A Drop of Iris

Because tomorrow is a special day.

Paint me black, for the hiding unknown.

Night enshrouds the moon as a swaddle does the newborn. So I, too, had taken comfort in what could not be seen. My eyes would close, and I to sleep, and none to know the better.  

Paint me grey, for the opioid of haze.

A smoke, a screen, a brook to drown hands in. So they reached from a fenced perch, impartial but greedy, a dangerous mix. For they slipped on silver and sent me plummeting headfirst.  

Paint me white, for the first snowfall.

Stunning and stark yet new and pure to find myself here. At my feet, a blank canvas for Father Time and Mother Earth. We joined them, and I adorned colors only you dared to create:
 

Paint me violet, for the fleeting and unbound.  

A new cosmos to undermine is no easy feat. Such is the potential of a flawless allure tipped in tears unshed, made malleable into one more broken yet of beauty unimagined.
 

Paint me indigo, for the peripheral vision.

Step, step. Down the road, straight and narrow. Step, step. You take your own, straight, and narrow. We cannot stray, but I find your gaze just as you catch my betraying eyes. The road hums with syncopated breath, and I always hope it will curve.
 

Paint me blue, for the untempered heart.

I know not a good deal when I see one. I merely give, and take. When it was or how it came to be, I gave you a key with little thought or worry to come. To unlock many and fear none pales all, my love.
 

Paint me green, for Libra’s scales.

Where our fingertips meet, the caps crest, and the undulation cries. The low draws in, and the high coaxes out what might otherwise lie untouched. For one without the other, there is no horizon to admire.
 

Paint me yellow, for the wonder of the mind.

Where I find no, you find yes, and quite the opposite can be said. I stumbled into a maze where lies built walls and truth built lies. You didn’t understand, so you left. Sometimes I feel you revealed the way out.
 

Paint me orange, for the thrill of a day.

Place and time became Picassos. Instead, sound and sense molded the frameworks of my memory using the rich tones of your smile and the map of your body. What I remember is no longer where or when we were, but what we are.
 

Paint me red, for the incessant fervor.

To follow you is nothing short of bathing in sunlight, where something warm traces its way inside. But, perhaps, that is what the sun does. It finds and warms and changes. You may not yet understand the effect of your flames, and don’t ask it of me. For one eventually understands why fire burns.

   

Paint me something farther, a curve of the unseen that will freely align.

And let me dream that I have dyed you, too,

                                  In a beautiful shade deeper.


~E

A Rosebud

Last but not least:

 

“A Rosebud”

-Robert Burns

 

This one felt like a beautiful simile to the gentle tug between youth and age. It starts out with him admiring a rosebud early in the morning when the sun is just rising and the red of the light catches the dew on the bud. Then it shifts inside its bush where a bird is waking up among the dew. She watches her babies who are also waking up and making noise to wake the rest of the neighborhood. After that, Burns describes the care and gentleness of the mother bird and the youth of the morning rosebud. He says the rosebud will go on to watch over the mother until the evening, symbolizing that youth will watch and learn from their elders until their elders’ ends.

~E

Address to the Toothache

And here's review #2:

 

“Address to the Toothache”

-Robert Burns

 

I couldn’t understand all of the Scottish slang in this one, but the use of context clues helped me understand the humor. A toothache isn’t the worst thing that could happen, but he purposefully exaggerates all of these different kinds of ailments, still placing a toothache above them. He makes himself out to be a pitiful victim drooling over himself and getting laughed at. Then to finish it off, he damns his toothache to the darkest pit of hell. That’s a little over the top if you ask me but definitely amusing.

 

~E

 

Remorse

Back from my trip to college! So here are these overdue reviews:

 

“Remorse”

-Robert Burns

Okay, let’s be honest. I chose this poem and the other two because they were a few that I could actually make sense of the words since there was limited Scottish dialect.

For this piece, I heard him talking about how there are many bad things that hurt us emotionally, the worst of which being that which we bring on ourselves. It’s bad when people usually just blame others for problems, but it’s even worse when we blame ourselves and become consumed by remorse. Then we realize how many other people we’ve blamed and gotten involved in our messes and the remorse merely multiplies itself. The most envious kind of person is he who can control his remorse and make amends to set himself to peace.

