Little Colour Poem by GRANT FRASER

Some dead tulips
yellows and purples,
change from the dentist,
A chapter jarred open,
whereas I dashed off
this morning...to work!

Truth and movement
clash, but say little...

While late afternoon
descends,
a slice of pretence,
to consider more options,
of life at a sort of stand still,

Then a mouthful of coffee grounds,
out of my cup,
some might say it's bad luck,

Like the dog who scratched
me earlier, a bloody scrape
from it's damn claws,

Some dead th‌ings in my head
that never resurrect,
even the one's I attach jets too!

That zip down and then ascend
very high, way you go, don't stop,
smash the crystal bloody ball of man!

And then like a bright flash!
realise there's nothing much,
but the great ideal, before it incinerates,

And the productive surveillance team,
go to great great measures,
to make this world buzz - louder!