"colourfully" poems
We think we're so different.
because we have piercings
or an iphone/blackberry
wear jeans not skirts, skirts not jeans
only shop at local markets, only buy the brands
eat organic
or vegan
or total junk
wash our hair with what's cheap
or environmentally friendly
or not at all
because we listen to folk, not rap
ska, not rock
talk a certain way
or partake in certain hobbies
have skin, instead of fur or bark
see more colourfully, but have **** nightvision
because we have warm blood
because we are human.
We think that this is individuality, but it's really all a lie.
A lie to keep us docile and passive..
To keep us buying **** we don't need,
but making us believe
that we do
Guarding us from that destructive unpredictable mother
of ours
until we don't even think of ourselves as animals anymore.
Until we think we're Kings.
To be you, you just have to be you.
Scratch that.
You just have to be
Because what is "you" anyway?
A pronoun
to keep you
away from me
and we
and us
together.
To force you into the lie of language,
because we all know that what truly speaks is our hearts
but we would never admit it
because then we would be too emotional
too sensitive
not cold or impersonal enough
to fit in.
And that's all we really want, right?
To belong?
Well, I'll tell you something:
there is a way to fit
to belong
to live.
And that is to not fit.
Don't define yourself by these labels
or this music
or that boyfriend.
Define yourself through your ideas
your ambitions
your immaterial desires.
Take out the you and become a we,
and we will be,
just be,
together.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
The cat lies on the table. She is keeping her own council, a philosophical feline. It is mid afternoon, an hour before the possibility of tea and cake. Already the room is retreating from the lamp's light into a dusky gloom. Outside the winter garden lies still, damp and cold and still.
Rain comes. A winter rain, almost snow, spreads itself across the window. Ice-full it is a drum with tiny particles rolling across a taut skin of glass. The cat stirs, turns on his side exposing a tummy of white fur. An old cat this, a silent presence now, hardly a purr on a waiting lap.
Books. Piles of books. A book open to reveal pencilled annotations. Several arrangements of papers paper-clipped together, colourfully highlighted. There's a scholarly journal 'borrowed' with a concert programme marking a ‘required’ read. Telemann and Bach infiltrate an investigation of Jewishness in George Eliot's Daniel Deronda.
A framed photograph stands companionably amongst today's letters and the coloured cards of Christmas to come. There's a red-haired girl, a portrait against old roses., a child in a school-blue dress, freckled with green eyes she is smiling carefully, as though not convinced taking this photo is a good thing.
As darkness encroaches, the stories in this space circle the lamp like moths. They rise from the table, detach themselves from the walls (like bats) and float in their own form. Catching leaves, wish-making in a September wood; the fierce tide pouring across the Lindisfarne causeway; small children picnicking by a cricket field. The recent thrill of Jerusalem. Taverner's Mass –
*Oh Western Wind,
when will thou blow,
the small rain down can rain?
Christ! If my love were in my arms,
and I in my bed again!*
Here in this small suburban room there comes together a past; a life reverberates in a temporary peace, a truce in the long campaign of family, ageing, ****** discomfort, obligation, regret (always regret), passion unspent, books unread, poems still to write. And this waiting for a clear answer yet to come, a promise yet to be fulfilled? All is contained here as the alarm clock's digits move towards 16.30 and it is time for tea and cake. Time to rise from the table and feed the cat.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
they say love is patient
they say love is kind
but how would love be
in the wrong state of mind?
you think you're attracted
but what if it's just the looks?
you're only feeling lonely
which is the reason you're hooked
don't fall in love
when you're feeling alone
fall in love when the time is right
for i know how it all ends up
our memories that were once so colourfully vivid
have turned black and white
a
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Happy thing -
Come fiercely.
Bend me like a tulip at midnight,
Make something out of me,
Smoke out my *****
And saddle it in gemstones,
Gallop me like a tongue-twisted
Traveller into the
Whole globe’s bedrooms.
Happy happy thing -
Push me!
Make something out of me!
Kid me,
Front me,
Strike me dancing like a hot
Stone,
Hand me cigarettes that I’ll light
From the last one,
And the second to last one,
And the next one.