I feel this ending thought is the true embodiment of what to be envious of. People may think to be envious of someone who can feel no remorse, but that would only be jealousy of a monster. Burns circumvents this by describing who people really should be envious of.

 

~E

Saggitarius

You give me a suit. I give you no shirt. 
You give me a house. I give you no attendance. 
You give me work. I give you the bird. 
You give me a girl. I give you a broken heart. 

I want to be free. 
So let me be me.

(K)

~E

Scorpio

If I had my way, you'd never be able to see what's outside, not just inside, me. 
Some people don't need glasses to have perfect vision, though. 
I hate these people. 
I need them, though. 
They can dodge my push, reign in my pull. 
And I need that. 
I love them. 

(W)

~E

Libra

Glue, glue, glue. 
Stick, stick, stick. 
This world is quickly going to shit. 

Stick, stick, stick. 
Glue, glue, glue. 
I've chosen a side and so must you. 

I've kept us together the best that I could
But this fire is eating all of the wood. 

My hands are reaching to catch the fall
But this fire is going to consume us all. 

(C)

~E

Virgo

To feel is a tragedy as one might feel. 
A mind unclouded is a frightful thing. 
No regard, no empathy. 
No fear. 
People reject what they do not understand. What they fear. 
To connect logically, no fear would mean acceptance of all. 
And that would become a tragedy to fear. 

(A)

~E

Leo

Gunpowder sweet as the scent of a dozen roses. 
Just as lovely, too, red as it sparks and drips as petals fall. 
Change is the deity that casts everything a new form. 
What was will be gone, and what was gone will be once again. 
If a rose can create love from hate and gunpowder can bleed hate from that love, does that make me a god? 

(T)

~E

Cancer

If four is perfection, and two is could have been, what does that make three?
Gravity drags me back to two. 
Privilege reveals a staircase to four. 
But the staircase has its costs and falling is free. 
I know the price of four, and I know the reaps of two. 
Embrace the claws at the top or let them eviscerate me at the bottom? 

(R)

~E

Gemini

Another drink I say. 
Pay no heed to my promenade. 
It is jilted by a choice
Always meant to be made. 

My opioid of favor
Since my letters from folly
As I hurry to hide
Yet embrace melancholy. 

(S)

~E

Taurus

Drift, drift. 
Sugar sand white and palm tree green. Coconut brown and magical summer. 
Drift, drift. 
Blue. To the north, south, east, west. A sea and sky to fill the compass with lies. 
Drift, drift. 
Nothing for the ears but the wind moving on. 
Drift, drift. 
The island life is one I know best. 

(C)

~E

Aries

Puzzlement became a puzzle itself. 
Left used to be left, and right used to be right. 
But now left is right, and only right is left. 
Red used to be fire and warmth. 
But now it is ice and fear. 
I used to be red and right. 
But now I am merely frozen and wrong. 

(T)

~E

Pisces

Do you remember taking me in? 
Do you remember when I crumpled, paper in the wind, when what I needed was stature? 
Do you remember taking me in your arms without a second thought or question? 
Do you remember the nights you held me? When screams were the only liberation of my subconscious prison?  
Do you remember teaching me the way of a pen and press? 
Do you remember how the glint in your eyes could clear a five foot radius? 
Do you remember when someone broke that barrier? 
Do you remember letting me go? 

(K)

~E

Aquarius

Where are they? 
I've waited every day. 
I've lived through every trial of my hellbound journey. 
I've only ever been shown two sides. I provided the third. 
I've watched people get devoured, by monsters both duller and more prestigious than my own. 
I've saved the knife for the kitchen. 
So where are they? 
Where are my damn wings? 

(R)

~E

Capricorn

Black, red. 
"I've come to take care of business." 
Black, green. 
"I've better things to do than wait for you to make up your mind." 
White, green. 
"What is it you wish of me?" 
White, red. 
"Forgive what you see. This is my path." 

