A deep-blue handkerchief
On the harbor quay,
amidst the bustle of the crowd,
the hour of parting,
a moment of farewell—
dyed a deep, deep blue!
The hour of parting
refracted in the early dawn light;
on the wet links
of the hoisted anchor;
on the sailor’s sweating hands
hauling in the cast-off lines;
on the foaming wave
escorting the ship to a foreign port.
A moment of farewell,
a glimmer on the harbor quay—
from a single tear
rolling down a burning cheek,
wiped away upon a handkerchief;
upon the farewell’s
deep-blue handkerchief!
the alligator had heard that the new beauty shop would dye his scales
He might even have his tail waxed and let them paint his nails
the lady in charge tried to remain calm when he came in the door
Another beautician screamed, and maybe gave a tiny swore
the alligator was patient, and loved his handsome new hue.
You are way too vain said his wife, you look a kind of blue.
Yes, he agreed, azure is what I was going for.
Then with a swish of a tail, he walked out the door.
He forgot to pay the lady told his annoyed little wife.
Here’s your pay, she told her. You have escaped with your life.
Two of us on a sixties hippie trip
to see if our gears would slip or mesh
innocent but wary yet wide-eyed
to the Imperial city of Marrakech
she perfumed with patchouli
me I traveled totally tie-dyed
all around was peace and love
we teamed to a tee and seemed
a fit the perfect hand in glove
but not long later it was deemed
as it was commonplace to see
in the medina not strapped for cash
kif from the Rif sellers
in the souk smoking hash
the country lacked law and order
no sooner said than escorted
back to Ceuta across the border
funny now in retrospect but not then
how when we blew out on the Sirocco
tho' we hadn't gone so far as the kasbah or bazaar
were deported without ceremony from Morocco
In this summer month of her what would have been her 21st birthday,
I see bed of withering red orange tiger lilies and say,
"Your death reddened you, yellow flower, into an orange, then red."
Sometimes life is dyed black.
All you see are blackness
Forgotten hope to look for.
The day seems to be night,
Sadness and emptiness in the heart.
But life is the most wonderful gift.
And even in the darkest night,
There always light that guides our way.
—Blackout.
\ rewind \\
9pm,
my messy curls sizzled
as chemicals
flow down the drain—
raven,
to matte purple.
Each strand a minute
I forced
straight
with smoldering iron.
>> glitch
1am,
Hair unraveled
against the shuddering wall
The taste of heated whiskey
falt
er ing
from our lips
Rusty red smudged
on neon-lit chins—
He muttered, “Your hair looks better at night.”
I replied—
—Blackout,
(sigh)
\ rewind ?
I have been called a hippy dippy;
Transient, I travel when I can,
to me mellow flow is so groovy;
Traveling from city to city,
that flower child who lives in a van;
I have been called a hippy dippy;
My spirit’s always been a gypsy;
With a tie dyed hand sign it began,
to me mellow flow is so groovy;
Cliche’ but I’m known to hug a tree,
nature is my hallucinogen;
I have been called a hippy dippy;
On the water I drift dreamily
aboard a laid back catamaran,
to me mellow flow is so groovy;
So chill unrefined far out at sea;
Ya dig? I’m all about peace man;
I have been called a hippy dippy,
to me mellow flow is so groovy.
Beguiled risks sensitive alterations
that redesigned unknots and cutup trice
as the fresh teases through the looking glass
exposing timepiece resemblance glossed spilled.
Bemused forgives absence, mindful at hand,
tenuously gripping the rolled spent yarn
that edges fingertips loosely as threads
answer questionable finds, stitch-by-stitch.
Period accentuates the sensed thence
for the bestilled entangled narrative
plots exclamation points of those foregone
chapters ... period midst frames of escape.
Styled room for maneuvering that spirals
at a loss now hangs overhead ticking ...
mockery behold guardians of greens
that grow within disoriented poise.
Blue compliments presence expressed squarely
drafting the voiceless lucid residue
that nurtured former brush and forever
sealed a dream sweeter than a Danish roll.
I see you ‘cross the vast expanse,
a love disguised in dreamy whirl
and clothed in raiment sun-spun gold
as wispy cirrus wraps your dance
the music of your sigh aswirl -
a breeze I feel but cannot hold,
but dance I will with memories
though for your arms I’ll ever pine,
I look to skies for bluest eyes
at times behind the tapestries
of cumulus both yours and mine –
the realm in which my angel flies.
Our love so like the lilac leaf
two halves that shared a center vein,
once green we were but now I fade
I’m torn in half without relief
the pain not washed away by rain —
this heart-shaped leaf afraid and frayed.
O touch me warm your slanting rays
how cold my soul you left behind,
to gaze through tears at beauty high
to wander through the haze of days
and know the planets misaligned —
when eyes of turquoise dyed the sky.
Alas, myself but cosmic dust
yet still, the stardust gilts the rust.
I dyed my hair red
now he’s dying for me
the flames leaping
no shame
no shame
he is wide-eyed
puppy-tailed
i’ll lead him by the leash
release him
release me
can you see us
on the front cover
of a trashy romance
i dyed my hair red
oh the flames
be flying
I’m swatting him away
the grays no-mattering
it’s a crying shame
we must grow old
oh the boldness
the brave
we’re not dead yet
only dyed
tied up for kindling
a novel kind of love
it burns
s h a m e l e s s l y
hot
6/29/2022
Dyed-In-the-Wool!
Stains there in your palms, wallowing, ling'ring,
Metamorphosed into tears and so drips,
Tainting where they plunge, and you're unsullied?
19:03:12:08:52
Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral Form. Dyed-in-the-wool
a dyed flower is like a simulated gemstone
they are unnatural,
unfounded, rather orchestrated,
unnaturally pretty,
prettier than the natural
flowers and the natural gemstones
people are sometimes like this,
unnatural, unfounded, rather orchestrated,
prettier than the natural people.
They are real, just in a better way,
easier to appreciate and love
The Moon She glares from the ebon Halls,
As the sea stretches too taste Her galls,
The Candelabra dyed as magick stole its pore,
Starry night blackened as She sinks to the core,
The Sol it shone from the crimson sea
Like an awl stuck in a forsaken tree...
Dead leaves rustle on its rooted lawn,
Wolves grow silent on this lonesome dawn.
As He peaks like a God above us!
Heaven's eye, a sublime-forged truss,
Too the endless sea He soon shall sprawl,
Painting the world, as His darkness shawls.
Then She shimmers... Razor sharp...
Twinkling... As an angel's harp...
It has to be deeply personal, you said
As if the sun is not so
Nor the moon
As if the verdant lane
Fenced in by memories of you and me
And the lonely jackal on distant moor
Are enough to create human mystery
When through shimmering haze the moon is full
The web is shut, the famous mistletoe
has dripped its cool,
A weak and trifling heart will peep out silently
To whimper at the startling beauty
Singed and dyed in many splendored wool
E...Eggs dyed pretty colors in baskets
A...All nestled in pastel artificial
S...Synthetic grasses, waiting the time
T...To be hidden, then found again, yea!
E...Easter's meaning disguised ..what's needed
R...Redemption, salvation at the Cross
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