Happy thing!
Ohhh come colourfully!
Make the world all-a-bright,
Make red as red as a big red love
Or a spitsuckled cherry gumdrop
Of red-red-red-red-red,
Make yellow smear itself
like crushed cats eyes,
Make pastels all pennysweets
And green so luminous that
Clock hands can’t even dream of it.
You beautiful
*******
Happy
Thing!
You happy happy happy thing…!
Songs are burning!
And planets are droaning!
And London is sleeeeeeping,
And the morning is leaping at me!
Is it leaping at you?
My happy thing,
Come noisily.
Sit with me jabbering,
Jack off with me,
Snog me,
Pull apart my face and
Absolutely ************* drench me
In come.
Happy thing,
Pierce me,
Make me a Sebastian,
Riddle me with spears and watch me
Laugh out the blood,
Happy thing,
Come quickly.
Take my hand and run with me.
They’re shooting at us,
Making saints of us,
And they’ll get us y’know, they’ll get us, they’ll get us –
Happy thing
Come on now dear,
I know the watercolours are running but
Don’t they look pretty
dropping as keenly as our tears –
being caught is just another reason to escape!
Happy thing,
Don’t swallow that.
Are we lowering ourselves?
Are they poking holes in us?
Oh no,
Are they sinking us?
Happy thing,
I hope you always
Come fiercely,
Colours aren’t the same now
And ******* is just a drone of biology.
I promise that
next time we'll be immortal.
Next time we’ll have learned
How to really, really run.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC
You're screaming at me
and I don't understand
but all I can see
is the blood on my hands
Regrets splattered colourfully,
an array of guilt
A constant reminder
of the walls that I've built.
I needed somebody
to show me the way home
Now that you're not around
I feel dangerously alone
Dear future memories,
welcome to my danger zone.
It's irresistible,
now my nightmares have grown.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
Everyone gets sad every now and then; gloomy, down in the dumps. But like rainbow after storm we find the light again and move on from our sadness, allowing ourselves to live beautifully and colourfully.
For some, this does not apply. There is no rainbow after the storm for their storm never ends. It's a thickness that dwells deeper than bone marrow, a sadness attached to the core of their chests. A longing for a relief that will never be granted. This sadness is deadly.
So how does one love those who refuse to be loved? How do you look them in their clouded eyes and tell them they mean the world to you? How do you watch them hate everything about themselves and have no way of showing them how perfect they are in your eyes? How do you make it stop?
You can't, it's not that simple. This sadness is not a light switch that can be flicked on and off. You'll never fully save them from it (this will hurt you almost as much as them), but you can try to make it easier.
Listen to what they have to say, don't force them to be like you,
Love them for whate'er they are, their coping mechanisms too.
Hold them closely to your chest and always let go last,
Teach them to live in the moment instead of dwelling on the past.
There is no perfect way to love someone who doesn't love themselves. There will always be down days, relapses, set backs, but none are intentional. Do not be angry with the one you love for not being able to leave the house for a day. Do not scold them for crying over spilled milk - literally. Do not make them feel like this uncontrollable sadness is entirely their fault - if you do this, you are not worthy of their love to begin with.
Loving someone sad is never easy, it can take some work, but you must remember how much work it takes for them to accept the love that they believe
They are not worthy of.
- p. winter
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
When I risk a thought of you, all I can see is:
A heart of warmth
The lips containing the key to seduction
A smile holding the recipe to happiness
Fingers extracting the magic of kindness
A brain imagining the unimaginable
The effect of one person can seem so little on the outside to you
But could be all they've got on the inside
I couldn't remember the last minute gone by where I haven't thought of you
Not a night where I haven't cried from my eyes all the way through
A dream, colourfully torn. full of deceiving images of our love, of what it could have been
This is not a memory of us, this is just what I've seen
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
A few months ago,
I met a man, but not just any ordinary man.
A colourfully, depressed man;
Who has beautiful designs on his body.
A main key to unlocking the door that hold his demons.
Now I only have a visual and auditory idea of what's going inside his mind.
From what he told me, but I know he leaves out so much more.
