Best Carnelian Poems
S l e e p feels like a pathological lie ~
deranged dialect
spoken from the tongue of traitors,
and I listen to the heinous haze
of the insomniac breeze
moving to the splitting silver
of Judas’s coins,
a reflection of an estranged estuary
with no island left to revisit...
For I’ve seen it ~
all alone,
tasted the tormented
tones of tornadoes,
their truth tender,
warmer than the vicious voice in my head,
gaslighting my mind,
betraying my faith
clouding my soul’s compass
to believe in the
phantom fallacies painted
and pigmented
from my own poisoned perspectives,
the forest serpents of fears
sojourning in the skin,
hiding the terror
left in the arteries of abandonment.
But what would the
cynical mirror of existence reveal
when everything I have learned
was written from the crippled ink
of a burdened storm,
carrying chaos amidst calmness,
unable to grasp grey,
as hope feels like the
devil in a dress,
drenched in deception.
And I hurt
like an infant left unloved,
oblivious to the eagle anthems,
threatened by aerial oaths,
as I am the architect of darkness,
not a victim,
but the turmoil to the
Sun and the Moon,
living in the macabre
valleys thriving in shame,
as my inner child still dreams
in cursed colors of crestfallen angels.
The toxic tune in my head,
the venom within my veins,
the cataclysmic carnelian
beneath my feet ~
O beloved bloom unblemished,
remove yourself
from this collapsing castle
of cruelty numbed,
where dahlias grow from doom
and skeletons wear my name.
I am trauma
a walking juxtaposition
suffocating your silence,
aching for assurance,
ricocheting like rust
of infernal flames ~
so wipe the traces hanging
on the smoke-kissed
screens of stillness,
burn the addictive
madness of my name...
Let these ashes be,
as nocturnal stars
watch me turn into
a sonnet, unrhymed
and
u n f
i n
i s
h e d …
A letter to my wounds,
fragranced with powdered incense,
every word woven from carnelian ink,
beauty lies in the readers heart,
bruised syllables define nothing,
when everything phrased and vented,
are mere signs of bravery,
flowing in eloquence.
So, see beyond vague verses,
crafted from mystical metaphors,
and sanguine similes,
there streams,
truth of a healing mind,
still bleeding broken ballads,
and soulful sonnets;
same rhythm as the
art of a passionate poet,
pleading to be heard and seen,
amidst silenced skies on gloomy nights,
as this quill desires no accolades nor
condolences but compassion.
A cerulean heron
perches in cloisonne
among jade shoots
of a topaz tree
as shadows of platinum fish
undulate in silence
of teal waters.
The tableau of moonstone,
fulgid in azure sky,
hovers in citrine dusk
above pearl clouds
and indigo coastal bluffs.
Night's onyx falls quickly;
the food chain pauses
until sun's lambent carnelian
emerges above a pewter horizon,
when jeweled birds of prey feed
and the gemstone cycle continues.
Desirous dust devils dance for a glowing gold god,
withering winds wandering whither they wish.
Silenced as shadows stretch, silhouetting strange shapes,
elongated ellipses etching the expansive emptiness.
Quickly cooling, the sunset slathers the sky in carnelian colors.
Deep desert darkness descends, a moonless diaphanous dome.
Looming above us, the luminous universe lifts our eyes aloft.
A celestial shining so supreme it spawns starry shadows,
succoring our unsatisfied souls in its empyrean embrace...
The watcher waits...
This dance feels resurrected
Right down to the cherry stains on your sleeve
And the tapestries that look like iron will
But are really shadows cleverly woven to imply it.
I can not see here
The lights are too low
But sometimes things are better seen
When lit by the lanterns of the mind instead.
They look brighter
Redder
Closer to real
Than real could ever be.
We were here once before
A thousand years ago give or take a century.
I spoke with a carnelian tongue
You tasted like pomegranate seeds.
Going back there again
Carrying that same tune
Becoming crimson
Becoming other
Breathe
I lost my breath
You gave me yours
You held me
You said
Breathe
My schooner eases
into the tiger claw
that an umber peninsula
juts seaward.
