I smell no Jasmines, Daisies or Geraniums this Summer
Nor my soul desires an ancient amphora
Crimson riddles my skin
My mind is an Amethyst.
An Amaranth a fixed star; an amulet
To which my neurons ebb and flow.
Purple radiates in shades
Violet Veins. My palpitations are magenta.
My heart is a deeper shade of purple. This summer.
Like a wound under a microscope.
I long to plot the anelemma of my thoughts
Protons in blue and electrons in amber.
Yet purple dominates my neurons like a clumsily drawn tube map.
In my mind, a soft ray of violet makes a lemniscate
Other colours, smells and senses, an oblivion await.
* This is an exercise in one colour :)
Certificate U
Poem
travelling to my never was,
my yearly time in the yard
spring time back to cold Ohio
gripped in nonsense and melancholy
I travel to old town
misted by the cuyahoga
surprised yet not I find
they tore down the tottered house
tar paper and clapboard
hoary hand pump out front
jutting out of upturned earth
like an oxidized finger accusing
at broken chimney
collapsed walls
19th century brickwork sharded
toppeled into fetid basins
the neighborhood's harshbitten scar
open wounded by the treelawn
old man who once lived there
trapped in darkness and exile
haunts it no longer
memory freed
by oiled machinery and progress
rooftop split
like broken amphora
scattered on the seabed
and so floats my enmity
thermal up and away
updraft and ashes
drift'n bulldozed and scaffold
dissipating on warmer breezes
as if it never was...
count on it...
that numbers made the world
we came to believe
after all ten digits
long ago ran out
and we stuck our toes into the fray
to count and be counted anyway
and they too ran out
a foot at a time
and numbers became stuck to
our rulers feet or by meter,
our sole, soul repeater
then we counted awhile,
and soon wired some beads
to a wooden frame
'cause, unconsciously we knew
it'd never be the same
and abacuses counted because
Sumerians knew the power of
columns of orders of magnitude to
give counting a certain, amplitude
and soon balances were forged and
everything compared to something else -
grain to sheep,
sheep to amphora,
amphora to slaves,
slaves to children
children to wives
neighbors lives to our own lives
covetousness counted as
a capital idea
long before Adam Smith
or any form of mercantilism
came to bear witness on a weakness of man
yet who can count on power
is there a conversion factor
that shows more or less
that less is more than some detractor
what's the ratio of
desire to need to
redemption to volition to
love to life -
there's a number of ways to count it
© Goode Guy 2013-04-11
The snarled monogamy
needs a firework.
A solitary moon walks on a lake
nonchalantly.
The marriage
between the planet and moon
was falling apart.
In amphora lies the secret
of a jeweled crown. Cynical
berries were searching
a quartz to find the truth of the bush
where the colors were mixed.
There is no further news of
half-crazy stars who became
pretty girls to start trading
their shines.
Satish Verma
Etruscan rose
a purpled blue,
I write a melody for you
Etruscan rose
magenta shade,
for you this pollonaise
is played.
Note like petals
spiral down
through Etruria
and "round
ancient ruins
of desire
falling on your
funeral pyre.
where your fragile form
in flames
departed .....
just your heart remains
Amphora ,
classic in design
Etruscan roses there
entwine. to guard
your heart
forevermore,
as symphonies
and petals
soar.