No-Theme Poetry
Demon & the White Blossom

Yellow is the sill where I stare
The beast just beyond
Its eyes concealed, a dark swallow reveals
Orange flushed, olive teeth behind black

Inside, blue walls, green vines dance
Red tails and shadows
Climb, blood of cold sapphire hand-
Brushed swathe over plaster

To keep the demon out
My arms, two drunken soldiers
Tip tea cups, spiked with shine
Talk absurdly, unknowingly

White is the blossom
Over a light crimson stem
Dark auburn leaves dropped
Upon fisty, fleshy breasts

She looks to the window
Sees the demon’s breath
Upon the glass, his blue lips, angry
Snout, a mirrored image

On This Page

Demon & the White Blossom

In the End, Fire

Mystical McCartney
In the End, Fire

Tossed in the wind
I land in a park colored brown
From grass to tree tops
There wasn’t a shade of difference

I bumped into an old woman
She kept a tattered blanket in a grocery cart
Richest woman in the world
She had nothing to lose

There was a boy with blue hair
Had a brand new bike
I watched him sit on it for hours
He never moved a muscle

The lights turned red
It was time for me to cross
I looked both ways
Never saw a car for three days

Starving, I climbed a mountain
To be closer to something
Never found it, slipped
Rolled all the way back down

Ended up in the street
The lights turned green
But there still were no engines
No tailpipes, no honking horns

I finally stood, shook off the dust
Out of the corner of one eye
I saw the boy with blue hair
Just before he hit me with his bike

My head bounced off the road
Looking up, I saw children dancing
They wore blue face masks with glitter
And called my name over and over

I ran for the park
It was in flames, bright yellow flames
Laid down on the park bench
Got a good tan for a fair-skinned man

Mystical McCartney

Paul can create
A song out of sticks
Stones and sunshine
Blackbirds and lost rings

Out of anything
Out of everything
Words splash his pages
Like colors, then he sings

Today, tomorrow
Love or sorrow
To an emotion he clings

Girls come
Girls are gone
In life, in song
People keep talking

Alive are his spirits
From around the world
And from his past
Beatles, Wings

Carry McCartney along
An endless twisted road
Of mystical notes and words
"To a much better place"

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