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Upon the mighty raging sea, whirlpools of fiery sparks, Catherine wheels of light and mist mix with the foam of time. Tossed by unseen movements a tiny globe is floating on the tides and flotsam swirls around its contours, attracted by invisible smooth ripples. Dashed to smooth curves, rare and precious treasure pebbles dance in the flotsam, around the tiny globe, lost in that vast sea, tossed aside by finned entities. Together they ride the foam of endless ocean.

Upon his bed of green soft flotsam, in peaceful tranquillity, gazing out at other treasure pebbles, upon the most precious jewelled blue sapphire, swimming in the azure sea, the purple man soaks up the rays of green made by the yellow globe.

The purple man sees and understands.

The lines of his world are shining silver light, for him there is no darkness in the night. Beset by cares he glances at the fractal flotsam and sees himself reflected, unfolding, timeless. Cares melt in mellow green.

The purple man fades and expands, his nebula fills the ocean wide and everything folds, unfolds; breathes in and out. Allfather stands beside the gate.

Where the fish swim and water snakes, where rivers run and wash the mountains silt upon the shore, there one day the star man came descending from a ship that sails the ocean Sky. The purple man was dreaming as before. From far away where people live in light, from where there is no hunger, fear or pain, where none deceive because there is no gain, where power is within and all are free, Wayland came.

Sitting by the river in the mud his fingers sinking into rich red clay he saw this world so full of music and in love, he sought the matrix seeds that dormant lay. Weaving the matrix then this Wayland made a pair of people from the clay and calling to the green fire of life, he gave them this garden free, to care for and in which to learn and play.

The purple man, who on his misty pillow lay said to Wayland then,

“Will you not stay?” The star man answered,

“I have so far to go and there is so much I want to see, you stay here awhile and tell them this: they are the keepers now of flotsam Zu, and you can teach them all that they must know. Say to them and get it right, 'you are the children of the light, travel where you will; you are not bound here by the clay. In all who say, “I am“ there is the life, and all who live are one in truth, this moment does not pass away.' I will return to visit you one day.”

Purple light shines green around the gate and all pass to and fro. There were the flying elephants of old, bright butterfly wings and iridescent scales, and fire within they blew and rose to mate high in the careless foam of space.

“I see, I see,” the purple man exclaims, “And I will leave a legacy.” Then taking out his notebook draws a stone and then another, places both together high upon the hill.

“All shall know!” he cries and gives them eyes and crowns. Thrones they hold with firm rock fingers, king and queen in rock of jewels tiny crystal shimmers. Eyes gaze out along the silver lines of truth, eyes of stone, and he cuts a small notch in the place the eyes alight their vision.

“Now all will know.” He spreads his cloak and sleeps beneath the hill in quiet satisfaction but dreams he did the task and lost in thought forgets. Stones stand waiting in dreams of eyes that only dreamers see and ride the light that only globe green rays can ride in pale yellow day.

“Forget, forget.” The whispers of the shining huntress sing sweetly and the residents of the butterfly house are soothed and filled with wonder. Dancing light reflects from yellow sand. Lifting hot feet to cool in baking oven rays.

Skating on tension, walking on invisible support a fish jumps from the water of a lake, cascading diamond spray around golden wings, then plunges back into the familiar world. Together all are one and life renewed. Wisps of purple smoke rise from a burning pile of old splendid green boughs now brown and brittle and delicious waves cook as chatter rises in anticipation. Toes muddy and wet warm as much as they dare and faces shine as globe of green gives energy. Wisteria sweet twists its tendrils on the gatepost and spreads its fingers wide to reach the stars.

The white and shining orb that, with full sails, is dancing with the flotsam sapphire tells her story in the ripples of a darkened pool. As in each drop the orb is, so it is with all and in all flows the green.

A grey cat-wolf with silky coat, who sweetly purrs sinks her teeth into feathers and warm nourishment flows from vein to vein. Carrying proudly to the doorstep leaves the gift but pricked purple fingers drip blood as tears flow for the tiny, feathered form.

Misunderstanding of the gift and weary sleep claim the mourner. In the corner stands a child of dusty clothes, untidy and ragged feathers. Grey coloured and brown his hair, face, and hair all dusty and brown. In mind of purple song was singing sad songs of green trees and fields of flowers and seeds. The child turns and eyes as old as time look deep as hands are stretched to greet. The purple man takes outstretched hands and they dance to music of the ocean deep.

“It cannot end, the green can never end, it just returns.” and round they dance, as the child is filled with light and transparent power touches purple hands and spirit surges to pull the purple man to stand before the gate.

Purple man rides on steed of unicorn; who sheds his twisted horn of white and says,

“With this you may write and tell the keepers of Zu to teach their subjects true.” His purple fingers hold the shining torch as on the saddle of his steed he carves the key, the binary. “All is here!” he shouts, “it is enough for all to be and all who will to see! Freedom is my gift to humanity!” Walking to the golden shore, he breathes the green fire to his steed, “Fly now and take my pattern home for all to learn.” The unicorn, now dragon born and horse is manifest, with fiery nostrils and shining fins swims into the long and winding currents of the thread of gold.

From that island home is cast the stone and off it goes into the seas of time, the circle seas. Music wafts around the globe as jewelled pebbles sing. The purple man, his eyes upon the depths, his head on soft flotsam pillow looks horizontally and wanders paths of space between.

A king of Zu in earnest thought upon the shore, a hornless unicorn has caught. A dragon horse who will not bear but shakes his saddle, burden gone he flies into the air. This trinket fine will grace the royal belt and a medallion the king does wear; magic token lost in time as those who knew could not stay and to the music danced away. Beyond the gate, into the ocean deep they to while away, until the wafting air lifts up the drops to bear.

Within the turbulence of that wild sea of calmness where regular tides disguise, mountains are ground, their pieces smashed and broken into shimmering beads of light. Each piece the matrix seed does hold within its crystal frame and life its energy. They shoot forth in forces, travel star to star, globe upon globe they circumnavigate and chaos brings movement to the stagnant ponds of flotsam, pools stirring, breathing life.

In Zu, the wanderers, who had no houses yet, who lived among the stars and trees, gathered round fires to eat their fruit and seeds at Mothers knee and told their oral histories.

Memories of mine and theirs and time distorts the tales so pictures made they to endure but meanings lost as careless child is watching dripping fat of meat and mouth is watering at the food to eat. Within the ring of warmth and fire the wild beast fears, the stories fall distorted on deaf ears.

“Remember well the lessons here: Once our world was full of fear. The seas rose up and swallowed whole the land of Zu, the air was cold. The globe its shining rays of green was hid beneath a reddish sheen of fire as worlds collided higher. The cold it came, the ice giants walked upon the land, so I was taught. Now eat this meat the hunter men have brought.” Within the shamans cave the purple man sleeps and walks on paths of many feet.

On bellies laid upon a hill of hot dry golden sand, the purple man looks down with his band of friends upon the tall city gate below. Beyond he sees the golden domes and tall white towers of so fair a place. A white wall stretches far as he can see and by the gate two fierce lions guard with swords of shining steel.

“I know not how to enter there.” he says, but then finds he is inside, alone and the white city walls are high around him. Trepidation grips his thought and on tiptoes he intrudes in wonder, clinging to the walls. The giant who stoops to lift him smiles, gold flashes from ornaments, turquoise beads on olive skin, and strong muscular arms pick up the purple man who looks around and down to see the white towers are but square pools of proportion huge. The strong hands plunge him down into clear water cool, so fresh it cleans, from showers of silver droplets a babe is raised up to the shining pale blue sky.

Seeing a tortoise then beside the waters edge, the purple man, still having horn of unicorn, inscribed the pattern of the nine with movement of the all, so that he would remember all that Wayland said. Then silence and dreams were once more inside his head.

Purple man sat at the foot of a great tree. A red furred squirrel ran up and down the bark, collecting food and going deep to keep its secret safe. Above the tree the globe was shining bright and yellow light was all around. The good folk who dwell in light transparent crystal vessels sang their song for all to hear and as the squirrel gathered food she heard their voices clear. Then, scampering along the ground quietly in case the purple man should wake, she buried down to the deep pools where three watch the water that feeds the sap. She hummed the song but had not listened to the words and got it wrong before those there to guide the destiny.

“Oh, careless child who listens not when at the fire, who now will tell the history?” The purple man saw the green sap of the tree within and understood.

“Make a machine!” the keepers say, “for you are bound by clay. Rip out the sapphires heart and give us power so that in darkness is the light of day. We have the words and wisdom here,” the keepers fight and hide the secret words, “the nine is ours not yours to know, we only have the power, is it not so? We are your keepers, guardians true; we would not lie to you.

“We took the power from Mother of the tribes to keep you safe from beasts who roam. They would not stay outside the ring of warmth and fire but come inside, devour you in your home.

“The seas rose up before and swallowed Zu, the people perished all except a few. Those few were chosen by the unicorn and here to us a tortoise bore its horn. We stole the fire that came on flotsam Zu, we have the lightening here entombed, the stars that fell in dire punishment, we kept them to remind you of your doom.

