Semi-longed-about tales that rip apart the holiest grails, and shower the besmirched with real gold who knows how much silver is with that gold! A coppery patina is all over the copper plates they are dated Egyptian and seen much waste, yet why do you not ask the river bend? When friends are coming and money spent? Does the sleek shimmer in the night, conjure ghosts which oft delight? Does the sun upon daybreak curse the puppy small the meals disbursed? The river aims not true north as the north star plays on lyres striking lightening bolts on open paidby waitlocks on other staves.
O lady, banish my monochrome days
and weave your coppery threads into
a dim red florescence of coyote words;
There you stand draped in beige chiffon
against preternatural piety of a striptease sea
continuously playing with Prussian blue pastels.
O lady, gallantly unleash your plump cherubs
and licentious cats with that timeless witchery
of a vanilla Guerlain perfume dart;
Throw a dusty rain-soaked rose, Madame Pompadour;
I am flying into another sugary abyss of setting suns
and Fragonard silks of flickering coral.
Is it the fighting of heavenly dragons? Is it Boucher's
brushstrokes that bring us April showers
and the music of irises and champagne pearls?
coppery polish
ravenous iron jaws yawn ~
beaver befuddled
(November Full Moon – Algonquin)
I took a long look at him:
Body of user of Gym
Wants muscles, not to seen trim;
His Agnes might remain The Slim!
There a Tim trains, so does Kim;
Then, why can't he Mister Jim?
Yeah! About time Jim went to Gym
Or Gym does reverse for Jim.
While training follows his whim:
No Rock Music: sings God's Hymn,
Glass of juice filled to the brim,
Eyeglass with Coppery rim...
But Jim for Gold not Copper
His choice of bike A Chopper...
"Tomorrow, another Gym
Remember that Jim."
Her exquisite lace linen collar tiered in layers of dainty threes
Was not the only beautifying feature of Princess LaCrees
Her beetle necklace of green peridot was engraved well
Her monocle was designed by Bob Mackie’s protégé, Snell.
She was the ultimate spring peeper croaker.
We saw by her wardrobe, she was a leap frogging bloaker.
Prominently featured on her front was a darling topaz roach broach.
It was the kind of semi jewel that would never have to ride in coach.
Princess LaCrees knew to top off her flashy outfit with a favored crown.
Orange crushed velvet puff ball at the top, it was a coppery light brown.
She is dazzling, a jumper among the reeds, the best of the best.
Ribbit Ribbit she shouts, her head a big crest.
Don’t you get hungry wearing all of those bugs? Asked Lady in Waiting.
Not really, the princess answered, as her maids began the uncrating.
Grasshoppers, ants, beetles, and lady bugs were scattering all around.
She stabbed and ate them all with her wand, without making a sound.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day.
Yawning, I drowsily rise from the comfort of my bed
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.
Dawn announces, "The warmth of Ra is on its way!"
Soon, over land and sea, aureate beams will spread.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day.
Sunrise shines on foxes in meadows where they play,
illuminating their coppery coats of orange and red
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.
In shallows, sunlight dances with waves as they spray,
creating prisms in nuanced tones of variegated thread.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day.
It does not matter where I wander or aimlessly stray.
Mornings are idyllic once somber darkness is shed
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.
How I'd dread a cause for the rooster's crowing delay.
What a folly if the moon continued her reign instead.
Daybreak usually greets me when it ascends each day,
as the horizon glows with colors in resplendent array.
August 11, 2022
First Person Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins
Eugene Delacroix vigorous in style
straight to the point,without guile
He loved lush reds& coppery green
set-piece commission were surely his scene
Soon, it got up to Dr. Spencer
Burning incense on coppery censer
In pursuit of a fitting answer
To the craziest hard hitting cancer:
A line he’d toed for an ulcer
And it result gave him for Gastric Seltzer…
Krishna clouds their way making for a breast,
Not for once letting be the crest,
Incense one, Incense two, up to eleven
In lieu of healing verses to The Heaven.
For a doctor openly radical
It shouldn’t often be the medical
Nor often needful the rightly surgical,
For cancer that could shame the methodical.
The Heart
The moon calls to a blue heart
The trees bow to the ground and
Shadows dance in the night
A lonely heart cries for company
The sun rises, and the heart dances
in coppery fields
The daisies smell of love,
and the grass is sweet to running feet
The sky dims, and all can hear the night sounds
The Heart yearns for a hand to hold,
Another heart to love
Our marriage is laden.
Like dishes stuck in the sink for days.
Putrid.
Glazed with coppery laughter and leathery fights.
T I R E D,
I then made home
from the metaphors
of my head.
=====
.
.
.
from the book Scentsibility, an Amazon Best seller
published 2020 ©JinQue RD
The sky falling, crumpled beneath a russet cloud,
shrouded by shadows swaying with the dusty flow of gases.
Blackest darkness without promised whispered rays of sunlight,
absent of visible light shifting, fading into nothingness.
The surface crackling, popped burning, mottled with brash shards
and coppery incandescent flakes simultaneously freezing and melting.
Rapid oxidation oscillating turning uncontrolled, removed from its center.
Chilly coldness surrounding scorched voices unhearable and unheard.
Echoes succumbing to the silent gravitational waves of space.
Upper-atmospheric lightening eerie and unsettlingly beautiful.
written 9/06/2020
Orangey,
burnt almond hues
color
the horizon;
as Sol's chariot
like a spent
ember,
glows amber;
inking
infinite
ice crystals
with a coppery
terracotta ocher;
as
it arches and sets.
I live each night as if it's my last
Mostly because I wish it was
It's too late to make a different past
So I don't reminisce what I didnt have
I just take pride in what I did
Even though I didn't have it
And I don't care where this road ends
I'm the one who chose a different path
I've thrown so much change at the wishing well
That the water tastes a little coppery
I've had my heart broken, my purpose stolen
I went my way
And was a victim of highway robbery
The winner of the opposite of the lottery
But instead of letting it bother me
I respond with reverse psychology
And live this life as if it will not end
And it's shown no signs of stopping me
So until the day it does
I now promise to you solemnly
That until the dirt's on top of me
Instead of another suicide statistic
I intend to be an anomaly.
Chance Rooster had greatest cockscomb around.
The deepest, coppery color, shiny and sound.
He strutted his stuff.
Put on lots of guff.
Turning off most hens for miles around.
I smell the coppery scent of fresh blood,
and the stench of death, excrement, and piss.
A soldier lies dead, his face in the mud;
I never thought that war would be like this.
My mind is numb; I cannot shed a tear,
nor change reality—why even try?
There is nothing left within me but fear,
the more I live, the more I want to die.
I fear the killing will never be done,
for Hope has all but abandoned me.
And I fight a war that cannot be won,
pain and suffering are all that I see.
War is an ever-expanding abyss,
where mere survival often feels like bliss.
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