Category Archives: Poetry

Colors

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This one was fun to write.

 

Purple

Vigor of violets

Color of rumpled tumble

A floral nectar

Indigo days

Creativity

A little sad but a lot of fun

Close your eyes and it lingers still

Smell the purple

Taste the purple

Fall backwards into a field

Of purple

 

Red

Gold flowing molten

Red weave of amber sunshine

Angular

Spicy

A piece of brittle shard

Cut of blood

Mane of light

Flaming

 

Blue

Wide open

Unending

Clear and nothing

Space

 

Space

 

A peaceful breeze

The round scent of ozone

Let your muscles uncurl

Sweet blue

 

Orange

Orange loves you

But orange is poison

Glares on the eyes

Beckons

Demands attention

Explosion

Venom

Construction

But also laces

the delicate wings of butterflies

Orange defends

Protects

Attacks

 

Green

Vivid life

Everything

Weighty with moisture

A bug

A hundred billion bugs

One leaf

Ten quadrillion fragrant green leaves

The balming scent of cut grass

The shade of bounty

 

Yellow

Joy

Pure unrefined joy

A trickle of urine

A trickle of light

Lemon meringue pie

A picnic on a bright day

A ten kilowatt smile

Warmth

Gummy bears

 

White

They say white is purity

White is also crisp

Anemic

Orderly

Functional

Clean

Like bleach

Cruel

Like bleach

Uncompromising

Amoral

Focused yet empty

 

Black

Black is the night

Lit by fireflies

Lit by stars

Filled with lovemaking

Black is chilly

But quiet

She keeps your secrets

The things you committed in white

Black is kind

With resting bitchface

Our love is

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I don’t write you many love poems

Because we’re too alike.

We are both too sarcastic

To boast of Shakespearean attachments: there is no life without my love and all that.

That’s just terrifying.

No, our love is a fine friendship

Only slightly crippled by your bad puns.

Our love is perfect honesty without condemnation.

Our love is to give each other absolute freedom

And watch the other return again and again.

Our love is the ability to bring each other back to our senses.

Our love is when I let you have the last piece of chocolate

Or when you notice I’m cold and turn off the AC.

A thousand tiny untold sacrifices.

There is no obsession here.

There is only kindness

Generosity

A willing ear.

It’s a fond knowledge

That someone good

Is always there for me at the end of the day.

Villanelle – To the Razor

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I’ve never written a villanelle before. It was like a jigsaw puzzle. Something about having to pore over the lines so carefully removes me from the work by a few degrees, so I found myself taking on a little bit of a character as I wrote it.

 

To the Razor

 

You promise freedom but you’re just a hook.

Reflect my wasted life in your dark shine.

I can’t afford to pay for what you took.

 

Fishy in a bathtub, not a brook

I can’t believe I’m sucking on your line – –

You promise freedom but you’re just a hook.

 

There’s no reseating all the things you shook.

The friends and health and prospects that were mine.

I can’t afford to pay for what you took.

 

The brief relief of bright pain made me look.

My eyes are open now that there’s no time.

You promise freedom but you’re just a hook.

 

You shitty little con man. Thieving crook.

You told me you were peace but you were lying.

I can’t afford to pay for what you took.

 

Oh Jesus is it true my soul’s forsook?

A miracle: bathwater turned to wine.

You promise freedom but you’re just a hook.

I can’t afford to pay for what you took.

Laundry Cycles

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“After enlightenment, laundry.”

I love this proverb. It means several things to me:

  • No matter how much you try to think your way around it, the material world exists and must be dealt with.
  • When you attain enlightenment, you are finally capable of handling reality.
  • After you attain enlightenment, you’ll inevitably get brought back down again to square one.  Everything cycles. Laundry cycles. Heh.

I have a poem about cycles. I’ve referenced this concept before in other poems. Let me dig it up and see if it’s still any good.

…Hm. It’s not perfect but it has its moments. I’ll post it anyway. Maybe I’ll rewrite it one day when I’m not half asleep.

 

Death is like a birth

The quiet room

The person in pain

The inevitability

The climax

And the uselessness of those standing beside the bed

Their helplessness and inability

All you can do

Is hold the hand of the dying

And wish them speed

And wish them peace

And do the best you can

To make them comfortable.

 

The breathing labors

The breathing hitches

A moment of silence

And then someone cries.

 

Death is a birth

Out of the dead

Springs new life

First the microbial and bacterial

Then the insects and things without spines

Then perhaps a mammal will take choice bits

And a bird scavenges what’s left

Only bones and ligaments remain

A mammal breaks into the marrow

Insects and spineless things clean up the ligaments

Bacteria and microbes break down the bone

And we rejoin the earth

To become once again a plant, an herbivore, a carnivore, a human, a plant.

Everything in cycles

Cycles within cycles

Death within birth

Birth within death

Life in cycles

Crescendoes, abatements

Everything has been done

Nothing is ever finished

Everything corkscrews

DNA

Planets

Everything

And we are so dizzy with it

As we die,

Birth,

Die,

Birth

 

Of course this has been noticed before

The wheel of time

The Mayan calendar

The Golden Spiral

And it will be discovered anew

By the next generation

Forgotten

Discovered

Forgotten

Discovered

A Little Sad

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When I promised honesty, that wasn’t so much for you as it was a promise to myself. Every single thing I post is a little bit scary to put out there, whether it’s silly, or straightforward, or sad. I’m not sure why I’m being so strict with myself. Well, yes I do. I know that it’s good for me, and I know that writing is missing something when it is written by a person who won’t let you see past their walls. Posting about being sad is the hardest though. Vulnerability… Just the word makes me cringe. It’s so gooey sounding.

 

It’s easy to write a poem

When you feel something.

When passion rises

Words are cheap.

But when you’re sad

Every word has to battle its way to the surface.

I have nothing to be sad about.

All my needs are met.

I have people whom I love

And who love me.

I have access to all the chocolate I can eat

And the freedom and funds to do so.

I even have the Tao; something I can believe in.

I let go of resentment and guilt.

Yet still

Still there are days

When I am sad

And I can’t

Pin down

Why.

My sister doesn’t get sad.

She told me so.

There are people like that in the world.

There are also people in shitty situations

Who have so much trouble they don’t have time to be sad.

Maybe I’m not being true to myself somehow

Maybe I’ve inherited something

Maybe the happy people are the anomalies

And to be sad is merely human.

Maybe it’s in our nature to strive for more

No matter how much we have.

Maybe I’ll go to sleep

And tomorrow morning

Everything will be rosy again

As it so often is.

For me, the morning really does bring light.

 

It’s gotten better with age.

I’ve learned coping mechanisms

I’ve learned to express myself

I’ve learned to get exercise.

All these things make a difference.

But I guess there are some things

You can’t completely rub out.

Everything leaves scars.

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