love
its a beautiful thing really,
its brutal, its strong
it so deep, and so heartwarming,
and at the same time,
it makes me want to cry, scream
pound my bed,
punch the white cement wall until my knuckles are ******, raw
and the wall has a display of reds.
it makes me want to break an elegant expensive vase, and crush it in my hand.
its destructive, desired, dangerous,
and yet
i want to laugh
i want to sing
and dance!
dance to oh what a night
dance with my yellow watercolored pillow case, with my favorite pillow stuffed inside
oh, love is so peculiar isn’t it?
its spectacular,
and its like standing in the middle of a ballroom
where dresses and suit ties of different hues reflect the chandelier light hanging from the ceiling,
an array of rainbows cast on the walls.
and yet, theres an emptiness…
one I’m afraid i cannot fill, and rely on you to.
its like standing in an ocean of chaos, of excitement and watching it from afar at the same time.
i can see myself swimming with the sharks, yet i am a bystander
as the thread of my life is strung tautly,
i watch myself bleed, gruesomely torn to pieces
i watch as the water darkens from spilt wine,
the wine that was once salty becomes sickly sweet around me
but i continue watching myself become bones stuck in their teeth.
its like being in an aquarium, encased in water,
and yet, still not a part of it, a distance, yet, a proximity
i watch myself drown through the looking glass, unable to help.
the sign says don’t tap the glass, but i pound and pound.
I am the only one watching myself slowly slow, and slowly stop.
stop breathing, stop fighting.
love is holding your breath, being cautious, yet careless.
Its diving recklessly, unsure whether to be sober, or drunk,
and being both.
its like seeing myself on a high diving board, the water beneath is so deep,
it seems to never start, and never end at the same time.
I can see myself, on the edge peering over,
scared to take a leap of faith,
yet relived i can still feel the sharp breaths,
nervous stomach,
because it means i can still feel, i am still capable of human emotions
i thought had left me long ago, before you.

As if we’re the first two brushstrokes.
As if our hands
together clasped emerging out of serene water
everything. Spending our time
chasing light in shadow
acting nonchalant about it.

From her window we saw
headlights moving up and
down the city. Their light
against the glass watercolored
by raindrops.
I remember how the curtains held her.

If I could peel just the flowers
off her wallpaper, suspend
them over us in midair and
have them come to life––
In the heat of it all, I’d let them
fall in slow motion.

stepping back into the west
chills reverberate up and down my spine
chiseling open obsolescent padlocks
dangling with dust
on ancient treasure chests

pallid colors in the attic release
a blossoming familiarity
faint hints of retrospections float on faded paper
granting me access to roads
where no map is needed

as i peruse the streets
my heart flows coalescing with the vicinity
caressing each detail i transform to fluid
and fuse with the past
through fresh strokes of watercolored memories

recollections flash before my eyes
revealing antiquated stories
though thought forgotten
an etched history endeavors to define me
renewing itself as i turn each corner

i shudder at some remembrances while encompassing others
through synchronicity realization hits
that I am all of it
yet none of it
at the same time

familiar faces paint meaning onto me
no longer do they know me
yet they airbrush vestiges of yesteryear
and coat me with connotations
i allow them to think i am whatever they imagine

i morph into their canvas temporarily
then break free in multi-dimensionality
they don't hear me with a new listening
no longer invested in their projections
once sharp triggers now appear in soft focus

an auspicious mist lies around the edges
of my former life
it is as if i never left
yet traces of the east lie sandpapered in me
a maturation commingles with my former self

flushing out on my skin
tethering newfound emotions
a gentle gratitude for home territory
nestles softly
inward

i listen to the clicks
of my scuffed cowboy boots
on acquainted yet somehow distant sidewalks
the echoes layering multiple impressions
glimmering with the utter beauty of this terrain

as I wander through the majestic rocky mountains
drinking in the quaking aspen's crimson edges
interfacing the evergreens
hushed whispers of autumn loftily rest
juxtaposed neatly against futures waiting to unfurl in the wind

an amalgamation of intimate sights and scents
dance in open wounds
dazzling
homesickness cured
a wholeness returned

as winter's crystal dawn blooms
i realize the depth of my growth
for in leaving here and returning
i cherish the west
my home

©2016 janetaylor

Tonight, in the darkness of this dimly lit earth,
The infinite stars burn with a translucent color of yellow
resembling the
bulbous moon
shifting, watching.

