Image by bdpeterson from Pixabay
You see your freckles as
the sun marking you as you age;
I see them as a hybrid game
of connect-the-dots with kisses
and color-by-numbers where
my lips brush skin till filled
with a rosy blush, augmenting
exquisite mixed-medium
masterpiece.
Pucker-up, sweet
sun-kissed canvas.
***
Written for dVerse Quadrille #84, hosted by Mish. Other poets have contributed to this prompt here.
Jupiter, above my backyard, at dusk (Image by author)
The light fades from view, draining sky of its blue
sooner today than yesterday, upon dimming
clouds’ late summer shrug. A youngling’s
paradoxically mature leaves reflect retreating light
greater than majestic firs, but it too will yield
to darkness, youthful promise embraced by
earth’s shade. A confused rooster serenades
our good earth’s face turning away from our day.
He is joined by pampered, overfed dogs,
for the coyote song was forever silenced by
boxy condos where wetlands once came alive
at this hour. After the golden hour became
a greying sliver, the hues bowing-out,
merging with dusk till it is unclear where
one fence ends, and another begins,
all becomes clear and fair as shades of grey
fade to black, leaving only twinkling untouched
overhead, for twilight comes for us equally.
***
Written for Real Toads Weekend Mini Challenge: Let Evening Come, hosted by Kim M. Russell.
Photo by Banter Snaps on Unsplash
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling away.
“Just holding you,” I murmured drowsily, gently pulling her close.
“This is inappropriate,” she protested, squinting. “And what’s with that light?”
“This is only gratitude,” I replied. “Nothing more.”
“Gratitude?” she scoffed. “I don’t even know you.”
“I know,” I said. “And I don’t know you, but thanks to you, I know a thousand words for the color blue, and so I dreamt I was the moon creeping into your window, spooning you, comforting you with borrowed glow of yesterday and tomorrow, coiling your secrets into the crux of my crescent, never to see daylight again.”
“Oh,” she said. “You doing this for all of us?”
“Yes,” I said. “Now shh!”
And after a pregnant silence, she said, “You know we’re all gone now, right?”
“Yes,” I whispered through tears.
“But take this with you.”
***
This is a tribute to the victims, survivors, and families of the Kyoto Animation Studio arson/mass-murder that claimed the lives of 34 innocent and brilliant artists. I don’t have any more words to convey my grief and sorrow, but if, like me, you ache to flood the void caused by this act of hate with acts of love, contribute to the GoFundMe setup by Sentai Filmworks. Other ways to help can be found here.
Written for dVerse Prosery #2, hosted by sarahsouthwest. Others contributed to this prompt here.
Also shared at Poets United Poetry Pantry #488.
Photo by Daniel Olah on Unsplash
Summer sunsets are the laziest, followed leisurely by dusk layering softer, dimmer pastels as if Saturday were being saturated by a steady drizzle of chocolate sundae topping, even lingering as prelude to indigo, with tree leaves reflecting slivers of light, giving them an ethereal glow, and as roosting birds sing to replace loneliness with companionship, adding their voices to the frogs in the pond beyond the vanishing horizon, I smile in gratitude of her unhurried transit.
westward moving sun
carrying her solar tides
twilight consumes me
***
Written for Real Toads Weekend Mini-Challenge: Summer Solstice, hosted by Toni Spencer.
Photo by Hugo Kemmel on Unsplash
Standing on rocky midnight shore, the sound of the Sound beckoned his return to where he began decades ago; his wish, to bookend his life where ancient kinship first drew breath.
He intended to breathe saltwater and snuff-out all that rotten progress.
He’d just wade into the frigid current until the chill melted into warmth, freeing him of the dread of empathy among the specter of cosmic apathy.
Inhaling brine should sever the unending sinewave bouncing between two extremes.
Knee-deep within numbing, moonlit, black-reflected muck, the cold needles through, forcing his breath shallow. Waist-deep, and the current beckons him forward to rejoin infinity and nothingness.
He begins surrendering to uncompromising fate he’s chosen when far away an interrupted cry of a drowning woman breaks him from indulgence. He summons reserve to drag her back to the rocks.
“You’re welcome,” smiled the mermaid he “saved”.
***
Written for dVerse Prosery #1, hosted by Björn Rudberg (brudberg). Others have contributed to this prompt here.
Blue sky is a liar; her limits are blue
Her lies transmute fires that weld me to you
The sun brings to light every pigment we hide
Our surface perspires; misty deja-vu
The wind carries laughter, cool respite, rain’s scent
Nostalgia transpires; soil smelling of you
The earth turns away as my summer sun sets
Our shadows conspire to blend beyond view
To know is to love – is to hurt you, I fear
My love won’t expire; pain melds me to you
Whisper to the night, as blue-sky gathers lies
When your Bear retires, new moon guides us through.
***
Written for dVerse Poetry Form: Ghazal, hosted by Grace this week. Other poets have contributed here.
Image by author
I don’t believe in it
it’s an obvious lie
not whether or not
it should exist, mind you
but its alleged existence
in an existential sense
there is no such thing
as interracial marriage
there is only the union
of those vowing to unite
for life is far longer
than most would know,
far shorter than we think
and it is ripe with vile horrors,
disappointments and cruelties,
and capricious random chaos, and so
if while navigating our bedlam
providence smiles upon you
as you brave muck and misery alone,
and you’re lucky enough to find
someone whom you vibe with
who leads with kindness, loves with
gentleness, rewards loyalty in-kind,
and makes you want to rise
to face the winds of fate
with a defiant smile on your face
then what in multicultural hell
does it matter of their lineage, creed,
sexual preference,
or the color of their skin?
