He paints his surroundings with a brush that spews a monochromatic medley
Definitively azure, he strolls though a crowd of people somewhat less sure.
The dully saffron man gets a little green spark,
and goes off to set in motion a merry notion he just caught
And the woman masked in magenta gets slightly brighter with the help of a lighter shade that starts to pulse in her veins
When the azure man brushes by in brief encounters that leaves others colors changed

Monotonous grey is enlivened in a relief from the melancholy that marred what once was a proud maroon
And the person at a brisk stride clad in navy blushes to the tune of a tint close to baby
While the mahogany man is emboldened,
and starts to seriously think that the chance to talk to the girl in pink is golden
His affect spreads like an azure tide grasping minds and canvassing chance passers-by

The man emblazoned in crimson and a passionate amber settles towards a neutral mood,
sauntering away to a place where he can simmer in seclusion
And the person festooned in a calm goldenrod gains a streak of bright blue to break his uninspired hue
As the azure man leaves behind a world with newfound views,
thanks in part to a mood found to be fecund in land that was filled with color,
yet unable to imbue their positive ones on another

I was dining with a friend at some small café
When I decided he looked a little cold, so I threw some flames his way
He caught like cinder, all fiery and ablaze
(you should have seen his face)
And with the oranges, reds and yellows licking his tongue he turned to say
Thank you.

We finished our meal and he got up and walked away,
Singed earth and sooty footprints left in his wake,
And I was a bit worried about him;
that someone might make it their aim to see him doused.
But I realized that all they would do would be to spit at him,
and with only that, he’d be okay

I’ve seen better days
When our happiness bloomed like the poppies we tramped through
Though looking back it makes me sick (I’m convinced it’s some onset reaction)

Or when we trekked through mountain passes
With craggy walls as tall and encompassing as our aspirations
Though when the passes assumed their places in our wake we gained a breathtaking view,
But with our aspirations now in tail nothing so stunning ensued

We’ve crossed all manners of water, both fair and foul
Fought storms with slashing rains and convulsing waves
Or alternatively relaxed floatingly on the wings of a cool breeze
We’ve worked through deserts despite dust grains flying in our faces
The cool wooded areas and dingy swamp lands as well
Besides the sticky jungles and coniferred forests
Which we concurred were more interesting than plateaus
Where we were the tallest things in sight and they were devoid of anything that caught the eye

We’ve passed through literal valleys
Which were figuratively anything but

We’ve traveled the earth, and all the terrain it came with
And it’s all been set underfoot
During times as varied as they were enjoyable
But now we reside in our own abode
To each his or her own recliner
Where breath not words, expressions or exasperations escapes our lips
Silent we sit, with some solace to be found in our recollections
Of our wanderings now derelict, during which we enjoyed ourselves
But it had nothing to do with us

I watched a pretty picture fall from the edge a living room end-table, with the culprit, unintentional or no, rendered entirely unable
It cut silently through the still air until it crashed onto the waiting floor, the cause being incapable of setting its progeny in reverse
Glass scattered exposing the gloss beneath, the insides lain in pieces reflecting like mirrors and sharp as deadly blades
What was left distorted what it was meant to protect and gained a greater prospect of inflicting pain
Though not devoid of the moment that caused the original movement, the image was now denuded and easily ruined,
Left to be stained by greasy fingers of lesser men who didn’t know how to handle a high quality print
But the frame, not quite so easily changed, and perfectly the same irrespective of what it contained,
Looked just as content, albeit a bit out of place sitting at the base of a chair with its insides strewn about the olive colored carpet
But, though its location was askew it was rather unfettered
And had the frame been the sole occupant of my gaze, I wouldn’t had known any better

Working title. I haven’t posted anything in nigh two months. Which could mean that I was working on an epic lyric to make the Iliad look like a bards wedding toast, but this is not so.

Enclosure

Bars may be seen past into the world beyond
Sight carries lines into a land without rest, without tarry,
While I am enclosed and resigned to life inside

Confined and caged where nobody sees,
Nobody hears
Nobody bothers.

Locked as an observer,
My heart’s protected but cannot be free
My life’s unprojected; only rarely can snippets be gleaned

Twelve bars preserve me, twelve bars encage me

Dandelion seeds spread like shotgun shells
Into the open air without worry or care
A pantomime of jubilation that spells
Spreading to a new generation
Blown with vivid animation from the
Smiling lips of a girl about six
Who looks up with eager anticipation
Towards her mother who rewards her
With a grin like no other and a little chuckle
That incites her daughter to scatter another
And the air leaves her reddened cheeks
Which constrain for yet another heave
That sends the seeds floating
Into the blowing wind that accomplishes
Exactly what the dandelions need
And the mom still smiling joins her daughter
On her elbows and blows into the breeze
It’s a moment that she wishes would repeat
And she asks the little one
If she’d like to come back next year
And she happily says what she wanted to hear
After an afternoon spent on the flowers and in the clouds
The two come back down with yellow stains on white clothes
A small price to pay for priceless moments the mother knows
But she looks forward to the return to the dandelion fields
Hopefully annum upon annum or whenever the fancy chances their minds
Actually they returned a few weeks ago, and they parked over where they once played
And the daughter argued over what princess to be for Halloween along the way

I’m pretty positive you looked at me with negative eyes
Some inexplicable enmity that politeness just doesn’t disguise
I’m sure that there’s something in me that somehow upsets your stride
And try as you might, I’m a grain that grates against your nerves that you can’t hide
I’ll remain the same, so I suggest that the best for you is to realize:
That I don’t care, and you should probably take a similar line

Oh the time spent searching for the perfect amalgamation
Much more yet yearning for that furtive fruitful combination
Should it sometime come to pass, would I miss my chance with slight hesitation?
Or does it not exist, some foolish figment of my imagination?
Do I strain after an illusory sum? Do I insist upon no one?
In my search for orichalcum, is it a myth?
Long gone explorers could not quite resist the tales of gold
Once upon old, the young and bold trekked toward El Dorado
Neck and neck they raced after what was always around that corner, or tomorrow
Furiously paced they chased riches but found sickness, sorrow
Now they stay in place with what they gained and borrowed

Were they right to follow where they felt led or were they fools instead?