Without the Rainbow Pieces.

Photo courtesy of Walter E. Gantt. 2016

‘Pieces of a Rainbow.’

waltergannt

I feel a vast emptiness inside of me,

spreading through the black storm

clouds, I search for my Rainbow and

I recall you gave it away.

And I search for my love

and I remember you gave it away.

And I wonder where is my passion

and I recall you gave up that too.

And I ponder the way we once connected,

perfectly synchronized

and I don’t even try as you gave that away…

And now I wonder what is left…

A future?

A future without love

without passion

without soul

…is a slow and torturous death.

Image used with permission ©Walter E. Gantt. 2016

Please see more of his amazing photography here on g+

His wonderful photography can also be

viewed and brought here at Fine Art America.

Incandescent love of rain.

I dash into the overgrown garden

to grab in drying washing as drops of

rain pebble across the pink fleece.

For a moment I pause and let the

coldness fall onto my face, eyes searching

the skies as this instinctual pleasure rises

in me. I must decide. The dry washing

or a moment spent in utter abandonment.

My soul wins again.

Captured bonding.

Wisps of self on a southern breeze,
withheld temptation
scuttling to your knees.
Responsive indignation.
A harboured wish to be free
yet caught in relations.
Too blinded by forward sight to see,
the flip side of taught appreciations.

Hi, I mean hey, I mean let’s play!

Hey,
I mean Hi,
I mean you have eyes
the colour of the sky.
I know this and we both
know why.
I’m shy.
But every time I see you, I try.
Hi.
I mean hey,
So great to see you again
today.
Is there really anything for us to say?
‘Hey, how’s you, all good, okay.
Perhaps I’ll see you at the park later, to play.’
Dear God do I pray
On this fine, fine day.
Hey, I mean Hi,
You’re my gift of desire as I walk to the school,
those eyes, deep blue pools,
I wonder do you have charisma, a players tool.
Just a little glance, so I still look cool,
You’re already looking, phew I don’t look a fool.
Still, chin up, try not to drool,
Wish someone would tell me the bloody rules.
Hi, I mean hey, I mean, I give you a smile
As its been a while
And we both know in reality, this is our style,
Hey, blue eyes
My summer sky,
One day, we will say Hi.

Mundane versus excitement.

It’s the mundane that creeps under my skin and through into my mind.

The unimaginative chores, repetition, repetition, repetition. Tits.

You see that right? The way the brain scrambles through the letters

looking for excitement. The mundane is the most dangerous it’s

when that part of my brain is most alive. It’s the mundane I fear.

Figuratively.

A parallel universe

of this diverse perversity

where there’s a deep purple haze

of insane reality.

A universe where broken

is the expected speciality,

so follow me, baby

we’ll lose all rationality.

Between the seconds.

In the few moments of empty space

before time ticks leaving behind no trace,

in between the seconds and as the minutes

connect. My thoughts become suddenly erect.

A wandering fantasy with the key to my mind

for you there is no waiting in line.

Emergence ocurred as grains fell between

the moments of time seen and unseen.

The long forgotten Sundays.

What ever happened to my day of rest?
Sweet tea brought in bed
and marmalade toast,
on that day of which we made the most.
Whatever happened?
What happened to the sweet smell of polish and soaking wet rag,
Homework lined perfectly ready to bag?
Where did it go?
Little house on the prairie
as you gave me wisdom meant to be scary,
The Walton’s and that space show,
Sunday was the day when I had no place to go.
Bubbling pans, dripping glass
I wanted those days to forever last.
The tiny kitchen and cord brown stools,
I used to tip back acting the fool.
You told me this and that
None of it true all of it fact.
Time stood still as we chatted away,
whatever happened to my Sundays?
Dinner at 2 pm on the dot not a minute late
and never a thing on the plate for me to hate.
Chicken, pots, veg and gravy
then the afternoon for us to be lazy.
We walked by the sea with sand in our shoes
Rain, clouds or beneath a sky of blue.
I ran, I climbed, I skipped I walked
as we did, me and you talked.
What ever happened to my day of rest,
the day when we would reconnect?

Cidar chasers and bong in hand.

Do you remember? I was ninteen you were twenty one. UCAS letter in hand,
I had the world at my feet.
Dole check in your pocket,
you were already beat.

Lost souls we met in the dark,
Cidar chasers bong in hand
Sexual energy flowed between,
Whilst I called all the ones
You walked the miles
To meet me beneath the sun.

Escape for you was futile,
Your kin my kin,
Deprivation their everyday,
So when it came that I should leave,
together we packed for an adventure,
You see.

UCAS letter in the bin along side my forgotten dreams,
Mystery became secrets are darkness fell,
My body became flesh disconnected from spirit.
My beauty lost, I could see no light,
As you ripped apart my fragile belief,
and stole away my strength to fight.

I worked, you slept, I cleaned, you searched,
Eyes wide open identity broken,
you sat on that couch and he uttered the words,
and I never understood, but for the thrills,
Dysmorphic belief,
the soft tender eyes captured in stills.

But to wander and wonder and despair at the love,
the anger that reigned
the lies that fell true,
you begged and plead
and you told me a lie,
I asked that you be the thing that I need.

I see you sometimes, you came back to this place.
You live a life of pretance where i’m the mistake.
I wonder still if strength found you at all,
did you admit to yourself,
or did you let yourself fall?

If I keep moving I can avoid detection, walk unseen on the streets of distraction.
I can run through alleys of fear in darkness, not looking where I am going.
I can avoid eye contact, no one need see my broken spirit.
If I keep moving, impulsively I can heal, band aids of despair I no longer care.
If I keep moving you can’t see me and I can’t see what it is to be me.
If I keep moving at speed and refuse to take heed, I can transform, I can become the mask, a sanctury at last.
If I can keep moving, I can forget, I can fight, I can survive my darkest nights I can endure the sharpened knife in this loveless war.
But this coldness isn’t me and if I keep moving i’ll forget the reason to be.
If I stop moving your light penetrates my dark.
If I stop moving the universe directs my way.
If I keep moving I can outrun the future and create my own, if I keep moving I can sit in peace upon my icey throne.
If I keep moving I can live in the whispered shadows created by fragmants of the moons glow..but oh what a glow.
If I stop moving I feel your light penetrate my dark.
I feel whispers of you on my skin.
I feel you in the calmness that follows our storm, a questioning battle of what I believe to be norm.
The body is purely flesh and bone, flesh and bone, whispered thoughts whislt I am stuck unfucnctionable in that zone.
If I keep moving I have no reason to feel and I can pretend that none of it’s real.
If I stop moving you penetrate my dark.