Long Tinges Poems
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When certain people poison the words diversity, equity and inclusion
and I see all the progress this country is about to loose…
is it any wonder why, for a while now, I have had the blues.
But when I think about it…it’s appropriate I have attached the color blue to me…
because blue is the epitome, the embodiment…the essence of diversity.
Walk around and begin to notice all the different shades of blue.
Navy, aqua, royal, midnight, azure and cerulean to name a few.
And while’e you’re at it here is something else for you to do…
think of all the things in nature that come in different shades of blue.
Notice the 10% of people in the world who look at you through blue eyes…
the array of blue birds, the blue whale, blue flowers, blueberries…and blue butterflies.
The blue jeans I am wearing, sapphires,
from the Blue Ridge Mountains to the blue grotto of Capri.
Why there’s even a blue fish who makes its home in the warmth of the deep blue sea.
It’s amazing the variety of tints and tones and tinges all across our universe…
all included in the family blue…all equal and diverse.
Any person with an open mind and open heart should find it easy enough to see
how the world is made more beautiful…by it’s blue diversity.
Which makes me wonder when it comes to diversity, equity and inclusion…
perhaps certain people would be less confused…
If they took a little more time…to experience the blues.
without-
the waning sun
warms my face
shalom cloaks
the wells within
with a tremor of light-
daybreak tinges
the nigrescent sky grey-
the horizon appears
distinct in my mind's eye
on the wind
a bell tolls
memories surface-
words unerased
the image fades
huddled together
from the sheeting rain
the unbrellas mob the hearse-
then in twos
slowly separate
spoor tracks
imprint
the virgin snow-
footsteps of yesteryear
echo in my mind
the diary
fell
pages scattered the floor
memories lie
just out of reach
chill breath
of dawn lights
upon my window-pane
nighttime's promises
freeze into crystal
above the still strand
shrieks of seagulls
die on the inshore breeze-
our twin footsteps disappear
as sunset dissolves
november the fifth-
layered rolls of liquid fog
envelope the bonfire-
the party becomes a
damp squib
a single owl screech
breaks the silent
November night-
the Hunters moon
waxes blue
Summer,past its best,
pampas reaching heavenward,
trees about to rest-
Japanese anemone
as far as my eye can see
hanging from the trees
winter fog welcomes the dawn
and obscures the light--
cobwebs shimmer
necklaced to the hedge
The dulcet dawn serenely veneered
my heart’s horizon with streaks of halcyon hues,
spread the sunburst tinges of timeless yearning,
painted a golden garden in my heart’s canvas,
blooming with the lilac luster of my love,
unfurled the facsimile of your astral floral face, I adored.
As the pristine patina of the radiant roses
flushed fresh your cherubic cheeks resplendent,
sparkling with seraphic grandeur of glittering pearls,
relentless rhapsody wrapped the meadow of my mind.
The cadence of your remote heart pulsated within mine,
in the ether of encompassing euphoria I floated.
In the vivacious valley of my verdant heart,
configured by the chromatic contours of your charm,
I carved an ardent conduit of earnest yearning to reach you.
The fervent cloud of my captivating craving
melted in an endless torrent of engulfing emotion,
where you disappeared with the cascading waves of despair.
Drifting listless in the desiccated wilderness
of the waning memory of the divested longing,
my tear drops rolled on the dismal course of melancholy,
where I heard the enchanting echo of songs you sang for me.
You never knew how much in the downhearted time
I missed you when I was deprived of your love.
I lost the lilt of longing in the debris of broken heart,
transient flame of the trajectory of devoured desire
furrowed in my mind a blazing trail of yearning,
I fancied I could trace in the track of spurting star,
even if it was fleeting like the flicker of your love.
That was when I felt like I didn’t dream enough.
As I heard the squelch of submerging sorrow
stealthily enter my heart into the void you made,
the miasma of melancholy enveloped
the shattered landscape of longing.
The swirling sigh of its wafting desolation
trailed the remote resonance of my pathos.
In bleak landscape that shaped my psychic wasteland,
your footprints disappeared across the pining plateau
beyond the turquoise trail of lingering longing,
forcing me to wander chasing mirage, taking me nowhere.
