red sun rising
blue, red, fuchsia striated horizon ....
damp air surrounds
not even a crow's caw
and then unusual animal sounds
We'll call this one a made up Tanka using Jack Collum's word count like in his word count Haiku.
Abstract art reveals the broad, mauve doorway,
To the beautiful world of bold, magical colors,
Of mahogany sunset, with orange, striated display;
Or skewed, vivid homes. Of gem weeping lovers!
The pretty wave of multicolored droplets comes,
And elongated, green flowers wait at sandy shore.
Trees of bicolored blooms, rapturize in two suns.
As ladies walk calico cats. Particolors evermore!
Dawn cracks with magenta bold, painting a striated horizon's view
The couple's tale of love unfolds with promises like radiant sparkling dew
The red rising sun has transformed
Into puffy white striated gray clouds
Pasted onto a blue, sky-blue sky
A lovely scene touched by cool air
The partly cloudy touch says
A chance of rain upon a dry land
Others have had some showers, but
So dry here, thank God no flood
Morn's sun lifts above the clouds
A brilliance sifts through the pecans
It lights up the shimmering dew 'pon the grass
Such a pleasant time on the porch
There are coyotes and dogs barking
Birds sing of nesting completed
I wonder do they know of winter
Or of a long winter's sleep
Does this year's hatchlings have instinct
Or is their brain a blank slate
Only God knows some of the answers
Because He was the one who created
pink striated blue
cotton candy greets August....
quiet cool morning
As the day bade its circadian farewell, the fleeing sun
Pulled its last glow from weary war-worn trees.
On distant plains, vacant honeycombs no longer buzz
With the songs of industrious bees:-
The thunder of exploding weapons rains down dreaded death
In the midst of innocent crowds,
As swollen moon struggles to peep through striated
Wind-blown smoke and eerie clouds:-
What is it in the psyche of man that
Pushes him to destroy his own kind?
Can’t he see that with war upon war
Humanity will soon run out of time?
“Woe is me” cries out the blood-soaked weary land;
When will peace triumph over this insanity of man?
Almost Afraid to close my eyes,
thumping heart, in tune with the pounding on the window pane.
Wonder if it’s hail.? Sounds like hail.
great dazzling flashes, strobe lighting, zigzagging.
Striated streaks of pure silver, illuminations gone mad
“One elephant”. “two elephants” three …..
Third elephant never made it
Crack and shatter, breaking, and rolling
close, too close,
I fear for the roof
Or the old jacaranda in the backyard
branches whipped into a frenzy by the ferocious blast .
How many miles an hour. ?
Howling, howling over every other noise,
Blaring car alarms, screeching, faintly heard.
There goes the jacaranda, and the back fence.
Hope the neighbours are okay.
Lord have mercy on anyone abroad tonight.
Hide under the covers
It will soon pass
Stepping over the threshold
Locating the floor buttons
I press the 3rd floor
~ my brain images still flashing ~
Disfigured long flames curl around
Cherished memories-
Dry spruce branches smoking and crackling
Glowing coals cooking steaks in a fire
Above the crashing waves on the North Shore
Of Lake Superior with mom and dad
Laughing and sipping root beer
Spying a twisted piece of petrified oak
most likely a plank
From an ancient sunken vessel splintered
In the Gale's of November
Loosening the piece from the grips of glistening
Basalt boulders, etching our names and place
Of discovery above striated agates embedded in
Crevices a millennial ago
Proudly displayed on the mantle above my fireplace
Gone
Now
Only precious memories remain
I flash the card lock on my hotel room
Entering
The
Future
2/18/23
A white wash of striated clouds
stretch expansively
across the arid desert sky
where Joshua trees commune
lifting up crooked cactus-like arms
towards the searing sun.
Massive layers of brown boulders
jut, forming endless sculptures
hidden places where the ancients
made their penitence with words
swept away by unforgiving winds.
Shadows shift under the arc of the sun
where nervous roadrunners dart
startled lizards seek shade
great hawks circle with outstretched wings
and tortoises amble as the hours crawl by.
