Thanks to Lillian of #dVerse Poet’s Pub for the September 12, 2017 prompt onto use the words rain, reign, rein in a poem. Also combining this prompt with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie last Music Challenge with the song “Pink Sunglasses” by Miranda Lambert. Going for the triple threat with Bjorn’s Bjorn’s #dVerse Poet’s Pub prompt on using an extended, well known metaphor without “like” or “as.” I’m going to pick up on Miranda Lambert’s metaphor of “pink sunglasses” which I think very much overlaps with wearing “rose colored glasses.”
Miranda Lambert “Pink Sunglasses”
Rein in your white horses, the Queen of Pink’s going to reign
She’s pretty classy, kind of sassy, in a bubblegum way.
All around her is dreary pain,
She doesn’t blink or feel the rain —
Pouring down, plastering her —
See-through t-shirt, guys inferring,
More than needs saying about her — bright pink sunglasses worn,
Her way to see the world, the old rose glasses cracked, ignored.
Pink is so much better, forget about rainy weather,
Giggle, leave behind the tragic, drink pink champagne whether —
You’re sad or too glad, pink masks —
Ironies, truth is, life is glass.
It shatters far too easily,
Rose lenses dimmed as pink’s appeased.
Cause you can buy plastic pink sunglasses to view the world,
For $9.99 they’re so easy to replace, cheap pearls.
Appearing in my pocket when I go anywhere ’cause —
There’s power in plastic pink shades, curing the bad that was.
Put them on when people are mad,
Wear them when you’re feeling quite sad.
Ignore naysayers without the pink,
Bringing rude negative thinking.
These pink babies don’t shatter or crack, if they do buy more —
Best placebo I’ve had while out loving life exploring.
Don’t care about the truth, reality is annoying,
I’ll pass by you dancing ’cause without pink, life quickly destroys.
Addicted to living with thick —
Sweet sugar coating of plastic.
Through the pink I see what I want,
And I do whatever and I flaunt.
Rose glasses go away, pink is brighter, it doesn’t fade,
My shades, wearing them I reign unafraid, I’ve got it made
The Writing 101 prompt for the second last day of the course, is to feature a guest. I will have Jacqueline from A Cooking Pot and Twisted Tales doing a guest post interview in the coming days. Maybe, a week or two. So that’s when I will fulfill the prompt. For today I have a poem for you to enjoy.
“Look at those cows. They’re incredible.” Dorothy said.
“This entire gallery is full of painted cows. Is this the artists ‘thing?’ Why has the artist painted all these heavy plastic cows?” Stanley asked an art gallery employee.
“Hi, I’m Theresa. I work here at The Moo Gallery, isn’t Shaunda Rose talented? She painted all these cows. I adore how every cow is a unique work of art. Don’t you?”
“Shaunda Rose is incredibly talented. Who would’ve thought of painting plastic cows? Brilliant woman.” Dorothy declared.
“Cows….” Stanley said shaking his head.”Who wants a painted cow in their home or office?”
Theresa smiled plastically and said: “You’re right, cows are Shaunda’s speciality. In fact, these are ‘actual’ cows Shaunda painted. She has the cows sent to a taxidermist and then she has them resurfaced so she can paint them. It’s why they’re so authentic; a great example of modern art. Each cow sells for several hundred -thousand-dollars.”
Dorothy’s enthusiasm for the painted cows evaporated; she felt alarmed.
Stanley shook his head. He knew Shaunda Rose was crazy. Theresa attempted pitching to Dorothy again but Stanley held up his hand.
“Theresa, Shaunda Rose is a nut. Tell her Stanley Manet said so. And yes, Manet was a Great-Great-Great Grandfather.”
One day I went walking, my bestfriend and I. We went down the trails where the Autumn forest lies.
My friend the ‘Grey Lady,’ a husky with silver fur, crashed through debris and drank from the river, thirsty and content.
I walked on the pathway, while the Grey Lady sniffed and crossed to a tree. Four one-eyed monsters stared back; terror froze me.
The leader was a one- eyed red blob. He tried to talk but a space language burst from his tongue; his friend, a female, with a thickly lashed eye, starred melovently at the Grey Lady.
Grey howled, barked, and jumped on our colourful foes; to them she was as alien as they were to me. To them she was danger. So to us, were they.
The blue and yellow aliens were deep in discussion, then tried to attack me with futuristic guns; but the Grey Lady kept guard; a deep growl pierced the silence.
And it’s a good thing Grey was fierce. Such innocent monsters they appeared, like a child’s toy. But despite their looks, they wanted to cause me harm.
They were super flexible,used mind tricks, and tried to steal me away; but the Grey Lady wouldn’t budge. Of her they were afraid.
Grey growled, bared her teeth, with stealth attacked those ruthless monsters. She could sense the danger in their comical appearance. For she was bred from wolves and I was her pack. These colourful creatures were her treat, her tasty snack.
I did not mean to build a wall, I only needed space.
Though you are all with me, though you all care
This battle is my fight, one I must carry alone, don’t you see
Though I try to be included, there are things you can’t see
I am walking the line, my own private journey into the sun.
The sun is not setting, everyday it rises, but I cannot keep up
With rays and shadows, hiding behind clouds, warming the air
The worst battles we fight, are fought internally.
Our own biggest critic, our own form of loss.
Shots, shots, shots in the air, bullets can rip through you
But if you haven’t felt it how can you understand
The individual pain of each bullet, the hurt is unique
We all feel suffering, but no suffering is the same.
Suffering turns us to tears, and builds character
Scarred and battle worn we appear, the fight never ends
In our own private hells, we flounder forlorn
Empathy the greatest emotion you can give
But it only goes so far, you can empathize to a degree
Then you cannot feel the ache, the fatigue, the darkness inside
Walls exist for a reason, such a man that doesn’t love a wall.
To build up high, and keep in the dark, the woman, the love of his life
He builds with mortar and brick, keeping out the light and she freaks out
” Something there is that doesn’t love a wall” a girl fighting to comprehend
Walls behind her own walls, the realization we all have walls
And these walls are thick, they are dense, and hollow
Strong as solid steel, empty like milk jugs in the recycling container
Seemingly plastic and easily crushed, but with a shape that reforms fills with liquid tears
Becomes the hardest material, harder than diamonds, and crumbling as dolomite
You build your walls, I’ll build mine, we must build our own lives to build one together
We must put in plenty of windows and doors that don’t lock if we are ever to see eye to eye
If we are ever to be one solid wall against the world.
Walls are built to keep something out, I’d rather, you see it for yourself…
I’ll stop building my walls if you stop forming your walls –
then we can just be visible to sunshine and the light that guides the air to swirl and blow a fresh wave of summer over us
If you build them they will come, the wall builders fixing up their walls
But did u know if we left the stones where they lay, let the wall crumble into dust
We could build other things, but we still build walls.