The trees stretch their willowy spines
over sprouting flowers
against a backdrop of watercolored silhouettes.
A cold rush of air trickles through
leaving behind drops of dew;
lilies, laburnum, larkspur.

Dawn, with her elongated fingers and wispy breath,
steals away into the night.
Patterned and fixated on the early hours of
rose colored reveries when all the earth
bows to the morning star.

And here we lie.
Broken people eclipsed
with secrets, wishes, dreams.
Waiting for our chance
to mask, to revel in the beauty
of a single muse.


Kara Troglin

chilly morning wind awakens my skin
             her mystical electric blue cat
   dances in the daylight
me green fox spirit yogas on the hill
    dilly-dallying licking air droplets
dreaming of a sacred light,
the mirror meadow is a sphere of reflection,
      A rasta moose and a few gnostic bunnies sit in a drum circle
hashing and workin out a rhythm for the dawn....
Bebop bear bares it's soul in the lapis lake,
      meditating on his thankful Mother Nature and her blacklight berry provisions,
Technicolor roses nuzzle together by the water,
          velvet vines hug willow trees created of patched fabric
as prink energy embraces the wise tai-chi eagles
      atop the ruby mountains.
Serene gardens brush away dirt blankets
        fire flowers,
  light flowers
lilac compassion illuminate the shade
autumn leaves of time flutter toward sky horizons ......
watercolored wickiups
          and spray-paint thipis rest closeby
as the timeline continues to be sewn.

He wore nothing other than black even in the summer, his crystal blue eyes reflected ocean-hues and had jet black ink that could slightly be seen under the sleeve of his tattered and torn Rolling Stones tee. That boy, he was quite a mystery, had the body language of a jigsaw puzzle not wanting to be mended, although it was all opaque to me, others saw him impenetrable, however, I read him like my favorite book. This boy is exactly like me intelligent yet covert, impassive and esoteric yet a universe full of secrets and unspoken thoughts. It seemed as if his soul was somber and consumed nothing but vacuity. But I saw a masterpiece, a messily painted work of art, and that was the beauty of it. Others saw chaos on a canvas while I saw every watercolored hue that completed the exotic illustration that was, Luke.

"What are you doing here?"

It was the wrong place
for pale, blonde Ms. Molly.
She was into God and other holy things
like Sundays.

2 a.m.

Everybody turned a shade of grey,
meaning nothing to me,
only Molly,
her crystal blue eyes watercolored
by murky bongwater,
at my personal Mother Superior's home.

"What?"

"I said, 'What are you doing here?'"

"Just bored, I guess."

"****. Really?"

"Yeah, this guy-um...****...Chris-no-"

"Brooks" said Brooks.

"Brooks is like a friend of mine. He sits
by me n'stuff."

Somebody put on Neutral Milk Hotel's
"O Comely" and we all sang along.
Innocent, our melody felt like
a jagged kaleidoscope.
I passed the ****, no hit for me, not tonight,
to appreciate Molly's smiles I wanted to be
coherent.

"You know, Josh, it's ******* weird."

"What?"

"That I haven't talked to you in four years,
and then we end up at the same campus,
and we are best friends."

She leaned over and kissed my smokey, worn
cheek. Her lips smooth, fine.
No one around said a word.
Everyone knew she had a man.
But are best friends allowed to
be lovers from time to time?
I ******* hope so.

