Red

       from MindBodyGreen
from MindBodyGreen

Red reminds me of spices and cultures,

red curry from India,

alive with flavor,

red peppers mixed with Ethiopian lamb,

bursting with heat,

the spice dealer in Hong Kong,

crowded streets, firecrackers at night,

culture and people alive,

sometimes paprika, sweeter than the heat,

Morocco, and couscous.

Red also reminds me of my true love,

Her figure in red dresses, her soft kisses.

H’mm maybe I should buy her that long red dress,

draped in elegance,

then we could go dancing!

kicking off shoes,

red is vibrant and alive!

 Red Dress

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

White and Brown

Two Hands

There is no such thing as a white person,

if I hold a white piece of paper in the mirror,

I am not white, I’m a lighter shade of brown,

with a few drops of pink mixed in.

some are beige or tan,

some are a medium brown,

and some are dark, but all are beautiful,

and white is only beautiful, if next to other colors,

like snowflakes against a night sky.

Adam and Eve never had any prejudice,

help us God, to feel connected to one another,

from the same source,

interrelated,

human beings,

infused with color.

A beautiful rainbow family with twin girls.
A beautiful rainbow family with twin girls.

 

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Yellow

Sun on the Beach

The yellow invited me to go dancing,

and I said yes!

Great joy, coming to life,

photosynthesis, energy,

this was not a woman’s dance,

instead, a man dancing with his Creator,

strong steps pounding the beach,

like ancient people celebrating.

Then calm and peace,

knowing the earth would live another day.

Brightness.

  Sunbeams

Yellow

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Gray

Fog in the Mountains

I don’t like the gray, and I never have.

Who does?

fog in our minds,

confused, frustrated,

hiding in the shadows, never being the people,

we were intended to be.

Hoping, praying,

for the sun to burn it away,

or the wind to knock it out.

When will this ever end?

Sometimes, all we need

is to take a step,

a small one,

just one,

towards the colors,

and living again.

The gray cannot hold us,

it will be broken,

if we let it happen,

beams of light.

Contrast.

 Light Breaking Through

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Blue

Blue with Purple

The great expanse of the blue oversees everything,

even the highest mountains are subject to the blue,

as they stretch upward, in the morning haze.

The smallest ant forages,

hoarding for bad times, under the watchful eye,

of the blue.

The eagle soars, feeling the blue everywhere,

enjoying it,

lifted up, strengthened and encouraged,

only coming back down for food and rest.

And humans?

Mostly we ignore the blue,

unless we can capture it for ourselves.

I’d rather be an eagle,

but never the ant,

help me to live in the pastel.

from UltraLinx
from UltraLinx

 

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Green

Green Foothills

I want to be green so I can live again,

no more wintry mix,

harshness, sleet,

cold drizzle,

thawing. Fake smile.

I need the summer rain,

to wash me, empower me,

infusing, arms out,

head back, twirling,

drinking it all in. Grateful.

The sun flooding my soul,

warmth,

bringing me back to life,

cemetery destroyed,

energy,

rainbows in my mind,

sparking creativity.

I want to grow, and be alive.

Colors.

Cat Tails

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

The Storm

Lightning

Microfiction

Lightening cracked open the sky, and thunder shook the earth again. The storm was on top of them. Most of the men and women were outside now, even though it was the middle of the night. The wind was getting stronger and was playing havoc with the flaps, so the people were busy closing them, tightening the lodge poles with more lashes, and gathering in what they could. Anything they could not grab was tossed into the air like leaves. Children were crying, mothers were screaming, and the men were busy giving commands which were never heard.

A few of the men tried tending to the horses, which were panic stricken. Herding them into a small space worked well in spite of the noise. Another crack, and more rumbling from below. It seemed as if the earth might break open, with the shaking. The men stayed with the horses as long as they could, until the rain started. It was a hard rain, and everyone went inside. In spite of the wind, the lodges stood throughout the storm.

No one could sleep. Young lovers took advantage of the time, parents held their children, and some worried about the damage to the village. Would the horses return? They would have to wait until morning to see.

There was one person that was not awake or asleep. He went to live in the spirit world that night, and left his body behind. Lone Horse had been an old man, and he was loved by the people. He had wisdom from the Creator, and usually after a council meeting people would say – Lone Horse thinks….or Lone Horse says…Now there would be an empty seat at the council meetings. It was a great loss for all the people.

His wife, Cricket in the Meadow, would not find him until morning. They had been married for more than fifty years, and the people would worry if she could survive the loss. Her health was frail, but fortunately there was still the sparkle of light in her eyes. They had had only one child, and he died at a young age from the fever. They carried this pain for the rest of their lives, but it gave them both a vulnerability, a sensitivity, that brought out love in all that they did. The people would wrap their arms around her, holding her tight, enveloping her with their love, for as long as she needed. They would get through this somehow, together. Still, it was a dark time.

 

  Night Storm

 Writing © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree