Travel Vibe

Greenspace -- Natural Flow -- Iao Valley, Maui

Photograph by author

Bursting in with comet speed,

Tailing ethereal escapes,

Folding in and out of state,

The salacious flirt now spins retreat.

Exhales draw breath with renewed interest.

Green pastures bend to golden sandstone with a deadline footnote.

Spontaneous combustion takes the fall.

Sublime surrender in rubble razes ground.

With charming rescue, wildlife rings celestial bodies.

Coincidence swims with shouldered intent.

Accidents pour with pretext.

Either way, love now enters the equation…

Tripping skyward among insanely sunny showers,

Freefalling into a bed of mudded waters,

Eyes open!

Twisting wood and ocean hues are charging the horizon.

Smiling wildly at that spark of green before a setting sun,

Standing like a hanging man released from a parody of fate.

Is that sweat upon brow hovering over a grin?

Yes! The prism discovered its flood of light.

And so it goes, a fall trips spring…

Unearthed reflection now pitches universal color!

Tactile Cents Transforming Cultural Billings

Hi, my name is Pinky — writer and photographer.

This blog focuses on sensing a place, a people, a moment. Exploration pulls us into the magic of childhood.  It reveals the beauty and luck of being an alien on a living, breathing planet.

As global personas jostle with one another, it is up to us to continue distinguishing the nuances that make us one because our future depends on secure interdependence.

Beyond that cuddly comfort zone, the exploration begins, the aperture widens, and epiphanies connect.  

Cheers!

Graphics by Pinkscript

A  documentary initiated a trip to the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh, PA and provided the impetus in writing the following poem.

Tasting her wine in sweet surrender,

Sliding down her surface bender,

His upward glance tumbles down her silhouette.

Her perfect form stares him back without regret.

Stinging wounds find him lying in her salty pool,

Vaporizing before him, as time and water duel.

Suddenly it all makes sense.

Her flawless dress deems her less intense.

Dripping, he stands worrying only of the hour.

Fevering, he toils with drunken power.

Erecting glass houses, he crafts tomorrow.

His watchful eyes wet hers with all she can borrow.

Rinsing down to relief,

Her air perfumed in belief,

Hand in hand, they waltz in step out the door.

Slipping, he shrugs as she hits the floor.

She loses breath out of season,

Seeing anew the shades that colored her reason.

Kissing joy in change brought on by sorrow,

He smiles: No need to wallow.

I needed the amber in your wine to paint tomorrow.

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