Ode to the Lavacourt Under Snow

--A pantoum--

Emotions would be cerulean or sapphire, not just blue

If only we could taste our surroundings

Mundane details would illuminate

with Swirly Periwinkles of soft yellows

If only we could taste our surroundings

Through the eyes of Claude Monet

Swirly Periwinkles of soft yellows

would replace the flurry grays of soot

Through the eyes of Claude Monet

chilled minty glimmers of blue ice

would replace the flurry grays of soot

gently brushing, sharing space with eachother.

Chilled minty glimmers of blue ice

Mundane details would illuminate

gently brushing, sharing space with each other.

Emotions would be cerulean or sapphire, not just blue.

Lavacourt under Snow

about 1878-81. Claude Monet.

The Dryad

It was that time in the spring when the first slivers of snow began to dissolve and the sun rays reached out through the cold airs of the winter. In Central Park, the leaves were still missing from all the trees but the dirty globs of ice were still frozen to the curbs of Colombus Circle. Within the naked trees, stood a different tree. Perhaps its limbs were more curvy? The last leaves a more lush green? It was merely an Oak, but this tree stood alone amongst it’s plain brown companions. But, laying deep beneath the tree was something the New Yorkers could not see. There lay a Dryad- from centuries ago, an aged Greek tale. A young nymph, with perfect rounded locks and a porcelain face wrapped in a satin ice blue scarf. She lived her life, listening to the conversations within Central Park. She knew why Christina decided to break up with Seth, how Regina and Adam fell for each other, and even what happened between Lauren and her mom that ended their friendship forever. One time, a bird specialist lead a tour through her neighborhood, and she learned of robin’s eggs, pheasants’ mating calls, and that one sparrowhawk sighting of 1984. She soaked up the information like a sponge, as a mosquito savors its blood. For this was all she lived for, and all she could do, since the Oak was her prisoning home. She could understand the words of animals in the park- it was her special gift. She knew all about territorial disputes and mating drama which sometimes unraveled into a quite comedial entertainment. However, there was a sadness within her, that she could not leave the Oak. She would always remain the listener, the therapist, the boring one with no story of her own. She dreamed of herself meeting “the one”, owning that tiny white dog, and going to brunch at Sarabeth’s. A true tragedy, she felt, one she could not escape. A longing “nobody”, understood by all.

3 Haikus

Jog

Beat blasts through my ears
the quads fight the crunching leaves
steady punching feet


Thought

Coffee Stain on shirt?
Fashionable brown detail!
Mindset over mood


The Bustle

Plan every minute
Tired, over-worked, can't stop
On to the next thing

Lessons of the Beatles

Images of broken light

dance before me like a million eyes

Possessing and caressing me

Waves of joy drift through my open mind

inciting and inviting

Sounds of laughter, shades of life,

the smiles returning to the faces

I'd like to be

With lovers and friends

In our little hideaway beneath the waves

No hell below us

Above us only sky

We would be warm below the storm

Limitless undying love which

shines around me like a million suns

Cellophane flowers of yellow and green

There's nowhere you can be that isn't

where you're meant to be.

Imagine no heaven

no countries and no possessions

no religion too

And our friends are all on board

Everyone of us (Everyone of us) has all we need

You may say I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

Across the Universe.

All You Need is Love.

Imagine.

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

an Octopus's garden.

a yellow submarine.

You may say I'm a dreamer,

Guess you know it’s true. But

There's nothing you can know that isn't known

Nothing you can see that isn't shown

Crimson Carpet

A crimson velvety carpet feels damp under my feet
There is a smooth bumpiness, a hybrid texture like leather and cashmere
Addictive to touch, like the fuzz of a peach's side. Looking on,
I see more crimson hills, they are burgundy with a bit of shade.

Feet first, I step slowly down one soft valley, but it curls out and-
My arms are flapping, they can't hold like a baby bird, faster and fas...
TERRRRR. I lose touch and I'm falling down fast and turning circles.
The wind slaps me and blurs of color woosh around.

Are those brown blurs sharp? I see them shining.
Ow! One slices my arm, seeping pain. Yes, there's my answer.
Still falling, hair pulled up, I shut my eyes hard and wait for it.
THUD. Ouch, that hurt my legs and boy! they ache, but hey! I've landed.

This weird ground hugs me all around with spongey pieces of something.
I pick up the grainy fluffy stuff with a hand, but it falls through my fingers.
A shooting droplet of water hits my shoulder, right on the cut.
Ok enough. Where am I? Do I need more pain?

I look up and the misty surroundings focus up.
A bed of roses. Thorns. The morning dew.
How could I be so stupid? G-d just laughs.
But wait! Why am I.....
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small?

Everything Happens for a Reason

The cushioned couch, a mother’s resting base,

A giver of care, her memories keep warming,

Yet still remains that empty space.

Too soon, without guilt, cancer did debase,

this angel, with children and husband still adoring,

No words to say in this place.

Two young lovers make of vow of embrace

A passion for infinity, they ignore parental warning,

and try to live without that empty space

Alas, both were too different, traits they couldn’t erase,

Hope lost, all alone now, What was the point of all the yearning?

No words to say in this place.

“There’s someone else” he touches base.

her heart pains from the betrayal, but dreaming,

still longs to fill that empty space.

Reason can’t excuse this disgrace.

No way to rationalize such harming.

No words to say in this place,

Yet still remains that empty space.

The Effectual Truth