The tattooed man is exhausted,
Depression holds him hostage;
A mistress of misery
He found a comfort in her grasps,
He sleeps in her palms, tossing and turning for hours on end,
Restless coma.
He was always so sleepy.
Her lips whispering venomous yet addictive words into his ear.
Planting seeds of doubt and harmful flowers,
He adores his damaging garden, with objects scattered there and here.
The tattooed man is so very tired of breathing,
I can hear it within his stern voice
I can reminisce his fatigue glance, inside his dark brown orbs;
Suicide tempts him.
Every minute of the day,
every breath he takes
Suicide tempts him like a hunter baiting it's prey
Clawing and searching desperately for an exit.
The tattooed man told me, he why he covers himself in tattoos.
The irritating sting of the needle is way better than satisfying the desire to guide a knife across his skin.
Colors and designs imprinted everywhere on his body,
His face, arms, legs, hands and neck.
And let me tell you, he is beautiful to me.
He told me he’s always scared,
During the twilight of the night, on the drive home from our 2 day road trip.
And I’ve never heard so much serenity inside his voice before.
His eyes lower, but they almost seem to shine
in the moons illuminating glimpse
“I hate making new friends,” he said,
“Because that means I’ll have more ties and bonds to this life.
If the relationship is there, I can’t die.”
And dying is something he really wants to achieve.
Just as much as Olympians want their gold medals.
The tattoo man grew a liking to I, and he is very precious to me.
(Vice versa)
I grew very fond of him, like two gnarled trees entwining together.
And now i’ve become very selfish
And I don’t want let him give in to suicide.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
Come witness the flatulence, the fervor, the glee.
like those who cover their ears and see
the explosions of thunder upon the ground,
delectable delicacies all around.
The one week when we can be
as irresponsible and stupid as we could possibly,
with gunpowder and sulphur in the sky
the night birds could all but hope to die.
Poison the winds, poison the night
shatter the windows as colours ignite,
reduce a religion to dust and ash
for faith is found in burning cash.
Light a lamp in every home
with gifts to enliven the evening’s gloam,
a new year of trash, fire and smoke
colourfully adorned by the promise of hope.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
Hello shiny loop of post-shower Rainbow,
you of mosaic-powered striated halo,
and so sages tell, a sign of faith.
You chaste secreter of much potted gold,
crescented magic of arc-perfection
your brilliant mixtures of shaded hues
break raindrops into states
of optic illusion which act as temptation.
Oh consummate sweep of bow-creation,
who can know when and what
day you appear, colourfully naked.
Favour no seekers, oh Rainbow whom
by digging for myth will
selfishly follow roads right to your end.
Make therefore no friends
of illicit searchers for treasure, those
who see you as meant lure
for retrousséd wealth-embellishment.
Rainbow you cover your real blessings
in pseudo-gilt with which
ingratiates have become obsessed.
Sedate then all lucre-lust with a curved
root at each end of your
rain-augmented foot to waylay theft.
Divert and deflect looters with luminous
know-how and curl into
spacial deception before desecration.
Bedazzle all lechers by preventing entry
to any pretentious view
of your sensitive and tremulous end.
You as writhe of kaleidoscope can keep
away crooked schemers
by retaining your varisome irridescence.
Alive with mysterious rays
behave like a ghost loathing the sun, be
as invisible, turn pale, fade,
and disappear to invalidate trespass.
Rainbow hide what is always your own
from blind passers by with
greedy spade-eyes, stay unmolested.
Stretch out your tracery uncontrolled,
a beauteous vision who keeps
her vaulted prism a glorious whole.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 7:51 AM UTC
Kashmir Valley, a World Heritage Site
UNESCO declares, for its might
Alpine floors are so amazing.
A diverse ecosystem is blazing.
The valley is enchantingly quiet.
Blending hues that are colourfully bright
Unique flowers are engaging.
Blue poppy, dog flowers glancing
Kashmir Valley
Whiteleaf hogfoot flowers delight
Himalayan roses are polite.
Snake foil flowers nicely glazing
Hooked stick seeds are tantalising.
Fascinating it is, that's right.
