Blue Rose

Blue Rose

A Poem by Katie de Lavani
"

I love you because...

"

Tethered not to a barbed ring, the Brewer’s clasp of a fanned

Funnel trap, seeking with its wire heart to ensnare

The envied creature that can unpocket wings and escape the ground’s cattle brand.

 

That ring which finds itself encompassing

The poisoned heat of baseless laughter and

Whis’pring whirls of a social tomahawk thrown

Wafting through the corridors of the mind, planned

To arrive discreetly at its golden Justice,

Dropping insidious stones on the darker hand.

 

No, you trail the Trident’s stamp,

Your feathered wings brush lightly across

The metallic shore of silver locket thoughts,

Guarded by the quicksand gates with etch’ed bars which sink vampiric dross.

 

You are my blue rose, peaking high above

The torrent of huddled yellows and ignorant purple moss,

The flirting orange’s fickle and fiercely fisted reds;

Above the cycle of scripted ways and onto my lips’ gloss.

 

                Atop our spiraled tower, our four gold-strung eyes

May plant in their fields diamond-backed barricades

Against the food of troubled minds, itself hungry for delight’s demise.

That heavy fog exuding white-tissue sorrow and

Obscuring sheets of regret of unclimbed mountains size

Is marching silently on Nightmare’s battle

To surround our tower and topple our paradise.

 

But when your silky blue petal eyes caress my vision’s shadow,

With earthly road that hungry mist will lose its ties

And drift away like bottled notes from sinking ships

Into the waving skies.

 

Then as I look upon the bending nature of your lofty green leafed hand

There sits a vision "tangible- a hearted item ribboned in crystal case.

Those yearly founded texts under numbers of Mayan’s stone,

When slices of sun’s crossing are prepared for the four and twenty hour race,

Will not incarcerate the daisy eruptions of your spontaneity.

 

Cupped in every minute’s sixty-fingered hand, are marble stairs hanged by triple stitch’ed lace.

And while in eclipse of the plain girl’s prince, I tread on dull mapped steps,

But when droplets of blueberry petals rain, my gait will leave no trace

For I know no hellish bounds to net my newfound wings

Which bring me into the billion breaths of heart leaping grace.

 

Landing on the sea sipped sands I watch a courtier’s once braided amber ringlets Fall.

Shaved by the moonlight vested blade across the timbered Ents,

Each frosty skater’s gliding round, a mountain stream eroding the open lip’ped wall

You craft the chest of an anxious groom who waits at the end of the isle dock

To take the hand of salty waters into lasting wedlock.

 

And by the peace of lapping waves, the coast which your veined petals anchor

From vibrant rainbows this undulant shawl,

Where tranquil slides in liquid beads around my sun hushed wrist,

                I discover the mark, the baby turtle’s shuffle to moon pulled calls,

                Where I may uncover my rooted hourglass struck by Titan’s mass.

 

O’er the days I gain strength in arms and mind to lift that ton from seashell halls.

Onto the deck, petal curved, we glide on gifted marriage to the Marianas;

The eternal jaw I drop such weightless burden of clock arm palls.

 

Though not queen nor goddess in gleaming product kiln

Inside you graphite sketch blue sovereign’s unencumbered film.

© 2011 Katie de Lavani


Author's Note

Katie de Lavani
Every line hoarding an underlying meaning, each word plucked for image and symbol. I originally wrote this in response to all of those other poems which are tricky and time-consuming to decipher, earning multiple perspectives on what the actual meaning is. The question lingers, however, is he really real?

Please let me know what you think. I enjoy constructive criticism so don't be shy. This was meant to be just the beginning so I might end up adding more.

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I was a little lost when I started to read it in the beginning. But then I hit this paragraph:
You are my blue rose, peaking high above
The torrent of huddled yellows and ignorant purple moss,
The flirting orange’s fickle and fiercely fisted reds;
Above the cycle of scripted ways and onto my lips’ gloss.
And everything just fell perfectly into place. This was wonderful! Very enchanting.

Posted 9 Years Ago



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Added on June 1, 2011
Last Updated on June 30, 2011

Author

Katie de Lavani
Katie de Lavani

CA



About
Hi. Nothing much to say about me. I'm always looking for a good story in my life and sometimes base the stories I write on real life experiences. I love to read others writing to see just how horrible.. more..

Writing
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