rosalinda flores rosevoc
Colors: Painted Texts
Maybe, red ocher is the color of
Theology. Or blue as your shirt and
boots. Down rolls a canary wing
draping a stage, like curtains between
now and tomorrow. Your kiss is my
benevolent utopia, down my navel,
a sting like mint, and mine is pressed
pink between your loins. We are full
of love. Our ferry cannot drown, it rows
dancing suns, shafts of untarnished twilight
and a rainbow after bliss of drizzle.
Love gathers - dug in generations of
transient hues. 'I miss you badly! ' I send
on my phone, 'I miz you.' Nights leave me
cold without your thighs and more empty
pillows. I drift to where you are, where acres
of trees grow clad in silver and gold
nectar, whites and orange. My words peak
glints of white light, a purple book etched by
Ratzinger, shades of dear ones, halos of
Saints and martyrs, fireworks of elusive
time blazing fire and tongues, reeling
constellations of roses and amazons,
bulk of history flourishing bright green.
Our ancestor's sturdy night graves' watch
over, as black bulls of science must obey.
I wait along pavements of fourteen stations;
I wait along trails of skulls, in Nazareth.
I wait down fields of earth, on blessed
mountains, on a plinth, only the angels see.
Our hearts wondrous adventures whisper a
prayer, placid then shifting a brilliant crimson
etched on sky above. Have you ever thought
my smiles are memories of your colors?
Have you ever thought my nights and days
are shades of you? Hearts of red, God paints
blood; bleeding drops of red, brush in me
One Sacred Heart - brush in me.! Brush in me
that immortal color of Him. In the red ocher
temple, I stay. Don't delay, please...
Be home soon.
'Kirye eleison. Kirye eleison.
Christi eleison. Christe eleison.
Kirye eleison. Kirye eleison.'
'I miz you badly!
I really, really miz you! '
Sends my message, paints my heart.
'Luv u, baby! '
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
for robert. For Vocations
For YOU, Dear One
rosalinda flores rosevoc
How I Wrote the Poem 'Colors: Painted Texts'
Red ocher is the earth's color; it is the ground, a soil that grows harvests. It is associated with blood. The word ocher is sweet to the mouth.
Theology is a subject taken by philosophy students, as this poem is addressed to vocations. That time, I remember one, wearing a cool blue shirt.
I'm showing a stage, 'Down rolls a canary wing draping a stage between now and tomorrow; literally draped with a yellow curtain as compared to a real canary / its wings, how beautiful, a light between time zones of now and tomorrow.
Your kiss is my fantasy; the sweetest ever; a kind perfection to my reality as Plato's Utopia.
The love poem which can never happen, becomes real in words of fiction - I live in this world. A writer lives in her creation. The zeal in the work completes the work, the writer's purpose is a structured passion.
Here I'm thinking of life and journey, of each one of us, of holy workers, of those who sail - it is a ferry (like the Memphis Ferry; On Translating Hieroglyphic Love Songs by John l. Foster; ideogrammatic language is automatically the language of poetry, imagism / Ezra Pound) .
The passion of this love rows dancing suns from heaven, shafts of authentic dusk and dawn; 'Gottadamerung' (twilight of the gods) , that is the power of our love, and that love is only coming from One Father of All, our One God - a blessing for everyone; you are no exception.
And then again, the recurrence of images like rainbows after bliss, like seeing the rainbow every morning with you; its visibility as enchanting, dramatizing moments of being.
The poem is a cross of a narrative, lyric, and personal poetry. I want it to represent a strength of attachment that genuinely injures the looming separation.
'Love gathers dug in generations of transient hues'; this is a metaphor of the painted texts…
Literally, I send on my phone 'I miz u' (contemporary literature, shortened text messages, chat, cp's) :
And such a zeal from the saints that my words come to be.
The poem expresses an intense emotion, graphic of texts and life in the time of Pope Benedict XVI - Joseph Aloisious Ratzinger.
By fire and tongues, serious readers of poetry can depict in this context - passion, the Holy Spirit and charity; the Trinity. The climax came into the poem showing a great good harvest for the world, such as flourishing bright green.
In sturdy night graves, I mean holy Saints, angels and the faithful departed, we have to pray; science as such are the black bulls that must obey the Omnipotent.
Finally, 'I wait in the poem' with Jesus on the cross - I am in all places with you in prayer.
Love suffices in one Sacred Heart.
The chant begs in 'Kirye…'
For me there is no other way, but to love.
Hence the poem ends with the heart's message
'Luv u baby.'
Iwrote this poem on March 21 2013; 2PM my time.
I had mixed emotions that railed to this poem. The words came spontaneously; and I wrote this in only a few hours. Some facts, though, were saved in my memory, so many years ago, like 12 years ago?
I received the inspiration from my guardian Saint, Hannibal Mary Di Francia.
Later, I tried to ask the opinion of a writing professor, Sir Albert Casuga - and this what he told me -
Rose. I see two levels of theme here. One, a love (a passionate one) entreaty wanting your lover to come home. Hold you again in his arms. Caress you, fulfill you. Two: The passion for the Sacred Heart that seems to unite with the presence/absence of your pined for lover. It reminds me a St. Terese of Avila angst for the physical presence of the Crucified Christ in her. @ Write on.
Comments about this poem (Colors: Painted Texts by rosalinda flores rosevoc )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe