"greyness" poems
The magnificent Midwest.
Where meth-heads migrate only to make a living off of welfare checks and a lack of motivation.
Scattered across the land in clusters,
Making up towns of shattered trailers.
Even in the greyness of winter we beat ourselves to death against snowed in windows
Searching for the sun, just like moths to street lights,
or lips to flickering flames
Death is everywhere.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
*Silver flame burn in her eyes
as she tries to hold back her tears
Dark shining fires
shooting like spears
beating beats of fear.
Rain drops falling the greyness
in the field, by the river
shine of the diamond
devoid of the glitter
slowly the sparks die.
Rings don't bond them back
unstretched the spring
broken ties, empty hearts
unopened carts
but a game of cards.
Moved back in position
dreading the new season
searching the reasons
blaming themselves
in those eerie silences.
Fighting themselves to break
but trying in hearts another stitch
the tear too large
a very hard wreck
unlikely to be any merger.*
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
When we are born there are hopes and dreams,
On the path we follow, enemies are made,
Cruelty forced upon us, tearing at our seams
The existence of the world is enveloped in flames, fire and decay.
Everywhere we turn – a wasteland waves,
Isolated, ruined, desolate
Negativity runs deep, tagged metal in their waist bands
The urge to be free, unchained, untagged.
Meadows of green grass and daisies and yellow roses,
towering the shadows, no worries about,
Winter creeps; silently, swiftly, suavely. Now
an ocean of black roses remain in power.
Oh colourful canvas, how beautiful you used to be,
Now you’re smothered in the greyness of despair,
An intimidation of words aggressively written,
And the pain never ends
That desperate wish that someone could care!
This noose I tie is never tied tight enough,
The glistening light shivers a hope for eternal sleep
Such a shame the cut never succeeds
And an only friend has gone
Facebook, MySpace, Twitter;
He made himself the target and ****** in,
He took their advice, took the bullet,
Their words are a complete and utter sin
My, my it was that hilarious! Honestly.
The world corrupt, no social networks,
What a laugh it was; all fits and giggles
The importance never occurred
We- the kids of this generation- know nothing
but how to navigate the internet
Them- the adults of the era- that want the best
ignorant to the life on the information highway
This world is changing,
This world is ending,
This society, will become my newest nightmare
This society, will become your newest warfare
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
In boundless cold with a fire in heart
Sits a shadow of love and pain
Some frozen tears, melted strength and dozen false smiles is her only gain.
A warrior of time, she lost her battle.
Alas! she is trapped in the realm of whims and constraints
Though human she still is, vulnerable and foolish
But her soul still pious, tormented yet unbroken
Waits night and day…
Not for her knight in shining armour
For long she has grown above nanny’s tales
But for a breeze of joy and relief that will sweep her over into the arms of Father
Long had she suffered for this day to arrive
But it ends here, where it matters the most
She has set on the voyage to explore the share of earthly divinity
For beneath the stars, through the mist will come her ray of sunshine that will cure the greyness of her smiles
And let her shadow escape into out of the dark
For now she will cherish the fragrance of her dwindling days
With those rosy mornings will she rise and take her leap,
…..The leap of Life
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 2:33 AM UTC
+
A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night.
As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light.
Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away.
Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in
Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag
plenty of time plenty of time.
Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds
A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat.
Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all.
As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline
Un angle vole un angle vole.
Rockall - Malin - Hebrides
Humber - Fisher - German bight
Thames - Dover - Wight.
Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words
North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good.
Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air.
The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me.
Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about.
Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm
As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day.
Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone
But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers
I
have
yet
to
meet
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
I
I greeted you, my inevitable day
In this shaky firmness of my hands;
Assuring me of my weakness; the languidity of my serene constitution.
The sky smeared with fright,undeed, and look, hark to how the sun closed the night!
This was but unpalatable dew, misty in its impatient greyness
Avidity for genuine sorrow and late confessions
The calm heart then wronged, and soon the war touched the light!
II
Beware of love, o silly hearts!
Loving thoughts, are indeed averse to relenting;
albeit they are always leading to smirks and destitution.
Release thy grains from yon grievous chain!