The carnelian bay
beckons like honey
as I aim
for twilight's tangerine
and sun's waning citrine
in amber haze.
Papaya clouds whipped
by solar winds
breathe the siren lure
of bronze oceans
in the scriptural future
to my restless golden heart.
6/30/2018
Tell me your reasons and I shall tell you mine; never ceasing stories, but!?
Sheltered as a child and kept from the world, to soothe anothers scars....
Crippled through time these lives; life, psychologically mauled in maimed
Precipitations blades, leading the way while as carving stones of gray's
Jetison retro metros hand over fist in, contemporaries fit; this ice age rain?!
Tears pouring from blood red clouds these pools of pain to walk their plank....
Pirates of the Caribbean playing cowboys and indians again; falling stars
Upon terrestrials planes, with their prehistoric stones shaped like guns and bows
Taking aim amid the night of celestial sorrows from whence, they came!?
Ancients heavenly spirit now gathering the winds atop times turbulent waters
Of crimsons crashing unto the carnelian reef of what was; hearts that bled
In yesteryears fears like icicles piercing their eyes, to shatter loves dreams....
Tell me your reasons divination and I shall tell you mine; this soothing sea
Menhir's painted carmine whispers from beyound the mystic, torn veil?!
Angels dusting bejeweled crowns as passage beckons; this beacon
Calling unto the once lost children of light, tis time to come home....
Put away the guns and arrows and swords and bows; tears, upon fading shores ~
********************************************************************
....“Kings & Queens II” *
" Tortured metaphors
spilling from tequila lips,
t i p t o e on my pulse ~
breaking in an arced smile
of the featherless eclipse,
where I waltz as a secluded steel-shine,
sobered s o f t l y
by the taste of satanic stars..."
I'm the loss of a leaf
from gold-dew aspens,
rippling upon
turquoise typewriters,
where drunk fingertips dance.
Turning to ashes,
my heart m e l t s
as a metallic grenade,
and no philosopher's stone
ever reverberating
in its silver-winged silence.
Seeking shelter from smoldering seas,
I curl up in the womb of a guardian willow ~
she's a weeping angel of n e v e r l a n d,
with an ornamented garland
of guns and roses,
enveloping me in the corpse of sunset.
Plunging from diamond cobwebs
into isles of champagne,
like a dynamite dove bloodthirsty for sun,
I l u r k along reefs
studded with rhinestones, unfurling –
lotus manuscripts
as poetic pearls s l i p and t w i r l,
snorkeling in an obsidian oasis.
I miss being
a purple-whisper prophecy,
threaded in fractured letters,
for now, my ink b l e e d s
in the marrow of moon,
where an alchemy is lost and found...
In the chronicles of carnelian clemency
and supernova sorcery,
I've seen arctic assonances
hibernating
in the throats of those,
holding lethal jewels
as a nightingale's neon noose.
So, if my soul is an opal widow
of your thistle-light affection,
a verse romanticised
will be my crystal coffin,
and in the caricatures
of kohl and karma,
our silent soliloquy
shall delicately be shifted.
Surfing in the splitting s i n s
of a salty saviour,
this whiskey damsel
shall evermore remain
a scentless phrase,
scrapped by pencilled brush-strokes,
i n v i s i b l e
in our paper-cut destiny...
A mystic rose smile that belonged to my mother this is what I recall
My easel and I resting in the spirit, by the grandeur of a morning tilt. As the
Yellow sunrays streak across the canvass, I think of Lamancha
Saffron and mom's tasty soups. Contentedly I paint away until a
Ticklish breeze brings me back to present stay. A lifetime away still I recall the
Indian sari she wore with shades of orange/gold lamer. Lustrous hair pulled
Carefully back, exposing two dark coaled eyes that shone like brightly lit topaz .
Red carnelian sun in tonal ranges splashed across a tapestry of love
Oxidized colors melding into the portraiture of Sahana, Matriarch of Bangalore.
