parrot green azure tomato-red


[2 pics: plume & feather … hehe
wise butterfly inspected the house in slow motion,
rested on flower ornament of desk,
flew up and out after 5 minutes … straight … ( no searchin’ … knew everything)
looked at it for this rather long time being there … talking to Shizu on the phone ….
she said: take a pic ….
oh, i said, this did not cross my mind … it is so big, so special …
took the camera …
zoomed in … was pressing the button …
it, having searched the flat thrice to find the right spot, left in an admirably straight/short line
shooting his body into the sky, vertically]

parrot green
azure tomato-red
russet and emerald tartan
neon pink
the peacock wheel …
the photographed world zings out on shimmering greens
you can’t climb back from
how color connects us, as human beings,
we use it as a tool to define us. . .
(WGSN’s colour director, jane boddy)
I’m here and I’m not ashamed …
it’s very non-apologetic … ( says naomi wolf )

the bright side
black field precision
blooming from layers of scrunched-up tulle and organza
attached to grids that blossom like bouquets
out of the pontormoesque parade of body part tresses
here, the call rises
to do exactly the opposite from what you did last time …

in the trenches
of blue marriott lagoon
of strolling lohen-green
of lohengrin …
blueblue delft tinker bell as well as silly cities & home
providing swamps and creatures
lord’s & devil’s features
doubling in wings in mitres & crests
lop ears chastise the speaking grail quest
glaring at the moon.

before red comes pounding in …
what can you do with a basilisk
since a woman must be undone ( the beggar’s opera)?
whatever plunges you into red makes you stay alone
for a couple of days
to sort out your slothering maquettes
maquettes de bateaux
burning days & days & days
in the stillness of tumbling sex
forcing all air out of your lungs

crevasses appear… phalanx of bright morning flashing ice …
the stare goes up frozen walls of dandelion pink
it’s the hour of the mitre …
do you ask yourself  (as browning did)
why does she eye me as her basilisk –
have i not turned her day to – night?
” fear not but gaze” voltaire said

well, i take my axe
to crush-crash my shoulder for emerald tartan
to land hard on my side,
to use it on film, “gigantic  snake skin”
simmering plight?

this individuality of color, this next of kin
cashing in the red darkness
via satellite phone
signaling 100 yards free
… at last …
of half way void
the basilisk
piping …

enjoy my parrot – green
the azure tomato red
reaching out
into the dark splice of in-between-moments
to return singly
as mahogany colored butterfly
carrying too many of purple, of orange dots
the true picture making
here resting
here rising into view,
going up to meet puffy blue … on/off …
this one does not want its picture taken
forget color wheel!
white  plume on the doormat
black feather on the window sill

this done,
we meet
nations undone

—Martina Gertrude Siebert