Image by author
***
Originally posted on Medium.
Of course, I couldn’t pick just one rendition…
Shared on dVerse Open Link Night.
Photo by Ian Schneider on Unsplash
never understood her,
wish I could’ve felt I was
good-enough for her,
the most popular girl in school,
the top-of-the-class, with class to boot,
the most smartest, the biggest-hearted,
the most valedictorian-charted,
I valued her diction; her glory from afar,
like the twinkle of the stars in her eyes,
she spied me in the lower-brackets
perched in the basement of my thought-lint,
never meant to breathe the same air,
but she shared her atmosphere,
she grabbed my booty in the hallway
with a blue-wink,
she made me think that she was fruity
and all the way loony,
cause she was same age as me,
but she carried her energy
like a Motown boomer; like she’d sooner
rub elbows with Gladys, Ross, and ‘em,
and it was madness that she’d
waste her chi on me
you see, my bracket’s in the basement,
it consists of only me,
indeed, her tactics out-of-phase meant
insistence was her sweet-tea
but can’t you see? Her judgment’s clouded
like an imperfected diamond,
she thinks I’m a find, a rare beautiful kind
of boy deserving her time, that alone
among dissenting voices of mine
should disqualify her from sanity
and sound choices refined
you see, my bracket’s in the basement,
it consists of only me,
indeed, her tactics out-of-phase sent
persistence to how we be
my syndrome hooked right in-place;
I see her and stutter,
her skin tone looked like it
tasted like peanut butter,
I wish my vocabulary
could’ve carried verbs that varied
from “uhh” and “uhm”, but she
carried our conversing beyond the peepers
and pursed-lips of
bemused green-eyed gatekeepers
I never made a move from the basement,
but the placement of her groove made me
reassess the fallacy of classes
from behind coke-bottle glasses
where she said my eyes
were too pretty to be so sad
and her smiles evaporated fog,
eradicated smog, changed air currents,
and lent me change in perspective,
and her elective had one smile
specifically for me
you see, my bracket was in the basement,
it consisted of only me, but indeed,
her tactics, out-of-phase,
lent resistance to my reality
***
Photo by Sagar Dani on Unsplash
We were
the main characters
in a puppet show,
rehearsing countless times,
giggling
when we messed-up,
encouraging each other
to try again and again and
I guess
working so
closely with me
led you towards
unexpected feelings
of needing to be
closer,
so you leaned
into your vulnerability,
asking me,
in front of blue sky,
heavy summer sun,
and all our classmates
if I had a girlfriend,
and if not,
if I wanted one,
and if you
could play the role.
I scoffed
and told you
it depended on
if you could tell me
how you read my mind
as I confidently
rewarded your vulnerability
with a reach
for your hand
and
a first kiss
that split
our reality
in two,
into
before and after
as an audience
whooped and ahhed
and fell into ambient
background noise as time
propelled us forward into
meeting each other’s parents,
graduations, bittersweet goodbyes,
joyful welcome backs,
midday “I do’s”,
midnight “we did’s”,
telling our kids
the kid-friendly parts
of our tale from the
puppet-show all the way
to their smiles, living
a lifetime of smiles
that would certainly had been
had my childish grip
on my fragile vulnerability
matched your Black Girl
Magical openness
within the moment
of you opening to me
in front of God,
blue sky, glaring sun,
and leering bystanders.
But we both know that
rehearsal and reality
live two separate lives.
That’s not how it went down.
Oh, I did scoff though.
It’s what I did best when
looking for coiled demons
and ghouls hunting for
a pound of free flesh.
In every corner
of every heart,
I found shadows
of cynical weather
whether under blue sky
or not.
Pinning down demons
I thought I saw,
I scoffed and told you
it depended on if
you could tell me
what kind of fool you thought I was,
turning on my heel
to the sound of whoops and ahhs,
content at ripping out your heart
in front of our peers
before you had access to mine.
But as I peeked over my shoulder,
expecting your smirking derision,
instead, there was only the specter
of sincere aftermath, and tears
willing themselves not to fall.
That was ages ago,
but even now,
when I think of you,
I wish I hadn’t blocked
the gift you’d given us.
I wish I said the lines
and kissed you
like I so desperately
wanted.
I wish our last moments
together
were so much more than that;
more than just one of many
terrible rehearsals.
***
Photo by Vlad Marisescu on Unsplash
You sneer daggers into me
as laughter salts the wound
public mockery
of a sincerity
now informed and attuned
Your cruel prank buys my silence
closing an open door
peer-pressure’s guidance
snuffed-out an alliance
nevermore underscored
nevermore understood
yeah, I get the gag
the levity was good
your pals had me tagged
lesson was not obscured
joke’s on you, love
joke’s on you
I dual-wield love; hand and soul
season it with sunbeams
serving love songs whole
with deftly breath-control
mid-summer’s blue daydream
I whisper sweet everythings
arms spread, soaring above
what fulfillment brings
rings of joy as it clings
to azure-perfumed love
to azure-perfumed love
dual-wielded, noun and verb
rising, soaring above
it echoes and reverbs
with all you make spoof of
joke’s on you, love
joke’s on you
***
True tales over 50
exercisig heart and mind, lest I waste away
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Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 