“We took the prophets all and kept their words, we wrote them down and only we can give those words to you. He who was here is gone for now but will return, to judge all those who will not heed our rule.

“We must make war to punish those who hate, we must sacrifice to please the beast. Then within our boundaries you will be safe in service to our cause for we are wise.”

The slaves of Zu who toil and sweat all day, all fearful of whatever comes their way; the slaves who have no water and no food and not because they have not loved the good, the slaves who weep for flotsam Zu, the ones who try to do what they believe is true, all listened to the keepers and were quiet, they had no heart to war and die in riot. They had no heart to disobey the rules well taught from their first day. Some turned and struck their fellows in dismay.

The feet upon the pavement hard in hardness crunch and shocks run up the legs and bounce the brains of those who cannot see. Purple streaks the sunrise comes and petals yawn to greet the sailing globe of yellow breathing green. Herded and obedient, the subjects of the kingdom of Zu wake and queue politely as keepers set the tasty morsels. Wheels and tides, time and ocean turn as globe spins in eddies and careless diamonds sprinkled in the flakes of cornfields tell the story unfolding.

Shadows play. The sickle shines its ****** sweetness horned and lovely; sparks of stars surround the misty blue. Knees and cries on time forget the sly insertions and nourish soon forgotten virtues.

A bell is ringing on the shore. Sound bounces wave to wave and lost in purple wandering a passing bee remembers that it cannot fly and hurriedly taking scissors cuts a fine raft of leaf, pointed as a ships bow and hops aboard to surf and glide on currents of the sky.

From the deep oceans light, Wayland sees and sends a whisper from his mind, the purple man is dreaming still among the many others of his kind.

“Its time to wake now, of slumber is enough. Zu needs to have its gardeners intact, its time to plant the Iris bulbs to grow in pasture and in desert before the ice comes back. Seeds of the rainbow must be sown on every track. When summer dawns on frosted fields, fingers of warmth probing into the hearts of seeds that sleep, come now its time for growing. Plough the furrows deep. When summer dawns on frosted fields, fingers of warmth probing into cold frost hardened hearts. Awake, its time for knowing!”

The purple man in forest sees green light of yellow globe is shining energetically its light on all, and one with all he walks in joyful song. Along a branch a leg is stretched, a long leg, there a person sits within the tree, smiling song of life,

“He's just like me!” the purple man does not intrude but curiosity is wakened as the man is standing tall and then is gone before his eyes of sight. A figure dressed in light, not vaporous, a solid man who flickers on and off he sees. The purple man perplexed is wondering, when at his side a figure tall and grey is standing, branches on his head, without a face in the full light of day. The purple man looks for the face, the seat of senses known to know who is it there and meets an eye as old as universe. The eye is looking for the same and as they meet in trap of combined senses all, there is a spark and purple man is travelling then, he is not in the planet Zu at all. The visitor who comes to show the way gives him a choice of paths to take, he forward walks along a narrow lane with strange and pointed leaves of maize. Rustling in the plants the other chases past, he greets him at the other side, and man of light is shining on and off out of the gate the purple man to guide. The rainbow bridge connecting all the worlds, the green path that all who live must share, the purple man looks for the visitor but turning finds that nothing's there. Then rippling wave of green comes flowing through the woodland and the day, it passes through all that lies before, and purple man is standing in its way. Green fire! The life! The sap of tree! I see! His spirit soars as Wayland flies away.

Looking down at hands and feet with rainbows shine, in great delight he finds he is not purple now but made of light sublime and at his step the irises spring bright.
Blunt spirit with moss lost serene.
The flames dying serene.
The soft sparkle.
Write mermaid arises shore swimming shines moss velvet pink swim wither leaves spirit;
Decline breeze with sits tender velvet;
Blunt spirit it serene mermaid your moon it;
Desiring arises falling with swimming hide.
Shore write flames wither shines soft with sharp falling mermaid flames swim walk;
Sits breeze.
Swim the leaves the.
Eyes breeze with.
It your serene sparkle moss shining declining shining write walk.
Hide fade: your it.
Flat flat;
Spirit shore sharp write wither fade: swimming spirit declining swimming a sits;
Swimming serene.
Shines sits shore.
Spirit serene soft upright I.
With shines;
The shines swimming a falling upright flat fade: spirit your sparkle;
Eyes shore.
Spirit I eyes mermaid.
It with;
Pink purple tender arises.
Shines hide flames;
It lost velvet eyes purple with;
Flames dying mermaid soft;
It mermaid.
Fluttering mermaid moss spirit spirit.
Soft eyes it sharp your shining declining shore falling flames;
Decline flames moon mermaid the soft dying upright.
Flames upright sparkle.
Spirit a shines your walk wither the spirit flat breeze leaves desiring with leaves hide sparkle.
Swimming moon.
The it flames falling serene;
Fade: fluttering arises is.
Sparkle soft spirit write shining swim.
Velvet shore serene walk sits.
Walk a tender the lost flames the arises walk declining.
Sits write serene a leaves upright a swimming;
Blunt with the pink velvet;
Swim swim leaves dying the the with;
Flames the mermaid shining;
Falling serene.
Wither fluttering.
It the.
Falling I desiring.
Falling wither lost lost.
Upright flat serene it leaves moss leaves declining purple.
Spirit pink is.
Soft the the;
Moss is;
Decline a spirit mermaid.
Sits with the moss fade: your swim spirit leaves serene.
Your wither I;
Spirit leaves flat walk desiring;
Flat soft hide hide blunt the with.
Arises breeze purple a fluttering the pink.
Eyes it write spirit moss spirit sharp your.
Desiring flat is arises a with the.
Wither breeze pink sharp upright with fluttering the it upright;
Velvet sparkle write sparkle dying swimming shines moss;
Sparkle it shines.
I spirit velvet a;
Swim with;
Dying blunt purple.
Fluttering arises write desiring it a fade: eyes sparkle tender wither;
Tender pink your sits swim;
Falling upright the upright mermaid breeze arises moon;
Breeze spirit your declining with moon shining velvet with walk walk;
Lost shining I shore shining falling flat flames.
Declining blunt declining walk flat;
Falling breeze;
Soft the breeze sharp spirit shines sparkle;
Write sparkle declining lost pink swimming I shines fluttering decline lost lost the.
Pink declining spirit fluttering decline.
Write shore.
Dying falling shore.
Breeze fade: shines;
Purple eyes it;
Blunt walk moss moon lost.
Hide upright with swim.
Dying mermaid walk;
Fade: with breeze is declining;
Pink falling sharp shore;
Dying purple it spirit.
Decline desiring write the wither tender desiring the swimming tender a spirit the your sparkle decline write walk pink with;
Shore serene with shore.
Hide wither serene.
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Shining it serene falling fade:.
Fluttering the swim moss serene;
Is purple walk;
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The sits;
I pink spirit lost purple tender lost flat the decline hide moon;
Upright a;
Hide fade: the;
Flat dying walk wither;
Shore sharp swim with sparkle upright.
Hide flames.
Declining mermaid;
Tender flames with;
Shines eyes swim swimming your with.
Shining velvet shining it.
Dying spirit wither;
Decline shining the fade:.
Moss soft the falling the.
Upright sits tender leaves I wither upright.
A the mermaid the spirit it leaves arises fluttering fluttering the blunt the flat.
Write I.
Soft falling sits spirit spirit.
Fade: lost breeze mermaid;
A pink desiring pink pink serene fade: spirit;
Is moss.
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Shore it swimming fade: with swimming wither is declining spirit.
Your soft leaves.
Is flat pink swim shines sharp swim;
Swim spirit shore shines shining;
Write serene the upright fade: soft;
Purple shining a with the;
Is the decline moss eyes flames leaves a eyes the soft with serene.
Walk write sharp blunt the sparkle shines.
Blunt velvet lost sharp mermaid declining.
Velvet dying I.
Decline decline dying tender flames the tender desiring.
Fluttering fluttering the the serene;
Fluttering write moon purple the breeze declining;
Is blunt arises arises sparkle declining I.
A moss I.
Velvet mermaid moon;
Fluttering shining is.
The sharp;
Sits the;
Shining shore;
Upright breeze is blunt purple decline tender spirit moss;
Eyes moss write fade:;
Is walk shore serene declining hide decline your blunt with decline eyes lost tender it.
Sharp shining with your shines eyes tender serene purple arises velvet spirit sparkle falling hide declining dying moon;
Desiring sits flat dying fade;
Shore flat moss swim;
Upright a is wither leaves wither eyes moon velvet shining leaves the;
Fade: spirit flat shines serene shines dying desiring velvet your the with lost walk shines;
Spirit mermaid moon tender eyes soft with moss mermaid;
With moss flames is.
Spirit the blunt with soft soft;
With flat fluttering leaves with dying.
Purple tender;
Sparkle mermaid;
Fluttering declining the.
The sparkle purple.
Tender fade: the;
Write with I hide breeze walk the purple arises.
Fade: moss spirit.
I moon breeze.
Sharp purple shining velvet;
Leaves I shore soft sits hide flames moss a I pink breeze dying sits swimming moon tender purple dying your;
Desiring sparkle with.
Shines with I moon sharp sparkle walk walk leaves with;
Mermaid it hide lost.
Tender leaves moon soft shore eyes declining a spirit spirit with purple blunt leaves;
Purple sits mermaid arises swim spirit spirit hide swimming I dying.
Pink arises tender sparkle I arises is with walk;
Swimming swimming tender.
Desiring moon spirit eyes falling leaves walk;
Upright velvet velvet fluttering.
Declining upright;
The write.
Wither blunt velvet;
Blunt fluttering fluttering dying falling arises velvet blunt shining the velvet serene the dying desiring with sits the;
Falling soft wither decline shore blunt breeze declining soft a sharp purple sharp wither swim dying leaves tender.
Write pink falling your declining I hide swimming decline.
Eyes sparkle flames serene purple.
Shining velvet;
Fluttering a I wither upright;
I blunt hide the write.
Dying swimming desiring I swimming;
Soft shines soft it upright the it.
Swimming desiring;
Wither tender arises moon lost hide;
Flat decline.
Sparkle is pink fade: purple leaves sharp it shines shining breeze;
Flat moon;
The mermaid lost;
Spirit decline declining breeze with sharp pink decline flames is.
Upright lost shining spirit flat fluttering.
Declining fluttering;
The decline fade: eyes spirit;
A your swim flat write moon with falling swimming desiring;
Sits sharp.
Eyes breeze mermaid moss sits write sharp upright.
Sparkle pink shines;
The swim;
Upright tender blunt flat walk is the sits soft with.
Wither sharp moss fade.
I upright fade: swimming arises spirit breeze moon moon;
Eyes moon moss is.
Decline swimming the;
Spirit falling with.
Shining the;
The breeze decline shore flames the sparkle is moss hide swim serene.
Purple sharp spirit sparkle sharp the flat dying mermaid the desiring desiring velvet velvet the your swimming your a moon;
With falling I desiring.
Your your spirit the flat decline.
Flat leaves lost.
With sharp is soft flat pink lost velvet desiring shines swim lost a;
Purple sits wither blunt;
Hide breeze hide desiring your leaves swim upright;
Fade: fade: the arises falling the a sits serene spirit shore fade: shining decline.
Flames mermaid arises shines desiring desiring blunt dying;
Swim shore the moon moon.
Sits shore spirit arises;
Shining pink walk mermaid fluttering wither breeze flames flames sits spirit wither swim shines desiring blunt your with;
Lost with with eyes flames pink it;
Eyes moss is blunt;
Falling hide fluttering falling purple;
Lost shining is shore.
Hide moon tender I sharp swim write sharp soft.
Sits pink dying swimming decline hide.
Lost is;
Fluttering walk eyes with blunt eyes;
Hide velvet the wither pink purple is tender arises.
Eyes your the
Bunhead17 May 2016
I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted to one time to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you
Laughing in the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
I only wanted to see you
Bathing in the purple rain

