the spirits of our forefathers are turning in their grave
our land has been home to freedom and liberty for years
why would we allow the orange fog to control and suppress that right
our founders fought for and gained that right for us
why would some question, and want that privilege squashed
is it a reality that has come to stay?
NO, is the only answer here
let our ancestors know that democracy is not in hiding....

Brian Hill - 2020 # 304

My torch light glints off the shiny orange gem, that lies next to my friend Jim,
The poor ******* picked it up before he could flea, and now I feel it pull towards me,
The radiating heat is so soft and sweet I can feel my feet shuffling towards ultimate defeat.
As I reach down to pluck it up, the first feel of it is such a rush.
The power of it is to great, I'm going to faint my soul is no longer mine to hold and cherish it resides within the gem, now I'm with my true friend Jim.

What burned brighter
The orange flame rising from
the evening lamp
Or in the backdrop
the setting sun in its orange home
Both wore a warm glow
The journey
Beginning to end

I see you in every color, in each color, I find you.

Red? What a dainty strawberry, a beautiful cherry, the blush on my cheeks when I see you.
Orange? You're a sunset, a sunrise, a lovely fall leaf, I burn for you.  
Yellow? The sun itself, the stars, the bright spot in an otherwise dark day.
Green? The forest, the woods, you grow with my love for you.
Blue? You are the sea, the sky, the water I need to survive.
Purple? A ripe plum, the lilac and the lavender, what I see when our lips meet.
White? The clouds, lightning, the paper on which I write my poem.  
Black? Daring and elegant, the darkness holds me when you cannot.
Gray? The sleek metal, the packaging, what keeps my thoughts together.
Brown? The trees, the dirt, the background, that which is always there.

The shades and tints of life weave millions of you around me.