You know, she said, the color orange is insincere
What an odd thing to say
I don't think you have made yourself quite clear
And I really wish you would go away

Red is loud, she continued, I don't like red
It celebrates itself in everyway
Red likes being red
What else can I say

And the beautiful blue of the peacock
is full of pride, you know
What a rude remark, I thought
But it is probably so

The colored leaves
Hide my eyes

The spider web
Retrieves my rhymes

Wrapped in silken
Bed she lies

Her pillowed head
Spun sunset die

forum of heat
of fire
of warmth

the shelter of rain tumbles
hissing away the voices
the landcapes in the dark
full of wind
the bending ideals
of a youth long distant
and in the dusk

you are a visage
in a book
a brush in the morning
and a look
a voice up the stairs

this emergence
forever leaving

like a longing balanced
on the precipice

heart hitched
and alive
alive
and not afraid.................

MOVING PICTURE SHOW

I’m about all played out
a lifetime of scenes and
short vignettes
celluloid and technicolor
pieces I want to forget
lying on the cutting floor.

Predetermined yet self- created
In a determined way
Identified by my limitations
betrayed by my strengths
existentially nauseated

Last scene is a cappella
Finish is open-ended

Fade out….

“Cut ! It’a a take.”

wow what a beauty

beauty can’t be bound in any cage,
it lies at each and every stage,
in the eyes of the beholder
that shouldn’t one at all amaze.

some men are more beautiful,
than women of their own age,
women though always remain
longer, much longer on the stage,

love flows from ones’ heart,
sex apart
the beauty is
of your divine gift
a lovely part.

The accelerator squeals
like an excited teenage fan
decelerating up the hill
all shrill and grating

Then the inward gasp
of childish awe
spread underneath
the tarmac ribbon crest
of Bradford's undulating sprawl

Through misty drizzle
little knots of yellow lights
sparkling beams of safety
in the dark swathes
scrunched up bundles
of grey woolpack hills

Northern Lights in vaulted skies
Northern electric lights
in pitiless winter washes

Transitions have me weighed down
anchoring me to what’s next.
The “pull” has the internal velocity of a curve-ball,

yet, is as subtle as an insincere glimmer
having trouble appearing from a falsly executed smile.

I guess, they're sort of like an army of horizertical, gravitational entities
that pull down on my very being, and simultaneously hurl me towards the future,
to a place where all we know is, anything can happen!

I’m a downtrodden wife
his trouble and strife
Is this my life?

He doesn’t help with chores
in between snores
says “ask her indoors”

The kids avoid him
I fulfil their whims
no point in asking him

I don’t know why he married me?
I could never be
what he wanted me to be

I’m never good enough
he says I look rough
so no more sex stuff

I wanted to work
but the chauvinistic jerk
wouldn’t allow this perk

Withering grass of this season
with your abundance of green,
take advantage of Today -
Contribute to this Earthly scene.

Enjoy your present strength;
ignore worries of the past.
Let the distant failures fade
and let sweeter memories last.

Be true to yourself always,
standing tall and strong.
Focus on your own meadows and...
Learn to hum to Life's song.

Author Note:

a tone of joy
even in mundane
but your words give life to a living being
a soul to enjoy

sweet words always ring

above all the world is
and should be,
if not ought to be
made by strings of human
as human as you
and friend of all Neopoets
yes so true ..
its been long since we spoke