Orange-inality

It could have been
the orange sky
I was admiring
-he asked me why
I noticed
if I felt good?

It may only be its likeness
to oval and objection to purple
-he thinks I am an artist
like that
the palette and what is not
tasted by others

It is likely the ellipse
I offered him
We could have been randomly
cast in the color before
-he agrees dutifully
and we could be genetically
unique only as far as we can see-
which threw him for a loop.

I only meant this hypothetically
potentially when the genome metes
its random end
it would depend on the (re)combination
and assembly by chromosomal connection
of organelle by origami, by atom.

Adam, says he.
It is a lovely Eve-
ning, said I as I happened to be
passing by.


Image By Sondrekv (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Bountiful ball

The harvest moon is up
and my stomach does not growl.
There is churning in the earth,
the reaper is due-

But none look when he arrives.

There is the usual warm glow
where a sinister mood once brewed.

Alas, there is no warmth or desire-
I am no longer hungry.
The moon goes on along
shining orange and strong...

at least the grass is getting greener.

Mountain Men

Listen,
It said to
Stop & Breathe
Forest
For the Trees
are lain out like a lumpy quilt
pinned to dry under fiery skies
of patchwork orange,
a citrus of sepia
trimmed in sheeny emerald
sat in
wonder when a wind yawned
wide, stretching cool brisk air
over my shoulders
gently stirring the quiet giant
in his bed of canopies
where he lies leisurely
tickling the sky
who cries in merry laughter
some times
while nobody's watching
He must have just turned over
and fallen back
in the deep
thickets, amongst
the dark womb roots
settling down
lulled by
a song
Foresting.





Image titled 'Orange Forest' [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Mass a peel (Haiku)

An orange is not

a nihilist refusing

the beauty of rhyme