"tanzanite" poems
As seen through amber in the colors of Venus and Saturn;
Sun opens upon her face as gold spills in spun blonde,
And the rose’s thorn brings about liquid rubies
That drips on the youngest lily of the valley.
Butterflies aligned with the unseen Mars on the horizon
Scatter as their wings seem to burn away in the
Brilliant firelight, touching the water that reveals
Sapphires in liquid form; an affinity for Neptune that
Dangles on her fluttering eyelashes alive with what she sees!
More rubies fall in the emerald vast as her fingers move
Across the vine, and the crystals tear through the dahlias
Like the storms of Jupiter this canopy veils!
They rest among the pink rhinestones that resemble
Cherry blossoms in perfect discord when the last one
Is drained of its color under a wooden bridge at
The foot of the forest; an old bridge covered in patchy moss,
Showing its long years of absent footsteps.
They are only distant memories to the *****
Who emerges from the brush and drinks
From the stream in constant relief.
I watch her majesty fading her vibrant colors at sunset when
Uranus drifts. The colors fall into onyx when the sap of
The trees resemble amethyst in the moonlight.
And Mercury holding more silver falls in the stream with her
And all of her plume that we cherish as much as
Her earthly leaves, for we use both as covers for sleep.
Daydreams entwine with nightmares and become as cold
As Pluto. Ice lingers as tanzanite tears in those bright eyes;
Diamond eyes that cut through the towering clouds to discover
Stars that are made of everything here!
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:04 PM UTC
how do i even begin to describe this color,
because it is so
******* versatile.
firstly it is the color of royalty and magic--
stuff of fairy tales that leap from the page
and into your mind's eye.
richly-hued gowns reach the polished floor;
crowns and scepters shine with amethyst,
with jasper,
with tanzanite.
this color shines in the stardust of a wizard's cloak,
shimmering in the candlelight as he pours over texts and trinkets
with a glowy-eyed owl brooding on his shoulder.
it billows from the smoke of a witch's potion--
eye of newt and
wing of bat and
toe of frog
combine into a roiling haze that will make the princess
fall in love and then kiss death.
"double, double, toil and trouble...
your dreams and despair await."
this color is also one of spring.
it dots on the hills in delicate petals of
heather and lavender,
and the slightly darker
pansies and geraniums.
it scatters on the wind and leaves its perfume for
butterflies and
bumblebees and
girls in love.
before the sun rises and paints the sky in its warmth,
the world stands still in a state that is
neither dark nor light.
the stars have gone but
morning has not quite arrived to take its place;
birds are not yet chirping and
bugs and not yet buzzing--
in fact the only sound is your own mumbling
as you press your face into the pillow as though
trying to push away the responsibilities that
loom in the daytime.
it is here that this color is perhaps at its softest.
now, there is one more place this color shows itself,
though I'd rather it not be the case.
it is the shade of hurt and fear,
the shade of loneliness.
this color blooms on her back and shoulders and over her eye--
in bruises dark enough for her to seek cover-up
and a restraining order.
this color outlines the handprint of his attacker,
when he was wrenched into an alley and
stripped of his sense of security.
this color looms over the dispossessed
no matter how brightly the sun is shining.
instead of hugs and kisses,
these lost souls are met with remarks like
"loser" and
***** and
******
solitude is sanctuary as invisible hands
attempt to choke the life out of the outcasts.
do you see what i meant when i said
that this color is versatile?
it is a color of kingship and witchcraft,
of nature and pain.
it is not the color of singular definition.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:49 AM UTC
here,
by the bustling west side
a vintage Rothko in the making!
as the setting red sun
smooches a shy, dark-tanzanite sky.
her succulent strawberry lips,
seemingly
nowhere in sight.
there’s gotta be a portrait of this rose
somewhere......
the search now
ever since this bird has flown,
is for the missing piece of me,
which i keep scrupulously looking for
on every street
© 2021
Sep 4, 2021
Sep 4, 2021 at 9:11 AM UTC
Butterflies dissolve like honey-colored lacquer
as I wander the insides of this bright amber moon.
I look for Mother behind a shaded glow-tree.
