In the beginning,
the world flickered in black-and-white
shadows behaving, light staying in its lane,
stories told in grayscale grammar.
Then came the inventors,
the engineers coaxing color
out of electrons and hope.
Phosphors bloomed~
tiny red, green, blue lanterns
glowing on the inside of a glass cathedral,
each dot a seed of awe
waiting to burst open.
And suddenly
the living room became a futuristic sunrise.
Technicolor spilled across the screen
like someone had finally remembered
to turn the world back on.
Children leaned forward,
their faces lit with wonderment,
and parents whispering
that nothing would ever look the same again~
and they were right.
Because color didn’t just arrive;
it unfurled like a miracle,
bright with promise~
and we huddle together
in that warm electric glow
watching the future
teaching itself how to shine.
You may read the accompanying memoir vignette at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/technicolor_13892
The Composition of Shadows (II)
by Michael R. Burch
We breathe and so we write;
the night
hums softly its accompaniment.
Pale phosphors burn;
the page we turn
leads onward, and we smile, content.
And what we mean
we write to learn:
the vowels of love, the consonants’
strange golden weight,
the blood’s debate
within the heart. Here, resonant,
sounds’ shadows mass
against bright glass,
within the white Labyrinthian maze.
Through simple grace,
I touch your face,
ah words! And I would gaze
the night’s dark length
in waning strength
to find the words to feel
such light again.
O, for a pen
to spell love so ethereal.
Published by Contemporary Rhyme and The Eclectic Muse
The Composition of Shadows
by Michael R. Burch
“I made it out of a mouthful of air.”—W. B. Yeats
We breathe and so we write; the night
hums softly its accompaniment.
Pale phosphors burn; the page we turn
leads onward, and we smile, content.
And what we mean we write to learn:
the vowels of love, the consonants’
strange golden weight, each plosive’s shape—
curved like the heart. Here, resonant,
sounds’ shadows mass beneath bright glass
like singing voles curled in a maze
of blank white space. We touch a face—
long-frozen words trapped in a glaze
that insulates our hearts. Nowhere
can love be found. Just shrieking air.
Published by The Lyric, Candelabrum, Iambs & Trochees, Triplopia, Romantics Quarterly, Hidden Treasures, ImageNation (United Kingdom), Yellow Bat Review, Poetry Life & Times, Vallance Review, Poetica Victorian
Regrets are notes that float along
make up life's refrain, forever song.
Passing in front in dreams at night
phosphors parade as gossamer light.
We are the only ones who see them glow
it's our sense that we truly know.
Can music tell you how one should give?
Can music tell you how one should live?
Turn your regrets into acts of love
think of them as gifts from up above.
Celestial melodies we all hear
and sing to those who we hold so dear.
Bright notes in my inner sky shine
they will be sung, they'll then be mine.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.