Take a long look at your life
no matter its length of years
whether that be short or long
look at how significant its sphere
Make your life like a movie
what would your part be to play?
a starring role or just a bystander
being humble or arrogant, would you say
Thinking aloud about your life
starting from your first day of birth
moving through all life's stages
laugh or cry for all your worth
Look ahead to your future days
no matter how many you've got
make them full of technicolour
remember the good you've been taught
Now make your trailer appealing
so many would want to come and see
be thankful and grateful for all of life
it's yours to live to be free!
(Reflecting on one's life and pondering it as a movie.)
a dream is a wish your heart makes
brought to you in technicolour
it's a longing deep inside
that finds a voice that you will hear
a dream expands your imagination
in inspired ways to alter your reality
AP: 2nd place 2025
At night soil dreams in silent technicolour, peaceful and alone.
It exhales gently without the trampling of mankind snapping
roots; without the world above and its usual stampede.
Branches notice it first, having time to stretch,
to watch stars appear; time to open bark and bow wide,
sprawling and luscious. Away from daily smokes and steams,
the sky is a black mosaic of golden shards.
Rivers lap, sigh upstream. Birds fly in a chorus,
circling in trills below the moon’s pupil-white skin.
Fields are resting their patchwork bodies, the tissue of
grass sewn from the earthly vapours of oak, birch, ash.
Nature’s legs grow stubbly at night, wild and unshaven.
In the morning a rabbit stands on its haunches, saluting the sun.
The soil is dreaming in a silent technicolour,
peaceful and alone. It exhales, gently without the tragic
trampling of mankind snapping roots, without the world above
and its usual stampede. Gone. Branches noticed it
first - slowly having time to stretch, to watch clouds;
time to open their barks wide and bows sprawling and luscious,
away from smokes and steams and smogs. The sky is blue,
clear. Rivers are lapping, sighing. Birds fly in a chorus, circling
in trills below the moon’s pupil-white skin - seen at night.
Fields are resting their patchwork bodies, their tissues of
grass and pores sewn from the vapours of oak, birch and ash.
Nature’s legs are stubbly now, growing hair left wild and unshaven.
In the morning, rabbits stand tall on haunches saluting the sun.
Earth is sleeping. It is dreaming in silent
technicolour peaceful and alone, calm and
gentle without the tragic crush of mankind
and its usual stampede. Nature noticed it
slowly - having time to stretch, to breathe,
to open its eyes wide and bright and luscious
away from smoke steam and smog. The sky is blue, clear.
Rivers are lapping, gently. Birds fly above in chorus.
The moon can be seen waving twinkling and white.
Earth is resting its patchwork body, its tissue of
grass and pores made from the exhales of trees.
Its legs are growing hairy, left wild and unshaven.
This time of solitude and watery reflection
is repairing habitats and watering oceans -
replenishing nature, whilst strengthening us.
Standing atop the cliff
Looking down the precipice
To the foam-crested waves.
Crashing spume into the crags,
I notice a small vessel
Being tossed about by rollers,
A reticent rainbow attempting to
Travel across the sea,
Cloaking a mounding rock
In momentary technicolour.
The wave, a prize fighter,
Lifts its heavy form
Only to receive a sucker punch
From the outgoing tide,
Ripping beneath, into its belly.
CRASH!
Down falls the crest,
Atop that tide who took
Its feet from under him.
He flattens under the foam,
Locks flying forward until
He lies out on the sand,
Utterly wasted.
Intoxication
The heady intoxication
Of new love ventured
Buds that blossom
Fed by warm waves
Of sweet euphoric sensation
The sun captured
Smiles within ones heart
Radiating in abundant glory
Taming the savage beast
Invigorating ones soul
First chapter of a never ending story
An adventurous journey
Travelled together
Overcoming obstacles
Of vale and hill
Finding beauty in hidden places
As refreshing as a clear sparkling
Mountain stream never stagnant
Never still
A leisurely stroll through a bejewel garden
A vibrant technicolour dream
Sewn together with the finest silk
Made of purity of heart soul and mind eclipsed
Sall ignited by a sinle lingering blissful kiss
Upon receptive soft warm lips
A strong friendship firmly rooted
As a tree underground
A home built brick by brick
With mortar of kindness and tenderness
An open fire that remains aglow
A private feathered nest
Where appreciation and giving
That only two kindred lovers know.
Peter Dome©2019.
Dubai nights - 4.11.18
The lights glow over the horizon
in a technicolour display of sparkles; a fairyland.
An invitation to enter the city, reminds me home,
The Arts Centre and the Westgate Bridge at night time
with its twinkling Melbourne City below.
Its dark, yet the lights play their part across the roof tops.
The pool an iridescent blue - lit up as the children play.
Bright blue against the stark white walls, reminds of a Greek landscape
reflecting and shimmering, dancing like a cascading water feature
refracting the light across the background
Umbrellas poised and folded,
sentries to the night as the nights moon bathers recline
lovers come to swoon in balcony corners,
shadowy and camouflaged by the shifting lights,
an intimacy shaded - a space for all.
Your suicide
Wrests the act from the hand
So that fire can envelop the bottle
And skyward
And bright
And living
Technicolour dances in extremes.
We effervesce and burst
We rise up and with a fury
A million or more
We wilt back onto the vine
Waiting to be harvested and
Transformed into feed for machinery
The blocks and the slabs and
The blocs and the Slavs
And the pointed jagged teeth
Of a rusted saw three thousand times the size of the moon
We jigsaw and puzzle and pile up
And bric-a-brac away the inheritance
Of dead men coming into dead men’s fortunes
We store up and cascade
And chisel
At the face of a dam
As a plague of locusts descends
Within the imagery of Uncle Sam
We shoot in succession
And with twenty-eight barrels
We could split the world to pieces
And commit
Several of the greater nations
Turn and shoot and all goes black
As the litter is circulated
In samizdat and under purple cloth.
White chalks.. on the glossy blackboard.
Black and White. .all matte and bored.
Technicolour scribbles. ..the world explored.
Vivacious markers...splashes the white board.
The aura of colors..the magical power.
Light mesmerising...the dull in cower.
Crayons and lipsticks..palettes of brush.
Vintage memories..in bookshelves flush.
Color of sun..darkens in shade.
Color of leaves..wither and fade.
Color of spring...never overstayed.
Color of life. .greys. .betrayed.
Reflections shimmer... the glass of solitude.
A kaleidoscope heart... colors in multitude.
Chameleon thoughts...in silence argues.
A 'Colorblind Dreamscape'...
the mind imbues.
8th September 2018.
Colored Memories Poetry Contest
sponsored by Craig Cornish
When god smiles apon your life each step you take is gold,
a perfect husband,ideal wife to love you till your old.
No ripples on your still waters just pleasant calm apon your lake,
blessed with sons and graceful daughters no harsh decisions there to take.
The world is viewed in technicolour yet every problem black and white,
on your sleeve you wear your honour free to use safe and tight.
Every hurdle you encounter already downed before your feet,
lifes big wall made of paper king of your castles perfect keep.
All the people that dwell below you scorned are they for choices made,
bludgeoned with your fragile halo and unencumbered best plans laid.
So why does a man with equal honour profoundly gifted with equal heart,
fall from grace and beg dishonour with every step plagued from the start.
There can be but one true answer rich or poor, let live or die,
lifes a song your just the dancer, before the grace of god go I.
I feel the feathers on the pillow
As I lay on my bed of willow,
But where do I fly to in my dreams?
I see the great eagle owl soar high
Among the clouds and higher sight
In glorious technicolour flight
Where all around the clouds are soft
And comfort is my arrows sleep.
I feel the feathers on my pillow
As I lay on my bed of willow
And sense the coolness of the waving wing.
Angels hover over my head
As on soft clouds I rest in my bed;
But life is still in my heart
And my lungs breathe in fresh air
While I see the golden hair
Of angelic wings and feathers fair;
I soar higher in my dream
And hear the calling keen
Of eagle owl shout out my name
And Angels fly to join the game
Of guiding me through the scenes
Of romance and flight, of love in respite
As waking I feel the feathers on my pillow
And see the wings as they fade
Into the light of dawn, while I lay
On my bed of willow.
i exist in
absurd congruities
from rounds and angles
to oblong communities of vacuity
onward! valiant spasm
i hear the universal screams
through the overflowing chasm
spilling through technicolour dreams
what's real is art
but art is all silent
to the golems of earth
so absorbed in their violence
what's art is real
but reality is screaming
to any ear that dares hear
or any soul that bears dreaming
aye, it's blind hypnosis
but my watch has been set
for longsuffering psychosis
even unto or through my death
kicking the pricks
through temporal bliss
of this blatant ignorance
to the reward of god's kiss
Though these days
overflow with sadness,
I cherish memory
its hearth and comfort
When the ties were sliced
the heartstrings rebounded
with each lash they laid the sting
in the chamber of the flesh
My darkness is comfort
the days begin to rasp
but the leaves of time
gently brush at my face
tears of compassion fall
into outstretched hands
running down Opal arms
filling the bowel of my soul
Its then remembrance comes
the pain lessens and eyes dry
in each snapshot of moments
there is still boundless joy
Miracles of life flash
technicolour timed laughter,
simple pleasures smile
of better days before a fall
Faces long gone, shine
reminding me I was once,
loved, wanted, worthy
I can forget bitter years
Daylight arrives in glory
my shimmer ever dims,
finding it painful to cry
in the brilliance of Gods
When the memories fade
and delusions edges warp
agonied solaced thoughts
will overtake clouding time
But,
whenever I close my eyes
I can still see you all,
days we met, and lived,
to love with no regret.
Saudade
At night I lay awake to watch the 12 o'clock show.
It's not that I want to, my brain is conditioned to do so.
As the audio and visual begin to play,
A technicolour title appears; Saudade
From 12 to 2, the show usually runs.
Its episodes seem to be in pieces and shards.
As I struggle to recollect and grasp its content,
a drama begins to unfold, one of love and contempt.
Sometimes the show stretches on, from 3, to 5
Sometimes it goes on for an entire night.
As I come to the part where he calls me, "mine"
I find my self constantly pressing:
Rewind
Rewind
Rewind
How the show ended, I'm not clear,
but the season finale always gets me to tears.
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