Held up
to the bohemian philosophy
that orbits her solstice
her pen on paper
reflects in blue
but in purple she paints
Misconstrued
Her war is passion
in sarong, and soliloquy
with the windmills of her mind
fireplace, fine whisky
and cigarette smoke
she's as slow a molecule
as molasses
Her passion is war
in the rich colored violets
portrayed by her violent thoughts
- the most intriguing -
inviting place to be
The lone writer
is a matured ever-blue
that fermented purple
with each page
-
Author:
Garth Rakumakoe (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 27th, 2023 09:12
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Caring dove, L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments5
I really like your poem 🙂
It’s beautiful
Love the mention of the colour blue , and purple
Thank you vb... Much appreciated.
I almost saw a painting form from these words
Enthralling read
Absolute killer last verse
Superb writing
Thank you so much... She took various shapes in molding and some elusiveness in trying to cast the fluidity into image, but, I'm happy with the final end product - No more edits! 😂. Much much appreciated, Peto! ❤
stunning!
what a feat of poetic imagery
and abstracted eloquence
of unfurled, insightful complexities..
a breathtaking reading experience
so well crafted, dear Poet
(I read and learn)
thank you!
Cherished words, L.B - Never to lose significance. Humbly yours sir. ❤
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