"recolored" poems
The rebar skeleton of a hymn
Celestial rust sifting in
Skin and its architecture
Oh, the tectonics of Sin
Thrush lashed to husks
Lungs dipped with resin
Wine with gall, the Synoptic gospels
Recolored lithographs and
Rhymes of tinsel cord
Lost palaces of Tangiers
The Late Cretaceous fossils
Vibrate with fear.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 10:59 AM UTC
The sun breaks through the ocean
Breathtaking birth in one sweeping motion
The gentle force of mother earth
Teaches and tones, in a bath of foam
Pulling kicking legs beneath sparkling surf
While clouds on the horizon ring a ****** sky
And energy illuminates the air
The sun swings high, heat magnified
I find it easy not to worry or care
To run alongside playful waves I'm inclined
Angled shadows leave details hyper-defined
Every minute, the earth is recolored by light
From the low-hanging fruit to be shared by mankind
The ocean water washes away sin
And the glowing sunset heals me within
Nature takes away society's facades
And gives what we need, untainted by greed
Making us children of the earth feel like gods
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
God was ignited within me when my lungs felt their first breath, when my body was recolored due to the oxygen that permeated me
nineteen years later I see him as an Artist, my artist-
The willingness to create and make with outside forces critiquing and verbally destroying every formation signed by his name.
His work is clear when the earth is painted from a distance, the landscape adorning the horizon.
An individual as a canvas- With his paintbrush that is God he strokes and embellishes on a person until they are to his likeness- with elaborate detail we become our own and to others we are seen as a price, or more so an accomplishment generated by a being who sees beauty in everything.
He, our creator, is a mosaic and we are the pieces gathered together, brought by the winds that act as his angels; to fit together perfectly, or not so perfectly, creating a world of color, and diversity.
He is not only an artist of fine paintings and drawings, but of sculptures and modern looks.
He creates to give each canvas a sense of self, individuality.
He creates so that others are moved by his work, so that they too see him in every sketch, abstract figure, printed graphic, and illustration. He is the outline of every innovated design.
He is what I see and what I feel; He is the beginning and end to everything beautiful.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
After our love, I lie in the shadow of your shoulder
also, float to the sound of the seventeen-year locust outside,
their forlorn tenor buzz that ascents and falls together
and all of a sudden it stops, and flares out once more.
Their cadence clears against the sides of the house,
stirs like late leaves, a delicate edgy scratching,
the ave, ave, ave syllables of air, skin against skin.
When we happened to come upon her yesterday, inside the church shadows,
the youthful soloist deserted herself to the words she sang,
her interpretation like a nonattendance of dialect. Her music
cast itself away and away, beating on, until the hush
of a vacant room had its spot, where the heat of day
is just lamplight through the recolored windows.
It channels over the dusty floor. It lights
upon a light blue divider, unpredictable in what it touches.
What's more, the deriding, mating voices of the grasshoppers return once more
in their consistent journey out of the earth,
out of the dull, into the shadows.
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 7:31 AM UTC