"periwinkle" poems
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
sow bugs
electric
blower
purple
fueled
washer
missing
foul bits
and two of
its former pins
somewhere near
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (ladylike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine Deck Painting ~
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 3:55 PM 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
R Red moon came to soon the red "Viper" love spoon
E Energy trembles hearts race eluding like the Dodge Viper
D Devil red ****** moons demolition Dodge of technology
M The moon of darkness dissolves like lava "Hot Male"
O Orderly overindulgence the moon at a comfortable rhythm
O Out of touch slowly getting back to your outstanding body
N New Age High noon time Eqyptian Nile moon neverending
S Shift of energy simplicity strengthens your existence
T Truly love for the family the moons makes a celebration
A- Able so articulate touch the moon lover fate
R Robin bird flies manifest the ruler the rider risque delighter
S Sensible and a seductive moon she is superstitious
C Circle of light sacred chalice not to be malice
An Amorous depth of feeling delicious Moon love key luxury
R Rituals turns to purity racing minds of sanity ♥ Car Vipers ♥
V Vampires blood moon lessons to be learned
I Ingenious Free yourself from anger all love inked
P Patience is a virtue Moon true Periwinkle blue
E Ecstasy the moon turns on the celebration of love
R Recollection of moon poems time to be Reborn
S Sensational Venus Soulmate of cars Sultry Valentine moon
I can't wait to come home soon that was a trip to my moon.
°• Dodge Viper •°”˜. zoomed off to the Red Moon
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
I returned home
on Palm Sunday
to find knockout roses
behind my brick mailbox
parading their first blossoms of spring.
I found candytuft
faded to green,
safeguarding scattered sprinkles of white
for me to view one more day.
Fallen pink petals from dogwood trees
fluttered through a whimsical ballet
to entertain me on a ballroom floor
of Kentucky bluegrass.
Dogwoods, azalea, and periwinkle are different.
Something happened
while I was away,
while I snapped photographs
of starfish captured by the sand
when evening tide
quickly rolled out to sea.
Blossoms opened
as other petals
faded and fell.
Fresh blossoms flowered
and youthful buds now greet the sun.
Did you care that I was gone
in the midst of your glory
to savor other beauties
different joys --
did you even miss me?
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
Chrysanthemum,
Rose,
Buttercup.
Each morning he would guess a floret that might match
Her loveliness.
And every night,
When he pulled her close under
Periwinkle sheets
He would admit defeat.
"Of course how foolish I've been!
No Chrysanthemum can compete
With the way your velvet lips flood pink
After I kiss you, my love.
Not even the brightest rose
can compare to the sunshine
that pours from your soul
every day, my darling."
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
Psychedelic spokes
Spinning out from
An undetermined center
Periwinkle powdered
Spines that invite
Me to feel
Making a point
At my prying fingertips
From smooth to prickly
Quaint you are
When your fragrance
Murmurs a tone of earth
A lotus of the desert
Silently beaming through
A plump body
An infant
With little
Needs
©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
It's like this, and then there was total recall. Fast like a safety plan made wrong and then bouncing in and out all the way down the hall. Up through cable cars, Korean fast food market, wet fish, soupy street, concrete cracks filled with crab meat and **** heads. Just a square, a five block, two street, sideways quadrangle, beat of the Tenderloin, hour of the dove. Every one's dead on these loose ends. Hills of the back of her backside, skin of the back of her neck. Rapture is the grave of the sunset, memory is that thing that I said.
No one cans in carnivores, no one runs moves like a shepherd. Sunday, daft as candy, luck in the ways of the prophet. Canon of the blaze of every woman that died today. The sleep setting, the motorcycle bending the hollow, the ravines noisy interlude, up through the rough and the tangles, huddles in a six pack, three or four walking up the block to meet the rest of them.
The skin doesn't fit right, it wears wrong, the shoulders stiff, the masseuse excuses himself. Buckets of flowers hang from the ceiling like stripped cat christmas decorations in suburban mastermind serial killer resort town. Everyone is quiet because they gotta. They move their feet like they were hurrying death into a red volcano, like they were the errand of red from the top bell to the bottom of the town.
