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Ciel Noir Oct 2018
Shorter wavelength,
Bluer hue
Shouldn't violet be
Bluer than blue?
We can't see ultraviolet
So instead
We pick up shorter waves
As blue and red
We think of color as a wheel
But color is the way light feels
It looks so real
But in our heads
Bluer than blue is blue and red
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
What if
I told you
not to discourage
The world and you

You're the part of nature
The very part to be loved
and captured

The world can be cruel not
meeting your expectation
  I want to encourage you

What we are not
We all need to be cared for
No-one needs to control you
You put you or not?
But your heart and soul
inside you
Was worth every
Worldbeat of a shot

Like an energy force

What we hear
let nature
take its course

How it got to you
But of course
Unexpected surprise or not
Another divorce
Spiritual eye
compelled you

To be or not to be
(The Shakespearian) dialogue
But what is concealed so secretive
Our loved ones
The world revolves around
(Many Rules) a dust of the wind
The dead ones The wild or bad ones
 What would it be without
colors and no control
The kindest hearts of souls

It's not very logical or practical
To use it never to abuse it how
another person transforms it
Solving the problems
Such a delicate moment touching a rose

And snap a pose Lady Madonna

Like it-or, not the Vogue space alien green
Your money is not always what it seems
The whole world in your hand
Feeling alienated mind polluted
The things that we are? Being Lifted

Why does a business make you feel
Nothingness the number
Well let's consider
yourself part of the family
We are not on this planet
to be right or wrong

How every molecule
 something clicks
The good earth Apple
computer console
All the keys comma, star,
how far will it go
So many deceased or not ever pleased
@  # whats the odds percentage %
The exclamation point! !! & etc
The addiction movies the drama

Fresh blueberries the sour cream
Not watching your diet what a dilemma
Those landmark cemeteries so
vivid not a dream and life to
overcome
your fears and dreams

Every Data color is the
warmest earth worth every beauty of color

Those homemade brownies
The revolving Globe
Her Grecian robe contemplating
You're the physical sensible person
Trying a (Sun filled) vacation
How it groves to shape right in
Healthy or not we were
born  to be loved

Our eyes see but they're
not clear not the friendly
Environment somehow mean

Or bluer than the sky clean
But "Hi' nice welcoming
Robin bird fly__*
Maybe it's not your true birth

Like a cry overflow

What do you know he knows
or she knows
Enjoy yourself your mind will be higher
Overly confident to feel pompous
The Showstopper word it nutritious
Don't underestimate
Who we really are the believer

Don't pull yourself back
with negativity

Accept the craziness
You're not the wallflower
The world captures you
every day cry or make it
your time to pray
Your head was spinning
with fascination like it was your
time of blessing
That European trip the
airplane pop of ears what is glory
Let the people hear your side of the story

The restlessness above all  the love
With such a will of ambition list
Feeling the dizziness

I know the world would be
a better place with smiling face
Show your hair with the
fresh cut daisy
The brightness soothes you
The Daisy my favorite
because of Mom
She taught me well

I will always be her daisy
What makes us happy
That personal growth we don't
need a wish just push forward
We were meant to do
this together
intertwined as both
Toward our happiness
What revolves around our world to see the world free or wild what do we really feel like in this heavenly good earth. We should kiss the ground we walk on or not is it really using up your time you are the one so worth living or not to find peace even when it's not what we need to resolve to move forward and love who we are
Benji James Jul 2018
She feels like her world is broken
She's always felt she's been outspoken
She's trying to send the signs
To say she's not alright
No one can see her pain
(Behind mascara eyes)
No one knows the battle she fights inside
(Behind mascara eyes)
And no one looks beyond her smile
They would see she is crying
On the inside
(Behind mascara eyes)
Can you feel the hurt deep down?
Your trying to keep strong
Your trying to hold the faith
But with every hit
Another part of you breaks

Yeah you feel like fading
Skies are turning grey
And the suns been blocked out
by the cold hard rain
But after the darkness
There is a new dawn
There are bluer skies
On the other side of this storm
Come on your gonna get through it
You know that you can do it
We are gonna get through it.

Situations a rise
And you feel like your life
Is like a runaway train
And your never gonna catch up
With yourself again
You've felt the doubt
Like your trapped in a hole
And you can't get out
You thought you were grown up
But you haven't done that much
And sometimes it feels like your not good enough
So you feel like giving up

Yeah you feel like fading
Skies are turning grey
And the suns been blocked out
by the cold hard rain
But after the darkness
There is a new dawn
There are bluer skies
On the other side of this storm
Come on your gonna get through it
You know that you can do it
We are gonna get through it.

You've been cut down to size
Way to many times
You've thrown your heart out on the line
Only to get rejected or denied
They say it's all apart of life
You wish upon stars every night
Holding on hope that it can
only get better
Your looking for that smile
You haven't felt in a while
That one true happiness
That you felt as a child

Yeah you feel like fading
Skies are turning grey
And the suns been blocked out
by the cold hard rain
But after the darkness
There is a new dawn
There are bluer skies
On the other side of this storm
Come on your gonna get through it
You know that you can do it
We are gonna get through it.