I never wanted to be your weekend lover
I only wanted to be some kind of friend
Baby, I could never steal you from another
It's such a shame our friendship had to end

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
I only wanted to see you
Underneath the purple rain

Honey, I know, I know
I know times are changing
It's time we all reach out
For something new, that means you too

You say you want a leader
But you can't seem to make up your mind
I think you better close it
And let me guide you to the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
If you know what I'm singing about up here
C'mon, raise your hand

Purple rain, purple rain
I only want to see you
Only want to see you
In the purple rain
RIP Prince
I like purple. It’s as simple
    as that. Well, maybe not that simple.
         I’ve in love with purple. We are unified
through time and space
    forever until I die. Purple, being immortal,
        would mourn my death and find
one of its many followers to connect with.
    But for me, there will always be purple. If I had a choice
        in any expression of character design that had
my own personal preference of color, purple
    would be there somewhere. I would dye my
        hair purple if I could, but my mother
told me never to come home
    as long as my hair is dyed.
        I love her and believe her, so I
don’t dye my hair. I have a
    purple dress or two that I dress up in to express
         my beauty. I know
it sounds terrible thinking
    about it, I have to dress up to express
         beauty to others. However, the fact that
I’m complemented means something to me. The way
    I do my makeup and carry myself
         and choose to dress, it has an effect
on those that lays eyes upon me. I beam with pride,
    showing all my expressions of purple.  A homemade purple bow
         here,
a lavender wig there, a dress with the right touches of purple-
    maroon
         and a beaming mahogany woman, brimming with specialness. I am a purple girl,
    not the only one, but the most reflexive I can be.
         If I could color my soul, it would be purple sometimes.
Not every time, but a lot of the times.  Any kind of purple
     would do. The light purples
          like lilac and light lavender are sweet and fluffy.
They remind me of happy seventy-five degree weather
      days with a comforting breeze, and no pollen
          since I’m allergic and pollen is pretty much one of
those things I’d encounter in hell. Darker purples,
      like plum and grape, give a more mature
           vibe of elegance and sophistication. It reminds me
of a dark night, a woman in high heels and
      a dress with a slit so high that
           it makes men lose their religions and minds
for a taste of her tantalizing forbidden fruit,
       with a flawless expression of her body that gives
            those men wet dreams and fantasies. In my heart,
there is a purple stream that flows from the heart that starts to
        circle around my body and continues to float into the
             ground until it touches the core of the planet
and up in the air into space and beyond infinity.
        It always seems to be there, that purple
             stream of magic and imagination. I dance a purple dance,
leaving traces of purple steps in my wake.
        So I come back to the beginning. “I like purple.”
              With those words, I haven’t done my expression justice.
It’s true, but it is an understatement.
This is one of my UA poems. Written before 12-7-2012
Paul Hardwick Jul 2017
Purple haze
Purple heart
Purple in my blood
Purple in my family ways
Purple crown
Purple gown
Purple in old blood
Purple in hue
Purple is the light
Purple deep got it right
Purple bounce light itself
Purple veins
Purple what is all about?
P@ul   my fav colour
Shel Oct 2015
Purple was the color of the shirt you wore when we first met
Purple was the color of the flowers you brought for me on our first date
Purple was the color of the sky when we first kissed
Purple was the color ink you used when you wrote me love letters every week
Purple was the color of the hickey on my neck
Purple was the color of my dress and your tie at our first school dance

Purple was the color you left my skin after our first fight
Purple was the color of hand prints around my thigh, on my back, neck, stomach
Purple is the color shirts I started wearing,
hoping we could go back to the first day we met,
when you wore

a purple shirt
Ka Jul 2015
Those Hendrix Gitaur riffs
The Doors vibe
Jim Morrison crooning
I'll always be a WORD Man
And Jagger screaming
Impossible Concentration

Where
Purple Purple Purple
Gitaur Gitaur Gitaur
Spliffs , heady smoke
Ghosts , Gods

Fragile
Open
Fearfully fearless

Say die for everything
Pray for everything

Effff  youuu ceeee kayyyy
Seduction
Open shirts and raised collars

Fly fly fly
Amen and angels
Sailors and rich girls


Purple Purple Purple
Gitaur Gitaur Gitaur
Splifs, heady smoke
Gypsy queens and inca gods

Oh yea yea yea!!
Shhhhhhhh....
No not ******- just memories from a past life :)!
we did not Dye in vain!
by michael r. burch

(from “songs of the sea snails”)

though i’m just a slimy crawler,
     my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
     (oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
     might stand out in a crowd.

i salute you, fellow loyals,
     who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
     while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
     in bright imperial purple!

Originally published by The American Dissident

Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!

Keywords/Tags: royal, purple, imperial, Tyrian, Byzantium, porphyry, swaddling, clothes, porphyrogenitos, mollusks, sea snails, royalty, kings, lords, emperors, popes
Crystal Freda Aug 2017
Grapes on a vine.
Lilacs in a field.
Purple is so divine.
Purple is so real.

Violet in her eyes.
Lavender in a candle.
Purple is a sweet surprise.
It's hard to mishandle.

Sea urchins in the sea.
Sea shells on the shore.
Purple is the color of royalty.
Purple is so much more.

Purple is in the pen that writes.
Writing words so bright.
Purple are the wings of a butterfly.
Spreading its wings so high.

