Pinks Poems

sallys boots

Sally’s boots were classy and colorful indeed
She had worn them to play outside with her steed
Better than any fashion boots you would ever need
pinks, reds, lime greens, turquoise and mustard seed.

The only problem is that they were a bit too fancy
Designed by her three sisters Flo, Janice and Nancy.
The silver tassels kept tripping her up, and she fell a lot.
I do not mind, because they are pretty said the little tot.

SILK SERAPHS

SILK SERAPHS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
morning's fiery edge ascends~
kaleidoscopic procession of
pinks, blues, yellows catch my eyes.

above me, a fleet of silk seraphs
claim the cerulean sky,
sun's warmth igniting their ethereal sails.

the silk seraphs easily glide~
like dreamers across celestial skies,
they drift along effortlessly.

burners' gentle roar, a soothing serenade~
the ballonists soar in burnished metal baskets
while passengers wave as they pass by.

above quilted plains, tiny silk thrones reign~
like my wayward thoughts
they meander carefree.

the wind gently carries them higher aloft
then…..pooooof….they vanish.
magic comes with dawn’s first rays.

OBSERVER

OBSERVER*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
God breathes fire into the day, 
     a swirl of flaming pinks,
          inky blues, blistering reds.

If I could crack the code,
     the mystery would be lost,
          the romance shattered.

It is the tentacles of mystery
     that grip my soul and imagination,
          a reminder.

God did all the work.
I am just the observer.

*This poem was written for and submitted to Central Texas Writers Society; it appears in its recent anthology titled ‘Gods and Religion.’ This is my original poem.

tribute to Ostira Goddess of Spring

she breezes in with the April winds
a lovely lass pure and romantically inclined
baby animals frolic with her in the meadow
the tulips struggle toward the sun to whisper hello
she is Ostira, Goddess of Spring

Refreshing grasses wave in wonderment at the princess
Iris stand proudly, hoping to be noticed by their monarch.
zinnias sit back and relax, confident in their beauty without praise.
in their oranges, pinks, and yellows what can be prettier?
Every plant feels newly-done, rejuvenated, refurbished
spring is leaping in the air with joy for she is here!
Ostira, Goddess of Spring

many think they know her; the lilacs do.
The daffodils created her for they are the cheerleaders
Arriving first, like conductors, guiding the flower brigade
Bleeding hearts, daisies and dandelions love her also
She is Ostira, Goddess of Spring

Flowers as far as the eye can see

Meadow of clustered flowers
fragrant bouquets of petals
pinks purples yellows whites
~ a delightful extravaganza

Spreading their joy like tentacles 
they entice butterflies and bees
while the sun keeps busy 
caressing this wild ageless garden


AP: Honorable Mention 2025

Evermore

While wending my way one sunny day
in no particular direction
on stopping for reflection
I took a look at flowers by the rustic fence
beside a gnarled old tree
and was amused to see
beautiful colours and textures
which it seemed to me could only be
a painting picturesque
packed with pinks and reds yellows too
while beyond there lay
a field of green beneath a sky of blue
an avid artist if not gardener
it must have been
to have created
such as the sight I had seen
tho' my words won't describe
don't do justice to the sight I saw
it is etched in my memory
and will remain so evermore

The Beauty is a Desert

the desert is mystically alluring at sunset, looking docile and safe
few sights are as gorgeous as her evening skies of oranges and pinks
those who know, do not venture out after dark
for the desert is like a dangerous woman who looks unassuming
but is anything but

in the crooks and crevices of sand dunes and cacti there are dangers
hidden from most.
scorpions, camel spiders, tarantulas.
thorny devils, iguanas, and sidewinder rattlesnakes
the beauty of the desert sometimes obliterates these facts.

it would be rare to encounter a fennec fox, badger or muskrat
but they are there too, and could become violent if startled or crossed.
the desert is a beauty; but a vulture or bald eagle could swoop down
and carry you off and your little dog too.

Autumn Twilight

As I look out upon the heavens, 
a great sight meets my eyes, 
as I look upon the sky.

Twilight has come. 
Oh! Wonderful twilight 
stretching across the sky!

The song of an unspoken beauty, 
the dance of a graceful painting, 
the colors of a gentle wave.

Pink, tinged across the blue, 
bands of color floating lazily about, 
creating a pattern, it’s beauty none can doubt.

Enthralled am I by the wonderful sight, 
caught up in the smile of the pinks and blues. 
Breath in my throat, my eyes transfixed.

Snapping some photos, I watch until it fades.
Yet the beauty it held was oh so real, 
and in my mind, the image will never drift away.

