Ordinary Fool

A blend of aged-colorful memories spiral in an out of my now partially cerulean mind. Remembrances of complexity, displeasure, and of course, deep adoration stay fired in my soul. With that, I find myself returned to my third grade year on the blacktop gravel where my friends and I use to play dodge ball, but there is not one single form of human life with me.

The newly born breeze surrounds me as I saunter down the classroom halls and as I begin to turn the corner, my peripherals catch a red image growing larger. Gently, I move my head towards the object only to see a red sweater covered with characters from the Peanuts Gang expressing friendliness. In that sweater, a tawny girl with peaceful eyes stared up at me and smiled leaving me elated as she passed by holding her thin novel. Within that moment, everything around me turned a slow pace. The once fresh oxygen was now mixed with a scent of tenderness that to this day has never left my lungs.

EDIT: I redrafted once again.

“All the earth is a grave and nothing escapes it, nothing is so perfect
that it does not descend to its tomb.”
-Nezahualcoyotl

Juicless faded mountains,
brown soil,
bristled chunks of stem and leaf

I look down and see a footprint
beneath mine,
perhaps of a 6 foot dolphin
running from the merciless
alabaster like predator
that shadowed his moves
like a hawk to a rabbit.

The wind jitters around me,
a voice of blue yells in minor.
I listen closely,
the wind
plays a song of dread and panic
then stops
and stands hidden.

All that’s left is
a green, brown colorful land
camouflaged to conceal
a black, gray
white season.

Just a draft

The Girl with Flower in Her Hair

Brown wavy hair down
to her flawless bust,
each strand waves to me
as the wind saunters by,

various tanned speckles sleep
on her morning skin
like scattered cinnamon
on whipped cream,

With every tiresome day
the shimmered cappacino like eyes
wander as if it was a waiting
lone dweller,

and her flushed unbroken lips simper
as I do my best to somehow resist her.

Lying over the covers as our
leafless coverings
embrace with each other
second after second.
your breath clouds our dark surrounding.

the sinuous chestnut hair from above you
parades my face
while the aroma of a colorful
bouquet fills my lungs.

the melodic sounds from
my old bumper sticker covered
boombox stereo
harmonize with the din of you and I
as the palatable bang
that fills a once vapid tongue
develops into savory bliss

Often after shows
he and I would return to the
eight-wheeled rust-covered wagon
to avoid the barbaric-like parties
that would keep us from repose.

We sat in robes while he
plucked his black V-shaped guitar
with yellow polka dots that lounged on its body.
I followed with a
low whisper from my bass.

His snuff-colored medium-length hair
would sway back and forth like an ocean’s wave
at each pluck of a string
while a smile that would never fall from his face
kept us in harmonic unison.

Hours later after our axes rested
a door would open and the bright
Florida sun would shoot through my eyes
waking me up while the sound of my guitar-
buddy’s shy mellow voice called my name.

He invited me to go riding on a plane
to see the countryside but it was early
and I was not awake.
So I told him go ahead
and I fell back into an unconscious mind.

Later that day as I tuned my strings
with the radio playing the familiar sounds
of hard rock and roll,
the song was interrupted only to hear
the disc jockey say,

     25 year old Randy Rhoads, Lead guitar player
     for Ozzy Osbourne, along with two others
    were killed in a plane crash today.

In an instant the melody went flat
and the sound of white filled the air.