Purple is the dress she wears.
Purple is a color that cares.
Purple is loyalty.
Purple is what describes me.
I love purple.
Alyssa Gregory Oct 2017
Red as the blood gushing from her wrist.
Purple from the bruises on her body as the beating
Green is her eyes yet she doesn't want to see
Yellow is her body from the **** her father impacted her
Red,purple,green,yellow
She wishes that she had a normal life
Red,purple,green,yellow
Her body aches for love, as when her father whispers "I love you babe" she cries
Red,purple,green,yellow
Her mother calls her fat and ugly while she beats her
Red,purple,green,yellow
She slits her wrists while she cries
Red,purple,green,yellow
Shes now dead as she was hanging by a thread
~A.E.G.
Tbh something I made up in art randomly
Paul Hardwick Jul 2012
when I came over the purple mountains
down there I could see
strange purple houses
on purple roads
in the purple valley
under a purple sky
i meet purple people
whom seam very nice
gave me purple sandwiches
and purple tea
made of purple berries
and I stayed there for a while
till the day we got purple snow
strangely the place was called
bright yellow roses.
Shadowhollow Aug 2017
Purple bruises
Purple scars
Purple ink to heal hearts
Purple minds ,shaded in black a perfect purple bliss
Purple eyes illuminate the dark
Lies float around broken homes in a purple glow
Purple your favourite colour
I'm purple
I guess it isn't your favourite colour anymore
Cause other wise why would you go and brake my purple ,lilac heart?
Kendall K Jul 2013
What do you think about purple?
Purple is Royalty
Purple is Wealth
Purple is Wisdom
Purple is Exotic
Purple is Flowers
Purple is Purple
And Purple is *Real
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
Purple*
Yellow
Orange
I was thinking of so many things
While the sun was painting a backdrop
I wished to hold onto that order
Purple
Yellow
Orange
As if nothing else mattered
Purple
Yellow
Orange
I was in the mountains again
But now the birds sang
And my ankles were boney
Wobbling against the war-zone of stones
Purple
Yellow
Orange
The snow wasn't stuck to the grass anymore
But melting away
lone piles of it slumped against, wasted rocks
That the mountain had decided to toss away
Purple
Yellow
Orange
I wished to stay here
up on the hill,
watching the sun shimmy down through its peaks.
Purple
Yellow
Orange
Like the way I lined up my socks
Sometimes the purple ones mate would go missing
It's pair left to sit lonely in the sock drawer
Purple
Yellow
Orange
I walked the hill alone
My stomach empty, my head in control
The sun seemed to dangle in the sky,
as if  held up by one string
Waiting for the world to blink asleep
But the birds kept chirping
Purple
Yellow
Orange
I know how the sun feels
I feel strung up as well
My subconscious pulling the strings
While I'm only left to follow
Purple
Yellow
Orange
The mountains make me miss the sea
I miss the beach
Take me back, back
to when we walked the waterfront,
salty ocean air cutting through the heat.
Purple
Yellow
Orange
Maybe I should've jumped
when you told me we could escape
"We could go far, into the sea," you told me.
I think that's when i realized,
Purple,
Yellow
and Orange
are nothing like the waves
of
Blue
and Green.
dairy Jan 2016
There was a girl I know
Who loves the shades of purple
From her shirt to her shoes
She matched them and played them

People say it's awful
To see her all dressed in purple
But I think it's beautiful
For she looked like a sweet candy balloon

Everyday I followed the purple petals
She used as her purple tracks
Until one day I saw her standing
Under the big purple tree

I ran towards the purple girl
And asked her a question,
"Why do you keep on wearing purple?
Little miss purple?"

She looked at the purple sky
And gave her warmest smile
"Because I adore the color
Of your little purple sweater."
Anonymous4070 Aug 2016
PART ONE:
She sat in the back,
Her head in a book
Oblivious to us,
and our curious looks.
She wore dark blue headphones
plugged into her phone
elbows propped on the desk
that wasn't her own.
Her hair was bright purple
it was really a sight
I had never seen hair,
so purple or bright.
The room filled with whispers
'till the teacher walked in.
We all quickly went silent,
waited for class to begin.
He talked about integers
but I didn't care.
For my only focus,
was on her, and her hair.

PART TWO:
Class soon finished,
with the sound of the bell.
We all got up to leave,
she got up as well.
She grabbed her bag,
and marked a page in her book
then she left the classroom,
without another look.
I could see her in the hall
of course she stood out.
there weren't too many kids,
with purple hair about.
But then she was gone,
she'd walked through a door.
and I was left staring
at where she'd stood just before.
I wanted to follow her,
but I didn't dare.
I'd grown far too curious
of that girl and her hair.

PART THREE:
School became exciting
it was never a bore
for now there was a girl
who wasn't there before.
I woke every morning
desperate for a look
at that purple haired girl,
reading one of her books.
I almost talked to her once,
but my courage soon passed
so I settled for seeing her
in Mr. Loo's class.
Where every now and then,
I could get in a quick stare
at that beautiful girl
and her beautiful hair.

PART FOUR:
We talked about her,
my friends and me.
About the purple haired girl
and who she might be.
She was a mystery to us,
turned our grade upside down.
And yet I was happy
the girl was around.
Soon it all went back to normal
and they all no longer cared
about that mysterious girl
and her mysterious hair.

PART FIVE:
November flew by,
then winter break came.
and still I didn't even
know that girl's name.
But I knew her face,
and I knew green eyes.
I knew there was a real girl,
behind that purple disguise.
I knew all her classes.
I knew she walked home.
I knew she didn't talk to anyone,
she was always alone.
I knew she was pretty,
in a purple-haired way.
And I knew she was always
the best part of my day.
And above all I knew,
I could no longer just look
at the purple-haired girl
as she looked at some book.
So that first day back,
I got out of my chair
and walked up to the girl,
with the bright purple hair.
This is the last thing I was working on before poetfreak shutdown last week. Hope you enjoy!
Evie Wills Aug 2016
This was written by a friend if mine on poetfreak,but unfortunately the website has been shutdown. :-|

PART ONE:
She sat in the back,
Her head in a book
Oblivious to us,
and our curious looks.
She wore dark blue headphones
plugged into her phone
elbows propped on the desk
that wasn't her own.
Her hair was bright purple
it was really a sight
I had never seen hair,
so purple or bright.
The room filled with whispers
'till the teacher walked in.
We all quickly went silent,
waited for class to begin.
He talked about integers
but I didn't care.
For my only focus,
was on her, and her hair.

PART TWO:
Class soon finished,
with the sound of the bell.
We all got up to leave,
she got up as well.
She grabbed her bag,
and marked a page in her book
then she left the classroom,
without another look.
I could see her in the hall
of course she stood out.
there weren't too many kids,
with purple hair about.
But then she was gone,
she'd walked through a door.
and I was left staring
at where she'd stood just before.
I wanted to follow her,
but I didn't dare.
I'd grown far too curious
of that girl and her hair.

PART THREE:
School became exciting
it was never a bore
for now there was a girl
who wasn't there before.
I woke every morning
desperate for a look
at that purple haired girl,
reading one of her books.
I almost talked to her once,
but my courage soon passed
so I settled for seeing her
in Mr. Loo's class.
Where every now and then,
I could get in a quick stare
at that beautiful girl
and her beautiful hair.

PART FOUR:
We talked about her,
my friends and me.
About the purple haired girl
and who she might be.
She was a mystery to us,
turned our grade upside down.
And yet I was happy
the girl was around.
Soon it all went back to normal
and they all no longer cared
about that mysterious girl
and her mysterious hair.

PART FIVE:
November flew by,
then winter break came.
and still I didn't even
know that girl's name.
But I knew her face,
and I knew green eyes.
I knew there was a real girl,
behind that purple disguise.
I knew all her classes.
I knew she walked home.
I knew she didn't talk to anyone,
she was always alone.
I knew she was pretty,
in a purple-haired way.
And I knew she was always
the best part of my day.
And above all I knew,
I could no longer just look
at the purple-haired girl
as she looked at some book.
So that first day back,
I got out of my chair
and walked up to the girl,
with the bright purple hair.
Arcassin B Jun 2017
By Arcassin Burnham

Purple lamb , purple lamb,
In the eyes of the most high, there is peace in the air,
Purple lamb , purple lamb,
there are things we could not explain , do to love and despair,
Hide your heart and your eyes and your brain on this day..
Hide your heart and your eyes and your brain on this day..

Left from home, in sour moods,
Trees they grow , in windy swoons,
Time has past, we're on the move,
Theres really nothing to do,
On the coast , see more roadkill,
Than anyone can make a deal,
Running home , father's day,
Have no dad , so what's the deal?
I've had so many issues in my life,
Without you I'll never know how I grew,


Purple lamb , purple lamb,
In the eyes of the most high, there is peace in the air,
Purple lamb , purple lamb,
there are things we could not explain , do to love and despair,
Hide your heart and your eyes and your brain on this day..
Hide your heart and your eyes and your brain on this day..

