Colorblinded

It was another usual day

Not much in the way of highs nor lows

So how to provoke my desired state of being?

The light turned red, I slowed up and obeyed, first in line to speed off when given a greenie

Then, my perspective on and of the world changed

As the color periwinkle appeared rather than the expected

I was bemused

Should I take it as a sign?

That it is in real life, but what of the metaphorical sense?

Maybe a gentle reminder of the immense beauty that remains unseen in the world?

Another example that modern technology was, yes, once again askew?

Possibly that I should be pursuing all the Peri Winkles listed on eharmony?

My reverie was interrupted by the sounds of horns squawking directly behind me

Being irritated because I was ahead of them was awfully shortsighted

You know, they could go around

I quickly sent out this vibration: ‘relax all, I am having a spiritual moment’

But I didn’t think I was going to get me a witness

A scruffy man appeared at my driver’s side window

He bellowed “are you hard of hearing or just blind bud?”

On my right was a kind-looking woman who knocked and asked “do you need help?”

I turned in her direction, smiled, then hesitantly asked, “do you know your colors?”

Understanding differences

Is the diagnosis that we all speak a unique dialect despite a common vocabulary?

or maybe we have chosen not to hear

We are all Brothers and Sisters from the universal mother

not birthed as enemies

simply baggage handlers

choosers of disparate words

slaves to measuring others

But is it to enlarge boundaries or perpetually be on a red alert mission of counterfeit comfort?

I refuse to accept your toxic folly

You deny my approach

I’m no oracle and neither are you but Enlightenment isn’t insufferable

So which direction nourishes? Which stunts?

Choose amity, or remain safe but decaying inside.

Wishful land captains

The world is at best fleetingly ship shape

burdened with orders to bow to the stern

we are lectured that any port in a storm will suffice

but perpetual turbulence keeps most of us in dry dock servitude

wishful land captains

afraid, our personal cargo dry but with a longing for more

something greater than shouting ahoy to the flotsam and jetsam of the coastline

so rather than take to water, we don a variety of lifejackets

be they a weapon, bad love, contraband, poverty of the mind, excess in all its capacities, portholes as peep holes, even three coins in the fountain

anything to provide distraction during our inevitable personal capsizings

the miracle is a few choose paddling towards freedom’s siren, even to death, rather than remain fretting, paralyzed and alone

— inspired by a poetry writing class nautical prompt