It is there that I find her folding clouds while bluebirds
dance in the hollow of her heart…
She’s redolent like star-oil from a night-blooming cereus,
With hair never-ending like shadows
sealed from the palest of light.
Her eyes are like tanzanite orbs set ablaze.
She wears robes made of koi scales, and silk from the sea.
As I gathered pearls for her from the mouth of lapis lazuli
shores, my feet touch the chilled sands as shells scurried
from my foot-falls.
As I fetched gossamer from a crystal spider
hiding in a nearby constellation, gold web danced through
my cramoisy hair.
With all of these things, I sat beneath a niveous dune,
out of sight from Mother as I made her a necklace that
resembled the remnants of a galaxy that she once lost.
When I presented my gift, she smiled, then gently
whispered:
"The bright galaxy standing before me is more than enough."
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
***The third stanza can be read in several ways. It depends on how you read it (as two collums, one full stanza, etc.) Hope you enjoy :)
The headlines would never see Truth.
She is too truthful.
Their lies would never believe her.
She would scream
"Beautiful land taken away."
They would shout
"New zoos opening!"
O' humans,
You have stolen me!
I am your beautiful prisoner.
This dark place will never be a home.
My people will dwindle down.
They will become the ice caps on this warming planet.
People will disbelieve all they want until they see the impact
"Too little, too late."
Down to the bone my loves will gnaw on what they can.
Mother Earth Is the World
Food Supplies Gone
Water Supplies Down
And Father Sun Forever heating up
Can everything truly be done
Because people wanted to have fun?
Humans are you so shallow
That you let vanity corrupt untamed lands?
I used to be Africa a land of beauty.
Where even the blind man could see me.
I used to be Africa a land of love.
Then you took my people and made them slaves.
I used to be Africa a land of resources.
Then you took what you could
And stole the rest.
My sticky molasses was not strong enough to hold me together.
Instead I stuck to more places than could be counted.
The number grew until there was no more to hold.
Coming together became a chore.
I lost little pieces here and there.
They started to grow like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slowly becoming connected together.
Slithering snakes snaked their way up smothering my breath.
Snakes with innocence for faces and trust for eyes.
Soon my land was used.
Minerals and gems taken.
Goodbye darling tanzanite.
Food and animals taken.
Goodbye Quagga.
Impact has come and people now try.
They start to help Mother Earth.
Reducing, reusing and recycling.
They're efforts die as they see they cannot bear the tide.
They live with a history rooted in fame.
Now it seems their lives cannot be filled more with shame.
They stay under waiting for their blunder
to take its toll.
They have no misery in what they see.
They do not care about my history.
I start my flame
and light the embers.
I no longer an smothered
The humans are.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
We made sapphire-love.
It was tanzanite-rare,
and emerald-lucky.
I took a ruby-risk
and left us
with onyx.
And amethyst-hauntings--
-LP
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
Memories of bruises
Velvet fit for kings
In the petals of a pansey
Oily sheen of raven's wings
The inside of a geode
Tanzanite in rarest form
The color of a baby's face
Right after it is born
It is the color indgo
To red violet of wine
Tracing stormy sunsets or
Boganvilla vines
Plums and grapes
remind one
Of purple's strange appeal
The color of great bravery
A wound which finally heals
Whatever your mentality
This collage of purple hues
Is simply a mixture of
The colors red & blue
SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/2/2017
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 8:39 AM UTC
Carol of the bells shes the lady
in her arm chair twinkles
Any state jeweled fair
Prayers of garland birds
Zip it Zircon pardon me
December remember the stone
Triumph tanzanite He's
"Superman Crimsonite"
Debutante Peacock turquoise
Applause noise and noise
"Princess Owl State Fair"
Violin ballantine clock
Her heart key silent night lock
The artist ceilng sings
"Cheeks divine she blushes
Silk fine print brushes"
Pointsetta ruby wings
"Thomas Kincade" walls
Light the promenade
Princess gown wanderlust
Power pride sleigh ride
Eyes of the owl lady stunner
Plays royalty no brainer
"Princess Owl" tree topper
Nov 22, 2019
Nov 22, 2019 at 7:59 AM UTC
Tanzanite
Just when you think it will rain forever.
That you’ll never see the sun again.
