The rain is forging cloths from air
For the pregnant ones in the asylum
Children of these stubborn days
Living chattering within mirrors

Life is enigma-colored
Described by dead poets
The hands are following the rain
Heads on a throne in the air

Society of Dead Poets
Boys, fellas, fighters
Hands corroded by acid
Here's your ticket

follow me not
follow me less
and follow me little
oh shadow, oh glue

afraid of sun
or dark
in shades of grey
or spark
you breathe between the two

free to go
free to flow
till swallowed
when day is done with you

It yearns for a melody
Always seeking new and more insight words to express from the heart and mind
Too many tears fall some for the right and others for the wrong reasons
So observing quietly and then listening more attentively than ever before
My Soul reopened

C@rainbowchaser2024

She said,
“My name is a flower, you see”

I said “Lily…it must be?”
She said, “no, no, no!…

...a Lily…is soooo,
not as beautiful
as me”

She replies
bashfully and wise
I’m just as much beauty to the eyes
as I am to the nose.”

“Oh!…you must be Rose”
She laughed
and cried more ‘no’s’

“It sounds a little crazy
I know and maybe…
but you must be a Daisy??”

she giggled all the more
“who knows?”
and winked
“.. if only baby”

Finally,
I put my thinking aside
I tell no lie,
while I, still in my head
wondering

she sighed

”My names not ‘white’ or ‘plain’
‘Self raising’ “, she said
”…is my name”.

(inspired by Malia’s poem ‘crack the code’)

the unspoken poems
are the loudest
the ones you don’t utter
the times you don’t bother
symphonies of silence
votes of no confidence
trust marbled with rust
what's become of us?

Words come to call any time of day or night
Try to remember to record them or write them down
You polish  and perfect
Searching for a different more original way to say it or write
Do I dare call myself a Poet?
Like tbe greats,unknown,and up and coming
Just because I write Poetry

@rainbowchaser2024

the film plays
a 1950's film
I am lost for a moment;
dancing to the blues and looking into the eyes of a lover -they're grey.
grey eyes. grey skin. grey lips. grey ballroom.
grey. grey. grey. -everything is grey.

But his eyes are a deep grey with light specks,
and the tiles on the floor are patterned with different shades,
and he is dressed with dark grey attire
-but he is the most colourful thing I have ever seen.

In a colourful world you would think things would be complementary;
but the more colourful it appears, the more black and white it is;
the carpet is red, just red, the walls are white, just white,
his eyes are brown. Just brown.
but in this film his eyes are grey -light, grainy, grey.

There's grey in his eyes,
and there's grey all around me,
but my, I seem to have gotten lost;
his eyes are the most colourful things I've ever seen in my life.

the film stops.

(Nicole Joanne) all rights reserved