©2018 Written By Benji James
Currently writing new material to put on here heehee ;)
Terry Collett Jul 2013
In lunch recess
you made your way
to the sports field
Reynard going on

about some girl
in class
who he said
had navy-blue underwear

saw them
when she was going up
the stairs this morning
on the way to maths

he said
the sun was out
in full blaze
and he said

you’re not off
to see that
13 year old *****
are you?

she’s a year younger
than I am
so what’s
the big deal?

you said
but what about
the kick around
with the other boys?

you saw Christina
on the grass waiting
she was sitting on
her school jumper

being too hot
to wear
girls are a downfall
Reynard said

leave them
to softer fellows
but you parted from him
and walked to where

she was sitting
you hearing
Reynard’s voice
over your shoulder

what’s a matter
with your friend?
she said
he wants me

to kick a ball about
but I’d rather
be with you
you said

let’s go for a walk then
she said
and got up
from the grass

and brushed
her grey skirt down
then took your hand
and you walked over

the grass
and she talked
of her morning
of dreary lessons

and how
that morning
her mother had ranted
about her untidy room

and the leaving
of clothes everywhere
you listened to her speak
taking in her nose

and eyes
and how
her lips moved
and her hand

was becoming damp
in yours
and you sensed
her pulse

in her wrist
and how it beat
and she talked
about her big brother

how he was always
where she was
and then
she became quiet

and as you reached
the fence that enclosed
the school grounds
you watched

the traffic pass by
like prisoners gazing
through wire
at a far bluer sky.
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Every* fine* detail*
Getting  flushed the
blues inside the
red I phones
The lonesome blue
Ring my Rolling Stones
Waking up in [Blue Oceania]
Mama Mia bluesy jazz me waterbed

Hazy, not one yellow daisy
*hurry up your driving me_crazy
          In love like the
Foggy Day in London Town
The saying *New York like no other town

Forget about it Brooklyn is my town

Wearing your face with frowns
like a vine of tomatoes

Is it your time for Victories

Those rotten movies and
throwing those forgotten
  Love potatoes
At the Villa looking
out he's the Captain of the blue sea
My Alaskan blue eye husky
Meet Charlie or the Bumble Bee
Tuna fish

Saw the fog getting stronger
The winter is hazy don't be
the chicken of the sea

  She was spinning her mind into the
vertigo love is crazy
The crazy love''Hugo"
Hers and his E- ecstasy twin-mail
Hazy is just the way you feel
His strings azure blues power tie
She felt other blues what lies

Workout blues hazy spirit greys
She prays hazy winters of blueberry pie

Hearing the blues rush of water
The waitress taking his order
Inside her tasty fingers
The blues "*****" lightly stir
How she met his brother
But why? Don't you love me, Sir

Eyes of blues flower irises
Her blues pour crystal sugar
She turned her head surprises
Swarovski crystal bead
What was said singing the blues
Shades of deep sensual gray
The shapes of things Godly pray
How many words could
you possibly say
When you catch your breath
His eyes are bluer than your
Heart intense red his iron shirts
Got badly burned

Pumpkin Head met sesame seed
flatbread in the modern flat world
Eating a blueberry muffin top
Who has the open mind
Her blues boysenberries
Doing Hip-hop
By her nook pulling the blinds
How the blood stain her lips
Fashion art Chanel cherries
The bloodshot eyes
Caught her fire candle

Wonka" Blues house Coffee Diva

Hazy blown out of
proportion blue
"Hazy Just So" how do you do it
Do you go through her dreams?

Another brainstorm little
boy blue like a fairytale
So inviting love true lights
Just so in her beam another
enticing clue its never what it seems
Just because there is so much blue
Life shouldn't trick you just kick
off your shoes


Just Relax meditate your body flex
The Gulf of Mexico the blue sharks
Take a bite any kind of fish the
whale of a blue wish
The weather so many changes
crazy or not
Everything feels right
when you tie the knot
So hazy the winter to the spring and the summer flowers bluish morning glory September trying to remember the birth of all shades of babies wearing little boy blue but this goes beyond anyone's spirit colors come out the way you seem to see it so live it singing the blues-rock your waves in those velvet shoes
B Dec 2014
When I was young,

The grass was greener
The sky was bluer
The clouds were whiter

But now that I'm older,

The bills are greener
The bruises are bluer
And the faces are *whiter
It's a year almost that I have not seen her:
Oh, last summer green things were greener,
Brambles fewer, the blue sky bluer.

It's surely summer, for there's a swallow:
Come one swallow, his mate will follow,
The bird race quicken and wheel and thicken.

Oh happy swallow whose mate will follow
O'er height, o'er hollow! I'd be a swallow,
To build this weather one nest together.
Stephan Jun 2016
.

*Now as a crescent moon does shine,
such beauty do I see
Beneath the stars where you are mine
to hold eternally

So when the morning sun does rise
on bluer skies above
You’ll see the truth within my eyes,
forever is my love
Oscar Mann Oct 2015
I will always think fondly
Of the park bench
Near the sad man’s statue
Whose beard of stone
Was sloppily painted
By a bunch of overenthusiastic pigeons

That silly park bench
Where we first kissed
And had our first public argument
About nothing at all
And at the same time
About everything we thought we had

At first our memories
Turned the grass greener
And the skies bluer
And sometimes it seemed
That sad man smiled
Though it might have been an malevolent grin

But soon it became tainted
A symbol of fleeting love
Of passion’s mortality
Its habit of swiftly disappearing
Like cagey, distrustful pigeons
And illusions fuelled by sentimentality

Now I understand the sad man
And consider his faith to be cruel
To want and crave and hope
Yet to be sentenced
His life writ in stone
Near an empty, broken bench
Marian Jan 2014
The sun is shining through the trees
Tiny rain-washed bluebells
Are growing at my feet
Birds are calling to each other
Moss is growing on the ground
And lichen on the trunks of trees
Dappled sunshine lights my path
Ferns are showing off their green lace
And dewdrops are sparkling on the grass
While the sky couldn't be a bluer sapphire hue
A path of cherry blossoms in bloom
Tower overhead
Their sweet fragrance dancing on the breeze
A circle of mushrooms
Is where the Fairies dance each night
That is where I dance too
Today is such a lovely day
Spent in my enchanted Woodland

*~Marian~
Just some random inspiration!!! :) ~~~~<3
Hope you enjoy it!!! (: ~~~~~~~~~~<3
I hear stories of an ancient land so pure.
I see photographs of bluer than blue skies
over a lake of molten gold.

I drink kahwa flavoured with almond and saffron
and add honey, sweetened by bees from the valley,
my hips swaying in a crewel work on wool skirt.

I hear songs of freedom, I know people who fled.
The muezzin prays for peace over bloodstains and tears
while children still play under walnut trees.

Clouds gather to pray at Shankaracharya Temple
on a mountain dipping its toes into water
while empty shikaras speak of visiting ghosts.

Mothers whose eyes never tire, looking over the sunset
for long lost sons; wives who still lay out their husband’s
slippers on a carpet with frayed edges.

Postmen deliver letters to addresses long abandoned;
a generation of elders, eyes of agate, gnarled fingers, brew tea
surrounded by memories of children killed, daughters *****.

I write for all people who live in war.
I write for the age of innocence to return.
I write for soft rain to wash away sin.

I write for the return to reason.
I write for peace to flutter gently through groves
of apricot, almond, apple and walnut.

Feel the pain. Hear the refrain. Smell the emptiness.
This is now. This is now. This is not in the pages
of a fading history text. This is now. This is now.
Stu Harley Nov 2015
stars
sparkle
through
the
night
some
bluer
than
a robin's egg
some
ready
to hatch
s u r r e a l Jun 2016
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for sweet peas.
And whose skin could be misplaced for dogwood.
Tongue as innocent as the boy that cried wolf,
And eyes as golden as yore.

You knew of that girl, count every school day,
Where she walked through the door, head bowed and heart prayed.
'neath those bangs, whose color is as dark as our breaths, and as shiny as false tree,
Whose eyes--exotic--bluer--bluer than a thumbtack and bluebells set out by sea.

Whose eyes are mismatched by plentiful lips--small as the silver spec on my shoe,
And shimmered 'neath sterile light, as if she kissed the face of Mt. Rushmore, too.
With those high lips and V-line chin, which connected with her pencil neck to her petite body,
No ******* or bottom, with legs as thin as stilts and as blinding as our phones,
She holds the body of a cradle, and sings like a tongue-less canary.

Always kempt and proper--her hair tied back with a lovely noose.
And shoes worry not of dirt--for she never played outside.
Resting 'neath maple-wood trees like a bunny--face and knees tucked by arms, and that's where they reside.
Many boys had asked for her hand in play, but that bunny went deeper--deeper into the flesh hole she burrowed.
"Painfully shy, she was." They said.
And that pain was her devil.

For you knew not the cause of those florid, pink, cheeks.
Whose purpose means nothing but dead machines.
Whose eyes rung bright--struck the world alight,
Yet, they themselves could not see.

For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for vintage bust,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bile.
Whose eyes mistaken for lust,
And face mistaken for tile.

For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for heat,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bleach.
For again and again and again, the belt beats.
And hello to endless ******.

For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Blue waters and purple veins clash--wash again and again 'gainst land--and befit the word: queer.
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Innocence knows no bounds and eyes no longer see flavor,
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Exotic eyes bled--rained--pink--and pink--and pink with grand fervor...!
For sometimes it may frighten you to know,
Not all persons are truly healthy,
even those who you hold truly dear.
Sombro Mar 2016
Drift off
Slower than the tide
And these hazy buttercups
On this Sunday morning
Drift off
And let your fears
Spill into the current
That passes you gently along.

Melodies take me
And light guitar strings murmur
Giving flow to my stiff bones
As they sigh in the sunlight
Staring lovingly into the bluest sky
Bluer than the green water
That sings its own harmony.

Hear the birds chant
Sparks into the air
Hear the water hush
The wind that will never come today
And the chug chug chug
Of that faithful riverboat
Keeping me steadily onwards
On its warm wooden deck.
I hope this takes you somewhere nice, like my riverboat!
I wish I could write him a letter
just to ask how he was doing.

If the food tastes different there
if the sky is bluer at 10 AM
if he can see the moon from his window

But really, all I want to know
is if he loves the crinkle of written-on paper
as much as I do

and if sometime, he might
want to write me back
just to feel the paper between his fingers
and the words beneath his palms?
saige Sep 2018
If money is evil
And life is worse,
What made you take
Both?

I remember now,
You robbed us so
You could fund your own
Coffin
Satin and polished wood
Have never been so
Expensive

(neither have glass guns and hell dust)

But you knew,
(what made you make sure?)
When this day came
(too soon too soon too soon)
None of us would
Find you

Nothing borrowed
(but time)
Nothing stolen
(but life)
Nothing missing
(but why)

Can't you return?
Steele Jan 2015
I was thirteen when I broke my wrist for the first time,
Miming Cinderella Man's fists as they jabbed faster than jets through the sky.
He was blue collar, blue jeans, blue bruises and blue eyes;
Waiting for his chance, and then taking it by the blind-side,
He taught me the meaning of a left hook to life and coming back from behind.
I was raised on Cinderella.

She was thirteen when daddy read her the tale that first time,
and she grew up wishing to be Cinderella, miming her words and her stride,
She wore blue dresses, smoked blue crystals, cried blue tears with blue eyes;
Waiting to be saved by a prince with blood bluer than money could buy,
Cinderella taught her to sit back and wait for her princely perfect guy,
She was raised on Cinderella.

We were raised on Cinderella,
We were twenty and change when we locked blue and green eyes,
Mine had darkened to green by that eye-locking time,
Life tends to darken things; It's just how it goes, and when mine
took that hue, things were no longer so blue.
Because even though we were both raised on Cinderella,
Princesses and Paupers don't find love; When they do it isn't "true"
Because no blue crystal smoked could cloak the pain and disguise;
No fairytale magic can hold back real tears from real eyes.
My Cinderella was a prize fighter;
Her Cinderella was the prize,
but the stories are different, and in the end, both are lies.
To this day, I remember your eyes, and the memory brings back only love and heartbreak. We weren't meant to be, and I stand by my words when we went our separate ways. Love isn't a fairy tale. I'm not prince charming, and your princess belongs in another castle. I hope you find him one day.
sabella Jul 2013
Sorry not a poem more of a sort story .


