Redness Poems

Cloud 9

You look like a Viking
Or like a Greek god
Not my usual type
It’s actually kind of odd

You’re masculine and kind
Like yin and yang combined
Sound body, sound mind
Just a man so refined

You have a sweet smile
And a great sense of style
Gonna think about it awhile
As I melt into this pile

And when I hear you speak
Of course it makes me weak
I follow the sound of your voice 
Now there’s redness in my cheeks

I block out the noise
And I try to stay poised
But I crash and burn
When will I learn?

You’re crafted like a work of art
An inspiration from the start 
Whenever you’re near or we’re apart
Thoughts of you whisper to my heart

I want to tell you how I feel
But you’re not mine for me to steal
Your heart belongs to someone else
You’re under another lover’s spell

There’s nothing I can do but pout
She’s a lucky girl without a doubt
I can’t ever say these thoughts aloud
So I’ll just lay here dreaming on my cloud

A Triad of Tanka IIII: Mount Fuji

Mount Fuji waking,

Lifting on girdling pink cloud

In early dawning,

Casts its slopes and snowcapped peak

On flat mirroring water. 
-------------------------------------

Fuji; slow sunrise.

Then a sea of blazing cloud 

Sets the hills aflame!

Crowding onto a shoreline:-

Hosts of purple lavender.
-------------------------------------

Fuji in Moonshine.

Floating cranberries, amassed,

Shiver in cold light,

Ruby redness contrasting

Against crystaline night sky.

Dear Tom

Dear Tom

If I had the courage to speak from the heart
Ladybirds of redness would sing from
It.
I imagined my pain was of your making
But it was only the making of life.
Now I'm alive like a ladybug.
Still small but making my way bravely 
Forward and backward and forward again.

Now more smoothly and flying at times.

Dear Tom 
If I could speak from my heart
I'd say
Nails have been stuck in my chest
After you left.
I cared about each one of your steps
I could not witness you make.
It was the kind of loving I wanted for myself.

Dear Tom.
Your silence is empty like a heart that's
Been shut -
But I give myself to it and I'm full of it 
Now.
I call things for what they are 
Too. Do you hear ?
Cause shying away from the heart 
Keeps it shut.

Dear Tom
I imagined you could be my home but 
This was my bad.
Like I could have owned your being and
Fill it with mine.
That's not loving, that's owning.
Colonising. I retract.

Dear Tom,
I honour your spirit. 
May it be freer and freer
With each day like a ladybug
That flies it's own
Own
Own way.

Horror Poem Number Two

The razor;
It slipped
Leading to 
Unexpected consequences.

The redness 
Splashed and spread,
Splashed and spread.

The Unknown Room

I walked into a room and did not know it well
yet, feel I should, for I have been there many times,
not a liminal space, though sometimes this is so.
But this time, oddly, somewhere I should know and be.
Should I recognize those strange eyes that gape at us?
Some duty that I should as duty stares at me.
Yet I know them not, nor the paintings in the hall.
The not familiar couch where lovers once had lain,
its crimson redness gash against the dreary walls.
Was this with you, or in some other life I had?
Are you even here or I? Truth, I do not know.

Christmas

Christmas is a long song sung in winter,
An epic poem written with white quill feather pen and
Gold ink, and on clouds of paper,
Beginning from a sneezing December to a
Dizzying twelfth-calendar month,
When snow drizzles gently into the souls of
Those who hearken to the tinkling sound of
The church bell which rings gently with the weight of
The slow-passing season.

I see whiteness in every song, with so much redness;
Regal and romantic; flagrantly friendly.
Oh, how pure!
Oh, how sweet!
Well, that’s Christmas.
It lights up the courage in us to think right and assume
Merriment in the warmness of some frozen hearts.
It’s the best time of the year.
I swear to this because I am a child of Christmas.
It’s a time of fog and dew and sleet that rebaptise us.
Let’s not forget the slanting rain whose liquid kisses us.
And white Christmas of snow-carpeted lands and seas.
There’s no other time or season like it.

So full of gentleness and love,
Christmas causes hearts to race s-l-o-w-l-y,
As the year races on to breast the tape of seasons.

