Blossoming Words


“Poem” exudes a periwinkle
While “poetry” is yellow,
“Words” emit a soft forest green
And “mesmerize” twinkles blue.

“Melancholy,” too, marinates in blues
But grey and silver it construes.

“Surprise,” tut tut, is such violent red
That “joy,” dressed in white,
Must clear his shocked head.

Words gambol in a meadow of colors
Colors flourish into flowers of words.

The Stars


The stars are cold and shiver,
Dripping raindrops of light
On the cemetery,
Bathing the headstones
Silver and luminous.
The silver lights spread and cover
The feet of those who tread here,
Pondering the night and the light
And what it is that
Makes the stars shiver.

Quicksilver


Quicksilver. The word rocketed through Jason’s mind like the gasp through his lungs as he saw the thermometer broken on the floor. Instantly, he stooped, eyes as wide as doubloons. She went rolling, seemingly helplessly, like a martyr, over the red linoleum. He gave singularity to her, a personality, an entity. Glistening like nothing else he had ever seen, she, Mercury, played with the light. She invited it into her being to roll it raucously around and up and down her body as her silver hips tumbled about on the floor. The sight of this seductively silver confidence buoyed him like a balloon of hot tea in his stomach, the peppermint kind that rich distant relatives had given him the one time he and his mom had scraped up enough money to visit.

What a contrast Mercury was to Jason’s everyday life! A life of grime-coated apartments, nightly gunshots, rats scuttling in the walls, an empty pantry, second- or third- or fourth-hand everything… Somehow, Mercury represented freedom in Jason’s subconscious mind. Freedom, vitality, energy, power! Everything. She incarnated everything that was denied to him at school by the bullies, uncaring teachers, and empty pockets.

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to imbibe whatever simmered beneath her surface to make her burst so with vitality. Marveling turned to enchantment, and Jason’s perception narrowed. Mercury piped a lilting tune, slovenly and sexual. She tempted, “Drink me in. Yes, drink deep of my truth tonight. You are a fool, and you are mine, adulterer.” His hand made contact, and the demon of Folly laughed.