Do you know what it's like to be ugly never to feel beautiful. To be the ugly one. To be caste aside pushed down and beaten. Just because they say your not beautiful. Your the ugly one. Do you know the pain of being thrown away with the trash and how much the loneliness consumes you. Dragging you to the darkness. Those names that tear  you to pieces.
The your ugly how can you show your face.
The your a no buddy why are you here.
The you are the most disgusting thing i have ever seen.
The I can't believe your parents keep you after they seen your face.
The you should just **** your self  just die no one would even notice that you did.
The laughing the whispering over and over again.
You never belonging any where.  Never having a friend just someone to talk to. Someone that believed in you . Someone that didn't think you'r ugly.  Someone that would save you. But no.
Your just always wishing that someone would save you. Praying please just this time please god help me make them stop please just this once please save me. I can't do this any more all this pain and emptiness why can't i be saved why can't i be loved . As you lay there on the grown bleeding beaten crying screaming for your life no one comes.
You ask your self as you lay there not able to move in so much pain.
WHY    WHY what did you ever do to deserve this for all these years all this pain WHY
Why have I been left alone in the darkness.
Why just because i'm not beautiful in there eyes.
Please tell me why i was born this way why is the world this way.
Alone ugly beaten as my soul begins to go black being pulled into the darkness.
Why can't i be saved.
No never for you always   always alone and ugly.
There hate. There words filling your body with nothingness and hear them over and over again never ending in you mind they just play over and over cutting into your soul take the very life out of you.
Pushing you deeper and deeper onto the edge pushing tell there is no where for you to go.
This.   This is the last time never will they beat you never will they make you bleed. Never will they make you feel pain.
So you clime and clime tell you reach the top of the water tower.
Finley you can be free.
Finely there will be no more pain.
Finley for the first time in years you can smile   looking up at the stars free.
I take that last steep falling to the grown as i look up at the stars. I smile spreading my arms out like i'm flying finely at piece. I feel i saved my self,      am I saved? Then it flashes no one well care no one well cry. You will never be missed. Now even before death your alone always and for ever alone.

There went that happy feeling. The feeling of being free of being saved gone just like that.
Some how it seems she had been falling for some time now in slow motion.
Now no more smiles just tears that run down her face.
Why this!   She can't even die happy and free from the pain. Why can't this  girl just be happy and believe just this once she is beautiful and free away from the pain just this time. How can they even take that from her.   Why?

Then smack something hits her arm and her body goes slamming into the wall.
With her tears streaming down her face she looks up and sees a bluer of a dark broad body hanging off the latter holding on to her so tightly.
The other one they called ugly. As she wipes her eyes with her other hand to dry the tears. She looks up at him she never looked at him before always looking at the ground afraid to look up but here and now she did. She doesn't  understand the man she sees is anything but ugly with the moon that lightens up his face and the wind gently blowing his hair he smile at her. She gasped and her face turns red. She sees just  How his smile makes her heart skip  how gently but strongly he is as he holds onto her. He speaks so softly to her this must be what they call fate were are here to save each other I was here to be free too, but us here at the same time. I know something brought us together. As i watched you falling you looked like an angel Spirit that lost her wings and i had to save you.  Because you are here to save me from my broken wings too. So forgive me i could not let you fall. Our soul spirits weaved flying together in the air.
  So what do you say. Should we let they fly together?  He said to her.   Her body trembling tears began to flow down her face  but with a smile that would light up the darkest part of hell.  
    He smiles back at her  and says i'll take that as yes. He pulls her into him and wraps  him arms around her holding her ever so tightly as she cry's. Just holding her he spoke so softly again to her I'll stay with you tell the end of time I well love you tell the end of my life. You well never be alone again.
Finely she was loved.
Finely never alone again.
Finely she was saved.
But no it was just the flash in her mind before she hit the grown.
There is NO LOVE NO HOPE NO GOD NO ONE GIVES A ****
aspen simone May 2014
Blue
The color I always imagine your eyes to be
Same as the sea
And I'm always pleasantly surprised
When they're both bluer than
I'd dreamt they'd be
Blue
The predetermined color to represent sadness
But I like the color blue
More than I like being sad
The only thing about blue that makes me sad
Is not seeing it
Blue
You imagine the sky should be this shade
Yet are always shocked
When it blooms a magical purple at night
And turns the softest pastel pink
At dawn

Red
The known color of fear, it scares me also
Reminds me of bad things
Dreams soaked in red
Are never ones to be retold
Though it looks magnificent on brown skin
Red
Representative of love
Yet war
Maybe that's why love always turns bad
Why we can get so angry
With the ones we hold dearest
Red
Reminds me of sweet apples
And sweeter lips
Of harlot lips, like the one's on that girl
The one you left me for
That Saturday evening the sky was blue
A gray hippo lived in the zoo
It was so stressful it turned him blue
The Giraffes laughed at his skin so blue
That only made him bluer times two

Now the Lion was wise but a little slow
That's why he wound up as the star of the show
He and Hippo were playing a game of solitaire
While the Lion played fleas were biting him everywhere
Hippo ate chocolate cake
That the tourist threw over the gate
Wise old Lion said ,
"You better watch your weight
Your getting a little thick in the hip ."

"Humph !" , said Hippo ,
"Why do you think they call us
Hip-po-***-a-mus ."
Wade Redfearn May 2018
Something rattles in the soul.
It must be paid attention -
  it is the soul, the only sure thing -
and rattled in return.

Slow begins the dance of tongues and hard news.
I learn a thing I never wished to learn.
Afterwards,
a dance of tongues in the ensuite
begins a sudden rapture of claiming.

Nails mine, skin mine
to make a pink impression on.
Bile in the back of the throat, mine.
Fear of death, mine. Oaths and oaths,
mine, too. An exchange of humility,
knee for a knee. The rigid wall at your back.
The wall at your back.
The night which enriches
bluer out of the blue air,
not the action of
the world moving at all.

The particles of water in a birdbath divide,
decide among themselves
to marry each to each, to reproduce.
They become an ocean.
They drown the birds.
My mouth fills with feathers,
teeth itch with the tiny mites
running between the shafts.

I am a bell, and you are a country.
I am a bell and sound from far away.

Hands touch the broken vase in her parts, the toes,
the eyelash, the sunken wreck, the crowd of dead,
the treasure.
They say
  all this
as if the map was drawn
and burned
and came again
in char from the tablecloth
to all our wonder.

A single miracle can last for weeks in the mouth. Sometimes centuries.

I will spend eighteen days in the void of grace.
What begins as a pain in my shoulders
will grow into a tree and bury me.
I will want promises, promises, promises.
(water, water, water)
I will never be satisfied.

Looking always for permanent loss it becomes easy to simply
misplace.
Your caution leads to strange decisions.
You put your keys in the fridge.

I would like to say I knew the words:
I cut the lock of hair, I drew the blood.
The hex was removed by faith and chaste reflection
but everywhere I look, there is a confusion
of hungry birds and beggars
and I forget the spell,
or what chaste reflection even is.

Anyways, something breaks. Not my doing.
Suddenly, I am just noticing sky again.
I am transcribed back into English.
My first decision is to wash my car,
and next,
to learn what faith meant to anyone.

Charmed, is it?
Something rattles in the soul.
It must be paid attention -
  it is the soul, the only sure thing -
and rattled in return.
It has nothing, really, to say.
It only rattles.
Just ask me.
matilda shaye Oct 2014
this is the poem you're too self indulged to write
then everything is going okay it's easy to cover your ears and let your eyes play tricks on themselves and go to work and do your homework and lay in his bed the day after she did and not think anything of it, but once he says that one thing or does that one too many times you manage to pull the horse blinds off and see what's happening.
this is the poem you're not self-indulgent enough to write
love is tricky. it may be one of the most common concepts us as humans cannot seem to figure out but us, as humans, as a species, we need love to exist. without the eyes and hands and time from another person it starts to feel like we aren't really even here, that maybe somehow by being independent and alone you start to fade away, like another person in the crowd whose face you'll never quite be able to remember- but when you're in love, every color seems to go brighter and the feeling in the pit of your stomach makes you drive faster and your legs shake ten times easier. it makes time slower and faster at the same time and the sky seem bluer and the world a little neon.
maybe this is the poem you're too blinded to write
love is not supposed to hurt. love is work, and somewhere along the road you'll have to kick and fight and scream to make that love work but in the beginning, the little bit, it's not supposed to feel like glass on skin it's supposed to be smooth and silky and for whatever reason us as humans, as species, we decided that the more effort we put into something that's difficult the more important to us it should be and the more attached we should feel, but sometimes it's okay to let go. I'm telling that to you, but I'm telling that to me.
this is the poem you're too tired to write, because when you spend your time working and going to class and fighting for the only person who you've ever really felt but you've never been able to keep a grip on and it isn't fair because you deserve to be able to hold onto something other than your own hand, your eyes start to grow weak, and so do your arms and your legs and especially your heart, because when love hurts, when love becomes something that's really terribly bad, what's left? what's supposed to get you through the day when the one emotion that's supposed to lift you up leaves you aching and collapsed on the ground?
this is the poem no one should ever have to write
I struggle to call love an emotion, because in this sense love is a verb. like "I loved with all that I had until I couldn't stand anymore and then I was just collapsed loving you more and more and than you held her hand in front of me and didn't talk to me for three days and I thought if I loved you anymore my skin would burst and I'd just be on the ground aching and hyperventilating and screaming your name wondering why everyone makes love seem good because love is just bad, it's just broken glass and long drives because if you cry anymore your head will fog up again, it's wanting to write but not wanting to write because you've reached the point of a horrible mixture of exhaustion, sadness, pain and adoration that you can't even get the pen to the paper, it's feeling so much that not even words can explain it, like driving by his house because when you see her car out front your arms go numb and for whatever reason you like to make it hurt even more, for some ****** up reason, for some ****** up ******* reason you're a dumb ******* miserable human who only let's herself feel more miserable and let's herself fall more in love and refuses to end the vicious cycle of you and him and him and her and you only wanting him but him wanting you and also kind of wanting her but wanting her more than you and knowing that and just wanting to collapse on the ground. for the 6th time this week, and it's only wednesday"
this is the poem I should have written the
minute I heard there was another one
the minute I found out that love has conditions and that sometimes love is felt when it should not be felt. sometimes it'll pop in your head during a meaningless task and you'll realize you can't run from inside of your head no matter how much you wish you could and during those moments you won't think to write this poem, you'll just collapse. you'll only collapse and call him and tell him you miss him and he'll say something too fast and too quiet and you'll realize she's in front of him so he can't say he loves you back and it'll **** you. but you'll stay on the ground. and you'll stay with him.
this is the poem you're too guilty to write, and too confused and too in love. but you waited and you waited for someone to come and for it to click and for you to get him and him to get you and when it came you didn't realize there'd be conditions, and when you had them in front of you, you didn't realize you could say no to them. so I guess in a way this is a poem you waited to write, but you never realized it'd be so bittersweet. that sometime love poems aren't about love at all, but about losing it and the pain of it all, and being the girl who goes there, and the girl who met him and became really really good at pronouns but really bad at tenses and deciphering between first person and second person, and started talking in third person a few dozen poems ago and forgot how to get back into her own skin.
this is the poem you should never have to write, and if you ever do I hope you notice and you leave. because love might be tricky, but love should also be great. you should only ever be at the brink of collapsing before they come over and pick you up, you should never be on cold tile on your roommates bathroom floor too exhausted to stand up and screaming too loud and crying too hard to move when he's in bed with her, sound asleep. she's warm, and his arms are around her, and you're shivering on cold tile, and you're writing a poem you never thought you'd have to write.
I literally wrote this when I was like 17 and the drama.. I think me being the most dramatic being in the world is endearing to be honest
Eliza Jane Jan 2014
naturally,
after we leave,
everything seems to get better.
not that we took it for granted
no, really, we didn't.
we were:
            test subjects
                     guinea pigs
                            a band of misfits searching for the positive
yet somehow remaining apathetic.

