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N R Whyte Apr 2012
Before the fall rains come,
Let’s have one more picnic,
Now that the leaves are turning color
And the grass is still green in places.
   – by Charles Simic


A hot day brings the summer alcohol
Out of hiding.
Surrounded,
Each ice cube vanishes into my glass,
Like children running from the year’s last
class,
Mingling with the ***.
I relish laying
My hand on your naked chest
In the August sun,
Before the fall rains come.

Layered with a glaze of sweat
Neither yours nor mine but both,
My eyelids slide like honey
Over my quiet eyes,
Relaxing my thighs,
Daydreaming of earlier, when
You said to me
In the same tone as one with
Only a couple pages left in his comic,
“Let’s have one more picnic.”

Tomorrow, I’ll pack a basket
With some entertaining food:
Whipped cream, chocolate strawberries.
Under your tongue they’ll disappear
From here, here, and here.
(It’s duller
Without them.)
I’ll be excited looking around at
The land in a riot of multicolour,
Now that the leaves are turning colour.

But I’ll realize it isn’t you
Specifically;
Just that you were there, and I was there.
And we’ll realize we’re in love, however,
You or I could be whoever.
Gazing at each other, still with good graces
And moderate tolerance we’ll think,
“The sky is partially blue,
There are half-smiles on our faces,
And the grass is still green in places.”
sanch kay Apr 2015
So I’ll tell you why I write.
I write because I’m the protagonist of my own stories.
I write because in my stories, I solve the problems that invariably creep up between people and I
In the most heroic ways possible
I write because in my world,
Not every rainbow ends in a *** of gold
But sliding across its multicolour will be the happiest memory in your mind
I write because my stories are clouds that do have real silver linings
I write because 3 am is time for chai, and childhood stories
Impromptu bike rides to greet the sleeping night
But all I can do is write.
I write because I’m angry and frustrated but
you asked me not to turn my anguish onto my body
and leave battle scars for the world to question -
so I write instead.
I write because sometimes,
the tumult in my head comes from
words that are struggling to spill forth from my brain
and stain empty pages with their loud meaning.
I write because
Writing is the only way I have to make sense
of this messy world we live in.
Snowy-white cotton *****
Magic carpet of eternal white
A white quilt for the blue sky
Soothing and comforting

Pearl-white candy floss
Across the  blue  skies
The sun like a small child
Bathes you in its  glow

An angel draped in her wedding gown
Waiting eagerly for her moment of bliss
Just in time the groom jets through
Lifting her off her feet

Meandering through infinite space
Slowly but purposefully
I see you change colours
Sparkling white, orange, yellow and crimson

We look at the sky in awe and wonder why
Your shapes keep changing all through the day
At times you turn dark and grey
And wave your magic wand to thunderous  applause

When the sun sets
You dazzle and sparkle
Like a peacock ecstatic
Showing its multicolour plumage

And when you are hurt
Tears fill your *****
And fall down like pearls
As a blessing from heavens!

© copyright skm
lua Jun 2020
she's glowing green with envy
but her cheeks stain red
as the light dances on marigold hair
and along the branched off lines of blue veins
under white porcelain flesh
she's raw beneath and pink all over
but violets bloom on untouched skin
and across this whirlwind, this hurricane
of a multicoloured mess.
Wildfire

Fire, we fear flames seeking to obliterate
to cleanse forest and plains so the land can grow
again green shoots the world has been
the cycles can start again
having cleared the undergrowth that hindered
the freedom of samplings
There is a flower that only bloom after a fire
fire ephemerals can cover mountainsides
in a multicolour of wonder.

We feel a strange attraction to the flames
we wish it could rinse our sins, yet, we have
a great terror of the fire of hell

The fire we dread the most is the fire
in mans' heart it can be wonderful but so easily
became ruinous and manifest itself
in greed and destruction of what is good
There is a wildfire raging now and the Nordic
tremble and fear they might be consumed
by the firestorm.
Kenya83 Feb 2018
If you were a colour I’d struggle to discover
One that represented all that’s comprehended
There would be bright and mellow hues, tones of multicolour zones
Depending on multiple factors, you’d transmit watercolour attractors
Technicolour passions formed from synchronised, monochrome fashions
Ever changing patterns, rotating kaleidoscope lanterns
You give your yellow to me, I stare at it till I see
Orange, it’s heated with fire
It cools to purple without losing desire
The passion in your charcoal grey, you shared
And red declared I was prepared
To share tie-dye techniques, however unique
You rinse off your paintbrush in artistic rush
Diluting my balance, for a moment I’m crushed
Then colours touch, creating rainbows and such
Chakras align, bleeding colours my lifeline
James G East Jul 2020
Yellow the solar glow, whole over oceanic horizon as I perch a front a beautiful Menton evening.

Bleached in multicolour.

Could anyone be drawn from such engulfing metronomic meditation given by the breaking surf.

I want to reach up to the sky, arms wide and chest to the universe if it would let it all in there and then.

Sea breath let no haze of thought to surface in this Mediterranean awakened dream.

Ochre the Riviera sun in its’s half cap state, lending twinkle to the shore from tide and wake, distracted behind by chime of evening bustle looking back at preparation for open cuisine, beautiful people in mellow labour.

One more glance and I miss it, now just the line of French horizon, from shimmer to gold and deep blue, amber soaked I stand and give thanks for the day.
James G East Jul 2020
Yellow the solar glow, whole over oceanic horizon as I perch on the front a beautiful Menton evening.
Bleached in multicolour.
Metronomic meditation given by the breaking surf, I want to reach up to the sky, arms wide and chest to the universe, in case this moment lets the value of it all in, there and then.
Sea breath let no haze of thought to surface in this Mediterranean awakened dream.
Ochre the Riviera sun in its’s half cap state, lending twinkle to the shore from tide and wake, distracted behind by chime of evening bustle I look back at a pastel town, their she receives what was caught in preparation for open cuisine, beautiful people in mellow labour.
One more glance and I miss it, now just the line of French horizon, from shimmer to gold upon deep blue, amber soaked I stand and give thanks for the day.

— The End —