Garden to my left,
colors so bright
the snapdragons and sweet peas
nod their watercolored heads
in the morning's silken light
chutney-colored wall
leading to my door
shoes neatly stacked
with toys in baskets
upon the concrete-patterned floor
plants align the window sill,
marking the flipside to my kitchen
reminding me of wafting tastes
in the form of stir-fry
or juicy chicken
to the right
a pumpkin-spiced ball of fur
my Ginger nestled tight
body rising and falling
in deep slumber's purr
his springtime pillow
puffed just right
The laughter I hear
fills my ears and heart
as children, (mine, too)….play
and I sit with my legs upon the
Tupperware chair
and contemplate the day
Between my palms Turkish coffee
entices with its delicious steam
and here come the thought police
to interrupt my desert dream

Back off *******,
I'm not going to jail.

my memory of you
of us
of me
now seems like a watercolored painting.
a messy canvas
in which the colors are all blending together.
Yet it is still a bright one
with reds and oranges
just like my dress
the one that you loved
the one that you took off of me with your  mouth
you hands barley touching me
yet I craved them
I craved to be in that  small warm space
between your breath and my skin.

Now
we are
only what we were:
A beautiful painting.

Every now and then
I take the painting out
dust it off
hang it up.
I hang it up on  the various walls in my new home.
The yellow wall in my living room
The lilac walls of my bedroom.
I cannot  seem to find a place for it.
In my memory it shall stay.

In my memory is where
your strong hands
your tender smell
your beautiful face
your energy
that shook me
that took me
for the ride of my young life
shall stay.

the city lights
press their wings
against the glass,
watercolored
by raindrops.

her walls a profusion
of coral rich
carnations getting lost
in them remembering
how the curtains held her.

in the heat of it all,
the flowers begin
to peel themselves
off the wallpaper,
suspend themselves
over us in midair,
coming to life,
falling in slow motion.

Everyday,
I've gazed upon your enchanting visage.
Not the most beautiful of 'em all,
but there's something spellbinding
about you.
Like an iridescent pearl inside of an oyster.

Everyday,
I chant magnificent lyrics,
hoping that you could hear
harmonious melodies
that you've bestowed
unto my heart.
Beating --- slowly ---
at the march of your drum.
As if our hearts
are tethered as one;
intertwining our fate.

One hollows eve,
you've seen something special in me,
so you took a pair of scissors,
and cut my stem
from this rambunctious thicket.

I loved the feeling of your hand.
Warm, tender, yet firm.
It contrasts the bitter air
that latches onto your skin,
making its hairs stand on its end.
I could've made you feel cozy,
but sadly,
I didn't.

You took me to places
that makes my eyes water
every time I reminisce
about
us.

Do you still remember
when we went to the beach
with white sands
that feels like soft powder
on your skin?
A sunset that looks like
a vast canvass
watercolored with intricate brush strokes
of saturated rose quartz',
lilacs, and oranges.
Palm trees lined up for miles.
We've Imbibed on ardent spirits
while looking at the ravishing scenery.
How I've ached for this moment
to last
for more than one's own sweet time.

We headed off to your apartment.
After we've entered,
we took our jackets and scarves off
before heading to your kitchen.
You made hot cocoa
with tiny bits of marshmallows for you,
and iced americano for me.
We looked at each others iris'
as we talked for hours on end,
about life's devious plots.

Those eyes---
It's gentle, but at the same time,
you could see a great inferno
burning inside those scintillating garnets.
I know that it's a little unnerving,
but I'm having a hard time
resisting this unquenchable urge
to stare at it.

After our extensive heartfelt conversation,
silence filled the room.
Silence so sharp and numbing,
it could shatter glass.
In a heartbeat,
you've extended your hand,
so I held it.
Casted me a bewitching gaze
that made my heart skip a wallop.
Your cheeks turned into a florid tone,
and the nipping air
started to seem tranquil.
I could only feel this longing desire
of lovingly interweaving with your threads,
and so did you.

Stumbling about,
you dragged me into your balcony garden,
took a final look at my dilating visors,
before you started to inch towards my face, and clasped your cold, tender lips against mine.
My mind turned crepuscular,
as I held your waist tightly,
pressed my weight against yours,
and fervently kissed you
between this ragged concrete wall.

