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.
In the shade, under the banyan tree,
Where the man lays his heavy head
And rests his pounding heart;
He whispers in his dreams,
His hopes in his life, he leads.
His dreams are coloured
As the vivid hues
Painted across his cheeks.
A mini sunset painted on his face
But in his dreams, it's the dawn.
Dawn of sunrise.
He wishes for the tomorrow,
Yet to come.
Oh, how the records are played on repeat;
As the songweavers reach for the Sun at day's end.
The melancholy in their voices,
Some, chirping and twirling,
They wish for the today
That is about to end.
But some, singing their melodies in the skies
All the while, making their way home
To their nest, beyond the Sun
Alongside, their shadows
Dancing on the valleys.
And their reflections
Hiding their weary wings-
On the lazy river;
Its water fall down the horizon
With the moon on its tail.
As the man under the colouring shade
They wish for the tomorrow,
Yet to come.
Who'd like to see “coloring books” reappear
The past time that occupied our formative years
Spreading unending joy
For all girls and boys
Stopped us from kicking old ladies in the rear
Almost just as similarly with tears,
In need of a certain something
Which can bear all of these smears
Of dark inks, as I am colouring.
Life is sweet,
humming to
a pretty tune
I’ve always known somehow
The notes I hear
the instruments,
the sounds they make
have not yet been invented here
Life is sweet,
colouring
my days with
harmony within me
Frequencies
of green and blue,
pink and yellow
cannot describe how I feel
Pinks and yellows
cannot describe
how happy I feel
The sun colouring
The wings of the two huge clouds
the eagle looks on
April 29, 2018
On a canvas of white my words flow in black
I can conjure an image and no colour will it lack
I can make stars twinkle in the darkest of nights
And bring you snowflakes when dawn breaks light
On an old piano I tickle keys of white
Caressing ones of ebony for a melody that delights
I can make clouds appear in cotton balls of white
Then blacken them with inky stains to make raindrops take flight
But if ebony and ivory never meet
These things you'll never see
Your world would be blurred in shades of gray
Without the hues of poetry
2-19-17
Puffy Clouds,Wet Rain,
Sunshines ,everynow and then,
Gotta Catch that Spell!
beaming in a Girl's Sweet Smile,
painting Rainbows just for You
Charma
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