Colourful

 
Today the rain has been nonstop
The skies have been cloudy and gray
My heart beats with each raindrop
While my mild thoughts go astray

I relish in the sound of the storm
It’s a distant echo from the past
And though my skin is warm
A shiver comes to me very fast

Oh dear memory, why do you insist
In remembering certain drizzly days?
The resonance of tears in the mist
When pouring rain washed my face

Each droplet decorating my window
Is a reminder of the person I once knew
My old self wasted time is now lost in limbo
But remembering him makes me kind of blue

This feels like static in my brain
On a cloudy, windy, yucky day,
When I am caught barefoot
Walking on the beach.

Waves lap at my toes
As I dig them
Into the cold sand,
And the winds wrap their fingers
Around tightening goosebumps
On my naked legs.

Sputtering with strands of hair
Blowing into my mouth,
I stare into the ocean
With eyes that have begun
To see the whole world in gray.

A serene melancholy accompanies
Me on my lonely walks,
As the tide comes
And I, like my footprints,
Seem to disappear.

yellow said i am a canary                  
yellow  said i am a  banana                  
the canary said i am not a banana                  
the banana dreamed of wings                
   
when out of the blue shrieked          
canary is dead             
                 
green laid envious punches by her side          
peach was bruised without a touch          
all the lives in the yellow submarine          
crushed in the depths            
dark with sadness  
              
poor poor canary          
              
red brought a rose to lay on the grave              
blue, too blue to speak,    
hid behind the heaving grey    
that blanketed the day              
              
white fell mournfully  
like tear hands on poor black    
wrapped now like a coffin    
round the broken bird              
              
lavender rose, spoke of the          
eternal fade and the golden          
moments that drip from the    
arching rainbow of time  
from the dreams of the dead              
              
dearly beloved  she said
we are gathered  here today
and every day wedded
in pigments of joy and pain              
              
canary
she lives
       
in the buds of spring              
in the morning star as    
we turn from mourning          
        
in the diamond spark on the    
crest of the shimmering wave      
   
canary

As in the rise of blood, it seeks to undermine    
and leave you so tongue tied.  
Ships plater, toss the rivet piping hot    
malleable enough for the strongest bond,    
anchoring the cold steel plate,    
these are the ribbons, that were implied    
   
Frilly billows of candy floss, tie the sweetest bow    
as on base metal, the primer painted, to attire    
The breaking strains, of dawns caress    
the day that turns to  hazy fire.    
 Cool of night tries to resist    
   
Swallowing regrets, as we sit and sip    
our glass of chilled rosé.    
Jet trails, highlighted like tomorrows aspirations of life.    
 comes the evening chill, anticipating the mauve.
 Reflections of affection, the glow as warm as mink,    
these are my favourite shades of pink    
   
   
  

The memories have faded,    
And with them,    
Much of the pain.    
     
As those memories faded,    
The anger,    
Why him?    
Why not me?    
Vanished,    
Wondrously,    
Completely.    
     
Bright colorful snapshots,    
Replaced by,    
A mellowed image,    
Washed out,    
Nearly lost to the fog of time,    
Grainy,    
Nearly transparent,    
Gray,    
Shadowy.    
Remembrances,    
Of what once was.    
     
Bits still survive,    
In Sepia.    
     
I held your hair back,    
While you vomited,    
Your too much beer,    
You had at the party.    
     
Walking across campus,    
My arm around your waist,    
Your hand in my back pocket.    
     
Walking in the warm spring rain,    
Soaking wet,    
Laughing,    
We were so very young.    
     
There are many,    
No longer vivid,    
Still warm me at night,    
Faded,    
Not forgotten.    
     
I thought of you,    
The other day,    
When Joanie,    
Died.    
Alone.    
Breast cancer.    
     
Your wedding was the week,    
After mine.    
Yours ended,    
Mine is dying.    
     
I Googled,    
The name,    
I knew you by;    
Nothing.    
     
I Googled,    
The name you took,    
Marrying him,    
Before divorcing him;    
Nothing.    
     
Vanished.    
     
Achingly.

There is something about black.
Something deep, solid, and steep
Something intensely beautiful.

It is to me a symbol of my own rebellion.
A rebellion against stigma,
A rebellion against insecurities, hypocrisy and caged black souls.
It is pride perfected in absolute charm,
Glossed in grace and dipped in solitude.

Black is beautiful, not sad.
It liberates me and connects me to an emptiness filled with love, hope and freedom,
Like the dark night illuminated by shimmering dotted stars.

I see it in cold, teary eyes of a broken child for its there that joy and strength rebirths.

I wore black again today, proudly upped my sleeves and my skin leaped with joy at the feel of that fabric hugging and caressing it.
It has an effect on me that makes me feel blacker.

It spells to me 'absence'
An absence of a bitter history of 2000 years of persecution, suffering and slavery,
And a destined dream of bravery and victory.

It's in the Kenneth Kaunda's, the Nelson Mandela's, Desmond Tutu's, Kofi Anan's, and Barack Obama's of our era and in that little voice at the back of our minds that whispers "you are worth every black diamond and everything more".

There is nothing to mourn about black
Really,there isn't.
Black is life
It's not bondage or shame,
It's a symbol of greatness typified in everyone of us,
Diamonds in the rough,
It is beauty refined.
Embrace your blackness child of the soil,
You are beautiful!!