Tag Archives: Color

Serenading Aqua

Serenading aqua

running backwards over

blush hushed silences

in an effort to consume

the bitter silver sillohettes

of time left pretentiously

blue amoungst the flowerbeds

untendedly wild and verbose

leaning towards sunlight

tresses boldly defying shadow.

The Canvas

Naked to the point of disastrous longing
for ink to shade in letters of understanding
brushes to stroke in hues
bold and courageous
so my skin
won’t be see through
– for all this transparency
is deceptively solid;

The Life of Bea

She walks with shuffle

cuffle and flop

in worn out shoes

and worn out tops

her hands are small

pale porcelin envy

eyes of dew drop gray

dream of anything

but life today

She lingers in the back

most hours

clinging to shade

and inconsequential hue

praying to gods

spit, spite, and throttle

forget she exists

as she dreams of anything

but this

Her hair is neat

her glasses new

ish, through which the

world is viewed

in shades of black

purple and blue

her ears are revolving doors

of not good enough

four eyes and hell-bound troll

stupid fucker and

filthy mole who should

NEVER have been born


…. there are days

when hands reach out

when voices confront

shove, bite, and anguish

and words of

it will be ok, you are loved

come out to play

be with me and

you ARE beautiful…

when you smile,

whisper on her behalf.

In those moments

she is alive

and reminded

hope exists somedays

though most days

she dreams life is

not today

this is the life of Bea.

this is the life of bea

this is the life of


See me as I am

{in honor of today – Day of Silence}

I speak not a word
for the word distracts you
from the reality we are the same
I walk into a store and am
turned away
because you do not serve my kind
I walk down the aisle
and I am arrested
because the constitution has no room
I am discovered
and dragged out and beaten
because my love is hated
I am vocal
and you see an agenda
instead of our sameness
so today
I speak not a word
So you can only do one thing




{{written in e.e.cummings style}}


Memory is more fragile than porcelain

more strong than granite’s soul

more stuck on repeat than mockingbird

more weightless then summer’s gold

it is maddeningly vivid and vivacious

and sanely it nevermore is

than all the stars flickering in violent

contraction are beautiful

Memory is less forever than rainbows

less forgetful than why

less remembered than sometimes

less hopeful than unhurt

It is always loud in soft places

and never quiet in traffic jams

or when all the night has

covered land, and see and eyes

Memory is tougher than hide

more weaker than shattered glass

and only when cats have tongues

will memory ever be unlast

All these questions

All these questions

all these silly questions

who are you and

why am I?

Do I get any answers

in this merriland

merrigo round?

when the

the sound of your breathing

is the only thing making sense

through this red shoe wearing

rainbow eating lense

of love wanting


where the only thing hiding

is the dreams of my youth

and the addiction

to the belief in you.

And you asked…

where are we going…

where are we going…


which I


All these questions!

All these silly questions

who are you and

why am I?

Do I get any answers

in this merriland

merrigo round?


The sound of your walking

is the only thing that makes sense

in this Alice world of wonder

raincoat sheding

digital digesting compass

of where we are heading

wrong direction world

keep leading me

down the stoney path

of my old age

where my hand is

laying cold

in the dream of you.

And you asked me

when will we be leaving?

All these questions!

All these silly questions

who are you… and why am I?

Where are we going…

what are we doing…

when will we get back…

why are we here

and can we change it?

are we ever going to get through

this dreamlike moment of


Will we ever keep the boots

from closed eyes

of innocense and

the condemed visages

of those who turn away?

will we… will we

ever answer

these questions

these silly questions…

and you asked me…

Get up!

There is no better time than now

to affect the affliction of our times

with the audacity of living


There is no better time

to take of the masks

and be.

There is not better time

no better day

or night

to get up in the face of boot souls

in the face of fist throws

in the face of invisible

indivisibly caging

unilatterally scathing


and breath deeply

the audiable sounds

of our future victories

the defended youth

the battered and bruised….

becaues if we don’t

get up

we will all

fall down.


so GET UP!


(in progress)

Notice me
falling in the wrong direction
Notice the color change
of the shadow’s intention
the break neck speed
of masked perception
and understand
beneath this breath
this breast
this lung filled with
all I want
is for you
Notice me



Spray Paint Me

My color is blu but
spray paint me
to a hue
more acceptable and
easy to read.
Let me be green
or purple
or maybe an orange sun-setted sea,
so you will love
the color of me.
Because it seems the color of blu
gets in the way of the
internal color consortium
creating a mess of
crayonic proportion!


I really believe
I am a mixture of grand design
a mix of chartreuse
and peppermint wine,
of melony glass,
a touch of silver and gray,
maybe even a bit of fushia-mixed with
a dash of pink
with an oranger flav
but the outside
reflects only
cianic days

my solution
to my colors
unfortunate blu
spray paint me
to an acceptable hue
then maybe
can spray paint
the world too.


People are always talkin about culture,
but I have such a hard time knowing
which culture I fit into.
I have so many
running in my veins
I am not sure
which one counts and
which one is in
Do I
only pay attention
to the dominant features,
the brown eyes,
the unsuntannable skin,
the dark brown hair infused with red….
what is my culture?
Am I Cherokee?
Am I Irish?
Am I German?
Am I Scot, Pol, or
Eu-ro-pe-an? and
which one will you hate less?
These are the questions
I ask
as a poet,
as an artist,
as a person who wants
to be the kind of person
I would want in my own life…
but sometimes not having a culture or
having too many or
not having my cells fully represent me,
my DNA almost exploding
in treachery
makes me wonder
if I will ever be able to
sort out the stories
so that you will read
past my cover…
and discover…
who I am.

Cuz people are always talking about culture
and I am always on the outside lookin in.