"sunglow" poems
The laughter of leaves
whisper testament
over cool caverns,
ancient moss
the absurdity of clocks
dashed upon rocks
while they dance,
backlit with sunglow,
at the true speed
of life
daring us to defy
the timeless tapestry
in which all are woven
Do stones large and small
not rustle
like leaves
in the eye of the mountain?
and is the leaf not as solid
as stone, to the aphid?
And what lives between
two lover-friends?
It is no brief candle
measured with ticks
on numbered dials
It moves not with the flash
of a single spark
Nor with the slow glow
of dawn
In gentle illumination
it is a soft gentle kiss
drifting on mist,
and it moves
at the speed of love,
with the rhythm of life
Copyright © 2016 K. Rush
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
She stood still before the choas; unshaken.
The wind blew its mighty breath against Her core but to no avail; unmoved.
Her coffee'd skin warm like the sun that kisses the Earth's horizon.
Something within Her had risen without warning nor permission:
She was a Goddess, in Her own right.
Brown. The soft tone of the Earth.
Golden hue painted widely across the canvas of Her *****
Her skin like caramelized silk, with the sunglow of Egypt itself.
She pressed Her face to the Earth's floor and moved mountains with Her prayers.
Queen of the meek, ambassador of the poor.
She was the perfect amalgam of beauty and brokenness.
~The Goddess of Humility.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Seeing
Life
Explode
With Color.
To
Name
Them all
Would
Never
Fully
Describe
The magic
They emit
With
Each other.
Lemon butter,
Jade tide,
Bumblebee,
Butterscotch,
Pineapple Rush.
Blush Touch,
Pink-Peach Punch,
Lemonade Crush,
Cedar Peaks,
Cinnamon Coffee
Crunch.
Wine Soaked
Cherry Red.
Rosewood Sublime,
Key lime pie
Delight.
Followed by-
Gray Mist
Overcome
By Balloon Green,
A breath of Spring,
And Sunglow too.
It all runs
Through
And
Through.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 11:46 PM UTC
The minutia of cotton fledglings, I play them over and over
In my head, the most enjoyable, a layer of dynasty added to
The mallard kingdom. And a rocking horse swims across
Each pond too, its head heaves and nags creating massive, huge,
Undulating circles around circles. One more coat of gesso and then
Even I, in my speckled red paint Commune jeans, and holy holy Protestant tee shirt, I can travel the world; maybe even brush up on my
Cuyp.
Whipping through the sedge-brook grass, busting out, shooting Through the other mucilaginous nimbuses rolling
Outward first, then fled upward into the beacons of the heavens-
Shouting, whistling, oozing albicant heraldic pillars and shields.
Twenty more colours to mix.
Together, the mallards and ewes and rocking horse, and I;
prancing, little dots, filing into order. Where nursing
Against the sunken pillows of grain, I enter each round of
This papyrus jungle. Neatly folding my hands around each
Milky white shade, rushing out into the aurulent sunglow. .
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC
intermission with the UMSL Orchestra
The backstage hall was wall-to-wall smiles.
Just moments before,
Barbara Harbach had charged the stage
after we premiered her joyous Jubilee Symphony
screaming at them all the way,
"That was spectacular"!
The Arianna Quartet's Kurt and Joanna
stormed down the steps
spewing out pieces of their minds
in no uncertain terms
"excellent" - "great job" - "beautiful".
I preferred to hang out on the edge
wrapped in the silken echoes
of Tchaikovsky's Andante cantabile
(so eloquently sung by our youthful strings).
Intermission was up and it was
back to work time.
In the abyss of despair
over his dying ears,
Beethoven flooded the world
with the blazing sunglow
of his prophetic second symphony
and it was now up to us
to pass on the word.
Just call me,
"Grateful (underscore) 1".
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
When I met you, I stopped smoking
and began to paint my nails every weekend evening. I thought
you could taste my sadness as if it were your own
because I did not drink alcohol,
nothing could dilute it. It was always there on my tongue.
You had never smoked or drank or tried
to **** yourself, though, so you did not recognize
the acid and that hurt my feelings more than razors or erasers.