I sit on a roof top, baking in the noon day sun. Stripping sticks and stems off the side to sideways, just roasting away, laying, low in the afternoon light. I see a girl with her hands on her skirt, wobbling, scooting a priest card on a periwinkle terra-cotta. I move my head, turn it upside round to take a better look. No one counts to ten when they see me. The gangster that woke up isn't the gangster that went to sleep last night. My wickedness ended my words mean your bright decay. So I ride the pavement exhausted, burying my coughs in an L-shaped arm
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
Sitting outside in my grandpa’s veranda,
he passed away before I could appreciate his presence;
he wished for me to come see his art;
his garden, a green maze of trees and bushes,
from marigolds and periwinkle to mango trees and whatnot.
As I lay here on the mat,
close to my grandpa, I might gladly add;
seeing the ants crawl up on the periwinkle blooms
and wild butterflies dancing overhead;
with a bulbul on a mango tree branch
and crows chattering near food dumps;
with a sweet scent of marigold in the air
and crickets chirping in the background;
with a mongoose running on the broad fence
and a squirrel eating rice that my grandma kept;
with the sun rays hitting my face through the trees
and a couple of flies hovering beside my novel;
with a moment of pure serenity,
that brings a peaceful calm to this tranquil space;
my heart feels full and my soul at ease.
As a gentle breeze whispers by,
my hair seems to be afloat.
As the fresh air clears my mind,
I feel alive like never before.
As I hear children playing nearby,
memories of my childhood days come alive;
one of the best moments of my life;
in this veranda forever entwined.
As I feel a soft breath of crispness on my face,
I reminisce about the times I had lived with him;
the village isn't as bad as it seemed.
This is the land where my ancestors lived;
and where I feel his presence still,
he must be smiling sitting on the chair beside me;
finally, content that I appreciate his accomplishment.
Apr 3, 2023
Apr 3, 2023 at 4:03 PM UTC
*Do you remember those summer noon times when the sun painted the world with shades of warm butterscotch. We sat stringing daisies together; like unbroken chains of our conversations - that lasted till sunset -
Swirling candy floss clouds, dissolved; leaving hues of soft pink that fused with the periwinkle sky. We'd walk home marvelling at nature's tie and dye.
After all these years you've drifted away like wisps of floating clouds; But the warm colour of your friendship has splashed itself onto the canvas of my memories
..and I will always remember those vibrant summer days that I spent sitting by your side.*
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:42 AM 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
--To C. M.
Fountains that frisk and sprinkle
The moss they overspill;
Pools that the breezes crinkle;
The wheel beside the mill,
With its wet, weedy frill;
Wind-shadows in the wheat;
A water-cart in the street;
The fringe of foam that girds
An islet's ferneries;
A green sky's minor thirds--
To live, I think of these!
Of ice and glass the ******
Pellucid, silver-shrill;
Peaches without a wrinkle;
Cherries and snow at will,
From china bowls that fill
The senses with a sweet
Incuriousness of heat;
A melon's dripping sherds;
Cream-clotted strawberries;
Dusk dairies set with curds--
To live, I think of these!
Vale-lily and periwinkle;
Wet stone-crop on the sill;
The look of leaves a-twinkle
With windlets clear and still;
The feel of a forest rill
That wimples fresh and fleet
About one's naked feet;
The muzzles of drinking herds;
Lush flags and bulrushes;
The chirp of rain-bound birds--
To live, I think of these!
Envoy
Dark aisles, new packs of cards,
Mermaidens' tails, cool swards,
Dawn dews and starlit seas,
White marbles, whiter words--
To live, I think of these!
3.9k
Scene 1:
(Periwinkle room, Jigglypuff poster, soft alternative music)
I stomp in,
Niagara Falls streaming
Throw his copy of Pablo Neruda poetry into the trash
And start reading Virginia Woolf
Poetic revolution.
That’ll show him
Scene 2:
(Cafe atmosphere, fading laughter, upbeat music)
Whoa. That guy. Not that one.
