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Gary Blankenship
The
Color of
Violet
The last blossom dropped, her vase holds bare twigs;
she stares at the wall, thin night shirt her dress.
I make promises I know I won't keep;
she promises not to hold me to them.
Blue
Where the river flowed, the trickle of a stream;
where giants netted, boys search for lizards -
only the rare best are sold at market,
the county's fish until the drought's over.
Green
A red-tailed hawk soars above the forest,
beneath pine and oak, nothing alive moves.
An owl sweeps by, not even scarlet drops
upon the moss to mark its swift passage.
Yellow
Dust devils lift the farm's sparse yellow dirt
towards the heavens as if offered to gods.
Skinny brown chickens scratch a place to lay,
a skinny red mongrel waits patiently.
Orange
A plate full of fruit still containing pits,
breakfast in bed for a most special day.
The meal complete, nothing left but dry pits,
we forget who promised dishes, who didn't.
Red
The pavilion striped every color
of the rainbow except one waits for you.
I'll enter when the lady invites me,
if I don't sneak under the tent's canvas.
round VI, poem 9, 30 June
2005
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Gary Blankenship is
a retired manager who dabbles in poetry and
publishing.
He is CEO of Santiam Publishing and publishes the online journals, MindFire
Renewed and FireWeed, both at
www.mindfirerenew.com.
Gary has been published on the web and in a variety of paper
publications, including in the Tanka
Journal of
Japan 2005 anthology and The Tanka Society of America
newsletter.
Email: Gary Blankenship
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