I viewed an ocean that I could not reach.
Water beckoned me but my path was blocked.
The rocky boulders protected the beach,
Leaving me a glimpse from my window panes.
The rocks seemed to smile at me whom they mocked,
And when the clouds greyed, it gave me remorse
That my travels were stopped by rock's cruel chains,
And I chose instead to redraw my course.
I moved from my home by sea and by beach.
Good-bye to the ocean that I couldn't reach.
Every moment we have, it’s not ours to idle away,
It’s not ours to cosy in slumber,
The night is not faceless,
And the day is not merely a superficial series of events.
We walk through a door leading to others connected in time,
Mystery intertwines with these connections,
We search for answers that plunge us deeper into the mystery’s wormhole,
Each piece leads to the next, but we’re yet to complete the puzzle.
Hope is the lamp that brightens our paths in the stygian night,
When the moon and stars are cocooned in layers of darkness,
When the susurration of the rivers plucks on the strings of melancholy,
And an oppressive heaviness obstructs the redemption light.
Every moment we have is ours to pursue our purpose,
Summon the elements to unveil the day’s splendour,
Uncover the treasures hidden in the night’s chamber,
Find guidance in the stillness of our souls,
Until we’re greyed and frayed by time.
May 7, 2025.
Those greyed pink strands
That trickle with a crackle
As neurons motor there their weigh
That Brian that named itself
I gave the voices in my head their own costumes
Some synapses may have snap
…………………………..………p
…………………………………..e
…………………………………..d
Some people don’t have an inner voice
I think I got their share
Some just grunt
Not the day to ask how I am
Some whisper tirades of alarms
Some plot within
while chances of escape are slim
They all came from planets
No earthlings
Scarred Wars
Things Han could have responded….
Me and Luke are a thing
Once you go Chewie…
Get your stuff outta of the falcon
You snogged your brother
I am doing this to get away from you, you nutter
My name is Indiana
Something something
this comes way.
he paused
pushing himself on the soft leather
shaped by his years
-Happy
his eyes beaming
below the arced trellises of his greyed out eyebrows
Dion rested at his grandfathers feet
His face in a contortion of bewilderment
-No, I mean as a job
The old man grasped a freshly iced can of
some sugar filled gloop
and poured it between them both
He gave a chuckle
disguising it as a cough
as the child held the glasses together to better measure the gloop
before placing one in his grandfathers hand
The giant princes and 7 people doesn’t have the same ring
-Okay what about Grumpy
pulling a fake gurn to his face
the tickle of his beard causing him to sneeze to easily
Dion yawned his grandfather wiping the sleep peadrops from his eye
Bashfully I must leave
but my grate NESS
Is documented
They seem to disappear,
They hide somewhere,
Somewhere in the light,
Somewhere beyond sight.
They seem to be lost in view,
Gone with time,
Oh, how moments are lost in clime,
Kept in the drawers of memory.
Our days go on a course,
We look into the mirror and see we’re greyed,
Our searching hearts become dismayed,
We wish we could stay away from the hands of the ageing clock.
The tender hands we held find a place for their feet,
They blossom to occupy their rooms,
We gradually become a shadow,
We see beyond the meadow.
September 11, 2024.
Turning my orange days grey, that’s what you do.
Flicking my sun over to a moon, like in a child’s picture.
And you make it cold. I need a blanket made of foil.
like the stuff you’d wear around your head.
Because you must be signalling other planets.
Because you can’t handle things.
You take my sun, stars and whole galaxy.
Because you need love so you engulf my all.
While I’m sitting here in a kitchen of still life.
In a fruit bowl, in a glass bowl. My orange greyed with you by my side.
We judge no one simply because
there’s no one here and hence no cause,
to assign an ethic value,
on shifting hues as they renew,
save when fellow souls are caused harm,
whereupon with love we disarm,
ignorance in those who have strayed
from truth and hence their auras greyed,
a fault, that’s easily set right,
seeing in all hearts, God’s light bright.
“Oh that ship has sailed..”
Shaking his head, following her voice as it trailed
He smiles to himself, ’give it time’, he knew, rays of Joy crack through disdain
It was love at first sight, the surround greyed and paled
Spotting this electric eccentric, dancing in the rain
“Oh that ship has sailed..”
As time flowed by, he knew how they’d not failed
He is her best friend through all; hysterical laughter to anguish and pain
He smiles to himself, ‘give it time’, he knew, rays of Joy crack through disdain
She loves him wholehearted, though never been veiled
On the news of their daughter, he’d tried proposing, in vain
“Oh that ship has sailed..”
Now soo much older, their matured rich love haled
She is both bubbly and light, and a grumpy old pain
He smiles to himself, “give it time’, hew knew, rays of Joy crack through disdain
She turns to face him, happy laughter regaled
He takes her hand, “So about that sword cane…”
“Oh that ship has sailed..”
He smiles to himself, ‘give it time’, he knew, rays of Joy crack through disdain
Contest: Third-Person Villanelle Poetry Contest
Hosted by: L.Milton Hankins
Date: 23.11.2022
Three-Kolored Ku (Now 10)
1. bluebird’s ear’s to ground –
pink collared worm (casts below)
now won’t grace black hook
2. blue days can have clouds,
yellow sun bursts pierce grey clouds -
rainbow’s arc mocks smile?
3. girls pink with envy,
boys made blue by sexist roles -
‘his story’ just black
4. greyed out politics –
blue and red (views, poop) both suspect
in the fog of war
5. red sunsets portend
dawn’s blue skies to those caring –
black thoughts rarely float
6. pumpkin’s orange loves
tomato’s ripened redness – light’s
short, black cat nights stretch
7. fall topples most green,
revealing vibrant colors -
reds, yellows – drab wins
8. poetry’s greenest
when planted fields change color -
red blood fades to black
9. green planet’s seasons,
the ocean’s blue expanses,
the earth’s spine - beached white
10. time’s future’s more dark
man’s ‘black’ and ‘white’ aren’t colors (1)
Grace – red, blood-cured wood?
Krakatoa Kritic #007
October 29, 2022
Poet's Notes:
(1) Black is the absence of light, hence no color at all.
White is a combination of all colors, so no color also.
There lived a greyed, an old bald man
At sixty of age in a squalid barn
So rich that he could not feed his home
His colleagues outshined to beat their glome
He helped his men to mend their mouths
But had his own reeking at shouts
So rich, he could not treat his pot belly
His big nose villagers have turned telly
When children saw him roaming the streets
They play'd his bald head tapping with beats
To them he cautioned shouting "the heck!"
They started laughing his needle neck
One day, left he, his wooden shed
With flies aloft his podgy head
To eat overseas he flew away
His home behind in care of hay
Afterwards, came the baldie to his dome
With butt like bowls in Ancient Rome
He remembered he was sixty years old
Gathered his home, celebration to hold
This greyed himself was Everyman
Of dreams and deeds in futile plan
Some cared to show their loving sense
But all they did was all pretence.
The wind serpentines my hood against my cheek
the embers of my half smoked cig jettison
the greyed darkness in a flurry
brushing the collar and shoulder
to remove the silencing ash
shivering in the winds cold touch
the friction heat of my rubbing
hands offering little respite
and then the kiss of rainclouds
first born
Staring at a slowly fading facade
of an aquine moon
as the wind mounts its attack
on the whisping clouds
I fear to be Here
You make me feel spooky
Your greyed hue laid me in cist and
Chaos of headlights gore the peace
they reminisced,
How he dumped me like a trash
I repel to feel bygones allures,
What tasted like Himalayas.
When you painted me in blood and prised,
Like a god of devour.
And that one night, it purloined my
drape, frilly and virginity
Here in this basement,
inside his car with mirth!
how many times i saw him slumbered
but his eyes now departed of life
a mist of off white milk
now covered the sea blue
where smiles danced
and sunlight frolicked
The rise of breast
which echoed every breath
now gone
That reddish murmur
that washed his chiselled cheeks
now a greyed out blue
of meat turning tarnished
His hand i held
a cold popsicle lick
hoping for a returned grip
his lips that spoke with eager softness
now held the shape of you
i love lost in final words
but burned in memories pain
and tears that dropped
on pillow slip
just traces of before
and gone was all there was
Don’t greet death gently.
Those dreary and greyed,
stay, hold, ignore
that feral, frail, reality.
Ignore gainsayers that say
those eternal days of flotage
on the edge of the great end,
dearly holding on,
are beyond their strength.
Death is the great design
for those that forgat
the indignity of being.
Linger on longer, oh ghost.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
old doors time has greyed
wind softened as seasons passed
youth fled, beauty lasts
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