Kashmir Valley
Jul 2, 2024
Jul 2, 2024 at 3:53 AM UTC
Unsuitable,
they declared,
and then
banished her.
Exiled to silence,
inhabitating
the moisture
of bluish mists,
she unknitted
her thoughts
and let them go.
We all saw it,
that holograph,
ribbons
colourfully bending
in thin air.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Acapulco, the 1950's jet set age
of glamour and allure
a bay of high rise flats
edged along the shore
A golden bay of sandy grains
the longest beach it's famed
with glistening lights upon the shore
reflecting window panes
I find a puffer on the beach
and dive for large pink shells
my soul is filled with adoration
for this city gels
At night the city is on fire
with mariachi sounds
silver blue sombrero hats
colourfully spinning round
The soul is beating loud and wild
inside there is pulse
I feel it pressing me inside
true and never false
The colour hits you like a bolt
vibrant in it's treasure
a spicy flavour on my tongue
Acapulco's been a pleasure
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
I can't help myself -
I'm attracted to Intelligence:
Women, Men; Boys, Girls -
I can see the predatory
Hunger behind the eyes -
I gravitate darkly hovering,
Protective-like, awaiting
A stimulating engagement.
It's f**ked, but not ******
Well, not always - aesthetic!
This Living Death -
Another PrimeOrdeal Blackness -
Vividly, colourfully plumed,
Dancing uniquely for Her
Attention, although it scares
The potential Danger
Obviously overwhelming
All but the Solid-Staters.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
I am sill here...
And I still sound through the muddy plies of your illusion.
Still, even now, do I resound
through the crooked void of your presence...
I am the change!
And you, dearest mine, still so unbound,
so colourfully, you resound,
through the mundane madness of the hour.
You are the war I wage.
We are the frailty of desolation...
We are the winds that blow...
You, and I,
are the god we bestow.
We are the abstracts of absolution... We are the dancing hymn of death.
We are the raging scorn of delusion, we are society's failing breath.
I am change, I am the bringer of doom.
You're the war I wage, and the coming bloom.
And here we are again...
The wilder me,
storms the colder folder planes...
Across the distance that separates all that is between us.
Where do we go from here...
A.r. Bazian
Written in 2012
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
Amidst poisonous purlieu
I'm up in the clouds
Dare I care not and
sail on my flight of fancy.
White patches of dull clouds
on the pale face of sky
envy my glow,
can figure not
the root of the flow.
Slaughterous suspicions
conspire to drown the ship
in recurring torrential rain.
Colourfully calm, I'm
under the blazing Sun. Others
would never know, love lies in
my core for guiding me
to the shore.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 4:13 AM UTC
Trees shed seasons look
Leaves do colourfully dance
Still upon cold ground
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC
Nothing is supposed to last.
The most colourfully electric feelings are supposed to flow through us and only be remembered in afterglow.
Then we can prepare for the new,
the alternative is trying to clasp the lightning bolts inside us that inevitably slip through our fingers.
Leaving us blindly clasping onto nothing yet terrified to let it go,
and in the distraction hauntingly missing,
the most glorious moments of our lives.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 2:47 PM UTC
She is aware that she has only been a dash of colour, a tad dull lately. Soon she will be bright and bold.
Soon she will be filled with all of the colours that she use to be..
Its just taking her a while to retrieve all of the gold that got scattered everywhere back into the *** this time round.
And once every piece of gold that was scattered is found and all together.
Only then she will shine as colourfully like the rainbow that she was before.
- JGMC•¥• ©
Jul 6, 2020
Jul 6, 2020 at 12:27 AM UTC
A*fter the rain's cold has faded,
Clouds still floating away,
I begin to witness
What blindening tumult
The rain had
Cast and strewn upon me...*
Congealing on the surface of my
Glass petals; fresh and thick
Colourful drab paint
Coating the layers of my
Fragile inner self, and I
Could only leave it there
To protect me against weathering
Until I
Forgot it was there and I was drowning...
You can only hold your breath for so long
In the warmth of my bed,
In the cold of the rain filled clouds,
I sit in expectation,
Waiting for petals to replace my
Colourfully dripping glass
Again
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 10:25 PM UTC