Samantha Jul 31
Colors mix in the vainest of ways, in the strangest of states.

When it's a sunset to consider, red yellow blue shine soft, exchanging compliments. If they sit side by side, pure, you get a flag. If we ask a turtle, or a fish, or a frog, yellow is the land, blue is the wet, and red we'd rather forget. But if a bird shares his view, well, blue is how to fly, how to wash, and how to feed.

What does that mean?

Pastels swirl and dance and laugh. They lift hearts and tickle heads. They don't care what's in your hair, it's only fair to give joy a chair. It's a world of wonder through their eyes. Let us explore and dance and try.

If we're feeling bold, mix in some bright orange, wild green, rich plum. Talk and share and relish in the present tick of the clock, before the paint dries and we start again.

When we're curious, change the palette to warm tones with touches of gold. Add some earth to the mix, browns and tans to keep us grounded. Canary to guide us to courage, honey to give us a hold. You are every shade of yellow, all at once, never cold.

Can I tell you a secret?

There is wonder in the deep hues. Magic in the woods. The night sky is brilliant if you think to look, look up, with purple swirls and silver words. Mystery fills the lavenders and the periwinkles and the crystal cyans and whimsical teals. There is uncertainty in the depth. The ocean waves are fierce, hard to control, the dreams free and lucid, soul impossible to tie down, to define, to mold. There is extraordinary wisdom, new ways to see in the twilight, perspectives and shapes invisible in the day, yet it's impossible to understand. Is that what scared you away? For I am the blue, the cornflower petals far from the path, the space and the sky when the sun goes down, the sapphire glints floating far from the known, from your land.

See, when I asked you to stay, and you promised me time, I thought it was in my shade, but perhaps it was yours, not mine. Do you mind? Being stuck, dry in the fear of it all? Yes. You can stay in the hues you know all too well. Maybe ask amber for a dance, take orange on a walk, have coffee with cream, snuggle close to mustard, hold on to bronze's warmth. Don't mix too carelessly, don't conflict too harshly. Stay safe. Stay yellow.

What if we turned the wheel? There is curiosity in your blood, I can feel it. Like watercolor, waiting for the canvas to accept its gift. You are eager to skip into another palette; you are ready to see another world. Let's feel all the hues, use every shade, dance with the primaries, one two step, one two. Mix up the tone with their creations, until we invent new pigments, until we run out of names for all our formulations. Let us travel the rainbow. Let me show you my view.

I know. You know. You never know. You don't know what you'll get. Painting with the rain instead of an arranged set can lead to a storm, nothing but grey, nothing but dark, but at least there's no regret.

Yes, colors mix in the vainest of ways, the strangest of states.

And perhaps yellow and blue don't have any more skies to paint.
Patrick Jun 23
I awoke to a pitch black room
The only thoughts pulsing through my head were images of you.
And try as I might I am never quite able to get rid of that image in the back of my mind.
Try as I might to change, every single thing that brings the words of beauty or joy to mind,
Only remind me of you and the unattainable joy I feel when Im by your side.

But you're by his side.

I lay awake so I don't dream of you and me and things I cannot unsee.
These thoughts of love that were once beautiful and serene now bring only bitter tastes and pain and every dark emotion that lies in between.
I once could see the beautiful blue of the world,
But now I look up and see only crimsons skies; Blood of my heart scarring this once-joyous world.
Gabriele Mar 20
Quietest of all
moments
colors fade
into the dark
silhouettes of
hours gone by
turn into
fluent flickering
dimelight
presence
stillness
synchronicity

(Glenties,­ October 17)
Once we were on fire
Young    rebeliouse   free
We stormed the castles and took to the skies we flew we dreamed
We were ablaze our light setting raging screaming fire to the world around us
When our thoughts could not sit in silence any longer
When the kids were engulfed by a wave of fury of the injustice done by this world before we were even here
We screamed and demanded
OUR VOICES WOULD BE HEARD
But now it rains
Now the cold heavy water blankets the restless
The fire has been drenched in worry and stress
The brutal downpour has distracted all with false life or death
The blaze once 100 feet high now nothing but a charred soul

And all the ones put out by the rain
to tired to fight again,
pray on the generation next
That their fire is enough to best the storm
Marco Buschini Dec 2016
Into the wonderment of your autumnal mind.
Where the skin of your grief sheds its leaves.
Is the song of your sea bound into colourful light?
The Shepherd breaches the flock of your dreams,
And the pastures breathe a sigh of relief,
As your tears of morning dew
Glisten the parched landscape.
Does your bouquet of pubis
Lay wistfully in the wilderness?
The skies of blue that reside in your eyes
Serenades the coming of the tide,
Harvesting the fruit of our labour of love.
Is this a wind of smile that turns into a voyage of valiancy?
A flock of thoughts liberated with a cry of exclamation
As your fears of autumn blue
Are exiled into the rapacious wind.
Gabrielle Isa Nov 2017
His "I love you" came swiftly.
Like the monsoon pouring down on a leaky roof
Those three words broke through my defences.
At first they were an ambrosia;
They sustained my life and our relationship.
At least for a short time.

Then "I love you" became an excuse;
For absences, and purpose-filled accidents.
And I ignored the warning signs, the flashing lights.
I pretended like "I love you" was enough...

...But it wasn't.
His "I love you"s were like band-aids on bullet wounds;
Like using play dough to fix cracks in concrete walls.
But I rationed our good memories,
I held on as tight as I could to our love
And watched as it slipped through my fingers.

His "I love you"s became poison
That seeped deep into my bones
And turned blue skies grey,
And turned light into darkness,
And slowly killed whatever semblance of love
I fooled myself into thinking we had left.
CK Baker Feb 2017
There’s a silverback haze
on the shallow face
of the Rockwell Ridge
folded brow
puzzled chin
and dark hollow eyes
keeping watch
over the lilies
and crane flies
and will of the wisp

Rust brown ravens
and fisher kings
delight
in the reeds off north bend
(chased by the terraced streams!)
youth blades engrain
on the favoured
and historic
Banka Memorial

Mustard
and pumpkin skies
are clipped
by a call from
the resident loon
the sounds of Buddha Bar
piercing the silence
and shaping the afternoon chord

It’s a time to make way (stream side)
seems the anuran are courting
Rohan Press Jul 27
the oak tree rolls
(a medallion, a junction)
darker than the soil

     than the gray skies.
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