(E)

~E

Running

Am I ready?
Or worse yet, what if I am ready? 
I've never been good at running, but what if everyone falls behind this time?
I want to go, but I can't expect them all to follow. 
So can I hope they'll be ready when I come back? 

Fire

She would have made a ring around the rosie had she recognized it to be a rosie in the first place. 
Her feet left blazes in their path, a forest fire on legs.
Her hands crafted sleep in more ways than one. 
Pockets were filled with a posie more lethal than good. 
It wrung a curtain over her mind of stirred embers and dancing flames. 
Had she been able to pull it back, she might have stopped her slumbering wake. 
But before she knew it...
Ashes, ashes. They all fell down. 

~E

A Quick Survey

A quick survey, if you will. Answer with thoughts, and I'll listen still.

“What is Life?”

Some of the results:

"Shit."

"What does it always come back to me?"

"Life is great."

"Shit times two."

"Life is good."

"Ball?"

"I don’t know."

"Saddening."

"It's not a simple question."

"I feel like life is just about different difficulties and your power to overcome them. All it is is one big test."

"I don't know how to explain it."

"People change people by helping the people who have less than we do."

"Oh. Oh." (Shakes head)

"42."

"Is horseradish an instrument?"

"Well, it's apparently when carbon based creatures are still ambulatory."

"That's a deep question."

What is it for you?

~E

Change the Letter

Bell

Belt

Felt

Feet

Beet

Beer

Deer

Dear

Pear

Peal

Seal

Teal

Tear

Fear

Rear

Real

Deal

Dual

"Oh the places you'll go."

~E

Soulmates

During the brief existence of my other life, I had deemed it appropriate to give us all alter egos so that we would be prepared should the world ever cross us.

For him, it was Carlos. And Carlos was an idiot.

If someone were to ask me to describe Carlos, all I would need to do is show them myself. Dopplegangers are easy to find for appearances; just look at any set of identical twins. Dopplegangers of the soul are much more elusive. To claim such a discovery is to question the probability of fate itself. Fate, however, has had a tendency of bearing its teeth for me on more than one occasion.

Carlos was...no. He is. Carlos will always be such a weak spot in the cosmos.

~

As for her, it was Max, born of a novel that has blossomed hate from love. Not identical in Freudian makeup, but we swim like yin to yang in the perfect cycle of compliment. We have few things in common, but the most personal is our eyes.

I was born with blue eyes that have, arguably, diminished down the grayscale. Not bright, not like silver; dull, like stone. Looking back, I greatly underappreciated them.

When we grew close enough that I could look into her eyes, I found them as my own but harboring a secret. The gray churned like clouds with wisps of bright yellow for the accompanying lightning. A storm. A perfectly hidden chaos.

And upon second glance, I realized my eyes were the gray of sleet, blue with ice and dark-rimmed.

~

Soulmates are an unspoken myth, but I have always nurtured the thought. Surely there are multiple versions of one’s perfect other but so few to have the chance to come by that we only believe there to be one. I found two at once; so that must mean there is another, perhaps even more fitting, waiting. I have no idea when that meeting will be.

But I’ll continue running.

~E

Where I'm From

I'm from letters written of a child's ignorance that haunt the nooks of a brothel rather than heaven itself. 
I'm from an illusion born of minds greater than mine that fell away when my own became greater. 
I'm from paper that catches my worlds since there's no way else to find them. 
I'm from the moon, a reflection of light that once was. 
I'm from the sea, endlessly churning back and forth between where I was and will be. 
I'm from a rainbow, the tangible kind that stains the subconscious. 
I'm from the fields where I can never escape regardless of my watch and compass. 
I'm from bindings that freed me to follow whenever I chose. 
I'm from a dichotomy that showed me all the sides of myself. 
I'm from the black, unknown to depth and temporal. 

~E

Returning Home

I thought that back then I had discovered a brand new plane, that somehow a meager middle school version of myself had carved the whole of southern Florida into a memory labyrinth. My 7 p.m. drive down memory lane proved otherwise. Granted, I had never drove around the area, especially not in the dark, but that night taught me two things.

Southern drivers are rather rude, and my grand labyrinth was actually a geographical box that spanned maybe two or three roads in either direction from my previous home.

