—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 thru 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.
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.
A vibrant spark of cardinal red,
In Washington state, where the firs are spread.
I'd fly over mountains and through the deep mist,
To find my grandfather, I couldn't resist!
I'd land on his porch on a wet, rainy day,
With a bright crimson coat to chase shadows away.
He'd be cozy inside, with his coffee in hand,
And he'd stare at this bird from a very far land.
I'd tap on the glass with my shiny black beak,
Then fluff up my feathers and cheerfully speak–
With a high, whistling tune, maybe
"tweet-tweet-t-woo!"
A whimsical visit especially for you!
Rose colored glasses?
No, crimson-colored glasses
To see the lashes
The lashes received
On the broken body of
Agape’s only Son
That endured wrath
On the mass’s behalf, we
We need, He bleeds us
Help us aspire
Look higher than the spire
From the gathering
Paschal Agnus Dei
Righteousness imputed to
All crimson value
We flagrantly sin
A flagrum on Him was used
Your repentance due
From crimson-lensed frames
We can look through to the stains
Washed whiter than snow
In her little red shoes
she stands out in a crowd
turns heads each and every time
and if she looked my way
I'd be walking on air
I'd be on cloud nine
in her little black dress
she enters the room
everyone stares you can hear them sigh
and if she smiled at me
I'd be over the moon
I'd be flying high
the little black dress
completes her wardrobe
her stilettos complete my fantasy
drinking champagne from either shoe
scarlet crimson carmine vermilion
red is the colour any hue will do
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