The one on the left
Kinda nice, kinda cute
And he laughed at my joke
Jane Austen romances
and Zooey Glass daydreams
fill my waking moments
Scene 3:
(Restaurant, muffled conversations, classical music)
What is he staring at? Who is he staring at?
Oh no awkward conversation gap
Say something,
quick, anything
“The weather is nice tonight, yeah?”
Not that.
But he laughs
Night saved
Scene 4:
(Outside the restaurant, night breezes, car noises)
“That was nice,”
He casually mentions
Yeah. Nice.
Not great. Amazing. Life-altering.
Nice.
The same adjective used to describe the weather
Devoid of meaning.
Scene 5:
(Car, radio on silent, crickets chirping)
“I wanted to give you something”
Hands me,
Oh dear god no,
A copy of Neruda
That ****** Neruda.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
i am a summer wild child,
i was born with sunflowers in my hair,
sand tickling my pores.
i am a fairy with periwinkle lids,
gold dust when i need to..
jolt.
i am a mermaid with scales to
mesmerize, hypnotize, glorify.
(but i fell in love with a two-legged fellow)
i am the pixie your mother told you to stay away from,
but you frolic through the meadows,
hoping to catch a glimpse.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
*Pretty Periwinkle, lovable, at my happy doorstep,
full of purple flowers, winks at me every time I pass her;
she has something to tell me in private, it's evident,
she whispered, I tried within limits, but couldn't afford to concede.*
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
I didn't sleep again last night
my yesterday is still taking place
as my fingers gently press these keys
so as to not wake my brother
restless,
I realized,
I've seen a sunset
but never a sunrise
the streets were still asleep
the only ones about
only the down and out
the poor black folk
the aimless hipsters
the homeless
the single mothers with three jobs
who wait alone
under a flickering street light
for the bus which will take them
to their deadpan jobs
the puddles from last night's storm
rest with not a ripple
and the pretty little birdies
start finding their voice
restless,
I realized,
after the sunsets
the world opens up her eyes
periwinkle horizons
blend easily with the grey skyline
and the line between man and God blurs
the sky is tropical mango cocktails
and pillows of white Caribbean sand
the smell is left -
like a residue -
chasing after the tail of a storm
but the air is wet to the touch
hinting at repeat of the downpour
and I would've sat on the arm of that denim sofa
hour after hour
until the world was ready to wake up
giving me a chance to sleep off their insecurities,
only,
I felt like writing this poem
only,
I felt like a sunrise
or maybe a sunset?
or just maybe
a god **** supernova
I felt good
brimming with peace in my gut
like a warm fire
restless,
I realized,
that after all is set
I will still love the sunrise
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
When I saw him in class he had his head bent down
In the farthest corner of the room
With a leather coat and a crooked smile
That was all I needed to swoon
He’s not a **** or the lead in the play
But he’s got a Harley and he swept me away
And the girls all think they can get to his heart
But they don’t even know where to start
(‘Cause all they know is)
That he looks so fine, yeah he looks so fine
But they don’t know that he’s already mine
Yeah he picked me out from the misfit crowd
And someday we’re gonna get outta this town
He looks so fine, he looks so fine
And the time we spent was sublime
When he asked me to prom all the girls were surprised
They watched as he looked me right in the eyes
How silly that they thought they stood a chance
To get him to take them to the dance
He knocked on the door at 7:04
I answered in a periwinkle dress
And he smiled at me in a new black tux
(What a fox!)
