grave
we may know
in our last and final hour
a loving and
ALMIGHTY POWER
soulsurvivor
4/21/2009
~~~=<♡>=~~~
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
Sun goes down the littoral,
Painting shadows on the sky.
If skies could tell stories,
Tonight it's telling mine.
The orange molds memories,
Language of love,
Beautiful stories,
But swiftly slithering to mauve.
The vast blue says torment,
Rivers I've cried,
Sleepless nights,
Tears that have dried.
But when the blue will turn black,
It'll scream pain.
As the memories erase,
Loving I'll forsake.
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 5:37 PM UTC
Saffron, delights, rubies and gold
Crushed silvers from the shores
Cornish tin, copper green as mould
Heathers from the mauve moors.
Buttercups and daisies in an English lawn
Red and white spotted fungi in the wood
Hedges laden with gems stripped and torn
Smashed diamonds embedded in the mud.
Little gems sparkle like prisms on the twig
Fat with juice, brimming with good
Good enough to eat, best to swig.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 4:16 AM UTC