TINTED LOVE
Never let go of the person that makes your heart flutter.
I found true love!
But every heartbeat whispers a question:
Is he my soul mate?
There may always be “what ifs”
But just as my heart flutters,
So does the hope it carries,
Brightening this love of ours,
Painted in beautiful shades.
Why does this love feel so familiar?
Uncertainty clouds my paths
Should I hold on to this love
Can it be trusted?
Love comes in many shades,
But ours is tinted.
when our skin touches
im left with diluted smells
like wearing your boyfriend's hoodie
only its not mine to have
These smells have become nauseating
reminding me im only useful for backseats
and undercover kisses
my body is craving closeness
but im only handed meaningless motions
and tinted glass laughs
blurring what they really want from me
Love is only a broken teenage dream
my skin isnt what it used to be
im left with marks
from those who never truly knew me
Its not mine
But I still choose to love like this
backseats have become a place where Im seen
in the same space just another girl
they're always going to replace
Its something to distract me
from the damaged parts of my body
they never choose to see
You are reading this in future;
I write this from the past.
Don't look back here with sadness, through your rosey tinted glass.
Im In the field right now! Trust me, I can see the grass!
The wind is cold! Theres wolves about, and vipers slither past!
Its still right now I write this from, though I am in the past.
Im here right now, you're here right now; so why you feeling sad?
You wont remember these things, in the future, looking back.
So just memorise this poem, it's called the 'Rosy Tinted Crack'.
For what it’s worth, I can’t stop thinking
about the predicament I’m in—
and no matter how many times I think about it,
I’ll always lose.
I’ll never win.
If given the chance,
I would give it my all.
So for me, if I admit it,
I’ll have to take the fall.
I look at you with my rose-tinted glasses
and see all the beauty in the world I need.
But at the same time,
when I look at you,
time passes,
my heart begins to bleed.
Almost anytime I walk into the room,
I smell a sweet smell—
but I take it as a sign
that I have to repel.
I wish it wasn’t that way,
but it’s all so true—
because when I smelled that smell,
I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Oh, the moral dilemma I’ve put myself in.
I’ll always lose.
I’ll never win.
Sometimes I forget
To remove my thick glasses
Jade and rose collide
My rose-tinted lenses get me through the day
My world isn’t plagued by the white, black, or gray
Just rose
My rose-tinted lenses show me only love
Not any hate like the kind you hear of
Who knows?
My rose-tinted lenses made me “naive”
They say I only saw what I believed
I suppose…
My rose-tinted lenses make all flags red
Which is probably why I didn’t see her in the bed
Her clothes
My rose-tinted lenses hid your deceit
How could I have missed, I’d already been beat
So exposed
My rose-tinted lenses aren’t even real
They were made up to help me deal
I oppose
I believed you would change
I should’ve known that was out of your range
Just shows
My rose-tinted lenses have turned red with defeat
I’ll admit I’ve been beat
Your betrayal was indiscreet
But our story’s incomplete
We’ll wait and we’ll see
How rose-colored lenses provide what I need
Quicksand caught generation epoch,
restless whirring of a drill in the dust.
Zenith of color shifts saturation to none,
black and white film on video cassette.
Ensnared in a cage lowering to molten,
hourglass is losing sand to run dry.
Eyes fixate to the sunny horizon,
flicker dims as monsters crawl,
from beneath beds, closets,
bathroom stalls.
Those noises,
creaks in the floor,
are very real.
Ignore them,
rummy for thy belly to fill.
Crimson leaves flutter in Autumn's brisk breeze,
rustling cerise ripples through the treetops,
and as October winds tickle the trees,
sunburned farmers start harvesting their crops.
A scarlet sun bleeds onto carmine clouds,
inking colors that adhere to Night's brush;
and Dusk's magenta and rose-tinted shrouds
conceal Sol's death, in a vermillion blush.
When Nature's palette imbues Autumn's art,
cinnabar collects on the maple trees,
while signaling Winter's about to start,
russet canopies shift tints in degrees.