Smiling at the camera a thousand watts from Lalbagh Botanical Gardens. Her
Energy exhumed inside the sketch my recollecting fingertips
Subservient hands cupping my tiny face, "My little turmeric "
Maybe you'll be an artist some day, she spoke with her eyes
I like to think she was the reason I succeeded. Her every word a
Laud accolade. I remember the day I held my first paintbrush
Every time I pick one up today, I think of my mom and a village called Aluru .
November 19, 2021
homemade scarlet string
light Aroma
mottling Degree
burning
autumn Leaves –
with nymph flapping wings
you win
waltz to the rhythms on the
zephyr's caroling strain
rainbow-colored
smooth waves
gently rustling intonation
oriflame Lasting
autumn Carnelian
philharmonic Orchestra
Written: July 29, 2022
Letter chosen "V"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Virtuoso
Carnelian dawn reflects red sun rising,
Mirrors glow of vermillion flycatchers,
With scarlet plumage, so mesmerizing,
Dawn’s songbirds – virtuoso stature.
Flight song resounds through the still morning mists,
Woodland thickets embrace the day song,
Artists on wings with bright feathers flame kissed
Warble sweet aves on garnet birdsongs.
Vigil for daybreak in tones cinnabar
Matins’ maestros in morning’s sung prayers,
Amber strains from coquelicot popstars,
Lauds for the Daystar ring through newborn airs.
Cloaked in vermillion at evening's first light,
Songbirds wait to sing in red-orange delight.
Carnelian and crimsons orchestrate eye music
Ornate as orange oboes that blare a fiery woo
Loud in the hills, flaring flutes of maroon thrill,
Oscillating in burgundy trills of a breezy banjo
Red rises in volumes that the silent trees hear,
For they farewell warmth, in sun-setting relief,
Undulating in vermillion wavelengths an adieu,
Lingering long in mellowing yellows, autumnal
Free leaves wind-whorl a gold saxophone-puff
As apples blush in whistles of a taupe wisteria
Looping branches bare-brown in tuned annual
Love-fest festooned in earthen melody eternal
(9/14/18)
Late,
the morning glories rise
passionate, royal, magenta blooms trumpeting,
helloes and goodbyes;
novice neophytes falling
into lavender blush dream states
succumbing to a mellowed change in weather
cooler days awakened by pale aging sunlight
soft, restless breezes
in the trees shedding leaves;
twilight for the foliage
a lurid golden year half-light dulcet dawns,
scarlet carmine sunsets, waning,
whispering not shouting
carnelian nights humming a lullaby,
serene, euphonious,
clouded eyes struggling to remain awake
buddings small and petite,
placid emollients of day;
shaded out of scathed hunter greens
falling to lemon camboge
limed colored oranges,
harvest time citrus afterbites
commencement to vermillion bleedings
September full blood moon phasings,
in crisp kaleidoscope etchings
of a well-painted palette
sepia rusettes, auburn,
ambered melancholia disturbances;
sanguine shortened days,
arboreal sleep, brittle and dry
les Feuilles Mortes.
Mystic Rose contest of Hello September
9/17/21
Neon skies reflected in God’s palette;
the Divine Artist’s canvas speaks
and I am enamored of its stories.
Jewels of nature painted in colors
of sapphire blue,
emerald green,
ruby red,
carnelian orange,
citrine yellow,
amethyst purples
and lavender-pink stripes,
with periwinkle dots upon the waves
and variegated backdrop of sky.
Onyx and lemon cumuli peek through sun rays;
a late afternoon sunset portrait,
fit for any king’s palace.
A color-coded
spirit kiss,
nature’s bliss,
greets my hazel orbs;
my heart fills
with ecstasy.
Orange is the chakra color
that governs our sexuality,
our creativity, and passion.
This chakra, the sacral area
beneath the naval, sparks our
drive to love and reproduce.
It calls upon artists to paint,
poets to create inspiring poetry,
composers, melodious music.
Orange rules hues of firelight in
the glorious sunrise and sunsets.
Tangerine skies lend tranquility
with beauty each dawn and dusk.
Carnelian, orange jade, and agate
gemstones increase and aid self-
esteem, confidence, and balance.
Orange, a color of joy and harmony.
So wrap yourself in orange glory!
3-5-16
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