My Maltese Framed My Life

Animals Poetry Contest
Constance La France


Snowball painted my life with all hearts
He would fill our canvas with his love
For twelve years we played our parts
Like two little angels from above
That were married like a ball to a glove

How a little Maltese captivated me
He was so faithful, sincere, and true
He would jump onto my lap and knee
And scamper to my sock and shoe
Nose sniffing my body through and through

He loved to play outside in the yard
We played, danced, and skipped to his treats
Yet his eyes would always be on guard
Barking at the passersby off the streets
And lapping at the sparrow's tweets

Twelve years we lived like husband and wife
The paintbrush of life rolling with the days
It was the happiest time of my life
Until the sun kneeled down in a blaze
I yelled, saw redness, and cried as he lays

The redness remains

The redness from the veins still stains the earth,
Bones stripped bare of flesh by ravenous ants,
In each of the souls, peace was much in dearth,
The redness from the veins still stains the earth,
That's what wars do, even before my birth.
We humans have brains, yet behave like plants.
The redness from the veins still stains the earth,
Bones stripped bare of flesh by ravenous ants.

The redness from the veins still stains the earth,
In each of the souls, peace was much in dearth, 
That's what wars do, even before my birth.
We humans have brains, yet behave like plants,
Bones stripped bare of flesh by ravenous ants. 
With all peace talks drowned by hordes of war chants.

Shades of Red

Shades of Red

The red spectrum of people,
Like a beautiful butterfly,
Fluttering across the sky,
Looking for a bloomed flower.

Shades of Red traverse the landscape,
Like freshly turned fall leaves,
Bright luminosity of red,
And the redness covers the whole tree.

In the spring time,
We wait on Red Tulips,
They open like a seasonal door,
A period of renew is in-store. 

Shades of Red covers life,
Across the ground you see,
The remnants of red flashing,
Poking the eyes of thee.

Saline memory

I walked on the beach as a child
My prints were small and hurried
Excited steps fed my way
Testing the cold beast
That would tempt me
In and out, each silver back
Threw out its arms 
Was it love?
My eyes could see for miles
The horizon lay its blanket 
A glowing redness smiled
Which I returned politely 
Its lips mouthed a cryptic verse
In the voices of a million men
Who fell in time
Lured by this angelic shape

Now in my quiet moments
I return
My prints lost to a lasting tide
Devoured
Until its next suitor, dreams

Effect of Redness

As the blush of a lovely breast spreads
Harpy eagle's desire hovers over the Tigris River
Taurus rides the high tide of excitement.

The Cliff gets inundated by huge floods
Turbulent is the danger time boat-
Turning the inkpot upside down-
Principia Mathematica gets blurred
Young sailor is disoriented without a lighthouse
Falling are the rudder and mast on the waves.

DONt WORRY LOVE

Don’t Worry Love

The hot redness of her face, as if Mars,
     Surrounded by flashy yellow a-bright;
And pure snow clouds dancing, chastefully, light.
     Orbit’s blush and puppy love eyes with stars.
Latterly, bestie speaks it out loudly.
     A sudden volcanic moon of madness
dries her throat, a disruption of sadness.
     Virginal countenance, burning brightly.
Then her crush softly grabs her hand in his.
     “Don’t worry love. Let’s step outside,” he croons.
She is startled - her cheeks begin to swoon.
     Fresh air cools her down. She enjoys the chills.
The robins sings of lovely things - knees weak,
     as he brushes a kiss upon her cheek.

Jesus And The Demons

As thorns exist with the rose, or redness subsists with blood
The evil that dwells in hearts has its traits in the physique.
Though humans try to nip all negativism in the bud,
Expressions of the powers of pessimism are unique.

They lived with humans who couldn't live with other humans.
Some took shelter in hills and mountains, and some lived in tombs.
To them, day-to-day life and duties seemed like illusions.
As though in unison with nature, they tore their costumes.

Jesus contained them all, as a sea could hold any drop.
His words and touch, as medicinal herbs, healed their ailments.
Peace, joy, and freedom in physique and psyche flowed nonstop.
All who witnessed his acts praised his divine accomplishments.

Demons, yet, in the form of Sadducees and Pharisees
Finding fault with him, they could find their souls, never at ease.

The Senses

Dust falling on your nose.
The smooth, redness of a rose.
A ponytail gripping your wrist.
The frustration of necklaces in a twist.
Some senses are calm, others burning.
A raindrop falls and I find myself yearning.
Yearning is a sense too.
A tingling and shaking, that is true.
There are a million senses.
Some behind fences.
Some not for the weak.
Others that we do seek.
We get a taste, and then it fades.
The senses are how we count the days.
A scar sparkling like jade.
And just like that, the pain fades.

summer Sun

sweltering heat ray 
intense redness on body 
beach goers nightmare

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