If shades came in pigmented blues
Would the world recognize the significance of colour as opposed to hues?
Would living in colour stop it’s either this or that?
Would grey get a chance to convince us to investigate?
Would crashing into a slick navy
crude and lost at sea,
Inspire old fashioned candy knots to carry us all back to safety?
If black wasn’t so noir
Would fashion dictate less to those in the savoir?
Would flags become less patronizing?
and white flags more entrancing?
A hue is a hue by its very name
A colour can decide to change and play – a child-free game.
Would we see who profits from wealth – would we want to change this scene?
Would hearts come together under a purple strewn night?
Lovers take pleasure dancing in the rain, see each other in a different light?
Emotional attachments are often aesthetically pleasing
Only to the one who is eyeballing the muddied one’s high pitched squealing.
Clarity of light sought in souls and not in places of questionable heaven.
Admirers eyes to skies
Solid legs still rooted in the ground
Unifying all genders of brethren.
How wealthy we are to have a landscape of colour
Don’t ignore its beauty in the search for another.
I don’t believe in a day a tee.
I don’t believe in a die a tee.
I believe in emotions.
A moral .
A story. A lesson to learn.
If I listened without interrupting ( never filmed my candidates on camera) I would see my past ignorance for intentional hind sight ah.. pause… ( episodic moment).
Should have put a hashtag
(#) may cause seizures * bright lights * drug use * misuse * violence * harsh violence * .
Film censorship can be deceiving.
I watch many films primed or netted for my viewing,
I see the warnings and see violence ,
Albeit sexual violent violence I need a bit of tuning.
I started this off topic ness from listening to a past recorded conversation. I’m out of my depth .
I’m out of my depth.
I’ve a 6 4 2 bounce back pillow from the silent sisters who muted on their way to the unseen pleides.
Did I lose you to a Mike bananas T- shirt that the mad republic would ask a beetle to submerge These words to a submermarine …. 7 dots of dismal drivel.
I wish my words had more clout than my mortal weight. Once I wrote, spoke with the light,
A stream of consciousness without a tug from my mind the size of a crate.
Rhyming I sought not to intentionally copulate with.
Nor hesitate my hand from my inner ink.
Words never intentionally separated from their interwoven fate,
From the moment these star crossed others dared to kiss with a brazen grace.
I bear these words with the strength of a boulder ready to crumble
Rush my inner thoughts
Crushmy inner thoughts to a damn them to hell chowder of inner hate.
A feud of words. I hope these won’t be my last or I’ll leave this world a disgrace.
If there was ever a time to put your words on display
National Poetry Day is the time to use your voice to say
What is in your heart
What do you feel
Reveal the emotions -at inner play.
Don’t admonish your words merely to paper
Don’t admonish your words merely to your mind
Shout out: I’m worthy. What I’ve to say is enough for today and another and another and ..
National poetry is for more than one day
Make each one count
Not merely the words you deem fit to convey
Your worth is more than hiding away behind myriad of masks to please those who get in your way
Your words are worth more than those whom you justify your truth without causing affray.
Your life story : Not merely poignant
Make your impression
Make your mark
I’m here to stay for more than a moment
more than a hashtag.
Use your words
Use your voice
To guide you to a better life -your way
For better or for worse
You are brave
So, seize your day
Pancakes share a growling affair
To boost the morale of the monster with
inside a despairing mind of an almost self redundant writer
groans unable to fit into an unremarkable, once favoured racy red garter.
This poem is quite silly
I could throw a goat in here and call him
Because he had a penchant for consuming plenty pancakes with half fat cream cheese
Sell them on the hillside,
Not far from
With a spring in his hooves,
a dapper smile,
a shimmy in his groove.
Singing through a mouthful of home made shove
This isn’t a poem!
These are words to be damned to the books of ,’oh, Crikey’!