My heart was once blackened with each droplet of lies left by him,
Now it hangs iridescently by a tree,
Wrung out are the bloodshot tinted tears,
Leaving me to rest in the velvet dark,
As his crimson stained memory drips into oblivion.
I met the devil on a Friday night.
We danced to the phat bari sax.
Smoke choked out any words I could say,
Paying a heavy tax.
The sky was maroon with contemptible past,
The sound iridescently smooth.
The trombone a-swung to the rhythm of us,
Burning a hole in the truth.
I met the devil on a Friday night,
Then woke up on Saturday lone.
I wish; I made this whole story up.
There's no one to call on the phone.
Iridescently glowing.
She's breathtaking beauty.
A tiny miracle of a baby.
Born a tad late; a blessing!
Enriching in an instant
Lives she touches; a light!
Lovely and special girl in
Every conceivable way!
Note: "Isabelle" is the name of my new baby girl.
Date written: 06/15/2023
inspired by pink blossoms
delicacy welcomed in rainbow cloud of hope
underlying truths in pools of psychedelic pinks
far off amber sky takes loving glances
cotton candy fluff parading as clouds
a waterfall of love
deeply rooted
iridescently pretty and compelling
backlit cavern of hope and joy
Picturesque
Acrylics
Iridescently
Noveau --
Tinting
Impressions…
Nature’s
Gallery
~
Bodies
Align
Like
Lovers,
Reeling
Over
Opaque
Roombeams :
Delightful
Airlifts,
Nubile
Choreography—
Electrifying!
1/28/2019
Wordplay Contest of Bobby May
~ I love to do these 2, including Yoga~
there is nothing more beautiful
than the scar of a fallen angel-
in broken ivory feathers cloaked,
wrapped in a veil of mending sutures;
as she sits,
her head down-
clenched fists...
awaiting someone to heal her wound
as she deserves
her honey-hazel eyes as frail as October,
barren skin iridescently tender,
an aria of her melody exclaims what
she felt like that night-
the fear of falling unwillingly,
the wonder of what will become of life,
or death,
or both
though woe was worn and her heart torn,
she saw the ebullience in her wound-
the way her scar shined was a marvel,
a PERFECT flaw worn in the dark of night
though she’s wounded in ways the
heavens cannot heal from afar-
there’s nothing more lovely
than a fallen angel’s beautiful scar
February 9, 2018
The eyes are the windows to the soul
My ardent desire is to keep her eyes
Eyes so beautiful
Eyes so omniscient
But how can I conserve it?
Is there any preservative?
Can a hospital do it?
When they cremate her
How can I look into her soul?
Or she can look into mine?
I can’t think of her to be lonely.
She believed in pure love
And she also said “No love without a touch”
She even refused to accept flowers
As they need not be considered the proof of love
I am much agitated and unhappy
As in death even her eyes sparkles iridescently.
+++++++
April 2, 2014
Form: Free Verse
tenth place win
Contest: Any poem goes 18 by Linda
Maybe there’s a place we can go to after we leave here;
A place where you can lose that crippling thing called fear
And people are imaginative;
With eyes that glow iridescently.
Looking into the ultraviolet light;
Searching for the hidden or over looked.
It is what we do is it not illustrate the variations?
And then in this garden after we have come to know;
We can all at our given appointments recite to god in person
For god surely must desire to be delighted by those there with him
Beauty in Autumn
Colorful leaves
Rainbows on trees
Gracefully dance
With flecks of gold
Shining iridescently
Floating onto sacred ground
In silence of earthly peace
Tree of life branches out
Embracing family history
Connecting hearts
Through all seasons of change
Past to present solving mystery
Strengthens love forever binding
In solid oak of memory
A bird of white, void of jeweled colors iridescently bright
Leaving purity of his form and reminiscence of snowflakes and lace
He walks, flowing like a ghost in the night
A mesmerizing figure of avian grace, though he seems out of place
For he remains alone in his space
In his world where color matters, birds are not color-blind
He may be much maligned, or left behind
To those of us who see him, we see a beautiful loneliness
A stunning vision of the mind; but, we are not his kind
His life may be grim, but we see only magnificence
A shimmer of scales moves iridescently
in porch light, flying over nicked knuckles,
falling to grass milky white.
Detached, a rod jerked to deep water,
we follow the blade blooming belly to vent--
fingers pluck viscera like harp strings, cut
deeply into spine, searching for blood pockets.
I, father's sissy, prepare pliers for a peeling of skin.
You laugh at the pale bladders of my eyes,
watch the hesitant scooping of entrails into newspaper,
the scurry between bushes to bury my dead.
A white enamel basin is pink with our washing.
Outside the window, a blue-veined moon
is caught in a crisscross of nesting trees.
Dreams float like corks, fish frenzied in gunny sacks.
Your eyes are glossy as shells and empty, blindly
sensing that resonance of the sea, that catch:
the nearness of the day when a furling of scales
will come, and these hands will hold living things
turned ruby in porch light, taking blood as their own.
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