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
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.
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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.
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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.
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Shades of Virginia and Leonard Woolf days at Hogarth Press :).
I can sort of see how a young creative boy got his imagination fed. What a lovely childhood you must have had.
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Well, it had its ups and downs, but yes, I was lucky. 🙂
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