Brown – Blue

Brown like the ground underneath,
Maybe the spots like raindrops
Unstuck the files of its wings
So it could open the secrets
Of the skies and the seas.
Overlooked so easily,
It only catches the eye
When it dances in pairs,
Two otherworldly spots,
So bright they dim the edges
Of the cage and the street.
It’s a good thing its blue
Is airy enough to remind
Of the deep breath you lost
When you first saw your soul
Reflected in its mirrors.

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New colours

A part of me wants to understand a new colour,
To wake up and stretch my mind
And suddenly see things I couldn’t before.
Tetrachromats can do it, can’t they?
So I’m thinking it’s physics,
Like the spatial dimensions of the world,
I need to use the spectrum I already own
And add something else to it,
To turn a point into a line into a plane.
But I don’t have that special fourth cone,
So I suppose I’d have to improvise.
Maybe I can just repurpose another sense.
I can make a new shade out of colour and feeling,
Like the specific kind of blue of sadness,
Or that particular combination of purple and yellow
That I see streaked in Euston Square
That somehow always reminds me
Of the dancing butterflies in the singing box
I always played with as a baby,
Probably because both were so polished and shiny.
Or maybe that twist of orange and green
Of porous artificial flowers
That make such a racket when you flick them.
It’s annoying.
Because I realize all of these
Are not in any way new colours,
They are perfectly old, perceivable colours
Packed together with specific memories.
So the rest of me is not concerned about novelty,
But about how poorly we can handle the rest,
How you can’t quite capture sun in a photo
Or mix your paints to match the shadow,
Or even draw that shine with your words.
I guess I was wrong. You can’t make new colours
Out of colours streaked with circumstance,
But you can certainly make new memories.
And the best part of memories
Is being able to take them out of their box
And run your fingers over them,
Checking that they’re still what your remember,
And perhaps share them with someone.
They do no good if they’re trapped
Inside your mind, in a fuzzy state of semi-existence.
So I guess what I should really want
Is to properly understand my old colours instead.

For many years to come

Past paints our threads brilliant colours,

Stories of incredible gains and incredible sorrows,

And intricate knots to make the world’s fabric,

A little bit real and a whole lot of magic.

The pity, my dear, is that beautiful things

Need more and more colour upon their strings

Or the stories start fraying and becoming dull

An unearthly party can’t be followed by a lull.

But there’s only some paint, and my, it’s expensive,

And harder to find shades even slightly impressive.

We have to trade sometimes from what we have,

So we take our past beauties and those we halve.

We lose appreciation, but the image of us

Shines harmoniously, from greys to golds thus.

That’s the secret why things that burn brighter

Reach their end faster, too expensive the fiber.

But I’m hungry for texture, not mellow colour,

I have no issue to change one shade for another,

And make the design from knots, in relief,

Adding new changes to something too brief.

When you care less about being brighter than some,

The threads last instead for many years to come.

Puzzle pieces

The thing I love most about you
Is the journey to your discovery,
The constant challenges you give me
For getting any piece of you.
It’s an interesting game,
Having to sort through all your words
When I know half of them are lies.
But it’s not the truth I’m looking for,
It’s the way your smile curves
And the twinkle in your eyes.
So keep lying to me, love,
I’m learning more important things
Than simple information.
Every story you ever give me
Is a little piece of puzzle –
You can blur the shape and colour
Of each one individually,
But they will still be contributing
To the great tapestry of you.
So keep giving me pieces,
However hard I may need to work
To find the places where they fit.
I’m not giving up until I reveal
The thing I can only guess at now,
Until I have a whole puzzle
To glue together, and hang up
As a beautiful, colorful picture
On the walls of my heart.

Imagine

I saw a little boy building today,
Towers in spiralling, beautiful forms,
And rejoiced at the sneak-peek
Of tomorrow’s elegant skyline.
I saw a little girl painting today,
A world covered in flowers and sun,
And rejoiced at the assurance that
The towers will be dressed in gardens.
We know that it’s the silliest thing
To tell children that their worlds
Do not respect the rules of ours.
They will draw outside the lines,
And we let them do it in peace.
It’s a shame we forget, however,
To cut ourselves the same slack
And find forms that match our lines
Instead of cramming our colours
Within the stiff pre-existing shapes.
The world would be a better place
If we all closed our eyes to it,
And let ourselves imagine it anew.
If we imagined so hard we truly believed
That buildings are meant to be spirals
And curtains of flowers should adorn them.
We should believe in things that aren’t true
Or else how could they ever become?
Imagining other worlds is easy
The trick is to look at this world,
See it, feel it, understand it,
And imagine it as other, as better,
And all the ways to bring it there.

Sky and Sea

The sky unfolds upon the sea
As turbluent as full of glee,
Grinning at the hurried waves
Rushing, running from their graves.

The stormy gray of higher winds
Of dark and death does bear hints,
Hurricanes and swirls of air
Giving sea their black glare

Gray above and gray beyond
This is what makes darkness fond
But as end they will stay calm
Sooth to eyes and soul’s balm.

Gray on gray or blue on blue
There will always stay, those two,
Sky and sea, eternal friends,
Standing infinite of ends.