Bright Sight- MK
golden sun
beige wheat grains in fields~
nature`s gift.
Romance in Nature is filled with dancing and singing, and a little color.
~ Poet
A sprightly creature shares my home.
Little beige gecko, oft times green,
regards my porch as if his own.
Many hours he may be seen
from railing to roof, and in between.
My porch, his favored retreat,
filled with ferns and jasmine yellow,
provides his shelter, idyllic and neat.
He loses his temperament mellow
when time to challenge another fellow.
At mating time, he struts proudly.
Neck swollen, throbbing ruby from red,
he swaggers and performs loudly.
Prancing around without dread,
he becomes the male he sees in his head.
"Autumn in Padded Beige"
Wrongfully writing of
This leaf changing
Season currently
Without knowing or for
Yes for no reason for
Four walls my eyes
Only seize on site of
What sight sees
Completely
Confounded
In confined
Solitary
They make me wonder---
What fingers wove the tapestry of their being!
The splash of violet here, mauve there, white with red stripes—
They stand tall and do not bend till the wind forces them to.
Though soft, they manifest dignity.
When stress and depression shoot their thorns,
A glimpse of these beauties spell discipline.
‘We are of the earth and we belong to her.
She has given us beige, yellow, red and has waited
For us to grow, in effort and ecstasy.
When butterflies, birds and bees hum around
We greet them with glee. We fear not.
We bear the heat, the dust and the cold--
Even in pain, in disdain, we find the sun.’
In their company, I find freedom. And
In their being, my soul.
afternoon beige light
olive trees in shadow shirts
sun in the attic
October 9, 2023
Feeling Beige
by Bob Moore (2017)
Are you always feeling beige
that’s what we should call this age
no longer young, but we are not old
don’t like the heat, can’t stand the cold
Nothing seems to be just right
no longer sleeping through the night
the morning seems to come too soon
need nanna naps, in the afternoon
When to sleep you used to choose
now its mandatory, you have a snooze
wide awake, then start to sleep
your eyes wide open you cannot keep
Can’t nip to the shops like we used to
too many other things to do
like have a rest, and a cup of tea
then watch Coronation Street on TV
I have tanned feet
mimicking my sandal straps
my arms are spotted
beige and brown
There is green paint
on two of my fingers
I place my hand on a piece of paper
Laugh and scoff
that anyone could call me white
I am not white in the least.
I can see this by the contrast
Even my fingernails are not white
they are off-white if you stretch it
I am no more white than any of my friends
are black. They are caramel and ebony and
chocolate and dark beige,
but none of them are black
and none of them are white
Ridiculous terms that apply to no one I
know, and I know a lot of people.
Terms to separate us.
Terms I throw out
and scoff about
"BEIGE"
Middle of the Road
Consomme
(You Know Who/April 2018)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Qv6p6pTz5I
The box structure of the tall apartment
Disappears before my eyes
I am looking from a beige and blue sky
A lake arrives
Boyhood of beehive
The tree bearing yellow flowers
Exchanging look with the cloud towers
Your image
Yet to be lost in the apartment's garbage
Strums a guitar in the green shadow
Of the tree
Tunes of love
Sound of infinity
It is she
Who splashes water from the lake
Stories of snowflakes
With her comely hands
Sprinkling at my face
Blossoms the buds in the vase
The waters of peace in love
On the verge of
A slice of ocean
The night passes in silent commotion
A passionate shadow with a flute in its lips
Waving goodbye
13 November, 2017
Written In Beige
Against the bleak bank wall he leans
as the sidewalk moves sideways
across his tangential thoughts.
People pass, the dull parade,
the money-grubbers and hoarders
in their shiny suits that mock
his existence. Sad clouds meld
into a sullen gray sky…it must be raining
somewhere. Clink! Silver coin
rattles metal can. He wonders, when
did the colours disappear?
The pungent aroma from Mickey’s
Taco Wagon punishes his senses
and his eyes begin to leak. He’s hungry.
There was a time when his words
were golden, a rainbow of passion.
He had a family, people who loved him.
A November wind kicks him…no, wait!
Security guard motions as another
peers from behind motion-sensing
cameras. Not wanted. He disappears
next to the discoloured taupe wall.
The mystery: how did his life story
get written in beige?
*Note: this is written in honour of a homeless poet named Raimundo Arruda Sobrinho but, in essence, for every homeless person.
That obscene stare
aggravates the silicon
thrust. You become a victim
of an upheaval.
The white dwarfs have
invaded the blackboard.
You can get a glimpse
of unsolicited rape.
A cyanide capsule
hangs on your chest.
Will you commit a suicide
after an unnatural kill ?
It takes a toll. The
abuse of the fingers.
Instead of writing a name
you print the cave.
Satish Verma
It’s been a while,
Without her smile,
Which lingers large
In my recovering,
Fallen heart,
As time goes by,
And truth sets in,
The little scars
On my canvas skin
Begin to blend,
Edges fade and I
Become whole again.
The drop she gave,
Pure, like Chanel Beige.
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