Places I've lived (Ugh, Poetry)

Hawaii In Summer

The sun breaks in the mornings

It spills lemonade over broccoli

an egg cracked on the Ko’olaus

and fried over Koko Head

it’s gold, bright

I’d be a millionaire, billionaire

if only I could capture the gold in Hawaii’s sun.

It demands the stand-alone colors

to be vibrant, beautiful.

The mountains are emeralds

the plumerias rubies

the sky sapphires

the ocean blue topaz, aquamarine

Birds chirp too loudly

sing with full-breasted songs.

The world is naked

revealed in this blinding white light.

Oceans grow warm in the heat

The sun thaws the heart,

forces love to the surface.

When setting,

the sun submerges itself quickly, turning

orange, tangerine, mango, disappearing

fast behind the horizon leaving only

scattered colors of tanzanite, red, orange, pink

in its wake.

Then you sit as waters turn dark and wait

for a flash of green to bring you home.

Nights are spread out, long, lazy

purple. The sky is plum with diamonds

and it moves, it sways like the trees.

Look up, blink, it’s different.

Hawaii is precious stones.

The words live in the breeze there.

It’s sticky, muggy, lovely words.

This is for you,

my first home, my heart.

North Carolina In Winter

Coastal North Carolina at sunset,

is like an upside down bowl, a colorful dome resting

over the hard surface

of roads and highways, cold earth.

The lip of the bowl is dusty

pink, a cliché rose color.

the bottom of the bowl is deep

blue, like the Pacific ocean.

Between the pink and the blue there are layers

Up from the pink are thin

almost indecipherable colors:

purple, orange, red, gold.

The blue covers most of the bowl,

ocean blue, turquoise, baby blue, cerulean.

Hues of Blues.

The sun has a tendency to shine red

setting the top half of the pine trees on fire.

There is a random star, perhaps a sliver of moon.

After the sun sets

and the sky is newly dark.

The crisp air makes things too vivid

surreal

The sky goes beyond dark.

It’s a sucking black.

Fading flickers of wannabe stars sputter and die

street lights illuminate everything but

at the same time nothing, soft colors.

Noise is amplified,

Car doors slam and echo

A sigh is heard by the universe.

The chill is deafening, numbing

Freezes up your heart, keeps it still for a moment.

In early morning before the sun rises

before it looks like there will ever be a sun again.

After the sucking black

has relaxed into a state of comfort.

The stars come out.

Too many, blinking on and off.

Then there is the thumbnail of moon

The hiding shy moon, just over the pine trees.

This is my poetry for North Carolina,

sky bowls and moon nails.

This is what I write for you,

my new home, my South by the sea.

Washington in Fall

Crisp like a brilliant red apple,

Doesn’t describe

Your sharp breath and witty repertoire.

Mornings are vibrant,

The air, a magnifying glass

Turning sunrises into pyrotechnic displays

Of creamsicles, blueberries, raspberries and the decadent blackberries.

The morning churns and spits out

ferries on their daily commute,

fog, a thick blanket

covering the roads

swaddling the cars in motherly love.

The day amasses the shades of gray clouds

Startling reds, oranges, yellows fill the trees’ hungry branches

With shoots of evergreens in-between.

The sky falls to weeping purples,

stars like thumbtacks,

Trying to break through.

City lights skylines reflect over still salt waters.

The stars have fallen

Creating architecture of neon,

Leaning towers of strong mountains

Hilly roads of old spirits.

This is for you my found paradise.

My snow covered mountains and salt water haven

Creamsicles and motherly love,

I have made my home within you.