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Posts Tagged ‘red’

Roses

Come close, come close, then whisper down,
Quiet as a soundless sound.
So close to touch a beauty rose,
That swirls love into the nose,

With petals wound into a bulb,
Like secrets that the lovers told,
Those among those scared scents,
Questioning all loves innocence.

A gardener knows to wear his gloves,
Tending to his lovely loves,
Sneaking under and crawling out
Of all the smoke that’s dressed as clouds,

While others plant up in the sky,
Then let red petals wilt and die.
To dance at times that deadly dance,
Safe in the ground or sky with chance.

A story that a heart may know
Against good judgment from the soul,
To pick a hanging dripping red,
That love is life, the rest is dead.

Kyle McHale      2010

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You in the Winter

And so I see you with me forever
In a snowy world wood.
The kind that would kill a lonely man
But give magic to true love.
In those woods flurries do fall softly.
The whiteness consumes all but
The slender grey tree trunks that decorate.

It is the calm of embracing perfection.
A place where only two voices are ever heard;
Mine and yours.

We would smile and play in the landscape.
A painting on a wall that has been kind enough to
Let us crawl into it and become lost forever.
In its dead dreamy scene.
Dead to those who cannot enter,
Dreamy to those who are let in.

Such frigid air burns the lungs
But our warm clothes are bundled high
And our hearts are burning red.
Our breaths are seen,
Like dragons breathing smoke.
They cross and swirl together,
Drawing us to one another.

The cold breath,
A breath that reminds the living they are so.
A breath that carries pure beauty,
A breath that is so perfect
No man should be given rights to see it.

You in the winter, breathing.
Moments of triumph and of love.
You in the winter bundled up and beautiful,
In this landscape from my most precious dreams.
No one will ever share this with me,
Except maybe a brown deer, or a red fox.

Kyle McHale      2005

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Red and Black and White

It can be more than meets my eye,
Red fire, black sky.
A color of a thing shall rot
And give me wrenching stomach knots.

For the black and the white are still
One without the chill.
It seems to pour hot tar on me,
Sharp razor salts in cuts from sea.

Worlds stop for love red fire,
And black desire,
Sometimes a black and white T.V.
For vision knows we still can see.

Oh things of universe collide,
Show me where to hide,
And take my hand for spit-fire rides
To places where I can see new highs.

Colorless ends are not for me.
I know what I see.
But soon when color has no home,
My heart will chill down through my bone.

Kyle McHale      2005

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Orange Moon

Moon you are orange tonight,
For stars, clouds, my delight?
Moon you seem so in tune
And yet you are not white

Like when we stayed up all
Those times during the fall
And shared lovers secrets
In white chill I recall,

I gave you great thought for thought.
You rarely lit my way. I rot
When you need a peaceful word,
From my counsel you shall not.

Now sickly, faintly pale,
No orange men do prevail,
You stay so ugly orange
And lose your guided trail.

No moon of mine a bore,
For sailors on a shore,
To see almost red for
Good bait? Good hook? No lure.

May the sun cut you up-
The sphere to burn you up-
Who needs safe orbit now?
You have been killed enough.

If ever white again,
Do not call me my friend,
Because I want no more,
Of whiteness pure and lure.

Kyle McHale      2004

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