It reminded me of a fish in a bowl. I had memorized every contour of that within the glass, but toss me out of the water and I might as well be on Mars.

Navigate Mars I did, though, all the way to her house. It was farther back in the neighborhood this time around. I blame the “labyrinth.”

I had my cry, sweet shudders traded from my shoulders to hers. The wait had been just as long as the last, but the gathering momentum of our years stretched its worth. Yet one step inside told me that all was well. A familiar dinner of unknown cuisine awaited me at a table that never moved with faces that never changed.

Many say that those you share blood with are your family.

No, it’s the ones that nurture you, bring to life the dormant soul that has been awaiting its chance to take on a new form.

Friends are the family you choose.
~E

How Weak

How weak I am
To wander a snowy wood when my toes scream for warmth.
How weak I am
To dissect stars when both light and dark squander my vision.
How weak I am
To stand watch with the witching hours when my dreams beg for dominance.
How weak I am
To seek a composure when my eyes compose a watery cocoon.
How weak I am
To observe when all I want to do is act.
How weak I am
To merely tremble when a path presents itself.

How positively weak.

~E

Water

She had seen every shade of blue there was to him.
The cheerful hue of a summer sky.
The playful wave of an ocean crest.
The dangerous glow of an electric spark.
The bitter ice of a lonely winter.
The echoing call of a mournful horn.
And the gallant robe of justice itself.

But to her he was the most special blue of all, for without him her breath of life would cease entirely.

~E

Over the Water

Movement I
The fish's sentry,
Yet man's heedless gatekeeper
A foot in two worlds.
Lake-rotten wood arms
Rise from their watery grave,
Preserving the bridge.
A hoarder of vistas,
Dawns of gold and dusks of dark,
With hush omniscience
Until weed and wave
Erode, splinter by splinter,
The dock stands, resolved.

Movement II
Dew-painted lotus,
Riding the nights dying breath,
Greets an amber dawn
Pearls resting among
Verdant lily pad forests
Home to bustling bugs.
Sun tears, gold to gray,
Cloudbursts second to blooms of
Solemn endurance.
Iv'ry petals glow,
Dancing beneath the moon and
A river of stars.

Movement III
The first wind of spring
Twirls the lotus on her toe
Over breaks of blue.
The dock gapes, bewitched
By her summer grace, and she
His wholehearted gaze.
For her, all his eyes.
For him, a thousand waltzes
Across autumn's drapes.
Petals kissed by ice
Adorn his winter suit
To bid him her farewell.

~E

Ballad of the Beginning

White is all to cover green.
Nothing left now to be seen.
Yet one green stands its ground alone
As red stains halos in the snow. 

Falling all, one by one. 
Never-ending, never done.
All lay down for one last rest 
'Til morning shows who is the best. 

(A)

~E

Be Careful

"There's no life like the snow life." 
                   - While I Shovel the Snow, Walkmen
                                                                                                                                                                       
I have often heard that people do not mature with the years, rather the damage. 
I think this morning has aged me a bit more than expected. 
So many people, so many different voices telling me to be careful, drive slow, don't even get on the roads. Normally I take it with a busy mind and stumble a little. 
This snowstorm wasn't supposed to hit until tonight. 
Plenty of time for classes and getting what I need before I compete at state this weekend. So of course to spite me, we get the snow early. That doesn't change the fact that I still have to travel and pack as planned. 
"Don't go that far," the cashier said. 
"I have to," I tell her. 
"I hear you might be okay on State Road 1," says the customer in front of me. "We're headed that way ourselves."
"But still be careful," says the cashier. 
Then my coworkers, one, two, three, four, all of them. "Be careful." 
Then my aunt on the way out of the gas station. "Go straight home. They're sending people home from school." 
"I still have other classes and things to get done," I tell her. 
"Be careful." 
And for once, because it really is bad outside, I heed their words with a clear head. 
I go slow. Thank goodness for those new front tires. I actually have some tread now. No distractions to pull my eyes away from the road. Music on to keep things calm. 
Then just a little nudge. 
The back tires? I'll just be careful to straighten them out. 
Swing right. No, no, you're supposed to straighten out. Why aren't you straightening out? We're not going that fast. 
Swing left. Oh. We're perpendicular to the road now. I'm not sure I can save this one. 
Backwards. And now we're off the road. Is that a pole? 
Yep. That's a pole. 
I blink, and I'm staring out the windshield, just blinking. Adele is still playing, the car is still running, I'm still warm and surprised. No, wait, it's a little chilly now. 
The back window is shattered in. Great. I should probably get out and check that. 
Oh, of course. The door won't open. It's barricaded with wires. From an electrical pole. That I just hit. Wonderful. There go my rates. 
So instead, I climb out the passenger door, and thus begin the two hour journey of passersby and police and parents and coworkers and big trucks hauling my fractured baby out of the ditch. No one is quite convinced how I'm still walking around fine. 
"No concussion? Or whiplash? Didn't you hit your head? The seat belt got you, right?"
"No. I'm just fine. Well, you know, maybe a little shaky." 
So much for those new front tires. 