Burgundy, fuchsia, and maroon leaves fall,
till the naked trees get stripped of them all.
I’m building a wall
Ochre color, tan and tall
I hired an artist to paint a mural
Graffiti subtleties that will unfurl
White-washed and Chicano like me
I fell hard for him, exposing clarity
I knew there was no chance in hell
He’d choose a brown, White-washed Chicana for a spell
So, I’ll just play the victim and twist truth around
And make myself feel safe and sound
With my awesome poetry that I have in a bank
After twenty years of writing, I should be swank
There are plenty of Chicano painters in stock
I'll pay 'em with personal poems I keep under lock
I hear Cheech paints, Keanu Reeves too
He’s Hawaiian but he’ll surely do
5/29/23
Time
As it passes we look behind us
To the then
The when
When we were younger.
A time when all was not perfect.
Yet in our dotage
we see the
Misty perfection of youth.
But look not
upon that to come as chore-some,
Our mark is made
from start to end.
Grasp what we have
to see the now in all.
TINTED STRAND OF WISDOM
The day my eyes beheld
the sheeny silvery strand
almost had a nervous breakdown
was it not just yesterday
we recited nursery rhymes
and danced in the rain
yesterday when we wore oversized
shoes and baggy clothes
that mama bought us for christmas
yesterday when we were just
girls who had gabfests filled with
giggling about the far future
oh there it is!
the very first grey hair
glittering and standing proud
like a trophy about to be
presented to the winning team in the
glaring view of the teeming audience
first thought was to pluck it out
but at a second glance
saw art in the mind's eye
it's just a strand
not the official opening
of the floodgates
it's inevitable and means nothing
ultimately the beautiful
melanin hair will one day turn grey
no need to conceal it
not only does it get finer with age
but it also comes with insight
His poems were about racism.
About the white man who wouldn't hire him
because he was a “dirty Mexican.”
My mind shivered in disgust.
In the end he said, “…and I thank my wife…”
He spotted her in the audience, nodded, and
smiled lovingly.
I immediately turned to look for the Hispanic
woman in the crowd.
Slowly the procession passes by,
large black limousines like snails
creeping along, the village street
where a gathering crowd watches
black-draped mourners through
tinted windows.
Everyone I know liked the mayor,
a genteel fellow, hale, well-met,
died of unknown causes; that is,
unknown to the common folks
lining streets, glimpsing through
tinted windows.
Rumors say it was too much wine,
women, drugs, suicide, some think,
a heart attack of ancestral origins,
sudden, inexplicable, in the minds
of the curious looking through
tinted windows.
written July 27, 2021
“The soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts.”
Quote By: Marcus Aurelius
Tinted in hues that I never imagined
this pilgrim soul has ventured farther then ever before
together as one encumbered with deeds unexplained
claiming the winds of change as culprits and friends;
I plucked out strange thoughts like plums from a tree
thanking the summers of June for their warmth
choosing fruition of imagination over logical thought
and as the polar lights of my mind ignited,
I watched in childlike wonder as a levitation of color arose
in my heart .
Sepia-tinted season is on
You are yellow and red
Crunching leaves in the lawn
Soft sun on bed
You are yellow and red
As I pick apples
Soft sun on bed
Squirrels under maples
As I pick apples
In red-and-gold forest
Squirrels under maples
A Robin in your armrest
In red-and-gold forest
Snowy mist in air
A Robin in your armrest
A petal in your hair
Snowy mist in air
Gondola waits in the lake
A petal in your hair
Rich flavour of the cake
Gondola waits in the lake
String of verdant hillsides
Rich flavour of the cake
Evening playing with tides
String of verdant hillsides
October nip in air
Evening playing with tides
Melancholy eyes in the chair
October nip in air
Crunching leaves in the lawn
Melancholy eyes in the chair
Sepia-tainted season is on
-------------------------------
October 3, 2019
Poet's October Pantoum Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
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