Introduction: Teehee, seeing as today is the Royal Wedding and is all about Britain, I've decided to go against the tide and write a poem about America :) Don't worry, tomorrow's poem has a royal theme (I wouldn't normally upload poems two days in a row but I haven't put one up since Monday so you get an extra dose). I also have a wedding-themed short story SHOCK HORROR NOT A POEM that I might enter into a competition if I find one. If any of you have opinions on me writing a short story, or know of have any competitions, or have any feedback whatsoever, COMMENT AWAY :) !!!
Happy reading and enjoy this historical day - I'm not British in any way, shape or form but I'm in London and the nurses are in a good mood because of it so what the hell, I'm into it now!
STAR SPANGLED SPIRITS
She's a goddess, she is, with a bloody heart that oozes into the rich honey of a thousand hornets. It sinks into quicksand horizons, heavy with the stones of a hard day's shine. But be patient, my friend, there is time left on the amber clockface. Grand Central Station.
Arches of omniscient orange support a streak of molten gold. It trickles between two hummock heads, a raindrop on a window pane. The Golden Gate Bridge.
Magenta dreams dyed in heaven's hair, catch my eye, which widen, stare. The colours speak out to me, resplendent scars running deep, they seep through the onion layers of the eve. Spilling sideways, the haze is a sliding door, shutting away the nightmares with an angel standing sentry, light of life in hand. Statue of Liberty.
God is a scientist - his chromatography a wild success, nonetheless, the best he can do is paint the sky that was blue, the harsh halt of grey cliff face left untarnished by his beauty. Hoover Dam.
I watch as a cosmic treasure is smashed into smears of sapphire, ruby, rose quartz. From heights stratospheric, the remnants of sun's rays, still sizzling with daytime, fall, fall, fall. Until all rays catch a glimpse of their father sinking, drinking up all its time left on our Earth, and fan into a sulphuric, citrus swipe of sky, crying out to me in Cupid's tongue. The Liberty Bell.
Whispered wisps of azure peep through the Venetian blinds of the vivid vortex, frightened fragments of the dying day, powerless as their dear uncle falls to its knees. I squint my eyes into an awkward contortion - sure enough, there's a face, although out of proportion. A lilac arch of eye, a bent, blue nose, fuchsia coil of lip, flesh tinted with rose, a single, smouldering pupil blazing fiery red, into a birthmark of orange it slowly bled. Mount Rushmore.
The final drops of brilliant red, the wound dries up, the goddess bids farewell. An indigo iris begins to bloom in the ceiling of sky, chasing away the day with its blackthorn vines. Talons of tiger's eye claw at the chalkboard of Jupiter's navy cloak, but in vain, the pain of dusk is upon us. With a swallow, a choke, the day that once spoke becomes dumb, propelled into a teary-eyed tear in the landscape's papyrus scroll. The Grand Canyon.
Although the curtain is closing on our theatre once again, there are words left unsaid on our script left unread. The ladybird wallpaper above peels its final strips, the sand between our toes shifts, sifts, plummets into Earth's hourglass, tick, tock, quick, knock on night's door, cross the threshold. I wish
could make me feel like a flaring Catherine wheel... Behold the palm trees, old friends by our sides, their leaves outstretched as welcome hands. A paradise poured from angel amphoras ripples before us, a windswept flag of nautical nations. Our fingers interlock, there is me, there is you, our hearts are docked in Malibu. Although we've seen the setting sun, I promise our lives have just begun.