I somehow expected you to be like us
a little less caring
a little less bothered
that's what I expected, not this..
subdued insecurity manifested in your eyes
they keep darting around
looking for answers in a scallop
or in the bottom of a coffee cup
silence where you should be laughing sits
hanging heavily on your shoulders,
making your natural slouch even worse
        ...I wonder if you noticed that your eyes are getting bluer

we learned once in english class that films use blue to represent anxiety
that the churning sea is symbolic of a churning mind
we never learned that you can spot that in a man
so lost in his worry that he can't see
        ...his eyes are getting bluer.
Dusk May 2015
The dusk came;
I watched the moon glowing,
and there I have it,
a word to describe the feeling when you’re bluer than blue;
Yellow, darling,
that’s what it felt like, right?
Glowing, but empty.
It’s time to let go of those
who lift you up just to leave you emptier
than when they found you.
Remember how the sun sets to make way for the moon?
Well, this I tell you:
The moon leaves for a brighter day.
The dawn came;
I watched as the sun turned slowly
from red
to bright orange.
It’s the morning,
and
it’s
beautiful.
It’s time to rise and shine darling.
Rise above the horizon
and shine brighter.

To become your own sun,
to realize that you are the world,
and that
the people,
and the places,
and the phrases
and words
and thoughts
and ideas
that revolve
and pass around you
are
to each
their own solar systems.
It was wrong of them to tell us
that no man is an island.
Each one of us is an island,
and it is when you
peek into
The
Looking
Glass
that you realize
that some islands
have beacons
and some have
watchtowers,
yet all of them
are searching
for another light.
To shine in their way;
to lead,
or be lead
home.”

*Y.O. & D.C.
A collaboration between my dearest bestfriend and I :)
Nickols Nov 2012
Red lips tinted from a sinful kiss, eyes bluer than the cerulean sky themselves hanging from the heavens. Roses; roses; roses the smell of them hanging on the air in-between two pillars of insanity. Love; what was thought to be the feeling. Buried beneath shallow water; lust lingers into reality, smeared on shades of scarlet and amber.

The infidelity of the fallen angel; daring to ask forgiveness from the Devil. How do you say you're sorry? A lie on the wings of a demon, or was there a simple explanation dripping from a vile acidic mouth full of falsity. The ripe apple wrapped in nefarious green poison, waiting for a bite from the unsuspecting victim.

No, not this time, all your trickery lays hollow and exposed like brittle bones picked over from the birds of prey. Lay in your bed of dirt and soot; lay in it because you have made it. Shovel by shovel you've dug your hole. Now it's time to crawl under your blanket of lies, and rest your shameful head.
© Victoria
JAK AL TARBS Jan 2016
I used to like swimming in the warm seas on a cold day
I never wanted to share my ice cream with you,but anyway
You told me something I almost forgot
And now we're up here, and became little dots

You're moving upper and upper
And I'm moving downer and downer
But if I life seems happier and friendlier
Why waste your time, put on a smile?
Why think twice, put on a smile?

Your world from afar seems bright and happy
And my world up close is far from yours
But if you come closer and see the undergrowth
You'll notice the difference between us

And you're feeling bluer and bluer
But life is painted with rainbow colours
And you keep frowning and crying and shouting
Why deny your face, just put on a smile?
Why live in a hapless place, put on a smile?

And when everybody leaves on planes
Seasons pass and trees will change
And when they leave you alone
I hope you don't feel like you're alone
This world has people on it
Why be lonely, scaredly, frightening and somehow describing
Your way back home, to a stranger you go
And they don't respond anymore
But if you put on a smile, even for a while
Your sad and blue and greyish day
Will turn up for the better and you'll be okay

So if we both go up and down and cry all around
If we somehow laugh at the silliest things, playing childish games
If we learnt to love our reflection in the mirror
Why would you live her and not, put on a smile?
Put on a smile before it gets too late, when your body doesn't move again,
And you're feeling kinda sorry then...

Put on a smile, don't ask why
Put on a smile, don't try to close your eyes
Open then wide, show your brightness
Your happiness ends when you feel worthless
So chin up, chest high
Open your eyes, and PUT ON A SMILE...
This is supposed to a happy, optimistic poem, so sorry if the message gets lost...

It's just that lately I've been adding a lot of grey poems, and I feel like I need to bring sunshine to my life and poetry collection...

This is about forgetting about life's regrets, life's torments. It's about looking forward to new things, and opening your eyes to a world that can become whatever you desire... Happy thoughts!
eius reginae Jan 2017
They say I’m bluer than blue

And I agree

If “bluer than blue” means not that I am sad

But that I am mad about

Or glad of the eternal cold surrounding me

For that algidity 

Allows for your arms around me

And try to provide me with warmth

Warmth that only you can bring

As I am tucked under your wing

With your smiles that promise something

In the future

Preferably with me

Still curled up in your embrace

Because only then can I face

Reality

Then yes I am bluer than blue

And I don’t want to be anything else
I am a ***** for irony and my girlfriend's embraces ****
Benji James May 2017
She feels like her world, is broken
She's always felt she's been, outspoken
She's trying to send the signs
To say she's not alright
No one can see her pain
(Behind mascara eyes)
No one knows the battle she fights inside
(Behind mascara eyes)
And no one looks beyond her smile
They would see she is crying on the inside
(Behind mascara eyes)
Can you feel the hurt deep down?
You're trying to keep strong.
You're trying to hold the faith
But with every hit
Another part of you breaks.

Yeah you feel like fading
Skies are turning grey
And the sun has been blocked out
by the cold hard rain
But after the darkness
There is a new dawn
There are bluer skies,
On the other side of this storm
Come on your gonna get through it
You know that you can do it
We are gonna get through it.

Situations arise,
and you feel like your life
is like a runaway train.
And you're never gonna catch up
with yourself again.
You've felt the doubt,
Like you're trapped in a hole,
And you can't get out.
You thought you were grown up,
but you haven't done that much.
And sometimes it feels like
you're not good enough,
so you feel like giving up.

