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Ashley Chapman Sep 2017
I awoke
with mountains in their heights
that spoke
of memories that wove
through knees
thighs
and ***** bone --
to the inky waters of the lake below.

In that cabin
where the sable pines enclose
and all about
from coral-white
to grayish
turquoise-blue
snow.

That scene:
on the edge
where the stillness
Knows.
Written because it was inspired by Daisy Clarke's painting, a friend, of a mountain cabin scene surrounded by a lake.
L B Apr 2017
They would have given a lot
those paste-skinned kids
with straw for hair
and knobby knees
Not that frail— it seems

Beneath grayish strings
through black rims
one cracked lens screams—
Gets nothing!
Changes nothing!
Ritual words fall—
a rusted refrigerator
shoved over a railing from the second floor

Barking dogs tied to the radiator of misery
fed on rough-house excuses for kindness

Why do people keep children?

Larger than average eyes
huge foreheads of genetic wrong
******* childhood downstairs
while mother is sleeping
I can get used to the smell of cats
Human ***** is not so—
different?
and if I didn’t change my clothes for a week

What do children know?

Jenny cuddles a starving kitten
then releases it to where
they disappear...
one generation after another
Famished eyes
devour anything offered
words...food...***...God

Screams from the mats of string and gray
Scald the frantic instant badly
I watch her bolt beyond explanation
Night gives no reason to let her live....

My faith went the way the kittens go
Hope and a small girl
blend beyond blackness
L B Apr 2017
And the emptiness now
lets the memory howl
and bang its head
off the sheer walls of never—

Engulfed in consequence as it rolls in
fog or smoke?
In any case—

lonely

looks like this--
numb and cool and slow-moving
grayish-white fingers
reaching for molecules of air
while the reign of suffering comes like fine drizzle
over
springtime over....

Desire perishing in a crisis of will
In the thickets of panic—
bronchial spasms expand seconds
at an open window
Choking, congestive, failure of heart!
in the face of what it means to be...
not being

...as I came into this world
breach and not breathing
to my mother’s horror!
Alone
Scrapping, gasping, grappling for breath

I love life
I LOVE--   life!

Love—
inexpressible, inessential fool of a child

Love ripped apart at the v
old one
anaphylaxis-- to an antibiotic
Kevarie O Leslie Oct 2018
Birds whistling  
Cars driving
Wendy sleeping.
The B seventeen stop at the traffic light
Six fifty four, it’s almost daylight.
The sky is grayish blue
I see trees and houses too.
The traffic light is red
I see the highway from my bed.
Early Morning!
Frost Dec 2018
I know I'm selfish
So eat a fish
I made a dish
That is grayish
*bow
Made by me and my friends.When we were Grade 7 :)
Lilah Mar 12
She has beach eyes
A hazel ring in the center,
The golden sand
A grayish blue surrounding it
The ocean
And finally
The deep turquoise line around the edge
The line that marries the sky and the sea
Together in a beautiful way
Her gorgeous
Beach eyes
Bore into mine
As we sit and watch the sun
Set over the ocean
Darkness falls
But it doesn’t matter
Because I still have those eyes
To look at when the sky turns dark
When the sea is no longer a royal blue
And the sun has set beneath it
My friend told me once that that is what my eyes looked like.
Iskra Oct 2018
We sway gently back and forth on a speeding charter bus,
Too exhausted to speak
As we drift in and out of something that’s not quite sleep
Resting our backs against the fuzz of plush seats

A strand of your bleached, copper hair fell on my shoulder,
Making me remember that you smell like lavender and early summer,
And now our warm hands are intertwined,
Your slender, brown fingers curling ever so slightly under mine,
We’re leaning against each other, breathing in rhythm
With the crackly and haunting piano melody that plays over a syncopated beat,
The way my heart beats at the feeling of your side
Rising and falling in tandem with mine
The crackle blends with the splatter of glistening droplets on the windshield, running down and turning light to a muted
Somewhat grayish white,
And as we listen to this music just for the two of us,
I hear it in my left ear,
You in your right,
We drift in and out of the haze,
Warm, content inside a cloud
Where you are the silver lining.
February 2018
L B Dec 2018
“...But didn't your mother die too?
Back before we came?”
Some thoughts, Dad?
That day for you?
How was it?

Tell me how you woke in gray –  
dressed so uniformly in it
Tell me how you turned away
from all those helpless flowers on the ground
Came back empty to her kitchen
Still filled with the smells of her

Let me see her!  Hear her!
Once!
With any words –

besides the ones about the meat juice on her dress
The roast flung back
to splatter rage
upon the gentle curse
I see reflect
in my own image
across the table from him...

I want to know about the picture on your bureau
Do silent eyes still tuck you in?
She has a kind face that seems unending
I understand why things have gone unsaid

Do you know?
I have been wondering
Sneaking in your room
to pull her down from heaven?
To melt the years
of frosted glass between us?
to touch her face?
To look into her grayish eyes
pretending for a moment – she can really see me
To lay my head against her calico embrace?

Celina Arnell Rodier, 1872 – 1941  (Dad's Mom)
With all my grandparents gone before I was born.  I have only glimpses of them from photos and visits to their homesteads as a child. -- and, of course the stories passed along.
Wynn H Sep 2018
The once colourful world
Is returning to it’s
everyday dull saturated grey

[growing tired of fighting]

The once sky blue hue
Of my crystal clear blue eyes
has faded to the dull
light grayish cobalt
they used to be

I don’t get it yet,
it goes unexplained

The static of uncertainty
Clouds my once clear vision

Yet I soldier on
In the hope
That this will all
Turn around…

Is that light I see
at the end of the tunnel..?

Its a dim light
but a light
none the less

Hope burns
on yonder horizon
Shelve it for now
with constant thoughts
always
in the back
of the mind
always there

[hope burns]
where there is smoke
there is fire...

22/11/2018

— The End —