We slipped out of our clothes
like snakes shedding out of its skin,
and sprawled it all over the algid floor.
I carefully laid you on the sofa,
and gently nipped your delicate,
fragrant neck.
You dug your nails passionately
on my shoulder blades,
as I necked you from a gentle
to a rough pace.
Maybe I went too hard,
hence the noticeable congelation.
My lips slowly traced her neck,
down to her navel.
I could feel pain crossed with pleasure,
as you harshly tugged on my mane
while I gorged on your grand banquet.
We sat up and tightly embraced.
You enlaced your legs on my waist,
as I've cautiously entered your temple.
My love, we're one at last.
I could hear your gentle moans
as we heaved and weaved
through this concupiscent atmosphere
that we've invoked.
The longer this lasts, the more I could feel our bond growing stronger.

Two suns
finally reached its eminent zenith.
We laid on our backs,
desperately catching our breath
while laying on a puddle of perspiration.
We've gazed at each others' eyes,
and let out fits of giggling.

If only I knew that this would be
our final jocund moment together,
I would've savored it more.

Woke up with a note
stating that there's breakfast on the table.
Runny sunny side eggs, buttered toast,
and pan seared cherry tomatoes.
I would've ate
if you blessed me with you presence,
but I don't have the appetite
to break my fast at this instance.

I dressed myself, and grabbed my jacket
before I left.

Dusk turned into dawn,
and there's no sign of you.
I keep texting and ringing you up,
but to no avail.
I ended up falling asleep,
while looking at our pictures on my phone.

At my favorite café,
I was enjoying my morning brew,
but my vision turned blue,
when I saw you holding another rose.
Hastily, I ran up to you.
I was expecting a warm welcome,
but all I got was a cold shoulder.
You pretended that I was just another
blockhead rambling about.
After you brushed me off
and went your way,
my chest ached and my aqueducts opened to let excess tears gush out.

Every 3:00AM I wake up
to my heart thundering
and cold sweats;
turning breathing into a herculean task.
Memories starts to flood in.
I'm at my wit's end,
clinging onto the last fibers
of my sanity.

Gradually, my petals started to wilt.
Petal by petal
they fall off,
swaying in the air's gentle cradle,
before landing on autumn leaves.

Everything about you torments me,
but I'd rather stay,
than live without you.

What kind of monster are you?
You gave my world color,
when everything was monotone.
Left me without admonishment
about my cruel predicament.
Left me on the sidewalk,
feeling like trash.

Now everyday, I think about you.

Everyday, I long for you.

Everyday, I love you.

Everyday--- I'm dying slowly.

flat washes of ink in blue and pink
dragged fingers across the sky
leaving fuzz and glitter in their touch
heavy colors leave me feeling light
the trees give me breath in the morning crisp light and i am mist
floating and twinkling in the air
feet touch the floor
the cool air with its hands
interlocks with my fingers

my hand wishes for yours
it reaches and it falls
empty promises that i’d wish you made
so maybe i can hope for someday
the sky wasnt made- with its pretty pastel shades
to enjoy on my own

pretend with me
take my hand like you can
walk with me like our feet can eat the miles between us
let our lungs fill with freshness
let your lips touch mine
i know you cant but
please step into this painting of a world with me
hold my hand and smile at the watercolored sky
dont tell me yes or no or why
just kiss me under inky pink skies

I remember those poignant
vignettes she wrote last year
they watercolored my heart
and made my pride so delicate
at a time when the sun set
every day and I watched it
thinking of her and the music
played and overflowing
nostalgia trickled down
my cheeks illuminated
by the oh god sun please
I dont want to grow up

I am a work of art,
A colorful canvas now shaded gray,
I am suddenly clueless in my own dementia,
Wrinkled paper mache,
Stories to tell but long forgotten,
Faded memories make me smile,
My complex concentration so frustrating,
Everything should be a no brainer but it's not,
Peace of mind is a struggle inside my head,
My visual perception is altered and is watercolored and muted,
Youth was a blunder to me,
I have more wrinkles but fewer doubts,
My fear is my vanity,
Growing old is a privilege, denied by many.
Not I.  
I am a classic beauty.

it is the ides of march
and i might not be caesar but
i want to be stabbed

******* **** me
and bury me in a cerulean lake
alone and cold and kissed
saddened by the puckers of a watercolored paper
and emptied by a lovers hollow email
telling me goodbye

The Funeral of Daniel Adams

We gather today,
Under granite sky,
To mourn and pray,
To celebrate and cry,

Daniel was a haunted soul,
Who loved his friends and kin,
Weight of the worlds toll,
Who bottled it all within,