And you can guess the rest
(‘Cause all you know is)
That he looks so fine, yeah he looks so fine
And now you know that he’s already mine
Yeah he picked me out from the misfit crowd
And someday we’re gonna get outta this town
He looks so fine, yeah he looks so fine
And the time we spent was sublime
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
Your skin is softer than silk
Your hair shines like the midday sun
And gazing into your periwinkle eyes
I know that you are the one
One night you finally invite me
Into the place you call home
I shiver with anticipation
As I brush and scrub and comb
But there are bones shoved under the doormat
And blood dripping down from the stair
What horrors I find that night
As I venture into your lair
There are legs hung in your kitchen
Fingers on the dining table
Forever watching eyes on the fireplace
Like some grisly fable
But that is not the worst
Of the torment I endure tonight
As I turn to run from you
You take away my light
There's a knife in my side
As you drag me, so strong
You rip and tear and consume my hide
Until my life is ended like a crash of a gong
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
there are flowers growing in the curves of my ears
and honey dancing off the tip of my tongue.
there are roses that tint my vision with petals of pink
and hyacinths dye my skin with a faint color between forget-me-not and periwinkle.
there are vines that creep up through the gaps in my ribs, soft limbs of green to curl a cage around the rice paper butterfly in my chest.
there are flowers growing in the curves of my ears,
and yet I can still hear every word you say.
every sting, every snarl, every bite until the line between humanity and bloodlust is blurred with the plague painted in the air.
your words hurt the thread and needle butterfly, beating its wings faintly against the thorns cracking my bones into splinters.
every
beat
is
weaker
and
weaker
until the flowers wither at the corners, mourning the loss of every leaf.
until the honey tastes of vinegar, acid burning at the walls of my mouth.
until the roses turn dusty and the hyacinths are more eggshell than cornflower.
until the spun glass butterfly beats its last fight against the growing infestation.
shattering.
infinitesimal.
all that’s left for the flowers to do is drink up the leftover gasoline and feed off of the light of your apocalypse.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 2:30 AM UTC
Wicked nether-land. Nether world, white, askance. Capitulating mangroves, verdant trees spliced with hyperbole, onomatopoeia, and manilla envelopes; her world is stuffed with secrets, she listens to gorillas cracking mussels a kilometer away, near a rill. Never she thought. Nothing that could provide....providence. Mangled heliographs sprayed all over the everywhereworld.
"Don't be S.A.F.E.," she whispered. A bouquet of gorse, cistus, and pimpernels squished in her small fingers. She climbed her way through the pedimented stairway, then collapsing on the porch. Legs spent, and spread out upon the desiccate grayed four by four planks of the portico.
And as time elapses, the shuttering shake of the hemlock, which writhes through her skinny nimble dactyls, upwards straining the heart as its toxic bends appendages- crisp cerise lumens bend on the Titanium White walls, where only shadows bend time. The hour, still nine. Every adornment, furnished with red and its hues. Not purple, periwinkle, or any masked enhancement.
These are the symbols that reticulate splines, that curve temperatures, perverse hemispheres and debunk worlds. Upped antes, verbs that terns flirt worth, birth words. Ooh. Aah. Camera. The forest wraps her in its verdant pasture, where at last the moribund tamarisks disperse.
While at the plateau she is quiet and longing. Arms astride, dangling. Vaunt with highs and bliss- a kiss of withstanding pleasure serves her the cure for a lifetime of whining. This, yesterday where her body rattled through crooked vines. Square ships toasting her vocal melancholy in the sweet-waters of Time. So that all of her ripened limbs could grow, no more sheepishly than the magic she knew as a child. Stress free. First among the Earth-words, verbed-up and made jealous by pronouns that encompassed her joy-brimming hide. Closing down her voice and hugging her from behind.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
I think I've procured myself again
The word 'filth' comes to mind
(For lack of a better word)
Yeah, I'm a *****
Unmetalled in the interface
It took yet another 'kind' word
Or should that be 'false' word
To realize what they think of me
To think
With their mangled good looks
Ubiquitous in psyche
Like they ever gave a chocolate-flavoured ****
Soon they'll all have had a go with me
And i'll become
How do you say? Sui generis?
Numb betwixt the thighs
I 'detest' myself
(For lack of a better word)
And I stare at the periwinkle
To find relief
And that's still no relief
Because I'm jealous of periwinkle
The capita thinks it's 'beautiful'
And of course 'I am no periwinkle'
(For lack of a better understatement)
For lack of a better me.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:06 PM UTC
_Marge_ retrogrades lazily towards the hills;
Her name, printed the width of her cab-over dinette
In crinkled cobalt cursive,
Totters eccentrically as her handbrake fails.