Spark thy wings, heave and bend!
Wear thy glee, ere any of the gruesome tears remain!
Shield thy mask with greater abhorrence!
III
O notions, fruit my doom and feed my sight!
From womanly misery I yet ought to emerge
and all its surly sleeves I ought to blight!
IV
O peace, fetch for me my untaught breath in vain
Keep me steady, ditch me not in the rain!
Tend me more, yet not my cheerful friend-
in pleasures whom thrives, in virtues was whom foolish!
Praising plaited hairs, swept amidst folded skirts.
Gruesome lies they carry, the finest they conspire to marry;
what a horrid, unalterable, evil concoction!
Yet pureness is the only that deserves awe;
virgins are a symbol of unrequited love, but tenderest affection!
However lonesome, hither and thither I shall bear this pain
Until my stern heart melted to love again.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 7:38 AM UTC
The best time to think about this
This whole love thing
Is in bad weather
When the tall greyness of the sky
Keeps me inside
And the yelping wind scares my heart away
Scares it into thought
And turn
I feel your eyes burn
On the back of my neck
But I turn
And you're not there
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
A naked bulb hangs
No shade hides its modesty
Dimly glowing coil
Is growing ever brighter
Chasing greyness from my room
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 7:35 PM UTC
In no way am I ready
for the bluster of winter
the deep freeze
and the ceasing of all things
green and growing
In no way am I prepared
for endless days of cold
the chill inside my house
and the greyness of the skies
for months on end
In no way am I ready
and yet
undaunted in the end
I am unwilling
to give up
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
For he with the blonde curls,
Who set you from stone to glass,
For he with greyness and age,
Who set you from virtue to lust,
And for the fathers who warned,
Who set you in a statue of shame,
With his constant looks of disbelieving.
For she with the stars of freckles,
Who set you from glass to shards,
For she with the condensation of coldness,
Who set you on route to loneliness,
And for the mothers who neglected,
Who set you with no comfort,
With no help after the males visited.
For the creaks of floorboards,
Threatening unholy arrival,
For the thousands of bed squeaks,
Helping by gifting distraction,
For the hotel clerks gentle knowing smiles,
For the cheeks I can force upwards,
For the sacred of tears that disappeared with new numbness,
For the child within me who had such urgency to grow up,
And for me...for me.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
"We are the witnesses to how alike all men bleed."
Man our easel, we stretch clean canvas over scarlet brushstrokes,
We work stitchings like guitar strings,
find a melody in the mending,
hide scars like bass, in clean skin,
and hide the pain from each ending.
Their lungs sing.
An alto for death's row,
its sound makes your heart slow.
Let's see what you have inside,
with open eyes, your mother cried,
in toupe-walled rooms, we cut the cord,
no savage mark by a doctor's sword.
Just silence and sadness,
greyness and madness,
long halls and dancers,
small windows and glances.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 4:51 AM UTC
I thank you, overcast,
Though so many hold you in contempt,
I say to you, dear friend,
Those who are unable to find it within themselves,
To pay you with the respect due,
Shall never find appreciation in our universe.
The glorious sunshine,
The melancholic rain,
The rampaging rage of the vicious storm,
The frost and fear of the seeping, invading ice,
None of them remind me that I am alive as much as you do.
For you remind me that not all is sunshine,
Not all is the chagrin of the rain,
Not all is storm and violence,
Nor is it the freezing embrace of death,
No, the extremities of the seasons, the encompassing grasp of the weather,
None remind me of the trials and tribulations,
The brilliance and horrors,
The humility of life,
The chance,
The pure,
Mathematical,
Plausibility of my own existence.
It is you, overcast,
My dearest and most reliable companion.
It is you they shun,
For they describe you as boring,
Unmotivating,
Dull,
And I say to you,
As I say to them,
The depiction is wrong.
Not everything is in the extremes portrayed by the weather,
Nay, life is full of boredom,
No one experiences life to its fullest,
And those who think otherwise are fooling themselves.
It is you,
The greyness,
The unmoving,
The boredom,
That reminds me I am alive,
And will continue to live for however long I have left.