I was the first girl you slept beside,
you the first to kiss my eyelashes like smelling daisy stems
before I became conscious in morning sunglow.
Even December air had the inside of a lemon’s color.
And that was better than smoking or drinking or killing myself
or painting my nails mint green,
picking off the excess from my cuticles, without you.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
My springtime's never ending suns
I carry sunglow from window to bed,
planning, when the next day has come,
just as soon as the pets are fed,
and I've tidied up my empty head,
walked the dog, give cat the cream,
to run and jump and skip and play
not laze around and sleep and dream...
Too late! my pet's wet chomping jaws
send my dreams to damp moist earthy days
of screaming pterodactyls & dinosaurs...
My summer sun's they always shone
so brightly that they hurt my eyes,
and I hid and wished it, Begone!
with my false exasperated sighs...
I lazed around and fantasied,
conjured darkness for my needs,
and willed self toy for troglodytes
so dreamily these beasts use my hands on me
on dark cave floor's breed in me, such dreams...
Of Hekate's hounds entering... in my mind
behind the private door's of my eyes.
Now my Autumn comes crashing down
there's earlier settings of darker suns,
troglodytes and hell's hounds keep me bound
on stiff stalking legs ***** one-eyed proud
as creeping winters begin to run...
My pale face mirrored as I count my sum,
of my omniverse to find it finally means,
of my dreams this whole world wide,
dream leads to this... Whereof? I cannot dream...
Nov 11, 2022
Nov 11, 2022 at 7:05 AM UTC
End of the show (lyrics)
Verse 1
The touch of your cold skin,
Has led to a daydream.
Swimming in wrong sea,
Hoping to run free.
While I am the one drowning,
Babe, do you hear me sing?
Chorus :
Girl you could be my rainbow.
And skies, the host of your show,
We would ride in the sunglow,
And kiss when the cold wind blow.
So girl would you be my rainbow?......
Would you hold till the end of the show?.....
Verse 2
The depth of your blue eyes,
Has been a new sunrise.
Preaching me wrong faith,
Like beauty of blue skies.
While I am the one listening,
Babe do you hear me sing?
Chorus;
Girl could you be my rainbow?
And serve the beauty we know,
We would dance in the halo,
And miss the dark when we glow.
So girl would you be my rainbow?...
Would you stand till the night passes on.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
I'll always feel in my chest broken Septembers. I am languishing with the days, head first to a point of no return. I am the ghost of an abducted goddess, the one who bled all over saffrons and still holds on to her sorrows. I bid farewell to the sunglow on wildflowers. I bid farewell to daylit copper fields. I bid farewell to golden hours, as down I descend to the sweetest madness, and up it goes to consume me.
Sep 10, 2021
Sep 10, 2021 at 11:36 PM UTC
Goddess:
you gleam,
in hand-painted fairy tails,
a pixie,
poised
in pirouette
playing peekaboo,
in your gilded, sunglow
petticoat.
A buttery beacon,
bashful,
beneath its breezy lace...
boustier.
Golden,
as the dreaming dawn;
you dazzle, these ...
jaded,
jubilant blue eyes, like a blazing deity
as your doublecloth curtains,
divide,
and dance,
upon a distant draft,
and, then sweetly...
slowly,
unfurl, to the floor,
in a creamy chiffon.
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 9:50 AM UTC
ambitious, surreptitious, the divine, habitats mesic
renounced, from the zenith to the horizon, blue the firmament, the heyday
of the Hohenzollern, hurrying stars challenging the sun, hues
unidentified for imputation, wild actions for massive
vile feasts, surrender although merciless, render mustered
defenders of night a promised glory of summer days, top hamper's
ephemeral shadows, read missals, winds high
nocturnal, sempiternal, temperaments submissive or passive, missives
from the gullible victimised given the defenders of divinity
toil and moil for wondrous eyes of immortals, look
to the future although worthless, perfumes of irascible
Arabia, all charged with statistics mendacious, an affinity
for false repudiation, parasitic Memphis inundated with unlucky
calls tendentious, sunglow tombolos put at risk
Oct 3, 2020
Oct 3, 2020 at 3:54 AM UTC