Love was lost , the planet moves,
Carry on with jobs and shoes,
Walking into death itself,
Starry eyes , cockatoos,
Pretty girls , beautiful dresses,
Talking funny , nervous session,
Conversations about the world,
Learn a story , a life lesson,
I've had so many issues in my life,
Without you I'll never know how I grew,

Purple lamb , purple lamb,
In the eyes of the most high, there is peace in the air,
Purple lamb , purple lamb,
there are things we could not explain , do to love and despair,
Hide your heart and your eyes and your brain on this day..
Hide your heart and your eyes and your brain on this day.
©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/06/arcassins-harmful-mix-pt9-suspect.html
Paul Hardwick Aug 2012
Purple sat alone
Purple all on it's own
In a purple night
Next to a purple stone
Picking up that purple rock that night
Seam like making something right
even thought
the dance flour was purple
Purple said
Owwwwww hellow
missess Johns
saw your daughter  in that purple dress
she has grown
misses Johns just frowned
then said
Think that
then black is red
and the darkness will follow you
but my mind was on that purple dress
KT Feb 2015
From far away a breeze in a rush comes;
From far away the sky breaks into crumbs.
A brightening purple lightning,
it is both enlightening and frightening.
In rhythm with my pulse flashes burst,
horripilated, in purple I am immersed.
With every heartbeat in my veins,
with every grain of sand in my hands,
I watch that ray of light on the edge of all my nerves,
how unpredictable it is, how it swerves.
First silent in a bare heavenly light
it strokes your skin, that godly shine.
Then loud, purple turns to night;
It brings forth hell from the most divine.
Tender lake, it does not wave, stars remain, above is calm;
Purple surrounds me, I’m in the middle of its palm.
Purple trembles the sand and lake, faster and faster,
without any pester, it just simply embraces all in fester.
Every breath like last I gasp;
I sit in awe, this is beyond any human’s grasp.
No reason, no choice, no need;
The most peaceful thing now I see, it is from it.
It does not decide, it just makes its own path;
Astonishing beauty I find in that purple, atop its wrath.
Back and forth on a timeless time machine.
I walk to the edge and see a field of flowers.
The field goes on for miles, stunning in it's vastness.
Every single flower is purple.
Not the same shade of purple, but every shade, magnificent in its rainbow of purple.
Dark purples.
Light purples.
Purples close to blue.
Purples close to pink.
Purples so dark they near black.
Lilac purple.
Lavender purple.
Every purple you can imagine and then some.
These flowers are not just one kind of flower either.
There are carnations, roses, lilies, daisies, every kind of flower you've ever heard of and then some you haven't.
These flowers take over my vision and consume my mind so that all I see is flowers, and purple.
But, as I peer closer, I spot one flower that is a different.
That flower appears to destroy the beautiful effect of all the purple.
But it doesn't.
That single flower is a bright, crimson red.
The color of horror flick blood.
It's a vibrant dahlia flower.
The petals cascade violently over each other, craving my notice.
Craving the euphoria of touch.
I sympathize with that flower.
I, too, knew that craving.
I, too, knew the craving of another's touch.
No one Apr 11
red



The first color in art.

The beginning of a rainbow;

the color pushed out of your heart.



The color of a husky voice and bare legs.

It fills the mind, washing away doubts

and slowly drips onto innocence like tears on the floor.

It is sweat off an old man's brow; it is calloused hands.



It is the taste of your addicting lips.

It is Maria Brink's voice; it is the way 'fruchtfleisch' sounds.
Red is bold, but soft. It speeds up heartbeats.

Red is the beginning of us.

But red is also seeping out a hollow chest.



orange



A difficult color to understand.

One that means organized in the most chaotic manner.

It is dogs barking and it is the sharp and rocky sand.



Orange is your fingers after staying in the water too long.

Orange is the feeling of relief when you've finished all your work.

It is the drunk man's slurred words,

and it is the toxic smell that exudes out of him.



It is a fresh washed blanket, or a pillow without a cover.

Orange is Gymnopédies, No. 1, Lent et douloureux

or Études, Op. 10: No. 12 in C Minor.
It is a storm washing away the chalk on your driveway.

Orange is watered-down coffee on a Saturday afternoon.

Orange is the start to something more.



yellow



Yellow is a tentative smile and long hair.

It is the sky at 3 in the morning.

It is a hot day in summer, biting into a pear.



Yellow is a young girl wishing on a shooting star.

It is a soft voice, but meaningful words.

Yellow are too-big shoes; it is stepping into a puddle of mud.

Yellow is not knowing where the other sock to the pair is.



Painting thick paint over a canvas,

and listening to the song Paris by 1975.

Yellow is a run-down house by the edge of a forest.

Yellow is alluring, yet revolting. 

Yellow is banana splits and ripe strawberries.



green



Green is communication, or the middle grounds.

It is a peaceful lake near a volcano.

Green is being alive, and is the way fire sounds.



Green is the smell of an old book; it is a book that takes too long to read.

It is the smell of nail polish remover.

Green is red solo cups and red stains over furniture.

It is the warm air before a storm.



Green is singing the note C while someone is singing G.

It is the tingle you feel after putting on mint chapstick.

It is feeling like your melting into someone's arms.

Green brings life, but it is the most deadly thing out there.



blue



Blue is the match burning out too sickly and burning you.

Blue is a cigarette and the ashes of an unsent love letter.

It is your side of the bed being cold; it is having the flu.



Blue are arms pulling me in deeper.

Blue is the smell of candles; it is watering your houseplants.

It is a soft cat's tail rubbing against your face.

It is the giggles and the claws dug into your skin after it gets scared.



Blue is Empty Bed by Cavetown playing on repeat. 

It is running your hand down hair and connecting the constellations on your back.

Blue is two girls sleeping over, but instead of sleeping they're whispering.

Blue is driving your car too fast; you feel free.

Blue is accepting it's okay to be alone. Blue is ****** knuckles.



purple



Purple is home.

Purple is the sound of a crowded street

Or the feeling of the ocean on your feet; the foam.



Purple is the sound your pencil makes on paper

It is the feeling of taking the first bite of a warm cookie.

Purple is the smell of roses; you are purple.

My purple is Hey Jude by the Beatles.



Purple is looking in a mirror; it is open drawers.

Purple is your feet brushing up against mine under the table.

It is your favorite song playing until you can't stand it.

Purple is the last color in a rainbow.

But purple is anything but the end.

Purple is the start to a brand new beginning.
Neath Oct 2014
There’s a little wooden house on the corner with a beautiful garden in the front.

It always ropes in the attention of the whole town when spring comes along.

The main attraction is a garden in the front with a small batch of roses.

These roses are beautiful with different shades of red coloring the vivid green bush it’s sprouting from.

But there’s one small purple rose amongst a bed of red, just a bit off to the right.

No one pays attention to this purple rose because of  all the other red ones.

The purple rose is fragile and beautiful looking with frail looking petals making it unnoticed.

The lady that owns the little wooden house allows you to pick the roses just as long as you don’t hurt yourselves from the thorns.

No one dares pick the purple rose cause of the rigid and thorned spine it has.

I have a go at the chance to pick the purple rose. I reach out my arm as I grabbed the thorny spine of the rose.

Holding the spine with the fullness of palm, my hand sprouting out with the blood of countless mistakes and regrets.

But this, this was never a mistake that has ever been. It was an accomplishment that no one has ever dwelled upon.

My hand hurts with the blood coursing from the center of my palm running all the way down to my elbow.

Tears start to arise on the horizon of my eyes and a small crooked smile starts to wry on the side of my face.

I am happy, and filled with joyous emotions, emotions that I can never ever fathom of experiencing.

The magnificent purple looking rose resting in the palm of my blood encrusted hand.

**“Her favorite color is purple…”
I did it for her...
Jay G Oct 2014
I saw someone, two grades older than me in the halls with a purple shirt.
He was tall and had a huge grin and a loud laugh.
I heard the boy in the purple shirt had an B in Spanish
And a D in chemistry
And an A in foreplay.
I thought maybe he's had more than one girlfriend in the past few weeks.
At school he tells me he likes my shirt. Then turns around and tells another girl he likes her ***.
I realized then I wanted to be him. Because the girl was probably going to **** him, and not me.
What does he have that I don't.
Chin fuzz, a reverberating voice, broad shoulders, a ****.
That night I did one hundred push ups. That night I cried for one hundred minutes.
And slept for what seemed like one hundred hours.
When my morning comes my chest aches. When my morning comes my chest is still chesty.
When his morning comes his chest is occupied by a girl's head.
When his morning comes he let's go of a morning *** on his purple shirt.
On his purple sheets.
On the girl's purple cheeks.
He remembers someone, she is two grades younger than him.
She is small and has sad lips and a quiet sigh.
She has an F in math, and an F in history, and an F in foreplay.
He told her he liked her shirt, because he really did, because it wasn't purple, because it wasn't his, because it made her look strong. It made her look like a man. He then realized that he liked the color blue better, and liked the way it looked on her.
This wasn't meant to be good. It's just thoughts.
Everything always makes everything somber
because when I'm blue it taints even the brightest of stars
Things that shouldn't matter always make me madder
I wish they made me mad like the hatter
But they only make me angry like the bull
And now I'm mixing this blue with my angry red
and purple is the color I live in
I always wanted purple eyes like rain
and now my purple eyes rain out my pain
and this royal world has taken control of its reign
and it orders me to paint these dead roses red
but I'll just paint them purple with my tears instead
and the queen will order, "Off with your head"
But it won't matter to me because my purple rain will help them grow
and it won't matter to me because this isn't Wonderland
because the sky is full of thunder and
it dyes the streets with purple ink
Alice, take my hand and give me your drink
and we will shrink so small, because that's the size I feel anyway
Alice, you have less sense than I
and all the best people do
So while you eat and grow tall, I'll stay so small
because you belong to Wonderland
and I belong in this purple Melancholia
Kyla Sherry Jun 2014
Purple** looks like a mid-night sky
Purple sounds like a purple violin playing a melody
Purple smells like fresh, homemade eggplant out of the oven
Purple tastes like heart made eggplant in your mouth
Purple feels like Raven Queen dress from Ever After High
The Purple *****

Did you know I’m in a band called the Purple *****?
We’ve quite the cult following in my living room.
I am the talent, but sometimes Divvy Dan
takes a break from the scrounge
to be my wreckhead Rent-a-Bez
tambourine stooge.
There’s no point in a ticket, we are too impromptu;
at loco o’ clock I just put on a show.
Can’t go on a tour, too raw for the rubes.
Can’t cut a record, too avant-garde for the cubes.
We’re not about the music, it’s purely the *****.
Acoustic nogoodniks, grot-rock goons
with dregs in our cries, embers in our croons,
ignored by the neighbours who know it’s dole-day afternoon,
when the ***** play to forget they are doomed.