Yeah you feel like fading
Skies are turning grey
And the sun has been blocked out
by the cold hard rain
But after the darkness
There is a new dawn
There are bluer skies,
On the other side of this storm
Come on your gonna get through it
You know that you can do it
We are gonna get through it.

You've been cut down to size,
way too many times.
You've thrown your heart out on the line,
only to get rejected or denied.
They say it's all a part of life.
You wish upon stars every night,
holding on to hope,
that it can only get better
You're looking for that smile
you haven't felt in a while
that one true happiness
you felt as a child.

Yeah you feel like fading
Skies are turning grey
And the sun has been blocked out
by the cold hard rain
But after the darkness
There is a new dawn
There are bluer skies,
On the other side of this storm
Come on your gonna get through it
You know that you can do it
We are gonna get through it.

©2017 Written By Benji James
Marian Jan 2014
Right before the thunderstorm
Clouds of grey line the sky
The breezes stir even a little
And rustle through the tall, tall pines
Leaves are scattered on the ground
The scent of rain fills the air
The stifling hot summer day
All of a sudden cools off
The wind picks up
And the sky is black with rage
Green leaves and twigs and small branches
Are flying through the air
Lightening flashes vibrantly
And thunder follows right behind with a crash
That ear splitting "boom" makes me jump and cringe
Rain suddenly pours from the heavens
And it roars upon the roof
Raindrops wash the porch
Of any dust or summer dirt
The ground tries its best to drink the rain
Yet still leaves puddles all around
The sun shines and then fades again
And the sky turns blackish-bluer still
Until that familiar sound of thunder
Startles me and makes me frightened
Thunderstorms are dark, yet lovely
And scary, yet beautiful
I guess I like thunderstorms
But just am afraid of them

*~Marian~
A poem I wrote a few days ago and found again last night in my notebook!!! (:
I thought and hoped you might enjoy it!! (: ~~~~<3
Ma Cherie Sep 2016
Bluer than the azure sky
Staring into a star
Seeing the beauty of us
Reflected in beautiful
Eyes Like Water*

Cherie Nolan© 2016
Blue eyed devil...stuck at the moment so just thinking. ❤
Josie Oct 2012
Every day that girl greets you.
That girl with those eyes bluer than a cloudless sky,
And that smile full of life and warmth like the sun.
Every day she asks you how you're doing.
She just wants to know that you're ok.
You feel nice, but never think twice.

Then one day as that girl greets you, you notice
Her eyes are less blue, like the sky just before a mild shower,
And her smile is lukewarm, like hot chocolate that was left out too long.
Every day she asks you how you're doing.
She just wants to know that you're ok.
You feel nice, but never think twice.

Time goes on, that girl still greets you.
Her eyes have now turned to gray, like the sky during an angry storm,
And her smile feels cold and lifeless, like the frost bitten branches on a dying tree.
Every day she asks you how you're doing.
She just wants to know that you're ok.
You feel nice, but never think twice.

Time goes on,  and you watch thiat girl just fade away, until one day that girl is gone.
That girl with the eyes once bluer thank the skies on a cloudless day,
And that smile full of life and warmth like the sun.
She just wanted to know that you were ok.
You felt nice, but never thought twice
Until one day it was too late to think twice.
cheryl love Jun 2013
Sitting closely to the lavender
Who looks to the mackerel sky
Right next to the bird feeder
And has a golden twinkle in its eye
Is the tiny Forget Me Not, bluer than blue
With a tiny black dot.
Sheltering under the striped bamboo
In a cool shady spot.
She knows a thing or two
She comes back here twice a year
Its roots buried with the Yew
Where no gardener can interfere.
When the sun appears
And the clouds soften
After the rain clears
Which is not that often.
The Forget Me Not will remember
When the dark nights fall
It will be watching by the wall.
In early September
Nigel Morgan Dec 2012
As a child he remembered Cardiff as a city with red asphalt roads and yellow trolley busses. On a Saturday morning his grandfather used to take him in his black Sunbeam Talbot to the grand building of the Council of Music for Wales. There Charles Dixon presided over a large office on the third floor in which there were not one but two grand pianos. At seven a little boy finds one grand piano intimidating, two scary. He was made of fuss of by his grandfather’s colleagues and – as a Queen’s chorister – expected to sing. A very tall lady who smelt strongly of mothballs took him into what must have been a music library, and together they chose the 23rd Psalm to Brother James’ Air and Walford’s Solemn Melody. After his ‘performance’ he was given a book about Cardiff Castle, but spent an hour looking out of the windows onto the monkey-puzzle trees and watching people walking below.
 
50 years later as the taxi from the station took him to the rehearsal studios he thought of his mother shopping in this city as a young woman, probably a very slim, purposeful young woman with long auburn gold hair and a tennis player’s stride. He had just one photo of his mother as a young woman - in her nurse’s uniform, salvaged from his grandparents’ house in the Cardiff suburb of Rhiwbina. Curious how he remembered asking his grandmother about this photograph - who was this person with long hair?– he had never known his mother with anything but the shortest hair.
 
He’d visited the city regularly some ten years previously and he was glad he wasn’t driving. So much had changed, not least the area once known as Tiger Bay, a once notorious part of the city he was sure his mother had never visited. Now it was described as ‘a cultural hub’ where the grand Millennium Opera House stood, where the BBC made Doctor Who, where in the Weston Studio Theatre he’d hear for the first time his Unknown Colour.
 
Travelling down on the train he’d imagined arriving unannounced once the rehearsal had begun, the music covering his search for a strategic seat where he would sit in wonder.  It was not to be. As he opened the door to the theatre there was no music going on but a full-scale argument between the director, the conductor and three of the cast. The repetiteur was busy miming difficult passages. The two children sat demurely with respective mothers reading Harry Potters.
 
The next half hour was difficult as he realised that his carefully imagined stage directions were dead meat. They were going to do things differently and he had that sinking feeling that he was going to have to rewrite or at the very least reorganise a lot of music. He was then ‘noticed’ and introduced to the company – warm handshakes – and then plunged into a lengthy discussion about how the ensemble sequence towards the end of Act 1 could be managed. The mezzo playing Winifred was, he was forced to admit, as physically far from the photos of this artist in the 1930s as he could imagine. The tenor playing Ben was a little better, but taller than W – again a mismatch with reality. And the hair . . . well make up could do something with that he supposed. The baritone he thought was exactly right, non-descript enough to assume any one of the ten roles he had to play. He liked the actress playing Cissy the nurse from Cumbria. The soprano playing Kathleen and Barbara H was missing.
 
He was asked to set the scene, not ‘set the scene’ in a theatrical sense, but say a little about the background. Who were these people he and they were bringing to the stage? He told them he’d immersed himself in the period, visited the locations, spoken to people who had known them (all except Cissy and the many Parisienne artists who would ‘appear’). He saw the opera as a way of revealing how the intimacy and friendship of two artists had sustained each of them through a lifetime chasing the modernist ideal of abstraction. He was careful here not to say too much. He needed time with these singers on their own. He needed time with the director, who he knew was distracted by another production and had not, he reckoned, done his homework. He stressed this was a workshop session – he would rewrite as necessary. It was their production, but from the outset he felt they had to be in character and feel the location – the large ‘painters’ atelier at 48 Quai d’Auteuil.  He described the apartment by walking around the stage space. Here was Winifred’s studio area (and bedroom) divided by a white screen. Here was the living area, the common table, Winifred’s indoor garden of plants, and where Cissy and the children slept. As arranged (with some difficulty earlier in the week) he asked for the lights to be dimmed and showed slides of three paintings – Cissy and Kate, Flowers from Malmaison, and the wonderful Jake’s Bird and White Relief. He said nothing. He then asked for three more, this time abstracts –* Quarante-Huit Quai d’Auteuil, Blue Purpose, and ending with *Moons Turning.
 
He said nothing for at least a minute, but let Moons Turning hang in space in the dark. He wanted these experimental works in which colour begets form to have something of the impact he knew them to be capable of. They were interior, contemplative paintings. He was showing them four times their actual size, and they looked incredible and gloriously vibrant. These were the images Winifred had come to Paris to learn how to paint: to learn how to paint from the new masters of abstraction. She had then hidden them from public view for nearly 30 years. These were just some of the images that would surround the singers, would be in counterpoint with the music.
 
With the image of Moons Turning still on the screen he motioned to the repetiteur to play the opening music. It is night, and the studio is bathed in moonlight. It could be a scene from La Bohème, but the music is cool, meditative, moving slowly and deliberately through a maze of divergent harmonies towards a music of blueness.
 
He tells the cast that the music is anchored to Winifred’s colour chart, that during her long life she constantly and persistently researched colour. She sought the Unknown Colour. He suggests they might ‘get to know the musical colours’. He has written a book of short keyboard pieces that sound out her colour palette. There is a CD, but he’d prefer them to touch the music a little, these enigmatic chords that are, like paint, mixed in the course of the music to form new and different colours. He asks the mezzo to sing the opening soliloquy:
 
My inspiration comes in the form of colour,
of colour alone, no reference to the object or the object’s sense,
Colour needn’t be tagged to form to give it being.
Colour must have area and space,
be directed by the needs of the colour itself
not by some consideration of form.
A large blue square is bluer than a small blue square.
A blue pentagon is a different blue from a triangle of the same blue.
Let the blueness itself evolve the form which gives its fullest expression.
This is the starting-point of my secret artistic creation.

 
And so, with his presentation at a close, he thanks singer and pianist and retreats to his strategically safe seat. This is what he came for, pour l’encouragement des autres by puttin.g himself on the line, that tightrope the composer walks when presenting a new work. They will have to trust him, and he has to trust them, and that, he knows, is some way away. This is not a dramatic work. Its drama is an interior one. It is a love story. It is about the friendship of artists and about their world. It is a tableau that represents a time in European culture that we are possibly only now beginning to understand as we crowd out Tate Modern to view Picasso, Mondrian, Braque and Brancusi.
Over-Complicated Jan 2019
I had a conversation a while ago
With a woman on the streets of Mexico.
She sold beads from her belt
And had flowers braided in her hair.
Her hair shined a million different shades of black and grey,
Each strand framing her beautiful, wise face.
Her skin glowed gold, shimmering prettier than any star.
As I approached, she said to me
"Hola, niño. Have you come to see the lights?"
I questioned her, as the boiling sun was the only light in the sky.
"Sí, the sun shines, but can you see the lights? They are brighter than the sun" Her broken English cracked through her smiling red lips.
I, naturally, was skeptical.
Her cheeriness and bounce was off-putting when combined with her talk.
"One day, these beads will lead you to the lights."
I bought some beads so that I could leave.
I felt the heat of her grin on the back of my neck as I walked away.
°°°
Years later, I walked those same streets of Mexico.
I saw a remarkably beautiful young woman
With an old, worn, brown belt
Selling colourful beads.
I asked her why a woman and gorgeous as her was on the streets marketing necklaces and strings.
"Have you come to see the lights?" She grinned a smile as hot as the sun.
I told her that I was not.
She laughed at me and she said,
"Oh, yes, you are."
She grinned at me and danced around me, enchanting me.
°°°
I am older now.
I am in love with the black haired woman.
She is my world.
With her, I created a child
So precious and so beautiful that I cry when I see her.
When I look at her,
I see irises bluer than the beads
And I see a light in her eyes that no star can ever rival.
I remember that one day
That I walked down the streets of Mexico, looking for nothing.
There, I found a light
That warms this home
And melts my heart.
K I R A Feb 2012
Is this really what it has come to?
I should of known that no sky could ever stay so blue
bluer than the moon, bluer than veins
It's the kind of blue that stains
It's the kind of blue that could never be erased, no matter how hard one may push
Not even erased by a sip of poison or a **** of kush
But just hush
Hush your mind, hush your heart
because this color scheme of blue is whats tearing you apart
its breaking you, destroying you
Killing your soul, in this royal shade of blue

— The End —