Blue Black

What he couldn’t say in
words he still said with his
lips, hovering over her heart
pounding out rhythms in
E C D E F E C.

He skimmed near closed
eyelids that dreamt in liquid blue-
he and she bathed in midnight,
feeling their way along pebbled shores,
staying far from the warmth and false
security of sandbars, away from the
blue black where they once treaded
ice water, going under when swells
broke over them.

He toyed near ears
open, waiting for
exhalations of loving
breath filled with abandon,
minus “ment.”

He searched her intently,
diving then coming up for
air, thinking he’d find the
solace he sought, believing
she secreted away his
talisman somewhere in her
deep curves and gentle
illumination, that she held an
amulet to heal his blue black.

He realized too late she did not
hide the magical powers he
sought to soothe him, to bind
the darkness that plagued
him, bruised him, tormented him.

He pulled away seeking, travelling
past the pebbled beach’s gleam and
sandbars warm till he caught a wave,
riding the blue black till he became no
more than a dark spot on the horizon.

© Pamela Rossow

Jazz

your first ancestors
had geographic ridges
purple-blue crisscrosses
once slashed gaping open
crimson that mouthed
“wade in the water chillan” 

you called people
responded the blues
bent in depressed
trances third fifth and
seventh like pancakes
flattened by a spatula

you ragged people
shagged under red
lights to a syncopated
rhythm AABBACCC no
more cakewalks just sexy
marches and falling Maple Leaves 

© Pamela A. Rossow

 

 

To Wear Rainbows Again

she longed to be
clothed in rainbows
stained in perfect
hues of red orange
indigo yellow blue
green violet soaked
in dripping shades of
fulfilled promises and
unwavering trust
she yearned to be
drenched in joy
illuminated in perfect
light of glass mosaics
emerald amber violet
Egyptian blue ruby glowing
in incense colors of
answered prayers and
unshakeable faith
she needed to be
held in love
clasped in perfect
arms of the one with
fire water wind
soothed
in the embrace of
eternal solace and
re-kindled hope

Pamela A. Rossow

Baby got. . . bounce

I have an alright bike.  It’s old and blue (and anyone who knows me is aware it is my least fave color on bikes or cars).  Basically, a no namer that does the job.  It prefers smooth sidewalks, no bumps, paved terrain, the road more travelled.  My dad’s bike (which he rarely rides), however, has TIRES (I deem preferable).  Great tires.  Tires that don’t panic if I suddenly decide to veer off into grass or dirt or over mounds.  That don’t attempt to dump me when I do so.  Since his bike needs exercise (and it’s way more fun to ride), I “borrow” his.  Being the good daughter that I am, I have previously asked if the “borrowing” is okay.  He’s cool about it (just as long as I don’t ask to “borrow” his truck). Yes, technically, it’s a man’s bike but it’s hunter green and awesome.  Nice knowing I can traverse “off sidewalks” with better shocks and the ride is still smooth.  Just a little extra bounce and who cares about that?