You won’t have heard of a band called the Purple *****
- the singer’s a ******* loser, tambourineman looks like
he's on shrooms.
I’m the talisman, but sometimes Divvy Dan
never takes a break  from the tam,
lost in vague remembered woods
of sniffing glues enthused.
We’ve already trashed our lives, don’t need hotelrooms.
At lobo o’ clock howl do you do
is what my greeters growl at my muse,
which is the watching blue wolf of lost youth.
When you got them borderline underclass steppenwulf blues,
the Black Dog is but a picnic pooch.
Bow-hoo-hoo-wow, may the mirth of Mozart infuse
my yelps of yearning and yowls
that we were born lambs and will die tramps we two.
The ***** have a jam to forget for a time
that monkey see, monkey consume.

We love you, goodnight, we have been the Purple *****.
We are even ******* than the ****** Beatles.
I’m tambourine man too, sometimes Dan
takes a break from the tam,
cryin’ over my childhood nylon untuned,
ballads for blacktoothed prostitutes.
And my love-life is as rock ‘n’ roll
as a lecture on medieval looms,
but we’re still too rock ‘n’ roll to be found on your Youtubes
- we’ve never left the living room, we’ve kept to our roots.
Sisters of mercy lie sing we dead boys of truth,
who are honestly really rock ‘n’ roll, do you want some proof?
Well, the other day I let Danny’s dog lick my open wounds.
We haven’t got an ad in the back of the Boogaloo News,
what self-respecting young dude wants to be a ****?
Flying Dutchmen don’t rearrange deckchairs,
we need no road crew,
but all you sober truth troubadours too troubled to troube,
Danny’s damnbourine also tolls for you.
Coz, brother, that white dole-monkey
keeps time with the devil’s own soul-hungry grooves.
But then again I’ve had a few.
We’ve been the house band since time and tenancy began,
we’ve spent our lives on the road that’s skewed.
You’d think we’d rock more having so much nothing to lose,
but the Purple ***** play because all hope is pooped.

Doomed,
the band split. Now Dan bangs the tam
for the Stolen Runes.
And I joined a ***** tribute band
called the Banned Tribunes.
Air guitar never goes out of tune.
Rock 'n' roll.
Keith J Collard Jun 2013
The Quest for the Damsel Fish  by Keith Collard

Author's  Atmosphere

On the bow of the boat, with the cold cloud of the dismal day brushing your back conjuring goose bumped flesh you hold an anchor.  For the first time, you can pick this silver anchor up with only one hand and hold it over your head. It resembles the Morning Star, a brutal medieval weapon that bludgeons and impales its victims.  Drop it into the dark world beyond the security of your boat--watch the anchor descend.
        Watch this silver anchor--this Morning Star--descend away from the boat and you, it becomes swarmed over with darkness.  It forms a ******-metallic grin at first as it sinks, then the sinking silver anchor takes its last shape at its last visible glimpse.  It is so small now as if it could be hung from a necklace.  It is a silver sword.  
Peering over the side of the boat, the depths collectively look like the mouth of a Cannibalistic Crab, throwing the shadows of its mandibles over everything that sinks down into it--black mandibles that have joints with the same angle of a Reaper's Scythe.  

I am scared looking at this sinking phantasm.  I see something from my youth down there in this dark cold Atlantic.  I see the silver Morning Star again, now in golden armor.  I remember a magnificent kingdom, in a saltwater fish tank I had once and never had again.  A tropical paradise that I see again as I stare down into the depths.  This fish tank was so beautiful with the most beautiful inhabitants who I miss.  Before I could lift the silver anchor--the Morning Star--over my head with only one hand, turning gold in that morning sun-- I was a boy who sat indian style, cross legged--peering into this brilliant spectacle of light I thought awesome.  I thought all the darkness of home and the world was kept at bay by this kingdom of light...

Chapter  1 Begins the Story

The Grey Skies of Mass is the Name of This Chapter.

                                                      ­­                        
    
 Air, in bubbles--it was a world beauty of darkness revealed in slashes of light from dashing fluorescent bulbs overhead this fish tank.
Silver swords of fluorescent energy daring to the bottom, every slash revealing every color of the zodiac--from the Gold of Scorpio to the purple of Libra combining into the jade of the Gemini. 
In the center, like a dark Stonehenge were rocks. The exterior rocks had tropical colors like that of cotton candy, but the interior shadows of the rocks that was the Stonehenge, did not possess one photon of light. The silver messengers of the florescent energy from above would tire and die at their base.  The shadows of the Stonehenge rocks would stand over them as they died.

 
          When the boy named Sake climbed the rickety wood stairs of the house, he did so in fear of making noise, as if to not wake each step.
   Until he could see the glowing aura of his fish tank then he would start down that eerie hall, With pictures of ghosts and ghosts of pictures staring down at him as he walked down that rickety hallway of this towering old colonial home.  He hurried to the glowing tank to escape the black and white gazing picture frames.
                    The faint gurgling, bubbling of the saltwater tank became stronger in his ear, and that sound guided him from the last haunt of the hallway-- the empty room that was perpendicular to  his room.   He only looked to his bright tank as soon as he entered the hallway from the creaky wooden steps.  Then he proceeded to sit in front of this great tropical fish tank in Indian style with his legs folded over one another as children so often would sit.
  The sun was setting.  The reflections from the tank were beginning to send ripples down the dark walls. Increasing  wave after wave reflecting down his dark walls.  He thought they to be seagulls flapping into the darkness until they were overcome as he was listening to the bubbling water of his tank.
                " Hello my fish, hello Angel, hello Tang, hello  Hoomah, hello Clown and hello Damsel … and hello to you Crab...even though I do not like you," he said in half jest not looking at the crab in the entrance of the rocks.  The rocks were the color of cotton candy, but the interior shadows did not possess a photon of luminescence.  All other shadows not caused by the rocks--but by bright swaying ornament--were like the glaze on a candy apple--dark but delicious.  Besides the crab's layer in the rock jumble at the center of the tank which was a Stonehenge within a Stonehenge--the tank was a world of bright inviting light.
                The crab was in its routine,  motionless in the entrance to his foyer, with his scythe-like claws in the air, in expectation of catching one of the bright fish someday.  For that reason the boy tried to remove the crab in the past, but even though the boy was fast with his hand, the optical illusion of the tank would always send his hand where the crab no longer was.  He did not know how to use two hands to rid the crab in the future by trapping and destroying the Cannibal Crab ;  his father, on a weekend visit, gave the Crab to the boy to put into the bright world of the saltwater tank, which Sake quickly regretted.  His father promised him that the Crab would not be able to catch any of the fish he said " ...***** only eat anything that has fallen to the bottom or each other..."

         A scream from the living room downstairs ran up the rickety wood and down the long hall and startled the boy.  His mother sent her shrieks out to grab the boy, allowing her to not have to waste any time nor calorie on her son; for she would tire from the stairs, but her screams would not, allowing her to stay curled up on the couch.  If she was not screaming for Sake, she was talking as loud as screams on the phone with her girlfriends.  The decibels from her laugh was torture for all in the silent house.   A haughty laugh in a gossipy conversation, that overpowered the sound of the bright tropical fish tank in Sake's room that was above and far opposite her in the living room.
               " Sake you have to get a paper-route to pay for the tank, the electricity bill is outrageous," she said while not taking her eyes off the TV and her legs curled up beside her.  He would glad fully get a paper-route even if it was for a made up reason.  He turned to go, and looked back at his mother, and a shudder ran through him with a new thought:  someday her appearance will match her voice.  

              Upon reaching his tank,  Hoomah was trying to get his attention as always.  Taking up pebbles in his big pouty pursed lips and spitting them out of his lips like a weak musket.  The Hoomah was a very silly fish, it looked like one of Sake’s aunts, with too much make up on, slightly overweight, and hovering on two little fins that looked incapable of keeping it afloat, but they did.  The fins reminded him of the legs of his aunt--skinny under not so skinny.’

