with peanut butter and rye toast

waking my tastebuds

with a stream of caffeine flowing down my throat

with Galloway’s flute filling my room with sweetness

I sit in my wicker chair

waiting, and watching the morning wake

 my sky with so many shades of grey

grey, a word worthy of a metal

it dances for many others

without taking the lead

at times it will soften the edge

or intensify the starkness

grey is so misunderstood

even speaking its name we tilt our voice downward

giving the impression of sadness

grey is not sad or empty 

it’s not the void of light

grey walks with everyone

it prepares you for the brilliants of a fuchsia morning sky

or sets you down gently in the evening light

grey is courageous and trustworthy

it will hold on to your tears

for it knows they are precious 

often returning them to you as a lullaby 

my grey sky is waking

it’s opening the door for the hues of gentle pink 

grey is calling me and it wants me to dance

for the morning sky is coming

the morning sky is coming

5 thoughts on “Grey

  1. Very perceptive, Tamaya, a lovely flow in this piece, and enjoy your dance. 🙂 I remember my father (who was a printer before he was a publisher) telling me that black and white are not colors, they exist by contrast and are shades of grey.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you Steve. wow your dad was a printer then publisher. That is such an interesting thing to do. I still like the older process but how many things can a person get involved in ay. Black and white remain my favourite in terms of photographs there is something so simple and yet intense about it.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I agree, Tamaya. I’m keen on retro, mainly bubbling flasks, lightning, copper wires and so on. 🤓 My father managed a commercial publishing company, several paperbacks each week, and everyone, including the writers and cover artists, worked flat out; they were amazing.

    Liked by 1 person

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