SNAP-AP
Oblivious to errant camper vans (and centripetal forces in general),
Barney speeds maniacally along a deserted city street;
Golden coated and joyously poochie,
His tongue flabbers as fast as his bicycle courier dad can pedal.
SNAP-AP-AP
Mr Blue buys buckets at Bunnings
To match his cerulean suit and shinier-than-shiney satin shirt;
Periwinkle rhinestone shoes carry him unabashedly passed the second glances and sideways looks;
There goes the best dressed DIY-er in town…don’t ya know.
SNAP-AP-AP-AP
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 7:01 PM UTC
Little little gleamy flower
Blue or purple , where to find
To forget or to remember
A feeling recalled from solid ground
Little little gleamy flower
Starts it all on a sunny day
Through the wind and those squeezing beams
Grows a seed of an endless dream
Little little gleamy flower
Stays and strong through all the fight
Where sorrow rises from underneath
Found every trace of laughters and joy
Little little gleamy flower
Pure and sweet like those morning dews
Always sings the song of love
Even rain or within darkness
Little little gleamy flower
All this time , never been alone
To be true or be unfaithful
It’s goodbye that can’t be told
Little little gleamy flower
Don’t hold tears to what is dear
Not the end , but a new beginning
See the world and fly through the sky
Little little pretty flower
Together and ever be unchanged
Promise me under stars and moon
Never forget those precious days
Little little pretty flower
Remember this and never cry
All the joy , heartbreak and smiles
Be the song that shines through your heart.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
You descended into my soul so effortlessly, like dark blue dissipate into the muted periwinkle sky that kiss the hilltops of dew covered mornings.
Had there been but no measurement of the graceful manner in which your touch take a turn from skin to grasping onto organs locked behind the stern walls this may not be so difficult to comprehend.
Yet for the first time, the notion of numbers on a clock became irrelevant and I saw this beginning in gradients and neon bursts of color that illuminate all in its path.
For what can we track the depth of which we dive into oceans- with a ticking minute hand or the depth in which the opacity of our surroundings grow?
I caught you at midnight, I drowned in your essence like 500 kilometers below sea level, I admire you most at sun break, and I love you, how I love you, like the most effortless periwinkle blue.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
She have never been into things such as growing a garden, they say her potential will have to be reached by a streak of light draping through the window pane.
she builds her greenhouse and collected some seeds, she doesn't sort if she'll grew by season or if it's a monstrous plant— she just want to see a lot of butterflies that she have never seen before.
she remain unimpressed, seeing a hues full of periwinkle and blues, roses and thorns decorated beautifully by her fragile hands, you can see on her plain tone the visible traces of paper cuts and ink blotch.
one day, a boy visited her garden, he grew fond and perpetrated on every flower she had. they sat on an empty, unfurnished room, filled with his paintings and brushes, not seem to notice the one uncleaned palette she used and left forgotten. She watched the boy as he paints, as if he knew every detail of his magic, it reminds her of the days she spent the same way, on how she loves it, tenderly in her heart— she said he was a stray butterfly, everything on him is luminous.
they spent their time there, little did the boy knew that she loves everything he had done on the garden. She wonders how a little misadventures were found in a wild wood.
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 11:00 PM UTC
He took all that I had from me,
So I dyed red streaks into my hair.
He left me less than before,
So I chopped waist length hair
Into a boy-short pixie cut.
And time and time again,
I shaved the sides,
And dyed my hair
Purple
Green
Pink
And Auburn.
And he destroyed me
On a day to day
Basis.
So I went from brown
To black
To blonde
To pink.
And when he finally released
His hold on me,
I debated dying my hair
Lilac or periwinkle.
But instead,
I decided I would let my hair
Grow.
My hair will be long
And beautiful
And feminine.
I will be beautiful
And feminine,
And nothing like
You've seen me
Before.
And I can only hope
That with you
I will have no burning desire
To cut my hair
Or change my color.
I hope
With you
My hair may grow,
Within the dark reds and dark browns
That it has.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC