I still love the madness in me for you,
and it won't lose its colour in my amygdala.
Even in my hiccups, I remember the eyes that locked with mine;
I refuse to let go of this endless commotion—it’s the only way I feel alive.
Let’s listen to songs in the language of play
From the Harts of our inner children
As Miranda’s dear reader chums.
The joy is in colouring in a crocodile,
Not whether you make a crocodile
Look like an accurate crocodile.
When you’re blue, colour a crocodile
Blue, too.
Twit twoo if you want to.
Who says you have to colour in a crocodile?
What about stamping little Harts onto the picture
Or picking stamp letters of your favourite words,
Spelling them haueva u onet oo.
Crocodile doesn’t seem like a word anymore -
I’ve been writing it so much.
And you walked with me
in drear-nighted February
through the smell of petrol
in the farmer's yard.
Your song is a piece
of global clay
and clay grows wild
magnetic Gael roses.
The splendour of colour in this life
is as rare as holding a symphony
midst the siren's wail
and shockheaded metal violence.
Light of my eye
hazel and sallow flower
You were imprisoned by a bit part
in history--
granted a proletarian choice
by dawn gryphons--
denounced what you loved
with dignity.
Victims and riots
in so many parts--
Peace may yet be possible
in this moment,
as you lead me up the creaking stairs,
gently by the hand.
ANY AI LEARNING USE PROHIBITED. All rights reserved
In the game of life, there are no set
players in our team,
Sometimes someone joins, and
sometimes someone leaves,
Each player plays a part in fulfilling
our needs, wants and dreams,
To me, this is how it seems.
Through trials and fears, we continue,
in life’s run,
And in our triumphs, we forget the tears
and pain and celebrate the victory,
having fun,
Each voice singing together, each word
turns into a sweet song,
Together in unity, giving a sense that
we belong.
In the Spirit of Team, there’s togetherness.
So, raise a toast to all those who
were and are still on our side,
With Faith’s gentle hand,
In the Spirit of Team, let’s continue to
grow and explore the land,
Together like the flowers we will bloom,
Each displaying our uniqueness,
beauty and colour in the garden
of the Living.
Like in the multicoloured garden of the
blooms, there’s beauty.
In the multicoloured garden of the Living,
there’s Beauty too.
by Zyrool
I am a copper beech tree
I’m the most beautiful tree of them all
I always change my dress with the seasons
I’ll wear bright green, then ochre and gold in fall
I love my spring dress of vivid emerald green
My gown changes colour in the cooler weather
when shades of orange, gold and red can be seen
I detest the biting winds which steal my gown,
as my naked limbs are exposed to the world
I get so embarrassed and I wear a frown!
she had attempted to colour in outside of the box
now the silver lining dangled from a broken necklace
suffocated her aspirations oozed discontent and sorrow
the shine had come off and no amount of polish would
erase smudges and impurity nor restore a once lucid soul
reflections tore at her heart and strangled in darkness
precious metal now a neck tie of craving for balance
reprieve from discomfort aberrations and delusions
pendant to be relieved from reversed penchant of life
at first she assigned emotions to one crazy error of judgement
distortion of passion disillusionment or mere false appraisal
yet resentments turned on herself in anger insecurity and fear
her whole mindset had been poisoned inflamed to the core
only complete reconstruction of Self would yield any success
which is when she decided to stop running away to face the truth
Crow (Blackus Menacingus)
large, clever and a scavenger
found in gardens where there’s trees
good at puzzles, can be trained
likes TV shows about celebrities
Blackbird (Blackus Not-A-Pirateus)
common gardeners friend is he
perched on the handle of a spade
looking out for bugs and worms
went on a holiday to Adelaide
Thrush (Not-The-Itchyus Sortus)
light brown plumage with spotted front
easily identifiable medium bird
known for a complex, tuneful song
makes jam tarts with lemon curd
Starling (Impressiveus In-A-Large-Flockus)
iridescent all year bird
feathers change colour in the sun
swarms in huge numbers then
off to the pub for rowdy fun
Wren (Smallus Sticky-Uppy-Tailus)
one of the tiniest garden birds
surprisingly loud and piercing voice
small, round body, quick and gone
to play boardgames and other toys
Puffin (Brightus Beakus)
black and white with colourful bill
dives the water for its food
coastal, cliffside, craggy nest
sends birthday cards that are very rude
It’s so very crystal clear
How much I love you my dear
Each time I see your face
It puts me straight back in place
You are my Only Babe
My Heart and my Soul Babe
When I wrap my arms around you
I feel your love come shining through
For I know where I wanna be
With you forever I’ll always be
You are my Only Babe
My Heart and my Soul Babe
My heart knows our love is true
Its like a butterfly flying along so happily too
Reflecting colour in the sunlight
As our love grows forever right
You are my Only Babe
My Heart and my Soul Babe
© Paul Warren Poetry
Mirror of the Great Invisible Spirit
A globe of faces radiant with life
A crystal ball with every colour in it
A house of souls united without strife
A kingdom made of perfect pearls without cracks
With intellectual mind anointed
So that his gold splendour will reign and relax
For the mirror to birth rays unpointed
Of every colour and face for the Spirit
It's okay to not to be okay with people sometimes.
But it's not okay to pretend To be okay with people to whom you don't even like;
Sunrises,sunset all is the part of nature
But not accepting it is generally the human nature
We all fail once twice or even thrice
For doing something very nice
Yes it's okay to not to be okay.
We all can rise like seven colour in sky
By only doing strive, strive and strive
Everything fails, everyone fails when they are trying something high.
By doing what is right
So leave people aside and do what's right for you and your life...
They grew up side by side two kids in a park
Playing together until the streetlights lightened the dark
Growing as school friends and team mates in football
They had a drink together at the end as their call
They were a bit wild as youngsters will be
Until they joined up wanting the world to see
But war zones aren’t the place to seen
Especially in a dirty war when nothings clean
The IED ruined it all on the spot
And one passed as the explosive ruined the lot
There was colour in the funeral as they laid him to rest
With a white tablet marking his grave at the country’s bequest
But you see they will be mates to the end
And each Friday afternoon he went to drink with a friend
Standing alone with a beer in
the front of the grave
He had the usual drink with a mate toasting the brave.
© Paul Warren Poetry
You wonder why me
Being with you makes it an adventure
floating in the ocean
one day wild big waves storm, not knowing what will happen
the next day warm calm sunny as nothing happened before
Is inspiring
a trip to different galaxies
so many interests knowledge intelligence
not knowing where to begin
Is details
a walk at the beach while sunset
the golden colour in one grain of sand
while others passing by
Makes a better person
you are the galdhoppigen
giving support beauty to all people trying
no preferences
Is extremes
the most wonderful opal excisting
rough and waiting
to beautiful to polish
Is having good talks
the sound of a frozen landscape
knowing without asking
where listening is in balance
Is honest and pure
a glacial river at it's origin
and snow crystals
observing their smallest bindings
Is trust
being in Bleik
seeing the most beautiful nature art
and knowing it won't change
Is laughing and enjoying life
dancing on the rythm of the aurora
never losing childness enthousiasm
making the other happy
Is having a father brother best freind
and someone
to love deeply
all in one
War is Lovely
It´s a hell of a war, soldiers running between burning buildings.
It is a great war good for sex feel the strength running through veins
blood oozing out of bullet holes and onto the sand that is the other guy´s
the person called an enemy.
Was this their finest hour defending whatever they have told to defend
Wonderful war brilliantly red, and women dream of joining them
only to find they are out of place; soldiers will rather masturbate in a fox-hole.
Glorious war, something the survivors can talk about in the park playing card,
name the buddy who didn´t make it out lost in reveries and full moon.
Do they see the green leaves on trees or the flowers; is it all death and ruined buildings?
Forever etched in their crippled brains.
Oh, I´m so tired it is hurting me, endless wars and commentators explaining the murdering
of the innocent according to what the think-tank pays them.
I long for the autumnal colour in Portugal, a place to heal the abused body so distressed,
facing away from the TV, screen that drips of blood or failing that of football boots.
To walk on old cobblestones and fallen leaves and remember that we live in a beautiful world.
Forgive me, mother for I have sinned,
I will chant a drunken hymn:
Virgin Mary, seduce me with salvation
from my daily woes! I everso
Crave to be delivered from the damnation
That tears me, so.
The fire in my chest
Balls up all my sorrow
The cinnamon embers warm my breast
Whispering the empty promises of tomorrow.
The liquid stream rages forward,
With the inhibitions swept and drowned.
I can finally see colour in my world,
Waiting for the beating to crash down.
My name has been stripped from a glass,
My precious ones see a stumbling ass,
With even fewer looking back.
All I have left is you; my bottle of Jack.
The ancient regime
I was in Shanghai once during the cultural revolution
everyone mostly young people wore the same grey clothes
half military cut, not a colour in sight except for the flag.
And the book they gave everyone called “Mao´s little red book.”
where words the new China was printed, those
who argued had to confess in public and sent to a camp,
or farm this to learn to be a worker.
Of course, in this socialist paradise, we were not allowed
to go ashore and the was a guard by the gangway to be sure
we didn´t run away.
It didn´t strike anyone; it was the last thing we would do.
It couldn´t last slowly colours crept in, and women dressed
even if grey dresses, with feminist style
Today China is a state capitalist country and is doing
very well, thanks to American outsourcing (wages) making
the Midwest into a wasteland.
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