Long Watercolor Poems

Old Glory has Something He Wants to Say  
By – Roger White
The dawn’s first sunlight crests over the eastern horizon.  A midnight dark sky leisurely changes tinctures: blue becomes purple, bright azure and...

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Woven are these pages in poetic verse,
With bare threads of our deepest feelings,
You will find laughter, tears and remorse,
and words of wisdom, prayer and healings. 
Krish Radhakrishna

The words herein form an anthology of love
From the...

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Foggily out of cryostasis, I come ...

A slow, painful waking to a vessel that's shaking
         from the stress of its increasing mass,
And at once I'm made sure...

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Monday, 5-1
Housekeeping:  I checked in early today for a long, business-related stay.  Now, I wish to relay that I brought two blue, hypoallergenic towels of my own, from my home.  They are...

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Inspired by Andrew Wyeth Watercolor Painting -- Wind From the Sea, 1947




Standing in the old house
A strange mixture of feelings erupt within me
My roommates Depression, Loneliness, and Hopelessness
Greet me with strangling arms and leering grins
I...

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Inspired by Andrew Wyeth Watercolor Painting -- Wind From the Sea, 1947




Standing in the old house
A strange mixture of feelings erupt within me
My roommates Depression, Loneliness, and Hopelessness
Greet me with strangling arms and leering grins
I...

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"betwixt the pulse of our heartbeat
simply present, head-heart linking
dwelling in time stretched blissful peace
awareness became unblinking" ~Unseeking Seeker

I feel the surging bloom of bewitching butterflies,
fluttering in sync to cosmic sage and
saffron sparks~
sailing amidst waves of...

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I had always loved being near deep-sea water, and I was never too far away,
As the beauty of fresher tomorrow, is but mystic hours from prevalent today.

I enjoyed swimming and boating and surfing, and even...

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When the mirror of 
               life is a gossamer film,       
 veiling v i n...

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When the enchanted 
jailors of life, 
siezed my soul 
and those
sepals unfurling
manipulative
manuscripts 
ceased to 
script a twinkle 
above screams, 
I became a 
slave to my 
own silence, 
chained by 
granite wings of 
masked butterflies, 
who...

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This poem is a special devotion for my mother, who has always been a healing sun for these wintry eyes. Mumma, you're my hope, my strength, my magic and my heartbeat. I'll always find my...

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I'm torn in poetry ~ 
like a fractured syllable 
scattered across 
altars of glistening gold, 
mirroring the maskless faces 
of those, who once 
sold their sanctity for sins. 
Perhaps, there's a
cursed moonlight, 
to which I'll...

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When I whirl as wind, 
unwavering ~
 surfing on 
watercolor wings 
of simmering seasons, 
 which flicker
 and fly through me, 
filtering my faults
with a wrinkled fantasy, 
I waltz whistling ~
in their whispering waves, 
where...

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When the sun hangs low
by scarlet-threaded silk, 
you'll find my soul
waltzing in the womb of woodland
like a viking warrior, 
where I'm rooted ~ 
beyond decaying diamonds, 
as life unfolds a watercolor symphony
falling from the canopy...

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Once upon a time, 
when juliet was a jewel 
of psychedelic phrases ~ 
steering rubies of romance 
to distant shores, 
where sapphire seafoam 
had never kissed the silence of sands ~ 
there blossomed an ode,...

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I know of a man, a normal man.
He has hair and eyes
and wears clothes and shoes.
He walks, he breathes, he blinks.
He bathes, he sleeps, he eats.

I think I love this normal man
for I, too, have...

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    When lotus  d u s k s
         are sequined with a gown
   of glittery s t a r s ,...

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As the apologetic sun
melts in hibiscus vase
of pastel-peach 
horizons and peels off
those pristine pigments 
of egoistic elegance, 
sailing upon 
aquamarine foam
of vanilla waves ~
where dignity
unveils a clemency
within catharsis, 
I dare to surrender
towards the 
pink-teal blends...

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O souls of the Island, 
I have silently 
heard through 
tropical torrents 
and surpassed 
a million miles 
of the milky seas, 
away from 
mint-marine 
silhouettes of my
utopian wonderland, 
as strawberry 
ripples and 
coconut-scented 
musings called...

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The opalescence of the early morning light flows over everything
It touches over ever leaf, every tree, every exposed part of her skin
She stares at the sky as the dawn breaks 
It shines brighter and brighter
The...

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“Only from the heart can you touch the sky.”       Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi  

I am a garden of Monet
thriving amidst
watercolor wilderness,
mourning the death of greens.
In pursuit of peace, where...

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When nylon nights
trade crystal colours 
in the stalls of nimble 
butterfly wings, 
I blossom as an 
irenic origami 
fervently fabricated 
with snowflakes of 
greedy gloom, 
stealing royal violets 
from the smokey estuaries 
flowing beneath the...

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When the 
glacial sun slips 
in softened womb 
of the scarlet 
spheres at dusk, 
yearning for 
hibernal rebirth 
as a lustrous 
morning star, 
it radiates 
golden beams 
like lakes of sunshine,
flowing over 
chiming starlit bells...

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This way and that                               ...

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Doesn't everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?
In the vast garden of stillness, where the shadows of memories stretch like ancient trees,
I wander, a solitary figure, tracing the map of my own...

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