The flakes of dream flew away in the desert storm,
I wish I could then decipher how to abandon you.
“Let me be strong, for to be anything else is to languish in the abyss of compromise and to descend to places of impoverishment so destitute that they will squelch my soul and crush my heart.”
Craig D Lounsbrough
When left to languish in lament.
Metaphorical swords become tired
from words portrayed through bloodshed.
Misery is a master of manipulation,
pulling strings of sorrow,
personifying portraits of puppets in pain.
When dreams and desires disappear,
nonchalantly negating nocturnal nigrifying nightmares,
a heavy heart hoarding hurt is helpless,
crawling like a caterpillar without a cocoon.
In an anthology of anguish,
spirit withers in a lyrical language,
lost in lanes of latent lament,
so we search for signs to our secret sanctum,
to heal broken wings of bandaged butterflies.
When hope, like carnations of death, crumbles,
resembling crying chrysanthemums.
Tepid tears of tribulation,
trickle in trails of tired tinges of insecurities -
yet we still yearn for an expurgated Eden.
In the internal insanity of suffering,
sanity searches for a relief from repression,
as our existence can emanate into
a chalice full of missed challenges,
if we do not learn from life's lessons.
When trauma reverberates on repeat.
Words are as fragile as a beautiful ballerina,
without a ballad in a ballet of broken hearts.
Yet our pens crave to dance on virgin fibers.
Our souls are an essence of evanescent emotions.
There are no winners in battles with silence.
In the rationale of reason.
raging rutilant ink pleads to pour
puddles of purifying poetry,
gracefully releasing breaths of suppression -
A speechless saviour for timid tongues.
Winter with you snows proposals.
Promises crunch under foot in autumn
bursts of colour on park pathways,
orange into red into yellow.
Summer with you spouts kisses, wet with spit
on a teenage first date - there’s no drought here.
Our Spring blossoms into the shape of hearts along
stems, with rings upon leaves.
There’s a fifth season here in this place called Love,
where it is forever night, forever alight with eyes for stars.
Here, Love is smell: sweaty with tinges of panic.
Love is touch: secretly caressing feet under tables.
Love is sight: mirror, water, glassy reflections.
Love is sound: a shriek, a sigh, a laugh, an intake of breath.
Love is taste: exotic yet homely, new yet known.
Love, here, is a sixth sense: only truly sensed when found.
Our place called Love rhymes and dances within itself
from place to face to lace to pace and the
beat-de-beat-de-beat of a heart,
from love to dove to above to cove to...
stupid English.
In this place of ours, Love is a verb... to love, to kiss, to wed.
Love is an adjective here... I am in love with you.
Love is a noun, too... an abstract, intangible thing
as well as a proper title, a capitalised place.
Love is a city in this country of ours called Love,
a destination for tourists honeymooning -
lovers in pursuit of magnets or t-shirts bearing a slogan
that Love does exist after all. They send postcards
written in red, ink from beating and bleeding hearts.
Love has a body here too. A voice offering a myriad of truths,
a sex as yet ungendered but passionate and open and massaged,
exploded into an altogether new being. It finds itself upon a bed
that spins, spins, spins and turns on fingertips and tiptoes.
Is Love the question or the answer? The chicken or the egg?
Well, there is a place called Love.
I’ve seen it.
Reserved under lock and key
for you and for me. Us.
Here is the place.
Ubiquitous sun
consuming through icy shadows
amidst winter chorus
Delphic paean on elysian winds
lustral chorales in
amber chronicles
Slowly sung, it's a lullaby of dreams
with moonlight charms
lulling you to sleep
I need to remember this night
the light we ignite within
shedding our sin
We soar boldly into silky shards
my ankles wobble, and I sway
Meekness left me speechless.
maintain moss's fear of tinkering
eroded by wear and tear
like a battered victory.
reaching out to the darkness
can the night swallow me?
hiding tinges of mellifluous tones.
