Tag Archives: spring

rusty mailbox

you’ve got that

american blue in the very pits

of your iris,

and sometimes it feels

almost electric

but i know i’ll just end up

with a black eye if i

keep on staring

i’m not usually this brand of rude

but i can’t help it

if i’m cliché suckered

by that beach-at-early-gentle-dusk

kind of blond,

figure i could still taste

sea salt in my throat if i inhaled

hard enough

maybe you’re afloat

waiting for

a false breakwater romance

drowning siren song

with a hateful kinda endearment

and speaking of

you hate sports and my visual arts

but you like virtuous

green heroes

and staying up for 38 hours

and i like monochrome serial shows

and the number of

sweets i could still spell out

if i threw your full name

in an anagram machine and let it

run wild, here’s one:

cotton candy

maybe that’s no fun for you

don’t worry, it’s no fun

for me either

but it’s always fun to dream a bit

afternoon stargazing

spitting grey fur

overthinking about it some more

buttercup, that’s not one

but i quite like it pinned on your hair

if you won’t mind

i don’t live near a garden

but we could always find some way

or another

to quote a reference

for something

you probably don’t listen to—or do you?—

i’m never gonna see it

all in bloom

because now

it’s almost late spring

(summer ’round my axis)

and not fantasy football season

and i think i love you

all the same

so maybe i’ll just stretch

out my stiff spine

write a generic letter with no

return address

and turn the unplugged television on

just to see how it all

pans out.

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Filed under Poetry

Impossible Year: Petrichor

It had been hours since Ryan Ross began staring down the mustard-yellow walls of his living room, and since then he hadn’t stirred from his position but once to take a sip from his mug—only to realise in quiet disdain that his chai tea had already gone cold.

It was drizzling lightly and he was lazily lounging on the couch, wearing an embarrassingly fluffy blue jumper and sweatpants, having a nice warm (well, not so nice and warm now) drink, and hearing nothing but the comforting sounds of rain falling from the gloomy sky and gently kissing the rooftop and windows.

It was the perfect sweater weather, the one Ryan adored and wrote about more than any other season, more than he ever even cared to admit…but now, it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t really know why, exactly, but something felt anxiously off somehow.

Just what is it about today?

On most times like these, he would already be full-on dramatic poet mode, with his intent musings flowing past his relaxed mind and onto his chewed-up pen like…filthy drainpipe water flowing onto the open sewers? Seriously, out of all the beautiful ways to have possibly worded it, that’s the best metaphor he could come up with? Disgusting.

Ryan sighed, running a hand through his messy auburn hair in frustration. The situation was getting more dire by the minute, and nothing else he seemed to try was working.

Mental block is a bitch.

Maybe he was just forcing it too much. Maybe he’d been cooped up inside his suffocating house for too long. Maybe he needed to take a break.

He snorted derisively at the last thought. He definitely needed to take a break.

“George Ryan Ross III, you need to get the hell out of this damning place and pull yourself together!” He proclaimed to himself, his soft voice echoing throughout the empty rooms of his house.

Filled with a new fervour, Ryan resolutely headed to the door, but not before making sure to grab a heavy parka from his closet and a badly-bent umbrella leaning by his shoe rack. As soon as he stepped outside, the scene that greeted Ryan completely took his breath away.

It was a whole lot prettier than he imagined.

Careful not to trample on the newly-blossoming flowers, Ryan giddily spun and traipsed about for a bit before finally standing still in the middle of his front yard. He then breathed in deeply, taking in the fresh scent of lemongrass and rainwater painting the air in that sluggish April afternoon.

The initial rush of wind that blew by was rather strong, rustling the tree branches madly and making him lose his umbrella. The latter was sent careening out of his grasp and ended up tumbling away onto the puddle-soaked street, creating an awful screech as it went along, metal scraping against pavement until the abrasive sound slowly faded away into nothing.

But surprisingly, Ryan found that he didn’t mind it at all. The umbrella’s already old and half-broken, anyway. And the weather never gave a damn about me.

Hey, that kind of sounds like a good line…ladies and gentlemen, we finally have a breakthrough! A voice at the back of Ryan’s head announced victoriously. It was such a silly thought…but suddenly, he didn’t feel so exhausted anymore.

And for the very first time that day, Ryan smiled.

Ryan stayed out in the rain for a rather long time, shivering madly and humming melodies to himself until he was numb from the cold and drenched to the bone. He laughed until he cried, he cried until he laughed; until the tears were indistinguishable from the cloudburst, until the childish laughter was intertwined with the sweet reveries of spring.

And there he stayed, until the rainfall finally ceased and the drowsy sun slowly sank under the scarlet horizon; still cheering and singing along to the march of the clouds.

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sulk

influences

on the red of

her lips, and

her cornflower

hair glowing,

an autumn moon

sulking by a

riverside bank

as pastel waves

kissed out the

drought of spring

and i remembered

how to forget…

bruised knuckles,

twisted hallways

filled with ghosts

that no one can chase

but her all alone,

and a room which

held my dark fears

but never let them out.

and left nothing but

silent discontent,

wrong phone calls,

her umber eyes under

the influence of tears

until they turned red

and drifted off into

a sleepless dream.

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Filed under Poetry

Dry Spell

So it’s over? I didn’t realise
It’s so much colder, but it was no surprise
Did you ever get to know me?
‘Cause it has never been so plain to see
And when you say you won’t forget me
Well I can tell you that’s untrue…

~*~

Laughter, that’s all it was, plain and simple, but to me it was a taste of a thousand pink cloud summers spinning overhead the aegan firmament, all at once. Those sunshine glances melting dulcet like sugar cubes in freshly-brewed coffee and lingering softly in dusky southern winds, trailing a fragrant aroma of a verdant fruit orchard freshly blossoming in spring afternoons. Captivated ears perked up as clumsy legs tangled together in a giggling mess of auburn hair and sapphire glances, and the most quiescent sliver of blushing stardust glimmered above it all in enamoured amusement; our faraway symphonic orchestra humming about a foggy eventide streetlight dalliance, concealed under burning shadows on a shivering autumn gloom. Laughter, that’s all it was, elegant and intricate, tasting of an effulgent fireworks display of blueberry ice cream and bubblegum-stained candy floss and red velvet chocolate, all detonating and delicately fizzling out like an exquisite festival in my minty tongue. But the ephemeral seasons have come and gone like drizzling October rain, and that was my final winter’s chill. I don’t want to feel warm ever again.

~*~

And I’ve worn out all the reasons
To keep on knocking at your door
Could be the changing of the seasons
But I don’t love you anymore…

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Filed under Prose

★ it’s cold ☆

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

it’s cold.

i was never one for

summery days

yet i miss it when i

get one taste

i was never one for

springtime woes

yet i want showers

to chill my toes

i was never one for

autumn blues

yet i love the look

of foliage hues

i was always one for

winter snow

yet when you left

i realised it was too cold

i’m cold…

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

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Filed under Poetry, Southern Constellations

First of April

Spring comes; bees pollinating blooming beds of dainty sweet flowers

Shamrock grass grows tall, animals play, and lovely rain showers

Diamonds gleaming radiant, sights and sounds of affection abound

Picnics, balloons, laughter, as the sun softly filtered through clouds

A beautiful day to be frolicking outside, the zephyr blew gentle and cool

But to her melancholic, heavy heart, it was all but a cruel April fools.

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Filed under Poetry