magine for a moment even hours if one is capable of having astonishing powers of manifesting, creativity, colour, volume, vivid swoon and swathe lustrous bounty etc.
Etc is a phenomenal word but I’m writing about one phenomenal lady whose brain power is an oasis in a sea of mundanity.
wild swathes of manic hues
struck ghostly angst in me
a fireball ambience
ensues and my banshee
wail in tint singed ink sky
shatters stained glass moon’s glee
I am done trying to win the favors of love,
I am done beseeching the dame fortune,
I am done pleading with the lady luck,
I am done kowtowing to the dictates of father time,
I am done holding on to a faltering hope,
I am done taking refuge in my faith,
I am done wallowing in self-pity and guilt,
I am done wearing my heart on my sleeve,
I am done dreaming dreams.
Lolling in the lap of comfort and luxury
was not meant to be,
Neither meant for me are the reassuring arms of love
Nor the trusting hugs of a friend.
Keep your vigil, whispers of gray –
Speak of what I do understand.
Assault the evil glare of day;
It doesn’t speak for my heart –
Rather for the city made of stone
Which knows no bounds of hate.
On this day, I’ve fallen apart;
No love for the pieces that remain.
It offers no comfort.
Your neutrality fills me whole;
Share my haven with this mute
Though you are harsh but truthful.
Engage me, oh – whispers of gray –
Until I can bear its façade –
I will bleed for a better day.
Many a door, many a door
Along the complex’s corridor –
A symbol meant to welcome –
That’s what they’re for.
Rows of doors, floor upon floor –
Sometimes a thief they lure.
Nobody asks how you’ve been –
They just close their door.
Coming from within a rising hedge
Of voluptuous white oleander –
I sensed a turmoil; one writhe
Seduced better than before
And within the naked boughs
Of some palo verde – in a rustle
Of few leaves – I thought I saw
Among them a potential
So quick and sullen, I almost not
Deemed it worthy a mention
Until a lone grackle squawked
That vernal suspicion
Then the wind flirted with a sage
Whose mane shimmied – fervid –
As if the breath of Earth had encouraged
Good morning, fair cardinal –
How are you?
How are your children?
Your plumage is nearly outdone
By the sun’s golden hue.
The mattress is firm –
My blanket is coolly sheer.
What’s that?
Come outside, be with us?
Sorry, my bed is too cozy a lair.
Like a sparkling Roman candle –
Red beardtongue dots the canyon.
Oh, what handsome bugles!
That decorate the trail along
Where pebbles were brushed aside
And sway with the breeze –
Not to elicit surprise
But to befriend the greenery.
What a curtain Bisbee has
That keeps Mexico subdued
And influences the lands
From which the Sierra was hewn.
What purple folds keep Oaxaca
As a fortress in the sky
Breaking only in Panama
To let a vessel dredge by.
No courier have I on hand
Except the initial breezes that blow
So a whisper I channel into it:
Give to Colombia my hello.