Lesleigh Owen - Blue

Lesleigh Owen

Blue

Beautiful, bountiful, bright blue

Blossom,

Following the sun with your

Gentle head.

In the salty nighttime,

Jupiter smirks a

path through the sunroof

while Van Gogh comets

swirl

in chunks of blue.

I remember the night,

stuffed with cottony fog,

when the moon

exploded from behind

indigo mountains,

a UFO intent on domination

and anal probes. We

laughed and

wondered when we could kiss.

And then we did and awakened in

a train station with

hot, blue-gray steam,

padded seats,

and destinations

beautiful in their fairy tale

familiarity.

I wanted.

I wanted to give you

the least carnationy

flower in the world.

I wanted to polish others’ eyes

into gleaming

mirrors that reflect the rolling roundness

of your wavy ocean belly.

I wanted to sip your azure thoughts

and

eat each fragrant breath.

The moon stains my arm –

blue, with hints of magenta.

The ocean is a sea

of bright blue tears

and I

learned to swim with fat mermaids.

Snow Flurry

Snow Flurry

Not predicted,

each flake first

hit the air

like a cat's kiss:

singular, milky, 

needling.

Even when a few more

nosed their way down,

they slipped

instead of eddying,

too slow for grace,

too pointed for cold.

Not even half a minute.

The grass called their bluff

and didn't even 

spin to wet.

December Full Cold Moon

December Full Cold Moon

The rain stops.

Pulsing over grey clouds,

silver circle flits,

streaks to the top 

of the bowl.

You have to work your head

all the way back.

It hurts, knowing

that rogue month

somewhere sleeping in this bad year

held someone's

last step.

.Another Unarmed Young Black Man Shot In A Country Held Hostage to the 19th Century

Another Unarmed Young Black Man Shot In A Country Held Hostage to the 19th Century


How many sirens does it take?

Ignore the voices at your peril.

Late Bloomer

Late Bloomer

In October

when the neighbors' trees

flame to russet

it remains green.

We always wonder

if it will stay this way,

its leaves carrying

last spring

like a song that left.

The trees in other yards

flaunt all shades

of autumn,

then toss in the wind,

losing each last bright streak.

Third week in November:

and they've flown. 

But suddenly 

when we've almost given up

the holdout  tree

starts to melt from

green

 to soft butter

opens blanket yellow

as clouds stall

then

Every year

right around Thanksgiving

when the low autumn sun hits,

it fires to unceasing

and uncompromising

yellow gold.

keeping well

into December.

its own 

uncanny 

but welcome 

late harvest.

It never fails

to astound

and we always feel guilty

at exactly the same time

as if our doubt

could have stopped it

from glowing.

Sixty

Sixty


Yep.
Red hat.
Green jacket.
Grey shoes.
Make up when
I like.
No make up when
I don't.
Music I choose.
Food I delight in.
People I crave.

Long monologues
on the weather
politics
seduction
cats.

Not changing
my figure now,
nope, sorry.

I don't have to.

Got a problem with that?

Ferguson

Ferguson

Smoke flies over

streets, the hospital

the cameras

anger

denied

finally 

out in flames

This is what 

justice

looks like

sounds like

No one moving

except police

Signs, singing

finally

but too few