charcoal grey horizon~
on the rusty cast iron bench
my old self sits in pensive mood
beside the lake beneath December sky
the wayward wind as it teases my hair
whispers melodies from long ago~
that breath echo in the air
the echo reverberates ~
weaving fragments into vivid voices
and symphonies of yesteryears
my grandma's lullaby
our high-school graduation song
then tender laughters
of children at play fill the air
then comes the echo
of my father's sobbing voice
as he handed me to my groom
on that Saturday afternoon
whilst the organist played
the Wedding March by Mendelssohn
as the echo fades
and turns tenebrous twilight
into enchanting ebony evening
I look around ~
the coffee shop behind me
inviting for another cup
whilst the coffee on my lap
gets colder and colder
yet not as cold as the winter chill
perching inside of me
all the bins were out
skies had turned to charcoal grey
as I grabbed my coat
walking in the rain
my mind on fiscardo bay
where its warm and dry
couldn't help dreaming
of hot grecian sun in may
on recycling day
charcoal grey clouds
greet me this morning
adding to my somber mood,
letting weather be my gauge
controlling my psyche
who is submissive
splotchy clouds
squeeze billions of
raindrops
from a blemished
sky bruised with purplish
charcoal grey
blotches
as lightning
flashes
and thunder
accost the
the face of heaven
summoning the mournful
tears
of weeping angels
(Yalto)
07,16,2019
Charcoal grey, silver grey, shading to white,
Changing and shifting,
Pewter grey, ashy grey, darkness then light,
Trailing and lifting.
A quiet avalanche of melting clouds
In horizontal fall,
Covering distant hill tops like a shroud
Or funeral pall.
Shapes form, reform, then float away
In careful counterpoise,
Then balance, hover, shift and sway,
There is no noise.
A sudden change, the wind picks up,
Disorder in the sky,
Which way to go at first unclear,
Then the clouds begin to fly.
Across the vast and open prairie skies
The clouds stampede,
Driven by wayward winds they fall and rise
At breakneck speed.
Such confidence we can never realise.
Here on the ground we hesitate and stumble.
They are in their element.
Smiling sun scarpered, sad stormy sky,
from east to west a veil of charcoal grey,
we watched as flocks of nervous birds flew by,
bird feeders idle, clients stayed away.
The cat, now bored with toys, and time to kill,
ears twitching, on alert surveyed the gloom
and turned to climb down from the windowsill
when heaven sparked, and lightning bleached the room.
Fur stood on end, eyes lit up like twin suns,
unsure what she had seen or what to do,
a second flash clinched it- to cut and run,
split-second silhouette shot out of view.
The predator had now become the prey,
creature and elemental paths had crossed,
for one who thought she had things all her way
now shown by angry sky who is the boss.
Like skipping ropes above the distant trees
the lightning danced, then began to fade
wet leaves all now consoled by gentle breeze
and rooftops washed in ever lighter shades.
She sauntered out like nothing had occurred,
sat on the sill and thought “Now, where's those birds?”
For contest 'Describe a Thunder storm without sense of sound', sponsor Brenda Chiri
25th February 2018
Mosaics of gold and crimson;
follow the last migrating duck.
And barren soil littered with death;
stripped of its grandeur, turns to muck.
Autumn dawdles well past its end;
no longer painting leaves with light.
And as scarlet inks the sunset;
twilight slowly morphs into night.
Murky cloud banks of charcoal-grey,
blotter icy blue skies away.
And like a curtain of black smoke;
shadows stealthily shadow day.
Bare branches rattle in the wind;
contemplating the coming snow.
And clinging to the horizon;
daylight's sticky fingers let go.
Sunless day deepening black
Charcoal grey, no light shining
Clouds rampant, darker, so cold
Rolls in sleepless night
Russell Sivey
She wears
a dark façade -
a charcoal grey
once hot like burning coals.
Consumed by too much passion
she was scorched.
Too long
she has smoldered.
Her dark façade
is cold now. . . and brittle.
She fears that if you touch her
she’ll crumble.
Written 10/30/12 By Andrea Dietrich
For Nette Onclaud's VIEWS FROM A VIGNETTE Poetry Contest
Burning embers and flames
simply cannot be tamed.
Unruly chaos sometimes,
depending what's on your mind.
A burning furnace,
stronger than men,
yet they think you're scared of them.
I don't think so,
but if it makes them feel better...
The calming effect of charcoal grey
on an anything but calming day.
The soothing powers you have
help them forget the past.
People think you're too much
then you peacefully back off.
Keeps them on the edge of their seat
trying to figure out me...
Ember Grey.
Love in the teenage world is not really love
Its a better word to describe lust when there are no words to think of.
Not comparable to the love towards a mother.
But a word expressing the intimate feelings of your lover.
Teenage love is like the love of one's favorite game.
Not a love that is as hot as a candle's flame.
At 16 love to me is really not love at all.
Love to me is like loving a scratch or a scrape when you fall.
No love at so young can be expressed in anyway.
While true love can be expressed through a charcoal grey day.
So the phrase "I Love You" should be said with much care.
Because with saying these words you take an enormous dare.
For you may unleash a love that is not to be seen.
By the ugliest feelings and masks of desire need only to be seen in a dream.