Fungi

I like my fungi
sauteed in butter 
in a pan with a chopped clove
of garlic, parsley and plenty
of salt and pepper.
Or sliced and simmered
in chicken stock
with arborio rice
and topped with parmesan
cheese in a creamy
mushroom risotto.

I like the musty,
earthy smell
that some fungi have,
the exquisite delicacy
of the gills, 
the soft, spongy feel,
the variety of shapes 
and colours that range 
across a pallet
of grays, yellows,
pinks and purples
through to a bleed
of vibrant reds.
Fungi feed
the senses.

But most spectacular 
of all is the fungi
that hides beneath my feet
in a buried network 
of fibres thinner 
than a human hair, 
connecting a forest
in one enormous web
carrying nutrients 
to hungry roots 
and the secret language
of trees. Poetry
is like fungi.

Therapeutic Palette

It is a painting of deep connection
to natures beauty of fascination
and the changing seasons, of colour and light
it captures its essence,  in fleeting its sight

his brush stokes fluid and energetic
he gives it life , to the unexpected
and in hues of greens and pinks,  serene
a sense of calm , so rarely seen

l transport back, to peace and harmony
to his eyes, of deeper meaning
  passage of time ,and its fleeting nature
his Water Lilies, their fragility, his feeling

a pulse of light upon the water
it has a miriad of interpretations
so he paints to invite you in
and he paints its slow , in it's his celebration

l'll think , and sit, and wait a while
and absorb the artistic palette 
as his canvas gives back,  the Lilies smile

in the gardens sunset ,

                                           of Monet

Dawn

Early, in the pre-dawn hush
I heard the robins sing,
and then a sleepy breeze awoke 
and made the wind chimes ring.
 
Their blended notes in concert sweet 
soon filled the morning air 
as on horizon's stage the dawn 
danced in and waited there.
 
In all her newfound finery, 
her dress in filmy hues 
of lavender and rosy pinks, 
and shades of palest blue.
 
At last, the music died away, 
and dawn, in golden gauze, 
slipped off her skirts and left the stage, 
to a rooster's loud applause.

The Bee in the Garden

                       My three-year-old son stood next to me

                        as I watered our garden of flowers

                          The zinnias nodded their blossoms

                      As if grateful for garden hose showers

                     A firework array, was that garden display               

                                Of pinks, yellows, orange, 

                                       Purple, red

                      When my son asked the cutest of

                                 Questions to me

                        In the darlingest way ever said

                     As he eyed that large bumbling bee

                 That he found alarmingly too close to me

                Not quite in fear, as its buzzing drew near

                     And it sampled of pollens so dear

              But at his first sight of that yellow bright fuzz 

          And the loud droning volume of that giant bee's buzz
            
                    He just needed to know all was right
                 
                                      He asked

                    "Mommy? Do humming bee's bite?"

Do you have Art Influencers in your Family

Do you have art any influences in your family? Asked Professor Staff.
Calista, a new freshman in KCK college began to laugh.
Everyone in my family is a cartoonist or a painter she said.
You get this from your parents? He wondered outside his head.

My mother, my father, and especially Grandma McVey.
Grandma McVey has an art studio; where she sits every day.
She paints with fluorescent acrylic turquoises and pinks.
Her clothes are dotted, speckled and smeared with inks.

Since I was two, I have been a painter, because that is what we do.
I am fond of texture, color, pencils, erasers, and paints of every hue.
The professor said, “I doubt there’s anything I can teach you,
You see, your Grandma McVey was once upon a time my teacher too.”

If Saturn were a Rainbow

If Saturn were a rainbow
Would we feel any differently
About looking through a telescope to see her?

I imagine she would be beautiful
With pinks, yellows, blues, and light greens.
I imagine it ….

And I want to look through a telescope now
For the very first time.

Like a Father in Endless Space

A feather falling, floating, following my life in endless space
Meeting sunsets on oceans in pinks, reds and delicious orange spread across horizons
Passing in slow motion as birds squawk goodbye flapping wing
Red skies this morning    my heart pounds to a quick
Anxiety runs, fleeing from memories where you held me like a stuffed toy cuddled
A future we thought we knew blew across my face spilling wet grief
The course of love    like jewels fallen from heaven meet the ground
Treasures   buried in sightless time
My heart was a gift    without threads to mend it
I knew you with a touch    in waves moments that defined us
In a tragic second   shadowed memories   my gift my grief
Our children at hand   kissing your passing in love with trembling emotions
Your ghost haunts my life, floating   like a falling feather in endless space

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