Orange que te quiero verde, that's Poeticah

The Visual Poetry of Poeticah explores the boundaries between poetry, languages, and traditional with computer visual art.

This is a poem from my chapbook Axtlanadu.

<<Axtlanadu>> Seasons of I Do One snowflake dances, showing many angles, against slate clouds. Another one glides, waving by its side, before a red brick wall. Many fall and form a downy blanket, with shades of blue, gray, and white, that spans where the sky can see. Soon after, two flakes enter a cozy coffeehouse, sensing vulnerability and scary mystery. One snowflake says, "Hello, my name is . . ." Two cups of chocolate toast to good health. The other one says, "It's sure cold out there." One barely torn Indian paintbrush sways in the breeze. Soon, a slightly worn bluebonnet waves into its leaves. Many form a wavy carpet, with shades of blue, red, and white, that stretches as far as an open sea. Two flowers grope, touch, linger, and entwine. That feels a little better, but how far will this go? The paintbrush thinks, "He needs a shave." The bluebonnet thinks, "She has too much rouge on." One puff of smoky steam rises and forms a neon trace in the air. Another dusty puff ascends and joins the trace to make it brighter. Many caressed by evening light, glow like embers in twilight, stretch around the sky, bounce across the sea. Two puffs lie on the velvety sand. That feeling rises, glows, flutters all over. One puff says, "Oh, slowly. Lets make it last forever." Lost in a wilderness of burning feelings, where will this end? The other one says, "Aren't we rushing into this too fast?" One half amber, half brown leaf falls, twirling against a clear sky. Another red, purple speckled leaf turns, locking into its brown side. Many fall and form warm crunchy mounds that dance with the dust, sing with the wind. A pair of leaves loose themselves into each other. The amber leaf asks, "Now, will you ...?" They explore that mystery and vulnerability together. The red leaf responds, "Yes..." Seeds lie under the snow. Soon sprouts will rise into plants, grasses, vines, bushes and trees, which will sometimes be weak or strong, dull or sharp, spicy or sweet. Someday, two winds will echo, "I do." This "I do" will reach out to embrace snowflakes, flowers, sunsets, leaves, seeds and plants, which bond and grow into small ones and big ones, that laugh, frolic, fight, weep, sleep, sing, . . . and They reach out to embrace, too. <<Axtlanadu>>