Poem decimal place
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Fool’s Gold
8/5/17 3:27pm
Fool’s Gold
She comes in drenched in rain,
teal hair, my hair, bleeding rivers down the front of her white shirt.
Her sister’s shirt.
Bleeds green-blue hurt down the transparent wet cotton.
The boys pretend not to look.
She’s giggling aquamarine, a messy scene of drips,
tripping on lsd.
Her scattered fractals of vermilion tongue makes blood run
Venetian
Pumping wine from a candy apple heart.
She doesn’t fall apart
so often anymore.
Fell in love with the way forest green irises
their limbal ring
looked up at her between tawny legs.
Wrapped up in amethyst visions of a brighter future,
one to suit her
more than the places that left scars.
She’s wondering where you are,
asks about your porcelain mouth and what it’s doing;
Where it’s been.
She is amber shoulders in the warmth,
climbing waterfalls and leaping from onyx rocks
scraping the soles of her feet.
Her locks are blonde and tangled now,
still dripping,
highlights in the sun
strands of Pyrite.
She’s always been a fool,
with a heart of gold.
Counseling
I want to change my life,
To fundamentally alter who and what I am.
I went to counseling. I confessed my inadequacies,
Holding back my deepest and darkest, because
Frankly, I already know what I need to do to fix myself.
But I didn’t want to do it. I don’t want to do it.
A broader character flaw is just a lack of follow through.
I can start the program, but I can’t keep it up.
I quit going after three sessions.
Wouldn’t you know, going to therapy once a week is a program.
I warned her, during our third session.
I admitted how unmotivated I had been to go,
How badly I wanted to cancel my plans.
I cancel a lot of plans.
And she asked me, bluntly,
What would happen if I quit coming.
And she asked me again, when I gave the easy answer,
that I wouldn’t get the change that I wanted.
Aren’t there other ways to get that change, she poked.
Well, yes, I pondered. Meditation, journaling. Supplements.
And for a moment I felt empowered, because there were so many ways to take action.
But it slipped away. I knew the solution to my problem all along, I told you,
But I can’t keep up with the program.
2017 Poetry Marathon, Hour Ten: Red
It was a small spot of red
on a canvas dominated by blue and black
a lone point of humanity
amongst two armies
without faces or names
One small spot
to represent the blood
of millions lost
A young woman walked by
stirred by the breeze
the ladybug flew away
(5 August 2017)
Poem 10: The Reaper Visits a Celebrating Town
Gray clouds precede the midnight black
once arrived, coats the sky in ink-
magenta sparks explode in the air,
followed by gold, crimson, emerald, and sapphire-
on the roof, a man lights another firework.
The rocket blooms in the sky,
casting a kaleidoscope of multicolored smoke on
slate stone buildings border the streets-
connected awning to awning by tawny ropes
hanging lanterns cast citrine glows below-
where crowds shuffle between chestnut walls
and mahogany planks of run-down buildings.
Nearby, in a darkened alleyway,
the silver sword escapes its sheath.
White strips of bandage unravel around the blade
revealing rows of runes glowing azure blue
in the air slowly darkening with dusk.
A hooded stranger folded in ragged cloaks of black
spins and plunges the sword-
in the dimness, a body falls-
staining the cobblestones with scarlet.
How to Avoid Burnout
Don’t start the fire in the first place
Practice non-attachment
Rise before dawn and exercise like crazy
Find a hobby and immerse yourself totally into it
Take an anger management course
Start a weekly practice of keeping plenty of fresh firewood around you
Stop reading the news
Always keep matches close at hand
Take a vacation and pack in as much as possible
Don’t start the fire in the first place
7. It spreads
It spreads
It spreads
It spreads
It spreads a smell
That nobody smells
But like mustard
It’s up my nose
It nauseates me
No I am wrong
It’s not the smell of it
It’s the one they spread on it
It’s their smell
That they spread over and over on it
It doesn’t smell anything at all
Before they spread their sickening smell on it
The good news now is
That I know how to cleanse it
And spread a nice fresh perfume on it
Instead
It spreads
It spreads
It spreads
It spreads a smell
That nobody smells
But like roses
It’s up my nose
It makes me fall in love
With it
A Gray Blue Day
Your eyes were hidden behind tinted shades,
Your expression hard to read that way.
The sun was hidden behind the clouds,
The skies were mostly gray.
The blue waters stretched for miles,
We avoided the fall showers.
Stories shared of your youth,
We walked and talked for hours.
At lunch, we laughed over silly things,
Your eyes, I finally saw their hue.
I smile each time I remember this day,
My favorite color is blue.
Shards
Cerulean eyes
With the cold jolt of honesty
And cruelty
Murmured the words
Burnt Sienna
Could not understand,
“You don’t know what love is.”
And with those words,
The door closed between the two
But one remained
On both sides.
Nickel Gold Azo
Stood there,
In the shards of color,
His world
shattered.