Poems

Stages

Of love

Love is a grape on the vine,
that is taken advantage of as long as it provides,
flesh into a pulp, blood into wine,
When it has vanished the people cry:

“Why did we not thank this stem?
That provided such succulent sustenance,
what has changed between now and then?
That caused what was once alive to dry into dust?”

And one old man, crazy as hell,
he spoke very low, his voice from the bottom of a well:

“It will return one day far from now,
and if you should still live, you should not look away,
but taste, for the vine will always grow again, in its own way and how,
but for you my little angels, it is the only way…”

Of memory

Beauty is where the soul meets flesh,
where a look tells of a mind’s meaning,
and a hand on skin is to be blessed,
so they say, those who are always dreaming.

Beauty is the lone figure against the sky,
who sees something unique in their eye,
The one who runs wild to their own motion,
to have the mind move matter to some hidden notion.

But I am the one watching the beauty,
this stark contrast of thought on instinct,
what that eye sees I can only imagine,
I pause, stillness, I think.

Of death

…

Death is the little spider with the mark of the red king,
whose bite you don’t feel until you catch your breath,
and as the hums turn to whispers that then begin to sing,
the sight turns to ash, and the day becomes night.

…

Thirteen

Green

Whispers the sight between the seen and unseen
Hides in the breath of the grass and the smoke of the trees,
Privy to both lovers’ embrace and the damneds’ weary sighs
You will know my color by smile and the stare in your eye.

So sit, partake, and sated, gaze into the glass that holds the dragon’s air,
And feel time slip around you as you move unchanged, unafraid, aware,
Sleep in the dream to your soul’s content, till your mind’s eye opens, or till your doom
For when you awake my color will have gone, and the world moved on much, much too soon

Orange

Murmurs remove the memory of day from your mind,
To stare into the sphere that is a grain of life in time and space,
Now feel it grow in your sight, expand to dwarf the walls of sky,
And feel yourself become one with its reach, gone with no trace

Blink yet again child, once, no more than twice
Recall this is how the world beyond mother first greeted you,
the rapid expansion of a point of light in the night
Is what awaits after last breath to prove my color once again true

Azure

Remembers for you the color of the sky,
But not the sound of bird nor touch of wind,
A shape that recalls for you the chroma of the eye,
But not her mouth against yours nor his hands on your skin

This glass is regret, what came before, never to come again in your stead,
Of memories faded, lovers lost, the rumblings of fools and sages,
Of when you looked away and had one eye plucked from your head,
As you thought of the other to save only in shame.

Indigo

Types:

Package Thirteen

Sub Indigo {

 My $color = shift;
 If ($color =~ /indigo/gi) {
    $color->_view; }

 else {
   $color = ‘indigo’;
   $color->_view;
 }
}

			
Sub _view {
   My $glass = shift;
   While ($glass =~ /indigo/gi) {
   Print “Look deeper and weep”/n;
}

		

My $you = Thirteen->Indigo;

Yellow

Is dreaming, churning and burning, and does not speak,
But if one brings one’s hand close, you can feel its heat,
It lights worlds to life and leaves others barren of its rays
Dream often of this orb, for without it there would be nothing to say

As its benevolence comes with the price of time,
For it too grows from the babe’s squeal to an old woman’s sigh,
And when the measures of aeons known to human but no man pass,
This light will fade from crust, sky and space, and leave all to frozen ash.

Crimson

Exudes patience, to ensnare those who have none
Undisturbed, layered, buried in time, in fire, in dust
So for the hasty, for those who seek and must know,
When they reach for this glass, they will see what is reaped and what is sown.

They will gain the third eye but not time’s experience,
So the wisdom they rationalize will make them scream delirious
They will feel they are God’s mind and the path so clear,
Only one moment later to fall to the ground wailing in fear:

“The revelations have been made known to me,
But I do not possess their understanding.”

Blue

Writes as you stare into the ocean of your eyes’ reflected depth:

TEDDY:
OK, well cool, well remind me and I’ll come check it out.

CHRISTOPHER:
You don’t have to.

TEDDY:
What else do I have to do this weekend? It’s not like I’m gonna paint the frikkin condo.

CHRISTOPHER:
It’s just a scrimmage. I probably won’t even score.

TEDDY:
That is…well, it doesn’t matter if it’s boring right? As long, as, well, if you’re playing in it I should support you. Not that I’m saying it will be boring, it won’t, but it’s fine.

CHRISTOPHER:
Sure, dad.

The car pulls to a stop.

TEDDY:
Well, have a good day at school.

CHRISTOPHER just nods and gets out, closing the door and walks away.

KID A:
Hey, was that your dad?

CHRISTOPHER:
Yeah.

FAT KID:
Where’s he goin’?

CHRISTOPHER:
Gettin’ high.

CUT TO:

Lime

Laughs at you.

Pink

Recalls a diary once which crossed its eye.
written by a young girl of the seventies, and what she spied,
she spoke of parties and love, of sex and hedonism,
of how the gods of rock would be nothing without her lust for them.

There was a young man who walked its way one day,
aloof, sullen, enigmatic was what he wished others would think,
yet when his eyes caught hers and she looked away,
he still licked his lips, how long was his urge to drink.

When this color opens itself they become two figures standing,
one woman, the other man, both in understanding.
They gaze at their nakedness as the cool breeze blows their hair,
and contemplate what is the same on one, and yet on the other not there,
and before they take their steps to first embrace,
and this poem becomes the one of below and above,
there is this moment of hunger across their separated space,
so strong that she cannot help but wonder, does lust trump love?

Pearl

Lies gleaming under the deepest rubble in the bottom of the darkest mouths,
Whispering bubbles of lust, want, need made sound,
It waits for a finder, promising wealth beyond measure,
Being that of diamond, gold, silver, ideas, sex or some unearthly treasure

For some this means it is no more than a glass ingot,
An object to be gazed, wonders grasped, then traded, bartered and sold,
Yet blood spills on this sphere in small streams, frequently more often than not,
And it is still prized, beyond all other shapes, humans or gods.

Brown

Shifts as the plates of land turn and rot upon the waves,
And shows you what grows, matures, and meanders towards age,
The Earth’s own sighs and moans can be heard within this globe,
Her voice once bountiful now too has grown cold.

For this glass shows beauty without your thoughts to twist and turn,
Displays the savage glory of forces without consciousness’ judgment to spurn,
For without our measures and names to discern what time has spun,
It is impossible to tell the contrast between a world moved on and one just begun.

Violet

Visions the strings that flow from the hands above to us below
How one ripple of mathematical emotion can move the Earth
When you can’t see the stars you look to the stones below
And marvel at what humans have built in lieu of truth.

This color of glass and mist offers such thoughts as a means to an end
To feel you ponder, wonder, dream, envy, betray, aspire and then
Make a request for a stone of your own to touch the heavens
To sit a throne of sex and bone, thumb on the pulse and heart to quicken.

Black

Sings for the blood of the newborn soon dead,
For the heavens to rattle and hell to be fed,
For this glass is the mouth that kisses time’s eye’s pyramid
Consigning all in its gaze to darkness and oblivion

But for those wise ones who seek the flow of and not crave the dark,
For them this sphere great wisdom and beauty shall impart,
Knowledge of sex, violence, dreams, hope and despair,
The power to act as I that is, unfettered, unrestrained, loved, and feared…