The Rainbow Woman
The blue woman~alive
knows the meaning of things
and the hue of His visions.
Thinks to survive.
Absently slipping her sight at the edge
of the reality~
ruins, cracked mountains, and
rolling rocky rains
when the divine penetrates her within.
Her womb grows
to hide a new symphony of feelings.
She tries to face death and sin.
Bluish face for a falling tear
that becomes a magnifying glass.
Ear to hear the rhythm of the seconds as they pass.
Orange, red beret to pulse
in the hard, violet air.
Winds whispering old
songs in her summery, green hair.
This woman is questioning herself
if love can disfigure,
can play havoc with, can vitiate, or
can torpedo her essence.
She learned not to trust,
but to think and to keep it for herself
because she knows that, in the missing Light,
the words can become
silvery dust for a fight~
while shooting and jeering.
On her lips, the silence waits to explode.
Has a flamed, red shine.
There is nothing to destroy.
" Tis only a tomography of the spirit ~
her innocent jealousy and passion.
Note: My poem is an Ekphrastic poem, an analysis of the artwork entitled 'Femme au béret rouge-range' belonging to the cubist painter Pablo Picasso.
A Crack in the Atlantic
Mountains spit fire in the night
through molten veins unseen.
Liquid ejection throws tiny,
ephemeral stars.
The vacuums pull
the universe's heartstrings.
Air suction draws thrills
from the sun.
Gaseous plasma, a long dance
with hot or cold liquids;
gargantuan aurorae.
Earth quivers, reshaping its face.
'Tis like making love,
but it is about death~
the sun’s electromagnetic embrace.
Fire and ice storms paint
the skies with free-for-all.
Time cracks as a tectonic plate
and reshapes the land.
Creation holds its breath,
waiting for the next beat.
The Blue of His Face
This angular house is filled with
silence and loneliness.
The blue of his face is a photo
hidden in the dark,
whether it is love in her dreamless sleep or
suffering in her lucid dreams.
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