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Imagine a world,
Of golden trees,
With purple skies,
and turquoises leaves.

See the fields,
Of silver grass,
Where an amber river,
Will slowly pass.

Imagine clouds,
Of diamond blue,
That cover stars,
That hang askew.

See a creature,
With emerald eyes,
Sapphire fur,
And large in size.

The world you see,
Could it be mine?
A world where you,
And I design.
This is what happens when I'm too bored for my own good
Damaré M Jun 2013
I got the blues like James cotton and the crew

The blues in my hands
Like the crew and James c.o.t.t.o.n

Not like k.r.a.f.t
More like zatarains r.i.c.e
...A lonely mans meal
The blues
For crying out loud my ol lady left me
Every 5 minutes for 9 minutes
I cry without tears coming down my eyes
So no need for a bucket
My cheeks are dry
I cry through my trumpet
My cheeks are cramping
I cry so often and so long
The way in which my feet tap you can't tell that it's a sad song

I thought I would've Lost harmony when Monica left
But my harmonica explains the exchange of breaths going through my chest

Yet, blues explains my mood
On stage with my dudes
Audience in-tune with my news

The blues
I got the blues
Can you relate?
Did she escape?

No wonder why you're rapping and sagging
Bluffing and bragging
And your not huffing; puffing , and nagging
To get a case of the blues the love between the two once upon a time had to be true

I got the blues
And it's hard and complicated
I am strung like the guitar
...Observation!
There's no contemplation
Nor hesitation
I abandon my mentals
And create instrumentals
I got the blues
And to prove I have the bruise
Heartache and headaches
Allow me to groove
The blues, skies, teals, turquoises
No lies, tears nor voices

Real blues like fats, Percy , Ruth, king, archibald "stack-a-lee", hank Williams "nobody's lonesome for me"

The blues
My aching trombones
Drug free, but my bass is laced
I let my fingers rake
The blues
She don't know what she had
Hope that I can put down my flask
when I move on to jazz
L Meyer Oct 2013
On my feet are black moccasins
threaded with runs of bright turquoise
alongside patches of clay orange and dust yellow.
The feet inside grip cool, suede bottoms
to tread on ground still firm,
but pregnant, heavy with rain,
so that the worms lay like fallen soldiers,
victims of a thunderstorm
and scattered on the sidewalk
the way they were that morning
at elementary school
when a boy was squishing them for fun,
and my heart filled with grief for the worms,
whose only crime was trying not to drown.
The rain is a reminder of how poorly
these shoes function when wet,
how they rub my toes
in just the wrong ways,
leaving circular patches of reddened skin
on the outsides of my feet.
The worst blisters I’d ever had,
happened the day my brother and I
were lost in the dense forests of the national park,
and when we finally found the road,
were two miles from home,
and at the very bottom of Everett hill.
Those woods had a cabin by the river,
we only ever found a handful of times.
Our father had warned us
of the homeless drug addicts
who frequented it, which in all reality
were just boozing, ***-smoking teenagers
with an affinity for smashing bottles
and starting fires,
but we were never brave enough
to find out for sure.
And on the banks of that crooked river,
the spring undoes the twisted knots
that winter had created, and washes away
its cold to uncover the relics of autumn’s leaves,
rotting in colors of soupy brown
with tiny pools of grimy rainwater
collected in their palms.
And as I break through the veil of humidity,
to breath air crisp with the scent of fresh, wet earth,
I’m careful to tread lightly,
as to keep clean these moccasins
from their bright turquoises to their dusty yellows.
bex Jun 2017
For awhile things were a greyscale.
I saw things on a scale from white to black. I thought the lighter the grey, the better I was feeling.

Then I met you and you made me see color. There were lavenders and turquoises and maroons and golds.

The greys were just a fog and you were the sun to clear it.
This isn't that good. I wrote it literally in the past 5 min. i can't write anymore
DC raw love Mar 2015
Deep with the Caribbeans depths of turquoises blue
A life that must people do not see
Coral reefs of all shapes and sizes of beautiful sculptures
Sites of the unusual the norm and history that dates back
Swimming though a 747  and a cruise ship is a trip in itself
Dropping down a wall 300 ft for 10 minutes is a feat of it's own
Night diving in pitch black with fish darting in and out of your light
And the almighty Whale Shark you would not believe what a creature

To sleep in a straw hut set out over the Caribbean, no TV or phone
Just *** Runners, spliffs and good island company
So relaxing, a different life in Roatan
On trouve dans les monts des lacs de quelques toises,
Purs comme des cristaux, bleus comme des turquoises,
Joyaux tombés du doigt de l'ange Ithuriel,
Où le chamois craintif, lorsqu'il vient pour y boire,
S'imagine, trompé par l'optique illusoire,
Laper l'azur du ciel.

Ces limpides bassins, quand le jour s'y reflète,
Ont comme la prunelle une humide paillette ;
Et ce sont les yeux bleus, au regard calme et doux,
Par lesquels la montagne en extase contemple,
Forgeant quelque soleil dans le fond de son temple,
Dieu, l'ouvrier jaloux !

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