Green-eyed emotion erupts from warm emerald eyes
A viscous volcano erupts in my haggard heart
It's magma-traction under bright azure skies
Let's charter a dream and an island we'll chart
We'll sail soft waves South, on specific breezes
While the stars and the moon dangles their art
On sea's lofty breezes, the Pacific teases
To an island where all of my fantasies start
My green-eyed wondrous wonder, where wonders await
Igniting my wanton wishlist, scorching my eyes
My volcano erupts, and our flames soon relate
Then Heaven's gate opens, revealing my prize
I'm on an Island, in Heaven, with a Queen
Warm breeze, and these coral seas, speckle my view
And those same magma-scopic eyes of lush green
Sparkled all my fantasies and dreams that came true
Can you really love someone you can’t see?
A brush of wind that flows throughout your hair.
Can you really see something that’s not there?
The fiddle of the strings hanging off an old shirt.
Can you really love without getting hurt?
The sounds of music that drifts through the breeze.
The speckle of light that sits on the seas.
Do you really think of me as more than a host?
So, I hate to admit, I think I’m in love with a ghost…
Somber slate clouds blanket the longing skies,
whilst wisps of snow paint the frozen ground below.
Ombre leaves barrenly speckle slumbering trees,
glistening sheets of ice coat their fading existence.
Another bitter winter blows in,
like thistle tangling around forsaken irises.
Threads of changing seasons cling to my coat.
Taking a deep breath, I exhale, watching it hang in the evening air.
“Anywhere but here” rings in my head.
Empty coldness soaks into my soul,
as an icy blue-white depression takes hold.
Loneliness rests upon abandoned courtyards;
decaying rose petals become fossils
between layers of winter’s aquamarine verglas,
bathed by the snowglow of another illuminated midnight.
Death’s cold fingers trace my spine,
submerging me further into the gelid grip of despair,
massacring any hope of escape from this torment.
Can you really love someone you can’t see?
A brush of wind that flows throughout your hair.
Can you really see something that’s not there?
The fiddle of the strings hanging off an old shirt.
Can you really love without getting hurt?
The sounds of music that drifts through the breeze.
The speckle of light that sits on the seas.
Do you really think of me as more than a host?
So, I hate to admit, I think I’m in love with a ghost…
Soft as the nights darkness
The speckle in your eye
Those pretty blues
Who wouldn’t choose
Flaxen hair in the air
A beauty that shimmers in the sun
Skin illuminated by the light
So pure and bright
Love filled with such promise
A promise for life
Here today and tomorrow
Forever together
Hitched at the soul
Love combined with such greatness
Souls intertwined as one
A compatibility matched to none
She is the one
Cool comforts from the moon shining in Spring
diverge from coming Summer's scorching sun.
Sweet honeysuckle lifts its trumpet string
to set swift tempo for the Springtime fun.
The peonies follow in their due time,
shout scented secrets to boisterous birds.
Hornets send buzzing timbre to sublime,
heights of rowdy rhythm in unspoken words.
Loud melodies of frogs bide time with drums
in gurgling creek beds or towering trees.
The bursting bomb of bleeding redbuds comes
to speckle color through sonorous breeze.
Spring buzzes, bleeds, gurgles, or bursts out loud
through its short months, the frenzied, shouting crowd.
Bless each palo verde bloom –
Those cuplets kissed by the sun
My vision wants to consume
That thus have raptured my love.
See how they speckle the tree
With a burst of yellow bright
And upon the branches flit
By the wind that blows nigh –
Leading me not to consider
The force behind nor why
But to admire how they arch
In reverence to the sky.
A Scotsman voyaged through the highlands
Thickly covered with lush, purple heather
Kilt adorned and bare, his regions nether
Feeling breezy on this, a grand endeavor
He trekked across enjoying balmy weather
Heather gray sky and ben blend together
Through the loch did wet his boots of leather
The effort causing removal of his sweater
Warm with heather yarns the colours speckle
He laid it on the hillside and rested, however
Off in the purple heather shrub was a new treasure
A lass holding a bouquet of aforementioned heathers
Whether or not she knew, she blushed behind her freckles
And when she saw him, the meeting was a pleasure
Her laugh as soft and light as a floating feather
They grew a love that no one could deem to measure
Happily ever after, and of course, her name was...Gertrude
In the cool of the early morning
when the sun just begins to rise
Mystical layers suddenly appear.
Of soft, serene gray colored dew
with speckles of blue
Flowing gently like a sparkling river
Of colorful crystals
that twinkles against the lush green
and dark undertones of tall blades
of overgrown grasses
dripping drops of splashing dew
that supernaturally, magically turns
into soft serene gray colored crystals
with a speckle of blue.
Seasons Change
Fuchsia’s gradient leaves coexist with shades of orange on the maples
The amber and sienna leaves grasp their branches
like a final curtain call before they must leave the stage.
They were put here to shine
Eventually all must change
To make way for dreary days of late November
Where nothing is alive
That certain “in between”
Inevitable change.
Resistance meets longing
They shake hands in the corridor.
The blustery winds force a flurry of artists hues
To speckle the grass that fights for green
The tall wispy grasses reach for higher heights
And bend and sway
Bowing to greater forces
The lake prepares to be alone as her beaches slowly empty
Changing tides
Make way for a new season
And a fresh white blanket
To lull our world to sleep!
Grace Daub November 7, 2021
I know a river where the fish fly in the sky.
Sheltered by boundless ember morning sky,
a lull stillness, it refuses to say goodbye;
I breathe deep in submission quiver and sigh.
Drifting upriver in my small fry fishing boat
wishing for a plate of fried fish, so, I wore my lucky coat.
It's out there waiting for a moving worm afloat.
A dragonfly hover by, big bass launch into the air.
Dangling my pole over the boat there, I stare.
Speckle trout; come with me, my cupboard is bare.
I spent all day as the fish just laughed,
bait writhe at the end of the hook as they passed.
Splash! A nibble, then a take. Holy Moly, largemouth bass.
11/4/2021
Example for Contest
She’s not as dramatic as a hurricane or forest fire
Just someone’s old mother
Arranging her daily dignity
In an unrefrigerated apartment
She’s got a cushion chair
An oxygen tank
A bed
Her toilet
Weather Channel on the TV
She’s survived past her friends
The world’s last Sparrow chipping at a bird feeder
Night muffled of its insect thrumming
Mountain creeks hollow of Salmon speckle
She’s like them
A white flag draped over her rocking chair
108 degrees yesterday
112 today
Tomorrow?
Ceiling fan useless against the boil on her stove
Whistling to the empty room
She’s gone to sleep
Steaming
Lid rattling
We will all sleep eternal sleep very soon
Her only son breaks down the door at high noon
Cries alone
At her feet
Swallows the embers of her toes
Crumbles to dust
Himself
In the whirling arms of the unrecorded extinction.
When buildings crumble
& return back to dust
& heads turn in disgust.
Faced with lust & deeds
Of mistrust.
When all else fades
& the stars speckle
Like eons of old dust collected
& swept across the sky,
Time will cease to exist.
While some of us ascend
The staircase.
Not all of us will be so fortunate
In a desert of red.
In any case,
No matter which way you go,
Wait for me.
Wait for me at the floodgate
Which passion percolates &
The stars weep for us as we do
For them.
Don’t breathe without me,
Just as I wouldn’t without you.
Humble & unknowing
I don’t know what’s to become of us
But I do know,
I don’t want to be without you.
When buildings crumble
& return back to dust
When all else fades
& the stars speckle
Like eons of old dust collected
& swept across the sky.
Wait for me,
No matter what happens
A Patch of Blue Embraced
Sunlight
Freckles sidewalks
Summer shimmer light points
Golden yellow sunbeam slices
Leap in celebration
Embrace a patch
Of blue
Raindrops
Speckle rooftops
Umbrellas dot the gloom
Puddles dance in bright staccatos
Trees bow down to rainbows
To find a patch
Of blue
Fog’s breath
Camouflages
The meadow forest’s face
Where spiders shower in dew drops
Tule haze swept away
Opens a patch
Of blue
Lightning
Scented incense
Ozone thunder raging
Elusive storm winds playing tag
Teases clouds make a hole
For nascent patch
Of blue
Moonlight
Paints with silver
Moonglow gilded glitter
Platinum kisses drip from leaves
Looking to quick embrace
A midnight patch
Of blue
6/1/21
Contest: Heptastich
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Intuition flares,
prancing in ostentatious circles,
feather-tip proud.
Lugubrious grey wigs
speckle gregariously
bedecked by flamboyant gems:
they flicker frustratingly
in stifled Regency ballrooms.
Our embers, in contrast,
are quiet. Shushed.
They wallow in dark corners,
hidden from prying eyes.
Predators.
Our collective eyelid
flutters closed:
too shy, subduing to privacy.
A silent tear streaks
our collectively cold face.
Science ensnares our senses,
making ordinary life dim -
blindingly darkened;
teetering on Boredom’s knife edge –
we long to carve it free;
infuse new scarlet veins
into its unthinking, meaty flesh,
stoking a smothered fire,
rekindling its earthy,
endearing embers.
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