Best Burgundy Poems
i g n o r a n c e~
is a rhyme without soul
an art of f a d i n g into oblivion...
like crestfallen tulips
twirling through tethered rays
in the midst of seething sighs...
and I am more than the
blazing thorn
of a phoenix rose moon,
infused in scarlet elixirs
of a sorcerous twilight,
weaving l o v e
in golden glows
amidst double-flamed scales
burning my velvety h e a r t...
pondering, would you
be the galactic gardener
that waters
my weathered spirit
when I am but
a mere memento~
tangled in
vindictive vines of vanity,
for I have a voice
I sing in garnet grace...
if tomorrow
you feel my heartbeat
between vintage verses
of a scentless sonnet
long forgotten, and e r a s e d
remember,
I am the silk and sage
and the untamable
silhouette
of a balmy blossom
that refuses to breathe
in the ossuary
of perished petals,
and wrinkled dreams,
ostracized by
chauvinistic thistles
and unpolished ink
pricking the soft stems
facing cyclones of greed
c i r c l i n g
in sheer arrogance....
tonight I trace the hyacinth heat
of unwavering zest,
drawing sanguine
smoke of love
with winged gossamer
tied to the redolent roots
of unblemished skylines
while crocheting
petrichor promises
unto the backbone of
a nocturnal garden,
where handmade
wreaths of hope and faith
feel softer than lunar light~
as this heart resembles
a maternal bouquet
of burgundy b l i s s ...
a woman who heeds not
misogynistic mantras ...
Up came the sunshine richly golden,
Until the afternoon of deep orange,
When fragrant blooms had their way!
Richly golden to deep orange, then-
Burgundy down.
Burgundy down.
After that all day color light show!
For during every hour nature awaits,
The loving hand of the Master of Fates!
He guides bluejays and paints blooms,
And He visits all the prayerful rooms.
In the afternoon of the deep orange,
Butterflies went fluttering all pink;
And the honeybees were buzzing busily,
Before black velvet night was falling!
Birds sang the sunrise richly golden,
And all lavish nature hummed with life,
Until the hour of diminished sound,
Burgundy down.
Tell me
What you see
When you
Look at me
is it really what you thought
it was?
And I've
had enough
of things like love
and bitterness.
Got no one to thank but the
clouds in the sky,
but why, why do they seem
so grateful?
Sign me up for the winter
cuz the summer's got me down
When I see all these hard bodies
it makes me frown
bougainvillea
decorative thorny bush
delights with color
3-5-2016
As death embraced my whole being
Shrouded in burgundy taffeta
Her arms forceful
Embraced me
So as we spooned
I could not turn to see her lace shrouded
Face
She whispered
In Victorian tongue
Just loud enough to menace
Yet no matter how intensely I listened
Not one word
Made
Sense
I tried to respond
Or scream
Or raise
But my living soul stood still and silent
We swooned
Noir skies
Still
Laid out
And wrestled silent screams
And finally she softened her hold
And allowed me to leave
Our dream
I hear the rumbling of povertys approach.
Nothing in the budget for the Midas touch.
Faith is the only hope left for the clutch.
My hometown just suits her fine.
Exceed the limits and surely,she'll flash her dash with a warning sign.
I use her and abuse her and I'd dump her in a minute.
But I hope and pray she don't die on me every time that I get in it.
Like any poor old girl, she rides a little lower.
So I watch real close for bumps, and I drive a little slower.
She does me no favors when a girl per chance, I'd meet.
Which explains,why the only salvage left is her just like new back seat.
I remember when I first got her, someone kicked her in her side.
So I did a do it yourselfer to show the world my foolish pride.
I don't know how much more that she can take.
She'll still get up and shimmy.
But only when I step on the brake.
Like me,she's a little worse for wear.
I guess that's what happens, when you don't have some one to care.
But keep us fed and shoes on our feet.
100 to 1, with our last breath,the odds we'll beat.
For cruising's what we're both meant to do.
We might both be getting a little thinner on top.
But neither of us want to surrender or ever stop.
I wrote this many years ago, before things took a turn. But life goes on, ain't it funny what we learn. <3 :)
For the Old Jalopy Contest
July 19, 2019
How would you feel if the sky cried a burgundy rain?
The sorrow the wise would feel
Of this: the ultimate horror
Or the more comical idiots whine
About the staining on white shirts
Could, possibly, one ignore this?
Like the Caesar had done before
Or would common man wage war?
Like done a thousand times before
Could, possibly, we plea to the gods?
Like the many civilizations before
Either situation studied
Yet, still the same acts included
So tell me in explicit detail
How would you feel if the sky cried a burgundy rain
Burgundy persuades me
And my eyes set forth to dance
She appears to move effortlessly
A captive to romance
I take her gentle hand
Which feels weightless straight from heaven
We move as one as lovers can
With grace none can imagine
She smiles with her eyes, her whole
Matching my feelings without a fault
And so elegantly we stroll
Swaying with the winds timeless waltz
I'm nearly swept, carried away
By the touch of this burgundy beauty
Falling towards a comatose state
When her eye's sparkle catches me
Perfection is the only word
That comes into my mind
As thinking is quite absurd
When this love is purely mine
I want to drown in a red sea
As I have in her dark eyes
I want to dance forever in this feeling
This burgundy feeling I hope never dies
Can a city be a city without a history?
History makes none better than another
Although it does make a city, a city
For the blood that fell from the horrific cloud
To the red ground beneath my very feet
Paves the pathways of the urban earth here
The city know as Burgundy lies down
Standing longways as a lazy maid does
Never reaching heights far upward nor down
Is the city whose history is not greater
Then any stanza ever thought or wrote
Frost has tinged the Japanese Maple
Turning its leaves to burgundy red
Pears lie upon the ground not staple
As roosters rise nosily from bed
Nice on the porch at sunrise
Feeling the November cold
Hear birds chirp tales so wise
Mocking tale was a surprise and bold
burgundy flower
instills aroma
as sweet wine
3-29-2016
So this is what it’s about
sitting under the darkening sky
hoping to finish the last red drop
before the first rain drops
swirling burgundy around the crystal
grape puddles breathing an oily fog
spit seeds of perception—
the acidity of intellect
eating through the rinds of remorse
as she speaks
and speaks?
My fingers are blood red, but not bloody.
If adults were here they might be wondering; it looks like Kool-Aid.
Most probably from my handy burgundy hair dye touch up paint.
I spritz a bit of it on my part when I start to look like a red skunk.
Luckily I work with children who have not noticed that or my white streak.
Which makes me wonder why I even bother with it.
Burgundy devil doll of Dumpkins City,
You are intimidating but amazingly pretty.
We have heard that you can also be a tiny bit witty.
But we are afraid of you , me and my cat, Itty Bitty.
Some of the Bradford Pears have turned burgundy
The leaves are so glossy feeding the trees the last for this year
As they drink the burgundy wine from their lips
The black ink of my pen tells my poignant tale of my love for you
This creation that you made just for me
Gives me kisses and hugs that no one elso sees
Private; filling my inner being with your presence
Fill me let me overflow sending your love and spirit out