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Sally A Bayan Aug 2017
Colors, have ways of making us soar,
or fall.......they make us buoy...
they, too, can divide and isolate...
long ago,  a magazine
was colored and identified for a reason.....
a kind of blue-sy music, upon which i groove,
...was named for the same reason...
.............a magazine..... a music genre,
became instruments...and parts of
dark and golden moments.......recalled
and enjoyed, every now and then...they're
painted.......registered in people's minds....

life is a magazine of stories, of  poetry...
life is a jukebox...filled with soundtracks
life is an album...a collection of smiles
...of colorful images and emotions
reddish brown at first...turning yellow brown,
with tinges of taupe.......mottled through the years,
turning...into fading shades  of sepia...

i refuse my late summer moments on earth be done in Grisaille,
painted, only in tones of grey and dark green... is day, life would be hued with
subdued colors...the blues, silvers and grays,
...........will be cold as winter...

but, until then,
i'd rather be consumed with liveliness
i would adorn my days with peach and lilac
blossoms, hang fuschia pink pennants
on my brighten my disposition,
i'd the guitar once again,
i'll wear my ruffled, dappled-purple skirt,
and yellow converse sneakers when i walk on
the pavement....under blue skies that enhance
greens, and gold...colors that breathe existence
transforming weariness to courage...

wherever...whenever, however possible,
i speak, whisper to  God words of gratitude,
and endless thanksgiving...i  pray for strength.    
and acceptance........prepare myself...when,
.....i, too...would face my own moments,
...............of fading sepia.


Copyright August 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Sepia is a dye, deep brown in colour, like the colour of very old photographs.

***Grisaille-- is a technique in which a painting is rendered solely in tones of gray, sepia, or dark green.
***Sepia--a magazine for African-Americans which existed from 1947 to 1983.

***In the late 1940s and early 1950s, R & B (rhythm and blues) music was called race music or sepia music.
How long does it take?
Before the feelings finally shake?
Before the pain and loss is gone
Simple things pondered upon
Hours spending wasted away
Thinking of things that are gone anyway
I can't design myself to love you any less

You are the music in my heart

And I never want us to drift apart

I'm designed to listen to you

I'm programmed to do whatever it takes to be with you

I'm uncontrollably always trying for your attention

The musical waves flutter in my chest

The musical waves project from my chest

My heart is a crest for love that never becomes less

The waves pound in my heart

They're what keeps it beating

They're what keeps it consistant

You're heart needs consistancy

If you don't want to die from inefficiancy

You give me those waves

You give me that consistency

To my heart and brain you are beautiful mystery

Systematically and dramatically

I can't give you up

You are what gives me life

You are what makes the word "life" have meaning

With you, the before darkness line of my future

That dark line now has a gleaning

A gleaning of light

A future that's more realistically in sight

You can make me weak

But you also give me might

With you, I want nothing more than to fight

To fight for that gleaning light in my future

No matter how small

I'll die for that light

I'll die for that chance

Like an orchid

She is an angel

Like an orchid

She is vampire

She is an angel for her display

And a vampire for her stagnant compelling attraction

Stagnant because she can sit and do nothing

And I will always want to do something

I will always feel something

She's a vampire for her temptation

A vampire for the sensation

My heart thrives for that sensation

The feeling of my lips on the tips of hers

That's enough to drive me crazy

That's enough to drive me to insanity

That feeling allows me to thrive for humanity

Because with humanity comes pureness

And lasting dreams of the simplest things

Those simple things are more like stepping stones to more

They are little things on the floor

Things you may not pay attention to

Like sand on the shore

Those simple things are part of what makes us whole

Without one grain of sand

A beach is still a beach

But without sand

There is no beach

Simple things like your glare or your stare

Keeps me on edge

On edge of my stair

Waiting to see if there's another step in the story

Another step to more flare

Of more caring of something more we might share

I want to share something with you

I want to share a flare

I want to share our care

Care for eachother

Only you

Only us

No care for any other
renzie b Jun 2015
No, don’t tell me I’m perfect.
A lie is never a compliment.
Tell me exactly who I am.
Tell me I’m a pain in the ***,
an uptight, control-freak Asian,
a sarcastic *****,
an emotional wreck,
a nerdy, dorky, silly, insecure girl.
Then tell me you love me for it.
Mike Essig Jun 2015
He spent his day in
hell's reading room,
so now he is trying
to put out the flames
in his brain
which threaten
to consume it

He does not try
very hard.

His mind wanders
to death
at a crossroads,
names without meaning,
how so much love
fossilizes in the air.

It grows hotter
and hotter.

His nervous system
recoils in horror
like a defiled angel.

Purity seems the
better choice.

Even though
the flames stretch
out tortured hands,
he tries no harder.

He is lost
in the kingdom
of words.

A kingdom
only burning cleanses.

He hears Cerebrus

Stephanie Lynn May 2015
it's 6 in the morning and i'm listening to the blues
the soul in the sax plays a tune to mimic the rhythm of my feelings
a crescendo of colorful sound to express my inability to decide whether to take the road that's right or left
which ever road leads me back to you

you see it's like a magnetism--our love
no matter if the fire burns down the walls around us
or the flood of our tears washes us down the hillside
nothing separates us for more than a moment
and here we stand back at the crossroads

so i'm going to take this midnight train to Georgia
for the love of you
because when a man loves a woman
there ain't no mountain high enough
to keep them apart
lean on me, and i'll see you through
hold me, so you can help me stand too
we can be whoever we're to be
it's no one else's business
we can be free--just the two of us

in my heart, my baby love
some day, we'll be together

(C) Maxwell 2015
ShamusDeyo Jan 2015
The Back Beat of the Bass, In a Bourban infused bar
Smooth to the bend of , The blues note Guitar
Saxman whail's to the, Smoky Slow blues Singer
And Drummer riffs off , A High Hat Brush Stinger
The Pianoman lays down, A Slow soft tune
As the Vocals Stir the mix, In a soft **** Croon
People dance so close, It Shuts out the World
Lost in Love, Lust, & Bourban.....
Bartender sets up another Round
As the Crowd of the room, Soaks up the Sound.....
Toker's Blowin'  Smoke, Hid in the hall by the Johns
The Bars Mood Sways...As the music Carries on
A Patron at the Bar, Orders up another beer
And the Dancers Float, Across the dance Floor
The Glow of Neon Spills, Colored Red Lights....
A Soft **** Setting, For a Memorable Night
The Guests all begged and, Pleaded for an Encore
So the band fired up... Just one more
All on A Saturday night.....JMF 1/31/15
R&B; catches a person by the Soul and never lets them go

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®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

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