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jonas Jan 2020
It's days like these
And girls like her
That make me think I could be okay to stay
Inside my shell.

It's days like these
And boys like him
That make me almost want to stay
To avoid association.
written in November of 2019
Ikigai Poet Jul 2019
What you read right now
lies in the visible region of
my soul.
-Ikigai Poet
What you read right now is something I allow you to take a look!
eversoslowly Jun 2019
The depth of the ocean absorbing the color from the sky
the crashing waves like clouds in the ocean

The heart of the forest shedding its green hue to a passing brown
the natural life to death, shared by all living

The core of the flames lashing out with its orange fingers
disrupting, destroying, turning black as night

The vibrant yellow of our sun it's grasp reaching out
both destruction and life in one single entity

The red of our blood coursing through our veins
we bleed it,we shed it, we share it
idiosyncrasy May 2019
Female now,
           I feel it
                      I don't know how
Or if I fit

         I put on a smile
         Twist my hair
                   I change my style
                                    And give off a different air

                Now I'm male
                A distinct feeling
                    No longer scared to fail
         My confidence reeling

I laugh carelessly
Loud and bold
              Everything so freely
               A smile of gold

                              The gender slips away
                                And I am left agender
                              My feelings sway
                                                My heart and soul so tender

                                                I go about in a quiet way
                                            The scenery I'm drinking
                               Throughout the day
                                        Feeling and thinking             

             Both rush back
          At the same time
           It feels like an attack
     Like a serious crime

             I can't decide what to do
       A wild aura erupts
                         I jeer and laugh right on cue
                        My sense of self corrupt

                          It's called genderfluid
              I'm not confused
                 I decide to keep it hid
                 Because for it I'd be abused

              My soul is not content
            Living in one way
                      It needs more extent
                                         And leave behind the cliche
genderfluid
as
         ****
Aaditya Mar 2019
Whatever that exists here,
seemed to me as mediocrity
until you stood in front of me.

You reflect all sober elements
into the colours of spectrum
like a prismatic medium.

Shades of red, depicted love
The colour blue, warmth
Lilac, was definitely a charm.

*****, we associated yellow,
Purity was showed by green
And orange remained serene.

Slowly everything became gray,
The blackness taking over us,
White light turning to dust.

Where did you go, I need you
My life seems colorless now,
Happy am I? Tell me how!
to the colours of our life
Robert C Howard Feb 2019
Morning Rainbow

Myriad prismatic crystals,
     refract the morning sun-streams -
painting layers of spectral arches
     across the misted horizon.

Eyes turned to the western skies,
     we suspend our meteorological selves  
acquiescing to miracles unveiled before us -
     un-beckoned and scarcely earned,
proffering thanks for the radiant epistle
     of healing, hope and promise,
artfully encoded in transfigured light.

Synthetic Refractions

A luminary ballet takes center stage
    when synthetic refractors come to play:
crystal pendants bathe our foyers
      with dazzling swaths of color.
Hazy coronas encircle streetlamps
      discovered by headlights through the fog.
A science class prism slices light rays
     into pre-ordered spectral strata.

If the sky denies us a rainbow,
     we can always fashion one of our own
and we do!



Spectral Sound

Before there was music,
     bird songs brushed our souls
and the murmur of woodland streams
     held us captive by their banks.

Soon we learned to sing and tint the air
    With prisms of wood and wire and metal
and to color soundscapes in our spirits
     With songs of wonder, joy and longing.

Before there was music,
     bird songs brushed our souls.

Robert Charles Howard, 2019
This is a rewrite and expansion of a prior poem called Morning Rainbow. The poems are design to go with an original piece for solo flute also called Prisms.
No twinkling red giant star
Glistens with more red than your lips.
No verdant green of prairie grass
Can be more fertile than your hips.

The sky’s blue hues from morn to night,
Are pale against your royal soul.
The softened tan of perfect skin
Colors my heart out of control.

The yellow sun is cold and dark
When your aura is on display.
Like whitest white more blameless than
A child on his very birthday.

In you is all that can be seen,
In ways that colors only know.
Your gifts of beauty more vast than
The colors across the rainbow.
Instagram @insightshurt
www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
tobi Nov 2018
men and women are forced in to boxes and labeled
with no room to grow
told that colors you wear make you a boy or girl
the clothes you wear, the things you do
how you act
for some reason
make you only a boy or girl
*** and gender are two different things, and we’re taught growing up to fit a certain mold
Shea Nov 2018
My mind is filled with scraps of poetry
The words he owes to me
I will never get back
The fact I failed to submit
Shows I'm only bones
And the range of the water
I have been given
Has out lived the living
But the waves of the yesterdays
Like blue days of a dream
The scheme of things have played out
My food for thought
Was laid out
On the couch where we said
Monsters hide at night in bed
And tell you to give up the dream
Of winning faith and dying clean
And if the thing of things must be
The living clean
The way I live
Or never have lived
Could not hold up the way of the shiv
And if the living hope to live
Or love or all
Then washing over once was dry
Will flood the eyes of beggars choicey
kivel Oct 2018
a whole spectrum of color
continuously poured into my eyes
as i walked between leaves, under the bright sun
and time, past and present, whipped past me,
faster and faster, as i strolled through this garden.

my nose twitched to every new smell
bakery, vanilla, lavender,
my mother's cooking
this creamy, lovely perfume
my nose twitched to my childhood

i stopped along this path
to find it suddenly became night.
i peered into the leaves for light,
and was granted visions from other perspectives.
other people. such bright lives.

i came across my own vision.
it was of the present.
i saw myself peering into leaves,
during the middle of the night.

i turned and saw myself.
a reflection? i snapped.

the colors disappeared.
the smells refused to come close to me.
evening.
the beach was close by.
where am i?

~-~-~-~-~

on the way home
one thought fought every other:

that truly was
the garden of dreams.
until next time, until i see you again, goodbye.
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