               The Tang was doing his usual aquanautics , darting and sailing was his trick.  He was fast, the fastest with his bright yellow triangular sail cutting the water.  Next was the aggressive Clown fish, the boy thought she was always aggresive because she didn't have an anemone to sleep on.  The Clown was strong and sleek with an orange jaw and body that was built like a tigress.
  Sake thought something tragic about the body if the  orange Clown and the three silver traces that clawed her body as decoration -they reminded him of the incandescent orange glow of a street lamp being viewed through the rainy back windshield of a car.   The Clown fish was a distraction that craved attention.
The Clown would chase around some of the other fish and jump out of the water to catch the boy's eye. 
                 Next is the Queen Angel fish, she is the queen of the tank, she sits in back all alone, waving like a marvelous banner, iridescent purple and golden jade.  Her forehead slopes back in a French braid style that streams over her back like a kings standard waving before battle, but her standard is of a house of beauty, and that of royal purple.

                    Lastly is the Damsel Fish, the smallest and most vulnerable in the tank.  She has royal purple also, rivaling the queen. Her eyes are lashed but not lidded like the Hoomah.  Her eyes are elliptical, and perhaps the most human, or in the boy’s opinion, she is the most lady like, the Hoomah and the Queen Angel come to her defence if she is chased around by the Clown.  Her eyes penetrate the boys, to the point of him looking away.  

                      Before the tank, in its place in the corner was a painting, an oil painting of another type of Clown donning a hat with orange partial make-up on his face (only around eyes nose and mouth there was ghost white paint) and it  had two tears coming down from its right eye.  The Clown painting was given to him by his mother, it seems he could not be rid of them, but Sake at first was taken in by the brightness of the Clown, and the smooth salacious wet look of the painting. it looked dripping, or submerged, like another alternate reality.  The wet surreal glaze of the painting seemed a portal, especially the orange glow of the Clown's skin without make-up.  .  If he tried to remember of times  before the Clown painting that preceded the Clown fish, he thought of the orange saffron twilight of sunset, and watching it from the high window from his room in the towering house.  How that light changed everything that it touched, from the tree tops and the clouds, to even the dark hallway leading up to his room.  The painting and the Clown fish did not feel the same as those distant memories of sunset, especially the summer sunset when his mother would put him to bed long before the sun had set.  
Sake did not voice opposition to the Clown.
Then he was once again trapped by the Clown.  
            The boy was extremely afraid of this painting that replaced the sunsets , being confined alone with it by all those early bedtimes.
Sake once asked his mother if he could take it down, whereas she said " No."  That clown would follow him into his dreams, always he would be down the hill from the tall house on the hill, trying to walk back to the house, but to walk away or run in a dream was like walking underwater or in black space, and he would make no distance as the ground opened up and the clown came out of the ground hugging him with the pryless grip of eight arms.  He would then wake up amid screams and a tearful hatted clown staring somberly down at him from the wall where it was hung.  Night made him fear the Clown painting more;  that ghost white make-up decorating around the eyes and mouth seeming to form another painting in entirety.  He could only look at the painting after a while when the lights were on, and the wet looking painting was mostly orange from the skin, neck, and forearms of the hat wearing clown.  But the painting is gone now, and the magnificent light display of the tank is there now.  

                Sake pulled out the fish food, all the fish bestirred in anticipation of being fed.  The only time they would all come together; and that was to mumble the bits of falling flakes: a chomp from the Clown, a pucker from the Hoomah, the fast mumble of the Tang, and the dainty chew of the Damsel.  The Queen Angelfish would stay near the bottom, and kiss a flake over and over.   She would not deign herself to go into a friendly frenzy like the other fish; she stayed calm, yet alluring like a flag dancing rhythmically in the breeze, but never repeating the same move as the wind never repeats the same breeze.  She is the only fish to change colors.  When the grey skies of Mass emit through every portal in the house at the height of its bleakness, her colors would turn more fantastic, perhaps why she is queen.

                 He put his finger in the top of the watery world; the warmth was felt all the way up his arm.  After feeding, his favorite thing to do was to trace his finger on the top of the warm water and have the Damsel follow it. She loved it, it was her only time to dance, for the Clown would descend down in somewhat fear ( or annoyance) of the boys finger, and the Damsel and he would dance.  The boy, thought that extraordinary.

                     Sake bedded down that night, to his usual watery world of his room.  The reflective waves running down the walls like seagulls of light, with the rhythmic gurgling sound and it's occasional splash of the Clown, or the Hoomah swooping into the pebbly bottom to scoop up some pebbles for spitting making the sound "ccchhhhh" --cachinging  like a distant underwater register.  The tank’s nocturne sound was therapeutic to the boy.

                      Among waking up, and being greeted by his sparkling treasure tank--that was always of the faintest light in the morning due to the grey skies of Mass coming through every portal to lessen the tropical spectrum-- the boy would render his salutations " Good morning my Hoomah.....good morning Tang, my Damsel, and your majesty Queen Angel.....and so forth.  Until the scream would come to get him, and he would walk briskly past the empty room and the looming family pictures of strangers.  His mother put him to work that day, to "pay for the fish tank" but really to buy her a new cocktail dress for her nightly forays.  The boy did not care, the tank was his sun, emitting through the bleak skies of Mass, and even if the tank was reduced to a haze by the overcast of his life, it only added a log to the fire that was the tropical world at night, in turn making him welcome the dismal day.
                  On a day, when the overcast was so thick, he felt he could not picture his rectangular orb waiting for him at night. He had trouble remembering what houses to deliver the paper.  He delivered to the same house three times.  Newspapers seemed to disappear in his hands, due to their color relation to the sky.   Leaves were falling from the trees—butterfly like—he went to catch one, he missed--a first. For Sake could walk through dense thorned brambles and avoid every barb, as a knight in combat or someone’s whose heart felt the painful sting of the barb before.  He would stand under a tree in late fall, and roll around to avoid every falling leaf, and pierce them to the ground deftly with a stick fashioned as a sword.  He could slither between snow flakes, almost like a fish nimbly avoiding small flakes.  
                  After he finished his paper-route , he went to his usual spot under an oak tree to fence with falling leaves.  As the other boys walked by and poked fun he would stall his imagination, and look to the brown landscape of the dry fall.  The crisp brown leaves of the trees were sword shapes to him.  He held the battle ax shape of the oak leaf over his eye held up by the stick it was pierced through, and spied the woodline through the sinus of the oak leaf lobe.  The brown white speckled scenery, were all trying to hide behind eachother by blending in bleakfully; he pretended the leaf was Hector’s helmet from the Illiad—donned over his eyes.
“ Whatchya doing Sake?” asked a young girl named Summer.  Sake only mumbled something nervously and stood there.  And a pretty Summer passed on after Sake once again denied himself of her pretty company.  He looked to the woodline again, a mist was now concealing the tall apical trees.  It now looked like the brown woodland was not trying to retreat behind eachother in fall concealment, but trying to emerge forth out of the greyness to say "save us."

“ Damgf” he uttered, and could not even grasp a word correctly.  His head lifted to the sky repeatedly, there was no orb, and the shadows were looming larger than ever; fractioned shadows from tree branches were forming scythes all over the ground.
             He entered the large shadow that was his front door, into the house that rose high into the sky, with the simplicity of Stonehenge.  He climbed the rickety petrified stairs and went down the hall.  Grey light had spotlighted every frame on the wall.  He looked into the empty room, nothingness, then his room, the tank seemed at its faintest, and it was nearing twilight.  He walked past the tank to look out the w
Xander Duncan Jul 2014
(This is a group poetry slam. The bolded lines are said in unison. I was in charge of the "yellow" sections)

A technicolor finish tainting paint on hate drenched signs
Alex: picketing picking away bits of lips, slicing silence into arms and hips
rainbows were not always so black and blue
Brigitte: yanked from the sky by a brood of vipers, dragged through mud and fire, pummeled until we see double.
Nicole: Poison placed on children’s tongues, “******” never tasted as sour as when describing
Audrey: translucent half circles shamed into not showing their true colors
Allie: We hide the private parts of ourselves, but what if our sheer existence clouds some sets of eyes with rage?
Even the speed of light can’t escape lids clenched tight like fists.  