~E 

Tires

"Go ahead as you waste your days with thinking/when you fall everyone stands."
                   - Move Along, All-American Rejects
                                                                                                                                                                    
Shove the wrench onto the bolt and raise.
Apply weight.
Screw out.
Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat.
And again to the other side.
Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat.
Up goes the car and off they come!
Although it's something I probably should have learned at an earlier age, changing tires became my Sunday lesson this week. Normally I don't enjoy grime worming under my nails, but the experience was worth the dirt.
I feel as though there are other such simple things I have yet to learn that should already be under my belt.
But for now, at least I've got some new tires.

~E

Earth

"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts"
                   - Rachel Carson, The Sense of Wonder
                                                                                                                                                                              
If he had to describe her, it couldn't be in colors or sounds. She was an ever-changing aroma, a perfume that changed of its own volition.
In the morning it was dew from the garden, where the dirt stained her skin like a cordial kiss.
At noon it was acrid and bitter from medicine, its application and creation alike.
In the afternoon it was sweet, supple from her visits among the flowerbeds and bees.
And in the night it was fire, mollifying all senses with the warmth of a candle.
But for him she was another scent. Redwoods. Sturdy and earthy and everything he needed to stay grounded before getting swept off into the sea.

~E

Sleep, Sleep, Sleep?

"Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked."
                   - Ain't No Rest for the Wicked, Cage the Elephant
                                                                                                                                                                                
I'm tired.
So incredibly tired.
I couldn't even get my last two posts for the week up until today: the day after.
I decided to run an experiment last, to sleep as long as I could since for once, there were no obligations this Saturday.
So I did.
I woke up mentally refreshed, but my body still seemed to be begging for more rest.
Other times during the week, I'll get maybe six or seven hours of sleep, wake up physically ready to go but feel like a zombie inside.
I've been told often that stress messes with your health in more ways than one. This is becoming more apparent with each week.
So I inquire to my more-experienced peers: how do you guys handle it all?
Thank you all and have a good weekend!

~E

The Fallen

"All of the leaves on all of the trees/are falling with me down to the ground/and I'm falling/I'm falling/I'm falling for you."
                   - The Fall Song, Bridget Mendler
                                                                                                                                                                                            
He couldn't feel the arrow that pierced her in the one spot she always failed to protect:     
her heart.
He couldn't hear her choke for air with a body that could hardly move.
He couldn't swallow the last bite of dread that clung to her as she fumbled for the arrow.
He couldn't catch the scent of a hearth as the gold of her armor gilded first her skin, then her emerald eyes, then the blood of her hair, in a smoldering evanescence.
And he couldn't watch her ride the wind, a newfangled soul of cinders falling to the beyond.

All anyone would say, could say, was that she was gone. 
He wouldn't believe...no, he couldn't. Because she couldn't be. Not her. Not the unbeatable warrior. He would graciously accept MIA. Even that meant she was still fighting. Somewhere. 

But then came the person who had seen, who had watched with unequivocal eyes, that which would destroy any hope he still nurtured. 

She was gone. 
Just gone. 
But no one would tell him what she really was. 

R.eturn
I.mperforate
P.yrrha

~E