Stroke by Genius

What changed you, are there some credits 

                                                 you should roll?

Was it James or Pablo that altered Steins view,

smartly, she said Henry, but we see reality by Picasso,

who chose distance to close in his view, 

                                                 making imagery true

deftly in paint and tone and on monotone, she drones on

in her oboe wind; Williams drinks down the Dionysus wine,

loose lipped, they slur together...same tune, 

                                                  sung the wrong song.

Was there a moment you became you?

Who was there claiming responsibility for all 

that you are, you are, yoar, no more non-sense,

blaspheme by contest, in jest, we protest and 

                                                 already we have infested 

too much to undo, not saying enough, playing tough

                                                  and rugged,

this is New, as good as-gold-as good as dead, and it was 

                                                   Good.

Where sparks once flew, the artist extinguishes with 

                                                    billows of blue, it will turn-.-

Image credit By Wide World Photos [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

I Pink up the phone and say Yellow

God called me on a rotary dial phone with the piggy tail cord.

That is how we met, unofficially, when I was just five

my grandparents took me to a church

and the man in the middle, his name was Revren was happy

to be the center of our attention, he beamed and bowed

although I remember details like pulling out the tiny threads 

from a cotton lemon dress. 

The bald man, Revren, wearing the dark dress, 

a stage costume, I guessed having been to the theater 

much more, before-

he handed me the receiver of the phone, and shouted 

{He 

wants to talk to YOU!}

Grabbing the phone, 

I held it up to my ear like a shell,

no ocean, hell, just a loud sound called a dial tone.

When I handed it back after Revren asked me what He said,

I simply shrugged and muttered, { I don't think he was there-

anymore.}

Revren bald man shouted to the audience-That

i {did NOT BELIEVE}

{Pray} for little me, but I did see

i saw the light 

through the stained glass panes throwing yellow strokes 

liberally down the aisle

and understood others don't see this

from over there, it may be blue. 

My grandmother who had been a teacher,
slapped my hand
for unraveling her homespun delicate
pinafore
No reason. 

Image credit By Tyne & Wear Archives & Museums, titled 'The camera was great but her new phone wasn't working (1964), [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

Absorbing Autumn

Is it morbid to smell October
under Septembers fallen leaves,
dripping eaves?

I prefer not to be buried-thank you-
but I admit, it reminds me of a familiar place,
the earth Rising
and all...

Whereas when you see the sky
Falling
all over the place and filling in
with charcoal over blue with hefty white-
for contrast-
at last,
Relief.

Is it autumnal to wonder-
would it be better to biodegrade
or evaporate?

I am happiest under rain
when the leaves are crimson.



J. M. W. Turner [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 
"Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western Railway; the painting depicts an early locomotive of the Great Western Railway crossing the River Thames on Brunel's recently completed Maidenhead Railway Bridge.The painting is also credited for allowing a glimpse of the Romantic strife within Turner and his contemporaries over the issue of the technological advancement during the Industrial Revolution"

Revelations

Some days
                  I see everything
just
                  as it should be
Grateful that the sun blazes
                 safely so far away
Lucky that the moon is so close by
                 and I still cannot feel
my own heart beat
                 or sense the spin,
a feeling of reeling along
at more than fourteen miles
                                   per minute
still.

How far
                I've come and gone
making a present of the past
pulled into others gravity
and laced in fine ribbons
                of harmony.


Most days
it seems blinking and breath
                                  proceed without
preference-
                                  all the same
never was needed nor noticed
how it all blends together
                                 by degrees
always perfection
                                 in reflection
just
Today
I said
It has never been Up to blue,
It was
Always red.





Painting By Otto Freundlich [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sky scrapes

contrails drew all day
as one would fade, another blade
cutting in on blue, gilt by sun
without a red handle
on it to be seen

what chalky lesson
is trying to be relayed
that the entire sky should
altruistically accommodate
and become frayed to mineral slate
from all points of you

grey matter made of our machinated arts...
and those parts of paths remain staining royalty
bleeding lines out
ward, the cons alibi
covering for clouds
on a crystal eyes day.



Image by By Willow2012 (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Elementary and Primary

Basically,

these three things;

(by) Blood, (by) Air, and (by) Sea

and their causation with us

we are able feel inertia
in these,from these
most elementary, learn of

likeness, of course-ness, like us, 

matching a certain momentum, 

catching Time in between any of these

molecular miracles, mimicking 

all that we are (not) and more

that we may bear witness

as Being

as Blue

And though, it may seem true, 

temporarily

but truly, beneath all three,

as deep as one could show,

I know and have long said

I would paint them red instead.

Call me color-blind

and paint me white

whatever you do

don't say,

I shouldn't be blue.

Image of painting by József Rippl-Rónai [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Out of the Blue

When you said you were blue
I never knew
you were just sad and stuck deliberating
about all the bad and not really suffocating.

Well Krishna's skin is blue
so it might just be true
it happened from blowing into the flute
but that assumption is not that astute

That hipster Elvis chose blue for his suede shoe
a sexy single he hoped it would imbue
inciting romance and style
which he donned with a snarled sexy smile

And all poets love using blue
choosing it for anything they want to
it's a flexible, moldable rhyming color or tone
like those windstrewn, pesky violets I bemoan

A misunderstanding just blew
to shreds all you thought you knew
an erroneous translation
but a colorful mutation

(When getting married and your feet are cold
Don't forget that blue thing and something old
and something borrowed which to hold
blindly doing as superstition told)

Painting pictures with words
with the imagery and sound of blue birds
on one's shoulder, singing while in flight
poetically framed on pages once all-white

Most people claim it is their favorite
even Mother Nature decided to split
a blue for the ocean and another blue for the sky
the two largest of Natures Earthly supply

Separated by seas and philosophies
members of fractured colonies
share on their flags the color blue
at least over half of all of them do

Blue is used as a symbol in Psychologically
evoking of trust, confidence and honest authority
A plan needs a blueprint, the architect will say
Even Picasso was obsessed in his own way

Science found a way to make blue light
but now it's toxic and keeps us up at night
possibly harmful to our sight
good or bad who knows what's right?

It makes us calm and often cold
it is also found on some types of mold
Painters mix endlessly to get the proper color of night
Black and blue are the marks of a lost fight

A favorite choice for toothbrushes
your anxiety it supposedly hushes
A color mosquitoes cannot resist
despite being added to the squished list

Designated for both Smurfs and Jeans
but not even a tint of it on Navy Beans
And that Willy Wonka's Violet too
wasn't ever really the color blue

The brilliantine blue of a peacock feather
Or the blue on a butterflies wings or whether
you have blue eyes
all of these are pretty tricks, optical illusions  or lies.

(And I just cannot help but say
even my Russian Blue cat is actually grey,
but that poem was already written another day
and the name is just a name anyway)

Being blue-blooded once meant nobility
now its archaic, a symbol of frivolty
Blue can be seen only in the short wave-length
precisely and only in 470 nanometers of strength

The number of shades in English for blue
did you know totals at least sixty-two?
Not even adding Prussian Blue in the mix
of which there are as many as thirty-six .

And my deepest gratitude for getting through
this entire poem all about blue
I tried not to waste your time
with this elongated rhyme
In fact from this poem you could accrue
a lot of useless knowledge too-
at least about the color blue
so I truly, bluely, sincerely, thank you.


Image of painting via Wikimedia Commons, (Public Domain) by  Franz Marc (1880-1916) "Large Blue Horses".