In the rustle of leaves
hides a melody,
soulful as a barren call.
radiates an indomitable spirit
fears and quandaries cloud firm-level
in a shroud of myopia.
because rivers can't be crossed twice
switch to callow intrigue
tea is a lone integer in a ripening world.
Written: January 30, 2023
Brian Strand Contest No 1178 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Our lady cashier, Karen, daydreamed again
right past me in a nearby grocery ,
her fingers fumbling over my selection
of cold cuts, bagels,and lemon powder
while a haze seemed
to grasp her thoughts under some frozen
moment of autistic innocence
like a crystallized trance.
So I followed her inside a dreamscape
while Karen narrated
this countless parade of jays hovering
above a sea of orange dahlias . In a flash,
she mumbled about Einstein, asking this man,
" Oh, did your growth hormone intake work
based on relativity's law?" Gently, from a distance ,
she relayed how Joplin wept, tending
children in a monastery--- an abstract recording
through Karen's uncut version of life's tinges.
Faltering in her own universe, she lisped a melody,
"If this were truly heaven, then death
would be it's own reward." And this lady
gently fixed her tidy uniform,
then peered into my eyes ...unseen by anyone
except myself in the din of late afternoon.
" Oh it's you, "Will that be paid in cash,
through coupons or credit card?" Smiling,
I gave some money and walked away...
moved by this rare instance of naturalnesss.
11/28/2016
The Best of James Tate Contest..Space Cadet
The dulcet dawn veneers my heart’s horizon with hues,
spreads the sunburst tinges of my timeless yearning,
paints a golden garden blooming with luster of my love,
unfurls the facsimile of your astral floral face, I adore.
The patina of radiant rose flushes your cherubic cheeks,
glitters with the grandeur of resplendent diamonds of dew,
rhapsody ripples in the mesmeric meadow of my mind,
my heart feels your allure, in the ether of euphoria I float.
In the vivacious vale of mind contoured by your charm,
as I carve an ardent conduit of longing to reach you,
the fervent cloud of my craving melts in a torrent,
makes my love for you a cascading stream, I swim.
Pulled by the current of your charismatic magnetism,
my possessed passion sails to the moonlit bay of bliss,
where your love weaves the lattice of stars in my sky,
with their sequins you beautify my life to complete me.
Upon amber aura autumn’s passions fly
In prairies, valleys, mountains up high
As golden, yellow, crimson winds sigh
Swirling, whirling, drifting merrily by,
Flaunting red tinges of sugar maple dye
On sepia hills where tangerine leaves vie
For lovers’ sights glued to purple sky
As shuddering barren trees utter a cry,
Carpeting wet forest-lands in foliage dry
Where motifs of multi-colored hues lie
Amid hoots of owls, yelps of foxes sly
As ospreys sing and squirrels nimbly pry,
When moonlit desires sparkle in your eye
Glancing a solitary star sneaking to spy
As your cheeks turn auburn, blush, and shy
Greeting love-vibes in autumn’s goodbye.
January 7, 2020
Placed 1st: Monorhyme poetry contest
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Placed 3rd: Strand select 9 by Brian Strand
It might as well be another late afternoon
when new moon rises, bathed in honeydew
and gleaming with soft weariness: above,
mantled clouds bleach the lanes with first tinges
of blue-gray light, while figure sways pouring tea
and mint cheese on park benches, whistling
strains of linear intervals…intervals where violin
tones tap the breeze for some hint of mellow
hush. This sense of accepting what weighs
or buoys the tracks of soothing energy
pushes feet to circle among tumbleweeds,
ready to sink into hours of a genial night:
Like so, throats wheeze the vowels of tender
tunes brushing refrains of charity for some
sprig of warm comfort: after all, how can
a bursting sun account for the speed of fingers
clutching nicks of time mortal in workrooms,
racing barbed rails of hours hours lashed by
the 9 to 6 office grind… and to drop, drift,
dry off the weary body crackling stiff bones …
it’s about time for half-closed eyes to rest
from a dazed world demanding submission;
That is why heaven fashioned nightfall misty.
.............................
Piece De Resistance Contest
Written 5/14/2018 Re-entered 7/18/2018