Two lane highways trail into the horizon
toward snow capped mountain peaks
lined by nameless telephone poles
and tumbleweeds that roll aimlessly
across storefronts and sleepy
rundown towns in disrepair.
Yet the mystique of the Mojave plains
still remains an inviting oasis
of refreshment and contemplation
where time stands still
beneath the stillness
of the midnight stars.
12/5/2022
From beneath a long frozen earth
ancient human bones surface,
they rise far enough for an eye-socket
to be seeded.
A sapling grew from out of that skull.
In time the skull became a tree.
Like many tree’s its skeleton was on the outside
but the bone-tree’s bark was harder.
It grew gnarled and knotted, grimly striated
were it knurled as if a twisted growth
had tortured wood into blackened bone.
It’s leafage was scant, spiked, and leathery,
thorns were it canopy.
Some claimed it to be an old apple tree,
yet no fruit did it ever bear.
After hundreds of fruitless years
it fell, stuck down
by its own inflexibility,
its unbending bones broken forever.
From beneath a long frozen soil
where once a garden flourished
a serpent slid away
seeking more blind eyes.
Wispy, striated clouds
Across the pale blue sky
Revealed by the sun proud
Who is low now, not high
Across the pale blue sky
A swallow dips and dives
Who is low now, not high
Closer to earth, survives
A swallow dips and dives
Catches those bugs for food
Closer to earth survives
Feeding young, though its crude
With live bugs as young wait
Catches those bugs for food
Young not knowing their fate
Feeding young, though its crude
Catches those bugs for food
Revealed by the sun proud
Feeding young though its crude
Wispy, striated clouds
I checked my poem on this site in the Grammar Checker. It said it was okay.
Written: June 03, 2022
The blade in my hand has been honed razor sharp by reality
I wield it with the careful precision of a skilled physician
who was accrued decades of experience
performing the tedious task of dissecting existence
cutting cleanly through connective tissue to the bone
peeling back striated muscle and skin
securing them with tiny pins
severing ligaments and tendons
disarticulating joints and limbs
unveiling what by design has been hidden
beneath the deceptive shell of rosy flesh
revealing what some shield themselves from
by donning blinders made from money
building walls with the bricks of their success
never having seen or but briefly glimpsed
the darkness and depravity of the world
that exists within each of us
buried deep down or just under the surface
before turning away in disgust
preferring the pretty pictures on the wall
to the truth of it all
deprivation of oxygen
cutting off air
to the throat
mourning the mornings
the lack of touch
the killing of me
catastrophically denying
unsanctified flesh
I crave holistic, long lost, moments
striated muscles
bulging in and out
the night
used and abused
a lest often trick
biting off more than one can chew
doused with Cointreau
sucking upon your bitlong
oh so so long
ahhh
the memories
fading with the days
weekends in captivity
I crave the lasting touch
of your body
savoured
silently singing inside
my mind
Open my eyes on a bloodshot morning
The champion strains his leash
He's howling in pain, but he's howling in vain
The lights on Love Street are red
Tension mounts in my flesh
The rigidity of perplexed anguish
Turgid in my purple soldier's head
Veins popping, striated muscle pink and warm
I whip him, three times a day
Offer him a hand out of spite
I'll be frank: I spank and I spank
This thing's bigger than the both of us
Glacial on the inside
Frozen memories
of a lost, tropical paradise life
Frostbitten feelings slowly moving
to the other bipolar side
Icy reflections of striated emotions;
dark moods,
lighthearted nostalgia aurora views
temporarily soothes
Sparkling snowflakes —
crystalline sadness swirl deeper inward
everyday
a new layer of coldness
ignite the igloo beating hearth
Sub-zero lonely, empty pulse desires
buried inside an Arctic aorta:
The pulmonary permafrost side of hell on earth
Solitary cold is the fire
that burns within
A desolate fortress of denial
is never warmed by the freezing flames
The cold dawn of bliss
is eternal midnight burning
underneath an avalanche of anguish
Love snuffed cold fire ...
the icy cries keep neverending smouldering
Always ready to soul shatter burst
into a raging blizzard of unmelted tears again
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