I promise you this overcast, I will appreciate you, for you keep me breathing.
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 1:44 PM UTC
F l e e i n g I m a g e s-
mindscapes framed in glass
the world looks fragile, delicately beautiful
drowsy rhythm smells like green chilli fritters
colours stand out amongst our greyness
awake-yet drifting away
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
24.10.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
You would not come
To the Mayan Temples
Boring you said
So I went alone
In a crowd of others.
Blue sea, gold sky
And greyness looming.
Now it has come
Like mushy peas
Without the colouring
And you won't come
To Mexico again with me.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
In the cold winter greyness, by the whipping leaning willow,
I gently throw my heart in the stream and watch it sink.
Through the waving naked branches, the stuttering wind goes
plunging lullabies in the dormant numbness of the river.
Aside the howling wandering world, the selfmade outcast departs
choosing dissoluteness in the watercoloured light of love.
The river flows hiding its depth, its surface keeps trace of nothing.
In the thick mistiness of life, to impossibly love breathlessly.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Pinnated clouds
spread like wisteria
along the horizons
waning axis. Farmland
is smothered
in arbitrary
purple leaflets.
The
humic red fabric
of a fallow field
convulses
on my eye under the
discordant,
astral confetti.
A sombre greyness
reclined and presided
over all: joyous
summer rain-cloud
but for the early years
icy resolve.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
Dear Mufasa,
You are so lovely,
I hope you will always be healthy and happy.
One day when you are gone,
I'm going to miss you tremendously.
I will miss your smell, your voice,
Your cute face and your fluffy fur.
Though we will not be forever together,
But our souls will live forever.
I will not forget your greyness,
You are so small I think that is cute.
I love to feed you up till you are full.
Because I love to see you sleep for hours
These are words from me, Yayya.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
the sky was grey and i couldn't feel my body.
my head was heavier than suburban slammed doors,
and the presence of sidewalk strangers
sent trembles of panic through to my core.
my ears are already pierced,
but i winced at high school football whistles
and garbage trucks
and rattling engines
and raised voices.
do you remember the museum?
do you remember burying your head in your dad's shoulder
because the world they warned you about
was too grey for your hazel eyes and golden soul?
don't forget.
it is not a world you have to live in.
you must not find safety in greyness.
there is none for you there
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 1:36 PM UTC
One of these days, I'll move out of this place.
The Greyness making saving throws at my shadow, but my resolve concrete, and my vision clear, each step away being a decision.
The television will dim, and the sun'll get hotter.
And my skin will be tanner.
And I'll smoke more of everything.
One day we'll be sitting in my backyard, laughing at ourselves, for ever thinking we were "far away from this."
We'll marvel at the greenness of the grass and the blueness of the sky and the anger of the heat and the deception of the trees.
We'll argue about whether thirty can be as big as five can be small.
We'll mix gin with our Newports and ash cigars into Dunkin Brand Styrofoam.
The memories will blur, but the lessons stand steadfast.
One day is often quite a few days away.
Quite a few rounds of poker, about a thousand movies, a couple billion YouTube clips, and at least three unfinished projects.
The slime gets thicker every day, and we're never given the assurance that our boots can take the inevitable torment.
But once in a while, I can think of the future.
I get stuck on tracing the outline you'll have two years from now, coloring it in with shades of pink and red paint, and writing your name over it in grease and alcohol.
Hoping to make the image as permanent as the ringing of someone perpetually calling out for you, reappropriating all the muted spaces in my head.
