The Poetry Marathon

10 Green

A week after I knew
I carried another life,
I sewed a green ornament.

For three quarters of a year,
I strangely loved the vine more the eggplant,
and dreamed in sage green.

At two years old,
the life asked for green curtains
and
I just said to the life,
two weeks before
the life has been counted for four years,
“The poetry people say I should write about a color.
Which color should I write about?”

And the life grinned and said,
“Green!”

It’s always been you green, even before they were born.

Blonde

I’ve never been so glad to see Kansas

as the day I’m driving through

Humboldt, Nebraska.

 

This is the place where they killed

Teena Brandon, because she looked

too much like a boy.

Wanted to be one, too.

 

She was Brandon, in the end, not Teena.

No one could rape it out of her, out of him,

although at least two men tried.

The sheriff laughed and let them go.

 

They came back and finished the job,

shot her at close range, then stabbed him,

to finish the job. Like they thought they were

killing two people, a two-gendered freak.

 

In the movie, “Boys Don’t Cry,”  they didn’t tell

how s/he always wanted hair

the color Willa Cather called

certain wheat fields in the sun.

 

Was it because blondes have more fun?

Or was the bleach a disguise, hoping he could

hide, from Lincoln to Falls City to Humboldt?

The house where he died sits off in the distance, mute.

The Magic Hour -prompt 10

I’d never seen anything like it before.

I’d never see it again ever more.

The way the light played through the glass.

The way it changed as time did pass.

Amazing, intriguing and delightful.

I was so lucky to get a sight full.

I could not describe such reds… All I can do is say it turned heads.

All I can do is say it turned heads.

I could not explain such hues

All I can see are the deep blues

The vibrant colors of that world

The vibrant flavors that came with them.

Unlike the others, I knew this was a rare treat

Unlike the others, this magician had pulled off a mean feat

When he left we’d all be robbed.

Music

Swirling around, invisible sound

Heart beats, heart beat, heart beats

Rainbow colours back and forth

I’m skipping, dancing, eyes closed

Laughing, giddy

Singing songs

Love you

Blessings

Peace

Joy

Hour ten, Jury Duty

10 2017 Jury Duty

Jury Duty
by Paul Sanford

“Off with her head” the queen cried.
No jury trial here.
But I am called for jury duty.
I don’t want to order any heads cut off.
Oh No, it’s up to me to decide.
Who is telling the truth?
Are the police discriminating against this person?
Where is Justice?

I hate meetings and committees.
What will happen if I disagree with the other 11 jurors?
Will they be angry with me?
Should I try to persuade them?

Oh oh oh. It’s just a straight forward case.
Try to look at it the way most people do.
It’s my civic duty.
I’m a fair minded person, intelligent and empathetic.
Maybe they won’t want me because I’m bipolar.
How dare they discriminate against the mentally ill!
I’ll be on that jury just to show them about equality!

I hope I can stay awake without fidgeting.
Will I get in trouble if I don’t behave the way they want?
Ironic if I am on the jury and wind up in jail.
I wouldn’t be happy in jail.
Nobody is happy in jail.
No jail for anybody.
“Off with his cuffs!”
Everybody gets a free pass from Paul today.

It says here to go online to check whether I am needed.
That’s a nice touch.
I don’t want to be waiting in some jury room all day.
They say to check back to see if I’m needed in the afternoon.
I’m feeling a bit disappointed.

I’m excused. I’ve fulfilled my obligation for this year.
I feel a combination of relief and disappointment.

Don’t judge me, and I won’t jury you.

10.

Everyone has a color. You’re not a person if you don’t.

I don’t know what you would be if you didn’t but you should

Pick one. Mine? Blue. My color is blue. Ultramarine to be exact.

A glowing blue. One that makes the eyes feel fuzzy and warm.

The type of warmth you get when your body has acclimated to surrounding

Water and you don’t want to get out. A blue that cradles and protects

but is dark enough to hide secrets. Where mystery can float in black wisps

like tentacles of an octopus on the ocean floor. Or like wings on a manta ray

in the open water where the bluest of whales sing to each other.

 

Everyone has a color. I’ve met red. Red and I have our disagreements,

but the shades of violet we make when blend (between sheets) and in

our minds are vast. We discover things about each other, Red and I.

I have Purple, not grape (even the word seems as artificial as the flavor)

But lavender blended with merlot, was this purple. She is one of my

Very favorites. The coolness of our colors blends like the last

vibrato of an evening sunset or the first chord of a sunrise symphony.

I’ve met most of the colors attached to the humans. Too many to list.

Each blends in one way or another and my people are the coolest of colors

(my fur does not do well with the heat) Emerald. Aqua. Turquoise. Viridian.

Cerulean. Lapis, Violet. Colors of waves in a waning sunlight. Revealing the

Darkness. These are mine. They stay with me. Those and any on the spectrum.

 

Everyone has a color. I want you to be mine. Come swim with me amongst my waves.

Indigo (10th Hour)

Indigo, your blue haze and purple embers of grain

Makes a lover’s oath of starry nights

And yellow moons in shape of sunflowers waning in the winds

Your azure hue brightens my mind’s eye to the limits beyond the skies

Every speck of silver lays its head upon your crisp violet robes of royalty

Kings, Queens, Gods and Goddesses alike tried to emulate your cerulean celestial chroma

Only to paste, in haste, a wasted tint of your glow

There is an enchanting intensity in your blush

No other shade can grasp a person’s aura as much

You leave an existential existence into the heavens

Beckoning to the dwelling of all that witness your blessings

Poem 10- colors

 

How dare you white me

You maroon malcontent

If I wanted you to give me blue

I would have asked for it

You and your colored judgements

If I want to be screaming yellow

That’s my choice

If you want to stay blackened orange

That’s your choice too

Why can’t we just be a pale mauve together?

Or a glistening angelic purple

Do we have to pick sides?

You choosing olive

And me lime

Doesn’t mean we cannot see each other’s green

Are we so different that must each have our own rainbow?

 

Prompt #10 (Colorblind j.r.m©)

How can you explain the color red
burning in its deep dark majestic shade
to someone whose colorblind.
Oh! How terribly unfortunate are they for
they are unable to experience the passion of red.

How can you express the beauty
spread across lavender fields
and the way it makes
you feel from within,
free and wild, with the
lingering scent of
lavenders dancing in the wind 
The scent doesn’t do justice
to its fragrant beauty.
to someone color blind…
how will they recognize?

How can you visualize the
colors of the sunset,
or sunrise or a bonfire
if you haven’t recognized
the softness and intensity
it carries at the same time?

How can you settle for less
when you haven’t seen the
colors of the ocean,
and it’s underwater wildlife.
So many colors paletted
under the ocean,
you’d be amazed. 

How can you not miss the color 
midnight green and the earthy feel 
it gives to your senses, 
truly a delight, 
the color of most forest trees.
They are what gives the forest 
a certain sort of mysterious air.

Colors -a feast for the vision, 
co ordinate with the rest of our senses
communicating its feel and nature. 

j.r.m©

A Color Without a Name is…

He is a strength unlike any other. He is swift and true and brave. He is the ocean at its deepest, fiercest. He is proud, but not too boastful. He is the sky on a hot cloudless day. He is the typhoon, the earthquake, the mountains towering. He is honest and loyal and pure.

She is a goddess incarnate. She is the power that gives man and woman the will to fight. She will hold a lover’s hand close to her heart. She will rend any enemies asunder. She is powerful, not to be trifled with. She dances with the history of her people before your eyes each night. She will speak her opinion with certainty and authority. She does not think; she is action.

He, on the other hand, is gentle. He will not shout unless he’s delighted. His dances are slower, a ballroom gown twisting in the summer breeze. He does not fight for a voice, an existence; he simply is. He can be somber, an oak tree standing tall, not quite imposing. He can be joyous, new buds of life springing into the world. He always has been, in every shade, and I hope he always will be.

She is all the light in the world. She stands out with honor, untarnished by pride or sorrow. She is the mother, from which all others are born. Although she is old, the oldest, she is still pure and bright. You cannot dim her, and still call her by name. You cannot deny her. She is the joining of all creation. She is wholeness.

He gets a bad rap, to be honest. He is the father of all the rest, or perhaps their fate? He is strong on his own, too strong, overwhelming. He is the confusion of the others’ arguments, too mixed up to tell any one voice from the others. Yet, he is peaceful, for all are equal in his presence. He is the judge’s robes, the very law of the land. He carries them all in his multitudes.