Rainbow Volcano
I've been trying to think of gorgeous things I've seen lately, that will help get my poetry mojo flowing more. Also, it's just nice to think of gorgeous things. I know that sounds crazy, but I've tried it, and really like it. You will, too, I think, if you give it a chance.
And there are many things that I've seen in the last year, dazzling vignettes involving nature or the way light lays across something or more how something lays underneath it, and many great friends and conversations that haven't wanted to come out of my pen, because they're still part of my slowly forming, recently overhauled ego, and more part of the superego, whirling around in its little snow-globular centrifuge, waiting to be absorbed. That might not be a really accurate Freudian representation. But when you have transformative experiences, sometimes they take a little while to kick in. So I'm trying to let the memories of living in southern Colorado shimmer into view, and meld with the heartland scenery and blend with the gorgeousness of being here, in Missouri, among wonderful people.
One of the beautiful things I saw out there, sprouting from the top of Mount Blanca, the giant, hunkering peak that always sits at the skyline and can almost always be seen from town, and follows you and presides over your dreams, was a rainbow. It jutted up from the very top, nipple-round peak that might have still held a colostral trace or two of snow, and showed all of its spectrum, taking the shape of a kite or a fat diamond, radiating neon lime on one side, shading over to the pink on the other side of a cheek in the Colorado cold.
So many of those colors are now exploding in the leaves here in Missoura, and it's like that gorgeous place has filtered in here, as tints and whispers and subtle reminders of never having left. But in a good way, not a creepy stalker way.
And there are many things that I've seen in the last year, dazzling vignettes involving nature or the way light lays across something or more how something lays underneath it, and many great friends and conversations that haven't wanted to come out of my pen, because they're still part of my slowly forming, recently overhauled ego, and more part of the superego, whirling around in its little snow-globular centrifuge, waiting to be absorbed. That might not be a really accurate Freudian representation. But when you have transformative experiences, sometimes they take a little while to kick in. So I'm trying to let the memories of living in southern Colorado shimmer into view, and meld with the heartland scenery and blend with the gorgeousness of being here, in Missouri, among wonderful people.
One of the beautiful things I saw out there, sprouting from the top of Mount Blanca, the giant, hunkering peak that always sits at the skyline and can almost always be seen from town, and follows you and presides over your dreams, was a rainbow. It jutted up from the very top, nipple-round peak that might have still held a colostral trace or two of snow, and showed all of its spectrum, taking the shape of a kite or a fat diamond, radiating neon lime on one side, shading over to the pink on the other side of a cheek in the Colorado cold.
So many of those colors are now exploding in the leaves here in Missoura, and it's like that gorgeous place has filtered in here, as tints and whispers and subtle reminders of never having left. But in a good way, not a creepy stalker way.
posted by Chad Parmenter at 3:18 PM
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