And hearing it shouted, again and again, and seeing it written in places unseen, can somehow make one day seem more like tomorrow.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
Bright babbling brook
Meandering merrily along
Cheerfully chuckling cheekily
Singing summer’s song
Cumulus nimbus climbing
Sweeping shadows spread
Grim greyness growing
Dark daunting dread
Sky suddenly shatters
Violent visions form
Titanic teardrops tumbling
Savage summer storm
Wild wind wailing
Throwing thunderous threats
Luminous lingering lightning
Eerie electric effects
Roaring raging river
Searches, seeks, strains
Bulging banks burst
Punishing pristine plains
Whirling water wasting
Gyrating gurgling glee
Repleted river relaxes
Finally flowing, free
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 10:49 PM UTC
you know
when i first beheld the icy greyness
of this giant sepulchral building
a giantness of Empty
a giantness of unrecognised surreal faces
a giantness of being sorta kinda lost
a giant lostness of slamming into glass doors
hurriedly breaking out
to a place i wanted to know
when i first beheld that giantness
i had never thought
imagined felt conceived
hell i had it all figured out
in what i thought was a deep deep experience
i had never thought
it would be that crisp
that quick
the creepiness of mounting heartbeat
pounding like a drumbeat
rising out into the rosiness of dawn
full of a wisdom of it's own experience
that it would be that supple
lifting me with effortlessness
like a wave of adrenaline
rush; gushing into my
guts; breaking out like
a furious river bent on
flowing with the vastness of the ocean
and the innocence of the sky
i had never thought
that is how you have a Crush.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
You know just from the sound that rain has come your way
a freshness in the air a greyness in the day
it rained on jubilee like never rained all year
a wash down in our street fair
a dampness in the air
I like a bit of rain please say all of in the night
but in the day of celebrate a deluge was our sight
the spirit of the nation took over from the pour
to wish our queen a longer reign and thank her from our hearts
They stood all day and waved away and smiled from ear to ear
they are our family said and all our royals through the years
To stand with honour in anthem sung I waved our nations flag
a proudness in the nation back our wondrous union jacks
we saw her dance and clap in thanks for many hard at work
to celebrate her 60 years.... a life all in life ..one job
a million lined the banks to see a thousand boats in line
this was a day to celebrate our nations joy and pride
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
she lived on the only street
in Rattenberg, the smallest village
in all Austria. because it was all
she knew
and all she loved.
in the summer, she lived in the
kitchen
away from the flies and
the itching glow of the sun
sketching designs of glass crystal
and playing records
her father played from his armchair
when she was young.
the blinds closed, the shadows
of pedestrians drew sloping
templates of bodies large and thin
she guessed their faces and painted
girls with small noses and round chins
and made the men look like him.
her sister, from the neighbour town
called in the winter months, when
Rat Mountain devoured the sun and left
Rattenberg in day-night. she invited her
on walks, said it was not good
for her complexion to live in shadow
unmoved, she
preferred instead to pace the only street
in the welcome midday greyness
and smile quietly
at the pale faces she passed
when plans rumbled of a
contraption of mirrors to steal
the day's shine from her sister's town
she prayed to the moon
he would let them leave her alone
in the shadow of Rat Mountain
a child of the night
the girl who preferred the dark to the light
the lady-moth determined to stay in flight.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 6:45 PM UTC
It’s right there
Brilliance, passion, creativity
Taunting me –
Inspiration that ebbs and flows,
Its chroma too pale to recognize
Until greyness overwhelms again
I can feel the sharp corners
scratching against my grasping fingers
Can hear it somewhere nearby
Flirting with the cusp; chasing
wishing I could close my fingers around it
and just breathe
but the satisfaction looms
just out of reach
increasing the space between us
the sharpness of my gaze, its insistence to see
has no effect, can’t clear the fog
it never dissipates entirely
I try to muster up indifference
Rid myself of the desire
To move and to shake
And then this intense lack; the distant motivation
Would have no effect
Could not cause such distress
But it’s out of my hands
I’m stuck
In the place between inspired
and colorless
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
The sun never shines, the moon never sleeps,
Beneath the sky's blanket the earth is still.
Irises blossom and irises weep
And narcissi thrive in the uncertain chill.
Radiant colours have painted the fields,
Green of the gammas and epsilon black.
Change is a force only nature can wield,
Grief is a certainty nature brings back.
The sun never shines, the sky's never rich.
Cursed with a greyness of which it won't shed.
Monchromatic and bleak and eldritch,
Stitched to horizons with lavender thread.
Spring, in my youth, was a beautiful sight,
Desolate land would be painted anew.
Now that I've aged I can see through its sleight,
Engulfed by despair as the grass is by dew.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC