Treasure Island

Nika McGuin

(12/01/89 - present / Louisiana)

Flames: Yellow & Blue (Is It Poetry Collaboration)


Yellow:

To dream about the yellow flame of May,
I dream I'm covered by the smell of grass by me it is.
Sleeping where I sleep, amons't the flowers.
Beneath the tree, I rest against the sturdy trunk.
I glide above the rhythm of each cloud as it floats by.
No one taught me how to bow, I know it fleeting is.
Alone this tree it stands across the field above the rest.
And to climb this tree in sleep and sleep it is.
I dream this tree is like an endless sea of waving trees.
I dream a burning bush beneath this tree it's top of leaves
and full of life, the yellow flame of May, can not put out.

The yellow flame of May holds its breath in yearlong anticipation;
here in this desert dreamscape, wildflowers may bloom.
Parched sands dye golden under the flame's impatient gaze
for no one knows when, or even if they will bloom this time.
It is all so dependent on mother nature's mood swings.
But for the time being, I dare to dream of once barren fields
now filled with a sweeping array of colored efflorescence.
Here the trees are dislodged by cacti, newly crowned in posy
and these fields become a rolling sea of paint splattered hills.
I dream of desolate lands that endured a lifetime of dry spells,
only to be enchanted, spell bound by boundless fauna and flora.
Proof that even under the yellow flame of May, life is sewn and reaped.

Blue:

Why are you trapped as you are?
Feeling the hand, of the blues.
Someone else other than me,
has left you as one should not be.

I saw your picture back then
when I read the poem,
you had written with him.
Did it not go as words
tend to flow,
back to the sea of your dreams

Indigo-skinned fingers lace fixedly at your throat
leaving you, a caged bird incapable of singing.
Under the cover of night the words float to him
like the mementos of so many broken promises.

Only fragments remain of your now obscure past:
poetry you read to him, the old worn shirts he gave in return
as lost as the snippets of your once long curly hair.
They are but floating diyas upon the river of remembrance;
their lights flicker as they drift along
fading slowly into bitter-sweet dreams.

Submitted: Monday, February 24, 2014
Edited: Monday, March 03, 2014

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Note: Diya - is an oil lamp, usually made from clay, with a cotton wick dipped in ghee or vegetable oils. They are lit during Diwali, the festival of lights.

Also, be sure to check out Is It Poetry's poems! ~
This collaboration was his idea after all.

Comments about this poem (Flames: Yellow & Blue (Is It Poetry Collaboration) by Nika McGuin )

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  • Daniel Brick (4/6/2014 6:55:00 AM)

    I've already written a comment on this poem, Nika, but when I re-read it tonight I just had to write something more. It's such a large-gestured poem, it covers so much space both the world around from which your vivid images come but also the world within from which the meditations come. They're both so rich! And then the second half with the lilt of the 4-line ballad stanza was a perfect contrast to the long stretched-out lines in the first part. I heard two different forms of music as I read each half. It would be great to hear the two of you recite this poem with an ensemble of musicians improvising in the background. I know a jazz flutist who'd be great for part one. And in between the two parts the drummer could do his solo! (Report) Reply

  • Valsa George (3/5/2014 10:50:00 PM)

    I am speechless Nika! What beauty..... What imagination!
    Even in the vast stretch of aridity, there can be a sweeping array of coloured efflorescence and a boundless variety of flora and fauna... This dream with all its extra terrestrial gorgeousness, is one of hope and anticipation stretching beyond the bounds of all probabilities! !

    Expressions like' a rolling sea of paint splattered hills'....' floating diyas upon the river of remembrance' are simply beautiful and so poetic! Enjoyed much! ! (Report) Reply

  • Daniel Brick (3/3/2014 5:23:00 PM)

    The first two big stanzas on the yellow flame of May are as exuberant a celebration of spring as I ever seen. The month of May becomes a gigantic presence, and keeps looming larger as the poem moves at a measured pace. I now know for sure: there is no stopping the arrival of Spring! It is so powerful! BTW Living as I do in Minnesota, Winter, perhaps unfortunately, conveys the power of Nature, and it's often a brutal display of force, as it has been for two cold, colder, coldest weeks. It is so refreshing to read a poem where Spring, that fragile and short-lived visitor to Minnesota, has such power! I feel the warmth of that southern Spring chasing the cold out of my apartment! (Report) Reply

  • Is It Poetry (2/26/2014 7:57:00 AM)

    Dreams some how they do
    when seen they come from you
    sound better as the dream
    flows on and on
    just as dreams do until their gone.....iip (Report) Reply

  • John Westlake (2/25/2014 10:46:00 PM)

    I like this, even though i have never thought about collaboration before. If you guys were seeing what i saw when i read this, then the idea was a fantastic one (Report) Reply

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