Don’t be like the Sun…
Dawns in fame, brings light,
Sets in shame,
Leaves dark night.
Be like the Moon…
Guides through the night,
Makes way for the Sun,
A humble knight.
Be like a tree…
Always stands tall,
Showers comfort free,
No rest at all.
Don’t be like an animal…
Living only to eat,
Behaving like a cannibal,
Waiting for a feast.
When thinking of waves,
I see no lingering, but a
Passing by or through.
They call it a heatwave,
But the behaving stays.
Why doesn't she move on?
Morning slips in sideways.
Moonbeam dips a cotton shirt
into a bowl of dyes~
colors blooming outward
like shy creatures
learning their names.
She lifts the fabric.
Droplets fall in bright plinks,
each one a tiny skipping stone
across the warmth of July.
On the clothesline,
the tie-dyed shirt sways~
a small carnival of swirl and hush,
its spiral turning slowly
as if practicing
for some future miracle.
Moonbeam hums.
Not a song~
more like a friendly spell
to coax the colors
into behaving.
They don’t.
A streak of green wiggles free
and settles into a shape
that looks suspiciously
like mischief.
Wind arrives,
ruffling the hem
with the politeness
of a guest who knows
it’s early.
The shirt answers
with a soft flutter~
a tiny applause.
By afternoon,
the spiral tightens,
gathers itself,
and glows faintly
as if July tucked
a secret inside it.
Moonbeam takes it down,
presses the warm cotton
to her cheek,
and laughs.
Then she slips it on,
and the swirl settles
against her like a tame comet
choosing a shoulder
to rest on.
where the world thins
the trees begin to blur~
their edges softening,
their forms drifting apart
like thoughts forgetting
their own meaning.
suddenly, light unthreads itself
no longer behaving
like light at all~
a pale unraveling
that slips sideways
through the visible.
tree branches lose their certainty
stretching into shapes
that refuse to stay fixed,
as though remembering
a geometry
that never belonged
to this plane.
their roots drift upward
not rising~
but detaching,
as if gravity
is only a rumor
the forest no longer believes.
leaves shimmer into symbols
flickering with meanings
that dissolve
the moment you notice them~
messages written
in a language
that erases itself.
then the trees dissolve~
not vanishing,
but slipping
into a softer version of being~
to a place where form
is only suggestion,
and reality
is a thin veil
the trees pass through
effortlessly.
In the beginning,
the world flickered in black-and-white
shadows behaving, light staying in its lane,
stories told in grayscale grammar.
Then came the inventors,
the engineers coaxing color
out of electrons and hope.
Phosphors bloomed~
tiny red, green, blue lanterns
glowing on the inside of a glass cathedral,
each dot a seed of awe
waiting to burst open.
And suddenly
the living room became a futuristic sunrise.
Technicolor spilled across the screen
like someone had finally remembered
to turn the world back on.
Children leaned forward,
their faces lit with wonderment,
and parents whispering
that nothing would ever look the same again~
and they were right.
Because color didn’t just arrive;
it unfurled like a miracle,
bright with promise~
and we huddle together
in that warm electric glow
watching the future
teaching itself how to shine.
You may read the accompanying memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/technicolor_13892
Tittle tittle
make love the middle
love
Which complicated romances
A fool should be
more wiser to see
not be obvious taking chances
It ain't bout rejection
See all I am reflecting
Is complicated
But it real
What I am suggesting
In such complications
Is ah due wash thyme will be
It ain't that complicated
And all you
Debated is where.
You stand with him
Or me
Neilsen got ratings
And what we debating
Is one of those
Who are oh succiees
White shelves and bammas
Your tense reminders
Is bout you and mi
Oboe, oh oboe
The piccolo has played
The piano is tuned
The song is fluted
Bytch why can't you behave
Barking and spicing
In your conversation
The secret recipe gave
Can't trust whores
Sorrstrees who
Chore-9h
Trick
Please behave
What that
Is it jelly
I ain't Mackiovelli
The triple crown has past
Is Preakness playing
We ain't behaving
Gonna give next guy
Sum azz
How did I meet Alfred Glendening?
I was fascinated by his latest painting.
I stood mesmerized by the colours.
A painting of a summer outing.
It brought me some solace and warmth.
The painting was of three ladies arriving to the Surrey coast,
in a fast buggy filled with picnic baskets,
towards their favorite secluded beach away from it all.
Nurse Betty was strict as ordered by her master,
and would not allow Lady Elizabeth to bring her beau
to accompany them to the outing. The young lady was furious,
face red like Little Frances’ parasol. Oh was she mad.
To make things worse, Little Frances would not leave
her sister alone, and needled her by opening and shutting
the red parasol in her face. Angry, Lady Elizabeth moved away
and went for a walk along the shore of the beach,
fuming and cursing beneath her breath and kicking sand.
Nurse made the child sit down and gave her a-talking to.
This was not the Victorian way of behaving.
Idly, Little Frances twirled her red parasol.
The Royal Academy’s bell rang for closing time.
That’s when I stopped day-dreaming.
Every time I disclose
My hearts predisposed
To the hurt that enfolds
Directing my heart to redisclose
All my emotions then re-implode
Leading me to finally explode
I know I've been like this before
Feeling, behaving, and releasing my minds whole
Yet I know this wasn’t my initial goal
To let the world take a peak of my soul
Although here I am still standing as a mold
For the next generation to reach their true goal
So those hearts can connect as one deep haul
Encompassing each and every person’s virtues and entailing’s folds
It’s not for me to distinguish this
The devils kiss makes me think I’m faking it
Id rather be in prison than be killed for this
Instead of being a woman and taking it.
The long slumber
So, here we are a day sadder, if now wiser
Norway is in focus, since the Epstein saga
showing us how corrupt Norway had become
run by a clique of people behaving like Fascists
In Italy, they did during their time
Giving each other top jobs like ambassadorship
and the economic top job, while keeping old peoples
pension low, well, we can't spoil the old folk
Will anyone face jail time? Possibly not in Norway
It can be a forgiving mood.
My criticism of the sitting regime, for that is
what it is; people representing themselves and
a population asleep
I’ll judge you
by how you talk on the phone.
Yeah, I will.
I’ll judge you when you’re rude,
I’ll judge you by that harsh tone.
I’ll judge your vulgar mouth
vomiting on someone you don’t know.
I’ll judge you and think ruthless thoughts
I’ll judge you and I truly won’t care.
I’ ll judge your mumbling
I’ll just how you’re not prepared.
I’ll judge you, there is a person
on the other end of this line.
I’ll judge you when you hang up
behaving like a petulant child.
Yeah I sure will.
By how you talk on the phone?
I’ll judge you.
When an apex predator behaves unnaturally
The balance of power becomes upsetting
The scale is not just immeasurable
It's behaving dysfunctionally
Reason is cast aside
When sides are paramount
Differences mounting to the sky
Becoming mountainous, unassailable
Forgetting we rose from the ooze
We didn't choose what was discarded
But it was nature made that choice for us
And not something lightly regarded
The borders crossed were nature's own
And no one owned what was provided
No one claimed as theirs alone
What only nature has decided
What's unbecoming to presume
Has become our nature to resume
Some think that challenging is treason
And choosing sides is tantamount to reason
Ignoring what has led us here
In willful ignorance compounded
Compounding what leads only to fear
And thoughts of our ascent unfounded
angry antelopes allowing ants access
bashful buzzards behaving beautifully
curious calves cavorting in the corn
definitive ducks digesting division
eager elephants eliciting excitement
frenzied freckled frogs freely frolicking
greasy green grubworms groveling and grimacing
harried hyenas hectically hopping hopefully
ignorant iguanas ignoring the implausible
jubilant jackals jiggling jiffy jewelry
kayaking kangaroos kibitzing in Kenya
liberal llamas liberating little Libya
miniscule musical mollusks making merry
nine nervous newts nibbling newtons
orangutangs orchestrating outdated Ohio
pressurized primates providing privacy
quarrelsome quails quizzing quahogs
resurrected roosters receiving riotous relatives
sassy seasoned sea serpents sallying forth in secret
tantalizing tarantulas tasting tree lined treats
understated urchins undoing underwater ugliness
visible vixens vibrating toward victory
wily wise walruses whistling in water wrecks
‘xtraordinary ‘xotic eagles expecting easy eggs
young Yellowstone yaks yelling their youthful truth
zealous zebras zipping breezily through Zanzibar
Words echoed that should never have been spoken.
Fiery accusations leaving hearts broken.
Twirled anger erupted, stabbing as if by a sword.
Vile innuendo from both of them, poured.
Shattered crystal, the statue she threw.
He barely recognised her, behaving like a shrew.
He glared in disbelief at the ugly scene.
Gone now, the adored devotion that once had been.
All culminating in a crescendo of bitter screams.
Her heart pounding, she envisaged her forlorn dreams.
The mirror depicts a virtual war zone.
His departure left her fragile and all alone.
She kicked the crumpled dress, realised her leg was sore.
The smashed perfume bottle still spilling across the floor.
In the avenues of dreamland,
I met Orwell, who said:
“Man has not awakened.
He still bows to his servants,
who crown themselves as masters,
and he still claps while they rob him blind.”
Look around you:
presidents who eat for free,
live for free, travel for free—
and still plunder the treasury.
Meanwhile, you—their keepers—
starve, and cheer them on.
This is not democracy.
It is a farm of animals
where the pigs dictate the commandments,
erasing truth at night,
and you accept the lies by morning.
The soldier you fear,
the policeman you obey—
they are slaves too,
serving the same master who despises them.
For centuries you have tolerated theft,
you have swallowed corruption,
you have watched kings born from your own apathy.
And still you wait for salvation,
as if it will be handed to you.
But know this:
Power respects only power.
What you allow will continue.
What you fear will govern you.
And what you refuse to confront
will one day consume you whole.
So I ask—
not as prophet, not as poet,
but as a mirror to your cowardice:
When will the people stop behaving like sheep
and finally slaughter the pigs?
My Inner voice told me to respect
Universal Moral Values always
at each step of journey, precise perfect.
Truth will guide my path in glory and glaze.
This principle was blessed by my Dad
and has been stored in the core of my heart
That’s the firm pivot on which I can stand
and proceed at ease from the very start.
My inner voice told be to act right,
always behaving courageous.
Aiming justice, I am ready to fight.
Not religious but righteous.
I don't pray to rescue me from crisis
but ask for inherent strength to confront.
In barren desert I must find oasis.
Not to mourn for past , but to look at front.
My Inner voice told me to lend hand
to the needy and sufferers at best,
also to send juniors this errand,
to be followed by generation : Next.
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