What courage to weather a crimson storm
Rising up bridging the gap between fear and action!
Life changes like the colours in autumn.
Transitions are not as smoothe as seasons.
A crimson storm rages in the depths of the soul
Throwing up confusion like debris.
A crisis of identity, faith and point of view.
A questioning of where one stands in life.
A crimson storm isolates us in our own mind.
We wonder if anyone could understand and
The methods of management is down to us.
Courage walks beside fear helping us to rise.
They cross the bridge of uncertainty together
And the person central to those feelings
Is greeted by joy on the other side
Because the storm did not hold them back.
When the heat of the crimson storm cools off
And life begins to settle down,
A character gains strength and knowledge...
What will this mean moving forward?
By noon the autumn sky has turned to rust.
A crimson dust has settled on my tongue.
Across the dark valley, I feel the storm;
My body turns towards the sheltered door.
And yet I cannot make myself go back.
There is a space between the wish to hide
And that first step beyond the reach of home.
I need not lose my fear to take a step.
The thunder breaks. I flinch beneath its force.
My hands still shake; the wind has not grown kind.
I feel my frightened self begin to rise,
Then let the breath I hold escape at last.
No bridge of stone can cross the space between
The fear I feel and what I need to do.
I lift my foot above the sodden leaves
And step into the storm on trembling feet.
The tortured remnants of horrors past,
ancient catacombs, collect their bones.
Marbled halls, stifle anguished screams,
amidst horrid, human honeycombs.
Haggard hearts heavy, must levy,
who's next to be fodder, for the feast.
Their ragged remains, that stain, still remain,
and lies empty, in the belly, of the beast.
"Woe to the weary," whiplashed whelps,
who must pick and choose, in death filled rings.
Sweet molasses, calloused classes,
still, must be vetted, by the King.
As for the King and his Court, no retort,
to their whims, that swim, in sorrowful silence.
They refuse to consort, as constructs support,
that the Crimson King...resorted to violence.
—Paint My Love—
Come, paint my love, where silence dares to speak;
let oils transfigure what words dare conceal,
bid every hue reveal the fire I seek,
till secret ardours make the unseen real;
paint not the visible, but inward light
where love's unspoken immensities hide,
let every strange tincture enchant the sight
till secret tides within my bosom bide;
yet one true hand must pierce my veiled desire,
no mimic craft shall counterfeit the fire;
I'll set AI to test each living wire,
and crown the hand whose hues make love aspire;
though ladies vie, one only shall be crown'd—
her prize, my heart, where all my loves are bound.
I opened a book of adventure one summer day,
Its cover was crimson, worn soft where the gold frayed.
I set out to gather the sky,
And found only peace up high
That old book had shown me the way.
crimson squirrel, adventurous summer
bought a book said, 'your life could be calmer~'
so in peaceful delight
he read day into night,
didn't gather nuts (his autumn bummer).
midwinter saga
ruby rose - frozen beauty
ice cold, crimson corpse
still life beneath the soft snow
breathtaking bleakness blushing
26.08.26
Sand grains sliding through my hands,
sparkling down mid air as bright dust.
Grainy, gritty, rough blossom on my palm,
so long ago, its youth so swiftly spun.
Now individual part by part,
sinking sub-horizon toward a dropping sun.
Moving back to its big liquid starting point,
a washing tidal flow impacts a matching coast.
This dynamic fluid world calls it custom,
joining a vast aquatic host.
"Note: AI image generated to complement the themes of my original poem."
A cold November wind blows through the leaves
that chills the mighty oak trees to their bark;
and in the shiver that the wind-wave weaves,
a single leaf’s left swirling in the dark.
Upon the ground this crimson leaf alights
among the other leaves that settled down;
all fallen from their limbs of lofty heights,
and slowly does their beauty turn to brown.
While once she thrived in youth upon her branch,
she now knows sadly that her days are spent.
And grieving for this leaf’s now faded chance,
this aging poet too must give assent.
Whereas the forest and the world consort,
both leaves and poet’s lives are measured short.
Crimson tides remember what we are,
beneath the bridge where spring begins to glow;
the ocean aches for all that drifts too far.
New buds unfold like veins beneath a star,
a first flush learning how to grow;
crimson tides remember what we are.
Your name rides in the light, a guiding star,
no longer wound, but life in steady flow;
the ocean aches for all that drifts too far.
Where waves and morning light align afar,
new shoots unfurl and grow below;
crimson tides remember what we are.
The bridge holds more than rust and scar—
it holds the chance to reconnect, to show;
the ocean aches for all that drifts too far.
So spring leans close, no longer just a scar,
each wave a pulse, each breath we come to know;
crimson tides remember what we are,
the ocean aches for all that drifts too far.
Crimson longings of Spring were cast on our ocean
Taking flight from the depths of Spring’s surging seas
As bridges we formed seeking love and devotion
We were under the spell of love’s potent potion
Focusing on each other’s wants and needs
Crimson longings of Spring were cast on our ocean
Love’s shine never dulled by life’s daily commotion
Our love thus strengthened by varied degrees
As bridges we formed seeking love and devotion
We remember those days in detailed slow motion
Love’s strong emotions bringing us to our knees
Crimson longings of Spring we cast on our ocean
Neither of us leaving was ever a notion
Our thoughts back then were each other to please
As bridges we formed seeking love and devotion
Growing old together enhances emotion
No regrets or mistakes for either to appease
Crimson longings of Spring were cast on our ocean
As bridges we formed seeking love and devotion
upon sandy shore
crimson moon highlights ocean
moon sets above waves
crimson lanterns burn
nocturnal festivities rise
peace glows amongst them
Hibiscus opens
petals flushed with morning heat
cradling soft newborn light now
Breeze lifts its edges
whispering through crimson folds
gentle as a prayer’s release
Bees circle slowly
drawn to its brief, burning bloom
knowing beauty’s borrowed time
Riding out
into the sunset
towards sunny uplands
before moons fall
scattering rock
and tiny diamonds
as crimsoned penumbra
encircles all things.
Dark swoops like a bat
to engulf the rasping throes
of surety.
Dawn awakes fretful
Mirrors and masks fail.
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