(CONTEST) Word:Color Workshop VOTING

It is time for voting!!!
I wasn't sure how to make the voting given the small number of entries with four poems only, but since this is a contest I'm doing it the traditional way here anyways.
So just rate your top three poems 10, 7 or 4 points, then send me the vote along with the number of the poem (given below).
Voting will end Monday, 11 of May.
Thank you to the members who participated I hope you enjoyed this :)

Poems:

#1 Blue Buckalew from Kalamazoo

The blue Buckalew from Kalamazoo
what a wondrous widget it was
true, you can get one from Timbuktu
but you knew it wasn’t the Buzz.

Riding it ‘round raised neighbors’ fuss;
folding and rolling it made me proud
even jealous Bobby failed to cuss
just pledged his ever friendship loud.

The blue Buckalew was lost in time
planned obsolescence so they say
but that green Manalishi’s not so prime
so I’m stuck with the old red Besteray.

_____________________
#2 Melodries.

Cerulean gives birth to oceans
each time she closes her eyes;
when the moon flirts with the sky,
anxieties are cast away.
Her mind becomes the shore,
soothing the washed-up lovers
from past centuries.
Their heartbreak she sings of,
until tragedies melt into lullabies
and tension is released.
Melodries drift on the waves,
remembering the outcasts,
navigating a new tide.

_____________________
#3 Bruchexis

And with its effulgent grandeur,
I wanted to touch your soul
as if I am Old Manila --
that certain walk from
Puente de España to Binondo,
your lavish comprehension
of Intramuros.

One tiresome night,
you came home with
a pot of phloxes
you bought from a
local bookstore in Quiapo.

"Isn't that store only selling
segunda-mano books?",
I asked.

And then you went babbling
about random luck.

I still feel sad about
how I couldn't seem to remember
the name you gave those phloxes.
And I miss the times
you got angry at me because of that.

But I remember you
making a memoriam of
the historical structures
we lost over the years,
and there were both
the fascination and frustration
in your face,
the undying love
for a city long forgotten.

Cobalt...
You used to address nostalgia
as something cobalt.

"Isn't it supposed to be red?",
here I went asking again.
Silly me.

You just nodded.
I wondered why.

Years smoothen rough edges.
But curiosity never goes away.
I should've asked you that time.
But sometimes,
questions aren't meant to be asked,
or chances just won't allow you to ask.

Nostalgia pains me
deep down inside...
No, it isn't cobalt...

I know now why the nod.

You did agree.

On the forgotten corners of Manila,
I watched the once brilliant sky
fade to black.
It is another starless night.

Shall we walk its streets again?
The sunset reflected in the Pasig River
brushes the city with gold,
like the way it was reflected in your eyes
and dyed my whole life orange.
Half a century ago,
this place once was
the focal point of everything.
Few years ago,
this place was once
a metaphor for
something that blossoms,
for a disaster as beautiful
as transient fireworks,
for the calmness
that is always there
in every infinite dream
and every hopeful poem.

Dainty and proud,
you would always laugh about
any unfinished joke,
you would always love
my weakest metaphors.
I recall your serene gazes,
your beautiful aura
while walking on a sunburnt road...
...how I sincerely miss them.

Some stray thoughts come to my mind
and I now remember
what you named those phloxes.

But where is your nod?
Where is the voice babbling
about random luck?

_____________________
#4

when hurricanes mist into all the
unspoken words we hoarded,
the pale moonlight that once
shone gold recedes into the
deep night. the great
unbecoming, we lay atop
our mountains naked
waiting to dissolve once
the storm reaches the
event horizon.

the sparrows take flight
before the poesmuth;
we stream into
infinite literature.

Cool.

So neat! Thanks, Star :)

bumping this, voting ends soon!

Last day for voting :)