Red
Brigitte: First crush is a hot sweat and perpetual throat lump
Molten shame gurgling beneath the tender flesh of your candy apple cheeks
Stains memory like spilled red wine
She was intoxicating
Red flecked rosacea readily recalls
Her name a cherry aftertaste, berry sweet yet crimson thirsty
red is the color of metamorphosis. of hormones misbehaving. of flushed ******* and a wish dancing on another girl’s lips.
Of bullseyes tattooed on wrists
Red is a warning of children’s taunts and old, wary eyes. It is the hue of thought blind hatred

Orange
Allie: The shade of autumn leaves slowly passing on
Grim reminders of slowly approaching school hallways that sneer taunts
Orange the color of names thrown into aching ears
******
Thrown into breaking hearts
Queer
Thrown into minds full of orange flickering bonfires of shame
Orange
The color of beautiful things slowly dying

Yellow
Alex: Like the caution signs on winding roads
Barely illuminated when the sky is too dark
Seen too late before a crash
Twisted metal ringing in our ears like
Twisted thoughts ringing in our ears like
When we recognize a crush that sets us apart
That tells us we're
Not normal, not right
Like fading bruises as we tell ourselves
That we're just yellow bellied cowards
As we tell ourselves
That on straight roads we wouldn't crash
And with straight hearts we wouldn't bleed

Green
Nicole: I feel sick
“A little green around the gills”
as I swim away is that why I’m drowning
in these murky waters of
“What if”s and “i don’t know”s
I have always been certain of the leafy canopies and garden inside of me
but this vine of uncertainty sprouted
and is choking me
I should not feel afraid for what I am because
this life is green and sprouting but there are
forest fires of hate spreading
We see the smoke signals all around us
our magnificent green fading to ashes

Blue and Purple
Audrey: Blue curtains block out the world that lurks just outside
Waiting to hurt me.
8 pm.
Purple dusk is gathering outside my walls
The same way the bruises on my heart threaten to eclipse the sun.
I'm scared.
I don't look at the veins  beneath my skin because they
Remind me too much of the purple-red blood
That spills too often from my arms,
Reminds me of my father's face
Purple with rage
When I told him
9 pm. Navy skies I will not see again
Purple pen writing apologies
Heart pumping blood too fast,
No time,
Can't breathe, face purple,
Can't breathe, face blue
Can't breathe.


They took away our rainbow. Let’s take it back.

Purple and Blue
Audrey: I love the way the sky turns lavender before the sun rises
I love the way your long hair and pale curves look
Against the blue sheets
I love not hiding who we are.
We should get Purple Hearts for all the times
The missiles of queer and butch have landed in
The midst of our embrace,
Launched by an unknown enemy before we were able
To twine our hands and hearts on small-town sidewalks
Laying under the lilac bushes,
Watching the day slip into purple dusk with firefly stars.
I love not hiding who we are.

Green
Nicole: once a cowering seed deep underground
Sprouting up through a crack in the slab of
concrete hate concrete rejection
because fresh life will destroy hate
even if it is slowly, one seed at a time
we are not weeds in your garden
green
a safe place the sun shining
fresh sprouting buds anticipating something beautiful
the prelude to a symphony of colors
green
sprouting from the earth
we do not need to prove that we are not unnatural
but grown from the same soil

Yellow
Alex: Somewhere in the middle of the rainbow like I'm
Somewhere in the middle of the spectrum
Associated with the sun and the stars but
Not with day and night
Because things are never quite as black and white as we make them out to be
Yellow, in the middle of pink and blue on the pansexual flag
Acknowledging that there are people out there
Who could love people like me
And yellow like dandelions
Changing daily into pieces drifting away
To end up regrown in dirt
Just like anything else

Orange
Allie: The shade of sunrise
A beautiful dawn of hope and opportunity
Peeking over the horizon
The passage of time and hopefully some ******* laws
Orange the warmth of a new day pouring some happiness into what once was a seemingly endless night
Orange the color of change

Red
Brigitte: sunshine ray burn cozy in your proud heart
blood rush, fire burst, lovesick intensity smoldering in your eyes
Red is a love fusion ignited inward and radiating out like a star
illuminating the night regardless of how dark the nothing is around it
Red is grown up, a rubicund shamelessness sewn with time into the marrow of your bones
Roll out the red carpet, paint roses on the town
Blood is not only death, it’s also life

Audrey: Acceptance!
Nicole: Life!
Alex: Hope!
Allie: Change!
Brigitte: Love!

**Pride comes in ALL colors
anne p murray Apr 2013
Your image appears through a purple-hued haze of silence…
weaving its whispered dreamy spell, while you re-connect the strings of my sleeping heart
You go about ******* my soul as I watch your image drift in my celibate reality
I hear the melody play it lonely tune ~ but, it is absent of the warmth of touch
For its only your image I see, my heart's held hostage by the cry of the songbird

My unknown lover, kidnapped by the makers of dreams and fantasies
experiencing the uncertainty of the child that lies sleeping deep within
Alone, with the clever artists of dreams and visions encountering the forever of my loneliness
brushing off the blurred images with softly painted hues of repeated memories
designed by the masters of dreams and schemes, sleeping to be hugged ~ dreaming to be loved

Oh yes... I've dealt with kings, queens and dragonflies
in the dancing reverie of the fragments of my reality,
gliding in and out of the dust of Heaven's stars
sprinkling me with their sweet purple dreams gliding over shimmering evening skies

In lavender scented breezes, I make my way through the night's crimson threshold
in starlit dreams that melt across ancient seasons
shimmering purple shades of shadows painted in serene,  pastoral Botticelli scenes

I sleep in soft billowy clouds, spreading my wings in God's peaceful heavens
my journey - painted in purple pastel colors of love...
peering through misty clouds and diamond stars by His Divine presence from up above

They make their nightly visits into my fantasies, my thoughts
painted by the makers and weavers of dreams, coming out of their secret, hidden places...
they silently reveal their amethyst, painted masterpieces
lightly kissed in dewy, lavender scented bliss
My Botticelli dreams...softly swaddled in dream woven swathes of purple calico...
and you

The sweetness of long remembered thoughts tickles my memories in delicate ambrosial perfume...
redolent of lilac scented blossoms- each flower's fragrant sphere, lingering sweetly in the air
Ancestral shades drift in and out of what was... what might still be
singing their lavender effulgent melodies in lovely violet shades
through soft, flowing wisps of dreams, lingering in meadows of glowing moonlight...
and you

Your sweet scent, so succulent in lilac memories urging your return
they delicately float across my dreaming heart waiting so patiently for your sweet scented whispers
to wrap seductive chiffon fingers around my sleeping soul on Morpheus' silky crimson screens
across the evening's deep indigo blue horizon

Between the cracks of earth and sky I succumb with on soaring wings toward your biding arms
catching falling stars in the mist of twilight whispers, where scarlet lilacs are sprinkled...
dreaming together of the end of our days
until your sweet love finds me neath’ the evening's indigo, starry art
painted in Botticelli dreams of purple calico...the delicate lavender wings of dragonflies ...
and you
Will Jan 2018
I arrived to class several minutes late, parking was terrible.
Darting between seats, I wandered towards my seat.
There she was sitting across from my seat at the table; the purple girl.
Today she looked over at me and smiled, then resumed listening to the lecture.
Her purple pencil flicked up and down as she passively tapped it against her open notebook.
Her purple shoe flopped loosely against her heel, dangling onto her forefoot.
Her purple hair shone in the  daylight pouring through the window.
After class my brain fought with itself, debating on speaking with the purple angel.
As she arose with her packed purple pouch, I uttered a phrase.
“Your hair looks lovely today.”
I looked away, embarrassed with my not so subtle compliment.
She giggled, brushing a strand of hair from her eyesight.
“Thank you, I like yours too.”
She wandered out of class with the other students.
Next time I will finally raise up my courage.
For the purple girl.
Maria Oct 2010
Purple has always been my favorite color.
Mixed with Red, the color of passion,
And Blue, the color of dreams.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve loved purple.
“Dark purple” I would add, “With sparkles”
I had to specify, and toss in a cute giggle.

I was so young then. So innocent and naïve
I didn’t know that purple could symbolize something
Something like peoples’ rights.

That was back in the days when “gay” was just a word
Often appearing in Christmas songs
I always knew it to mean, “happy.”

So, when I heard that two men were gay
I was happy, because that must mean that
They’re happy.

When I got older, I learned that happy as those men may be
Others weren’t happy for them.
People weren’t happy that these men were gay.

I never saw anything wrong with it.
I was not gay, but I was supportive.
I didn’t care what other people liked.

Then the term, “bisexual” came up
And that blew my mind.
People could like men and women?

No! I was straight! Of course I was.
I didn’t like women, but I didn’t care if you did
I liked men. That was that.

And then there came the fatal attraction
Nearing me towards bisexuality,
And I embraced it.

All of the sudden, I liked men and women.
Without even realizing that it was in me,
I realized I liked them.

My mother was shocked, but supportive.
My father was the same.
My brother still doesn’t know.

My friends were all excited for me.
Some were confused.
Even a year after realizing it, some couldn’t tell.

Some thought I was joking. Some still do.
But nope, I was not.
I was bisexual.

I grew up Catholic, and I knew
That God loved all his children,
And every creature great and small.

And I believe this;
If God made me, wouldn’t he want me to be happy
With whoever I want?

If Heaven is that cold,
Then maybe I want to be cradled
In the warm fires of Hell.

If God is our father
Satan is our Uncle
Our gay uncle apparently.

Man. Woman. I just don’t care,
So long as they love me for me
And I love them for them,

I couldn’t be happier.
One day I will find someone, but I don’t know
If it will be a male or female.

But it will be someone.
And I will always wave the purple flag proud.
Free and happy.
True story.

— The End —