An keen eye for art,
For beauty, music and life,
A large, giving heart,
Watercolored with strife,

Last time we spoke,
He promised he was okay,
Even ended on a joke,
Thinking it a good end to the day,

Daniel thought everyone was lying,
Wanted him around to use and pity,
Inside he was crying,
Hours, absently cruising the city,

Always answered his phone,
Any hour of the night,
Forgiving, but not one to condone,
Always had my back in a fight,

In the end,
He never sought care,
Only others he’d defend,
His plain truth, life isn’t fair,

Given this world a lot of good,
Even lost, he was there,
Lost in would’ve and should,
A dreamer, one to dare,

He dreamt of peace,
Of distant shores and bays,
His demons shackled, no cease,
Screaming at them in empty hallways,

I wish he sought someone out,
Reach out, when he was drowning,
Backup in his mental bout,
Before dark thought started crowning,

I would’ve listened,
If you needed aid, or to cry,
Now our eyes glisten,
You didn’t have to die,

You left a hole,
On my phone but not here,
Not just your own time stole,
Leaving us sorrow and a tear,

Celebrate your life, weep your death,
I wish you decided not to leave,
Shaking under my breath,
We love and grieve,

Just another year...
Instead we sing your song,
Thinking you’d always be near,
We’re confused, scared, hurt, we were wrong,

You were a good son,
A good brother,
Quick with a joke or pun,
Preaching peace among one another,

But drowned in his demons screams,
Droning out the song he sung,
Haunted in fever dreams,
When he turned his own gun,

Daniel, you know me,
I don’t easily rattle,
Just can’t believe I didn’t see,
Grieving you lost your battle,

We’ll always have your memory set,
Venting, emotions to release,
Know we’ll never forget,
Wherever you are, find your peace,

laughter
weaves
herself
through
the
watercolored
autumn leaves
then
catapults
herself
through
the
pink cotton  candy clouds
with
laughter
i
believe

my mind was the canvas
soaking up your words
   like paint
leaving me with a watercolored picture
   of a love.

Strong waters weep
& pull plains into valleys.
Grey skies pooling in the lane.

Strange fungus sprouts
over an eager head
and delight splashes from dancing toes.

Damp airs paint brighter hues
before our eyes
and gleaming we proclaim

There's nothing like a rain sustaining
to remind us
how th'roughly we are streaked with art.

life
is a patch of light
watercolored canvas
with
autumn leaves
pumpkin orange
red gold indigo
and
mustard green
made of
odd and even
brush strokes
that
color my dreams
that
a patch of light

where does the line between rose and blue lies
opposite directions meet me at the edging spot
is it a coma or a dot?
melody swings like bird sings swimming in sun dust
some silent men and women clear that noise in the time sun rises hold their brushes
clean streets today have no smell of spring
i paint a lot for that, the smell of start
my hands are aching drying out black inks formed to letters
formed into paws
long pauses
and a quick jump of a cat
chasing birds feathers
cry of help
breath in paint smell ,crush, cross, ruin that line
Imagination is fooling you
start the lies.

no cream can help to cure your featherless skin
Sunburns are breaking walls. isn’t it heartbreaking?
i bite my hands to the blood
meeting dead birds
they are the first flowers in spring
victims of unclear hands
turned out to be dusty paws
last breath of aching winter
long long time before rose blooms
it has her spines
sharpened before strike
no one can get inside your mind
line of thought is under words
line of rose is under spine
line of blue is under song
of a bird
carryied away with the gentle touch of a watercolored brush
of a woman
or a man.

potted paints in tins
glass water bottled dipped with brush's tip
crouched at a baby table back hurting knees hurting hand hurting head hurting
this is art
watercolored spit is this enough for you
of course not

another cake but without cream
my tooth lethal leveled sweet
didn't even read
fine print in the footer
of birth certificate
"may contain mentally sick"
I'll die of too much sugar
if not first by bullet to the head or any particular sharp edge
this house takes anger and consumes it straight
presumes hate
don't touch me
I don't feel safe with my roommates