A small accident of wonderful happens.
Hot glazed doughnuts fall out of the sky.
She wore blue boots.
A diamond stud in her perfect nose.
And a ring the color of a cautionary tale.
Naturally— she was blonde.
An uncomplicated spark leapt between us.
Like something out of an IKEA box.
Only a fool believes in love at first sight.
A wise man needs an hour in an airport bar.
I slipped a dime into the dark slot of her cleavage.
And tugged gently on her red lacquered finger.
She guessed my weight and read my fortune.
Looked into me like an x-ray machine.
The problem with airplanes is they fly away.
She kissed me on both cheeks like a French girl.
Then disappeared into jet fumes and freezing rain.
A vapor trail of possibility or pipe dream.
The next day I climbed a windmill.
Like a Portuguese sailor in the rigging.
I scribbled a message onto a cocktail napkin.
And stuffed it into a bottle.
Then I pitched it into the desert sea.
It arced like a golden comet.
And splashed into the sand and sage.
Throwing sparks of Tanzanite.
The color of her boots.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
I stand in front of a baroque mirror; grand,
gold, gilded with leaves, grapes, dolphins
angels, swans and shells. So wonderful, and
proud on my chamber wall. And in it, I see
myself in a fitted dress, velvet, and of the
deepest plum kissed by gold-jacquard; a
single, heart-shaped Tanzanite suspended
from the girdle belt; the skirts trailing
behind me.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
I marvel how the light hits the embroidered
florals with pearls and diamonds; they sweetly
glint and wink, sending shards of the rainbow
around my room. Around my slim throat,
a pendant, a coin with lace doily pattern,
and amethyst at the core the size of
a robin's egg.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
Across my forehead, a golden diadem
decorated with filigree, beaded with pearls,
delicate gem tendrils and patterned with
lotuses and lilies, the symbol of my proud
Aurelinaea. As I tuck a black curly ringlet
behind my ear, my earrings twinkles,
tear-cut, Tanzanite, with gold filigree.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"My Lady has had a long day indeed,"
my senior handmaid Ainhana smiles
and waves her hands, her menagerie of
handmaids begin to help me undress.
Removing the jewellery, removing my
diadem, unlacing my dress and
removing my corsets and heels.
"You must be relieved that it is over."
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Yes I am," I sigh as a handmaid presents
my iris-purple kimono robe which I slip
into. Another maid presents a large bowl of
rosewater while the other held a silver tray,
upon it, a milk-white towel spun from rose-silk.
I proceed to wash the make-up from my face.
The delicate aroma fills my nose, as my skin
feels cleaner, feels purer. As the waters drip,
I use the towel to wipe my face and pat
the rosy drops down.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 4:10 AM UTC
You are the daisy that refuses to drown in the rain,
instead you continue to grow even through a hurricane.
You are the special work of art that no artist could ever recreate;
such a beautiful creation that there are many people you captivate.
You are the scattered sequin-silver moon dust in the sky
illuminating the darkness, giving people hope with your own lullaby.
You spread light in waves like the sea;
you’re incredibly inspiring to many including me.
You are tanzanite - a precious stone- so rare and valuable;
to everyone you meet, you have infinite worth - and that is admirable.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
The evening turns to night, the night
to day, the day to afternoon until I
come upon the evening, preparing for
the Gala. There is a knock on my door
before it opens, I turn to see my mother
there. Age has no way diminished her
beauty - her black curls packed into a
high up-do, streaked with silver.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
Her dress is that of gentle blue embroidered
silk and long open sleeves, skirts flared
fastened at her waist; a winking silver crown
upon her head; a antique lace fan in her hand
with carved angels that make the rose-ivory
guard. "You're still not ready? The carriage
has just arrived."
"I know, Mother."
"Well, give them my regards. I'll see that every
thing runs smoothly."
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Thank you," I smile and nod as the handmaids
added the finishing touches. My dress is
much like my mother's but it's off-the-shoulder,
a deeper, velvet blue with gold floral motifs
wrapping around my body; the corset is laced
as then the jewellery, a filigree diadem with a
tanzanite core, a gold lily necklace, earrings
and a girdle belt with a swooping diamond
core.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC