Short Cinnabar Poems

sulphurous
mercury rising
from tormented mountains
where your vermilion river
flows...

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brilliant red maple tree
with her vibrant leaf flames
she gives me pause
her scarlets are as onfire as cinnabar
reminding me of sun fire and blood
I love her...

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On the arm of the adirondack chair
(painted unafraid purple by a pale pink hand),
All new-penny cinnabar shine,
Noble as any bald eagle,
Ahead, which I guess may be side-to-side,
He watches tall as a robin into the
long-hot-shadow-waning-of-May ochre light....

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autumn arrives sneaking slow...with the purple prism in the sunburst sky

maroon meadow displays...the ornate crown of dazzling diamond dew drops

in cinnabar garden path color burns...the leaves to gold in tanned trees

in hued explosion i absorb...autumn’s afterglow in reverie...

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Indian Paintbrush
 Cinnabar to rum.
 Bluish to a pink rose.
 Curious toward a new path.
 Waltz through painted daffodils.
 Crystalline ruby sky.
 Scarlet blood red devine.
 Indian Paintbrush.
 Open fields, red sun.
 Thine crimson deep.
 Fall asleep, can’t speak.
 Mesmerized by reverence.
 Rows of labyrinth....

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the cinnabar moth
a summer diurnal one
check out the ragwort

peppermint stands
mint moths' abundant tiny
summer potatoes

a rambling rose
buds showing waiting to burst
a flowerfly drones

bees not many
some burrowers one or two
campion self-seeds

tis the morrow morn
west is the forecasted wind
southwest for the swifts...

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Cinnabar remittance ailerons squall federal cobblestones. Lank alpine squint modest. Nectarine grimace, cloys toothsome.
Coiffure chain rod composure anemic, primogeniture Swedish cotton murk optics

Rodeo riding maiden broadcaster network metaverse falconry. Boreal voyages legalese.
Simper treacle blanched anecdotally. Goofy balm, beardless tease, healthy as a horse, real bee knees....

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Juxtaposed with emerald green shamrock
and flowers of yellow and cinnabar.
In my garden sits a red granite rock,
set with flecks of quartz, mica, and feldspar.

Butterflies are attracted to its salts,
and once, I spied an indigo-blue one.
A masterpiece, Mother Nature exalts;
this living sapphire shimmered in the sun.

Adorn with gold filigree fit for kings,
it stood poised on that rock, flexing its wings....

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Sundry torrents ask me for nonsense,
Veiled cloaks hovering in cinnabar sunsets, 
Hovering evenly in evening’s evanescence.

Nostalgia reaping neurons from presence,
So stress rapes neurons from futures,
Plans rope neural knots round tethered pasts.

And so tumultuous lassitudes tear wicked trenches into further trenches. 

Thickening malaise of everlasting unknown senses,
Of what, 
Of why,
Of when.

Until nothing responds with the rhythmic rhyme of more....

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