Fragments of Color . . .

Thy quilt of many colors
define the  hills of summer winter spring fall . . .
the rusty oranges, crispy browns
the truest blue of eternity . . .
bloody reds, rivulets of wine . . 
the green of growth and whispering pastels
mere shadows of shade that falls between the sighs
of their creator;
thy paint is smeared upon the trees of god . . .
sublime yet vivid . .  deep and hurting . . .
thy breath begs my very soul for room
to expand beyond the sills . . . beyond the dreams . . .
to points of light
which ne'er return . . .
yet blooms upon the trees wherein I taste thy flesh
like in a dream  . .
the shape of winter . . . gives me rest . . .

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The voice of the cello
warm, golden like honey
she flirts, with moments
of inspiration . . a dreaminess . .
a hollow deep within her womb . .
her fingers run along the tree branches
where water flows, silver and denuded . . .
she dances there
like a spark of fire . . . the eggs
of the moth
coat her throat . . . birthing into
feathery flutters . . . straight to the cage of my chest . . .
where they live in softness . .


 
Out of the Blue and Into the Amazon by Emily Burridge

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Imagine that you are a bird  . . . newly created . ..

         birds are born with short melodies . ..  what color are you . . . what do you sing?

Pretend that you are a babbling brook

         cutting new corners, fighting a current . . . sparkling under the sun . .

Dream that you are a star

        escaping from a galaxy

                     dancing down a black hole . . . a new universe . . .

        what is the music there?

Visualize yourself under the sea . .  what are you . .

    what do you hear . . .

You are a ball of fluff . ..  flying in the blue like a kite

beneath a yellow sun . . . you think you have wings . .

and want to reach the nearest clouds . .

            where do you go . .  and what do the air currents

sing to you as you flow . .  easily . . . on your voyage . . .

As you dream, you are the goddess of music . . .

      it resounds through you

   like the vibrations through crystal

and the twang of a tuning fork pitched

      to break air molecules . . .  into the essence

of beginnings . .

        I hear the crickets

        sing their sacred song . . .

        and the heartbreaking blue

        of morning glories

        is reflected

        in splatters of dew . . .

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Went out this evening to dispose of the trash,
the sun was about to set
and the colors in the sky made my mouth fall open . .
on a canvas water colored with a hazy shade of purple,
peach and pink . . .
and splashed with turquoise patches of blue
there were clouds dancing across the horizon masquerading as cats stretching after a nap, ballerinas in gray tutus . . . and
spinning space ships . . there were sleds and carousels . . .
and dainty mice cleaning their whiskers . .
a small bat flew by, like a comma in that sky
and a silver jet lit up with bright diamonds,
dipped its wings at me . . . and I foolishly waved . .
the clouds continued, in a line to pass and form
a parade, amorphous . . .
a grinning mask as the light began to fade
and just before
it all passed away, giving room to mosquitoes . .
an angel . . . kneeling in prayer . . .

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