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.

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Skyblooded Sky blooded was my father To folks who knew him not his eyes were always brown dark not unlike the Folgers coffee he enjoyed But his eyes reflected clear skies when I saw him at home talking with his hunting buddies about the big deer that got away I didn't see that deer Instead I saw corners sterile on words distant in my school books Resaca blood flowed through my father His eyes reflected mud green waves sunset ripples from that pond formed behind our home when hurricane Beula fed the thirsty Rio Grande His skilled hands made rafts out of tar and plywood Now he couldn't get away We my father me my cousin floated on those green waves and sunset ripples rubbed against cool slick skins on struggling catfish and squirming frogs fed on fresh fried catfish and frog legs That pond was sleepy early morning dew My father was chaparral blooded Spring mesquite yellow green cenizo silver purple nopal yellow green huisache silver orange Bloomed from His eyes Too often while sitting at my desk my father was Away hunting with his friends School book words weighed down my head Numbers stung my eyes No Numbers words just messengers My gray blood was rarely brightened the few times we walked through ranch or field Now my father's face emerges from submerges into bluish gray fog Perhaps if I try to enter it I will enter The Outdoor Blood in These Coffee Eyes But that fog freezes too deep My chance will embrace me When this world spins fog free <<Writings>>