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Best Yellow Poems

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Definition & Discussion of Yellow Poems
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See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Where The Sycamore Grew

The house seemed smaller, now seen with older eyes...
The street seemed narrower, the trees taller..
Where once were open fields across the road
New construction had bloomed
The small fruit orchard had disappeared

But somehow we knew it would still be there....
Strangely different, ...yet much the same

There was an unfamiliar young child's tricycle
On the flagstone path that we laid...
In front of this little house that lies
Beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew...

Suddenly, thirty years faded into that autumn day
And quickly had become a springtime of our lives..... 
...of first Christmas trees,..of first anniversaries...
            ...a place where I cried night after night when mother died...
                       ...and spent long, starry nights holding newborn babes.... is all still there, in the little yellow house

Funny, but I'm glad they kept the yellow...
It has the same white shutters...
The little yellow house, with a flagstone pathway that we laid
That sits beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew...


Details | Yellow Poem | |

Yellow Shoes in the Darkness

Walking through the land of shadows 
wearing my yellow shoes
With each and every step
I created color and hues

The shadows started retreating
As color permeated the ground
Out of the darkness
I heard a horrible sound

"You do not belong here
I command you to go away
You are in the land of darkness
You must listen to what I say"

I kept on moving forward
Not sure what I would see
Where was the voice coming from
I looked behind a tree

Light and color expanded
Traveling up to the skies
The entity that scared me
Was right before my eyes

As my shoes banished the darkness
The entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows
He couldn't tap into my fears

I reached down to touch him
I told him he was safe
He looked up with confusion
As I gazed upon his face

"Are you here to destroy me?
Have you come to take me away?
There is a purpose for shadows
They create hope for brighter days."

I heard what he was saying
The shadows have their reason
In order for spring to come
We need a darker season

So I removed my yellow shoes
Watched as the shadows returned
It was time for me to go home
With this strange lesson I had learned

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Big Poo, Small Poo, Yellow Poo, Blue Poo

Big poo

        small poo

  yellow poo

           blue poo.

There are so many different kinds of poo,
it's amazing to see what passes through.

Square poo

               round poo

skinny poo

               fat poo.

Making poo-poo
is something everyone has to do.
Yes. It's true!
I do too!

Look at this poo all covered in nuts.
It stinks far worse than rotten fish guts.
Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!
It stinks so bad,
it caused that fly to die.

So some poo is quite smelly.
      Some poo looks like jelly.
Some poo is very icky,
      especially when it comes out sticky.

Some poo smells high.
       Some poo smells low.
Some poo slides out fast,
        and some poo comes out slow.

Big poo

        small poo

  yellow poo

           blue poo.


What kind of poo is your favourite to do?
Hard poo? 
        Soft poo? 
               Loud poo? 
                       Quiet poo?
Maybe an in-between sort of doo-doo?

The smelliest poo is made by the razor-backed Zonkzifferack.
Boy, when the razor-backed Zonkzifferack decides to drop a mighty stack....
....stand back! Yes. Please stand back!
There is nothing worse than the poo attack of a razor-backed Zonkzifferack.

Then there are the infamous Knack-a-croodle Crows.
Their poo smells like that of a Summer rose.
Not at all unpleasant to the nose.
Nothing wrong with those Knack-a-croodle Crows.

Look! Over here.
That poo is making a quick dash.
Oh! What a huge splash!

Now look at the poo over there.
It's all covered in hair.

There's also poo that floats like a boat,
or sinks very quickly in the drink.

Poo shaped liked cats,
poo shaped liked rats,
poo marching along wearing fat hats!

Remember children,
the next time there arrives a choo-choo,
making poo is something everyone has to do.
Nothing to be ashamed of through and through.

Whether it's new
             whether it's blue
or possibly a bit old
             even covered in mold....

....everyone has to make poo.

  It's true!

Even Ms. Brown, the teacher,
and Mr. Collins, the Preacher.
Your Mommy makes poo.
Your Granny makes poo.

      I do too!

                  Yes I do.

*R.I.P. Dr. Seuss

Written: January 28th, 2012

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Buttercups and laughter

She sings in soft tones,
her magic exists beyond the obvious.
Listen closely to her wanting,
She is wrapped in a trancendent light.

A dreamer,
chasing white rabbits.
Grasping for the infinite,
with delicate hands.

A moth, 
Dances within her luminosity.
Flying on yesterday's wings,
carrying smiles that are meant for tommorow.
Witness her as she waits to exhale.

A daisy chain,
tied around her wrist.
A future promise to be kept.
For within her spirit,
exists a burning passion! 
She awaits one who is worthy,
of her consuming flame

Although she is unaware,
hers is a temporary sadness.
Happiness flirts at the edge of her dreaming,
waiting for an open window.
His shadow hidden behind frosted glass.

Shades of green,
turn brilliant yellow!
Buttercups dance around her feet.
Her laughter floats across the meadow.
Happiness runs to her open arms.

Together they skip, to her apple tree.
For hers is a faith that trancends the temple.
Her spirit sought and found salvation.
He had been with her all along,
I can see it in her smile.
The rain has passed and sunshine resides in her eyes!

For Catie Lindsey's contest. 
I hope she sees beyond her shadows to her field of buttercups.

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Yellow heart

This morning I wrote a poem
about a yellow heart 
pining for red fusion,
in a desperate attempt
to shake the fruit
that never 


And tonight I am alone
without tangerine lips
or the temptation of apple,
carefully watching familiar verses 
unravel themselves
and fanatically dance around
like a final punctuation mark
or an overused cliche,
while my hands whittle metaphors
into a quick-witted instrument
sharp enough to scrape
the smeared imagery
off the sidewalk of poem,

Still I am not sorry
the fruit has not

to kiss my weary head,
it takes an overly cautious yellow 
to see the perfect shade of red

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Apple Pickin' Time

Come an' pick yerself an apple,

Come an' pick a heapin' load;

Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel

An' a couple fer the road.

There's a dozen different sizes,

Pink an' yella, red 'r lime,

Shades that match the pale sunrises

Of the apple pickin' time.

Go an' make an apple pie,

Make it thirty miles high,

Then you'll be in apple heaven

Till the day you up an' die.

Come an' pick yerself an apple,

Come an' pick a heapin' load;

Come an' pick a bloomin' bushel

An' a couple fer the road;

Some for Gran and Uncle Pete,

An' a few fer fighting crime;

'Cause the fella down the street

Knows it's apple pickin' time.

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Color Me A Father


A child with a crayon can color an imaginary world,
With dolls of mommies, daddies, boys and girls,
Full of horses, cowboys, cars and trains,
Can scratch them out and draw them all again,
Color me a rainbow with a pot of gold,
Color me a fairy with ribbons and bows,
Paint my face, a bright yellow sun,
In a green grassy field where a blue river runs,
With mountains and  trees set in a colorful scene,
Monkey bars, teeter-totters, an old tire swing,
Color my face with a bright happy smile,
In a wonderful world, if only for awhile,
I can pretend my life is happy and gay,
Not worry about the mean stuff, just for the day,
Not worry about what I will eat, or where I will sleep,
Or the cockroaches and rats that make me creep,
Color me a family with brothers and sisters,
Color me a man to call Daddy, not Mister,
Color my mom in a bright yellow dress,
Stretched in a hammock under a tree with a nest,
In the yard of the house, we can call our own,
With neighbors on each side of our lovely home,
Color my dreams carefree and wild,
Color my life always as a child,
Color me a father, color me a Dad,
Color me the life that I never had. 
Color me a garden with fruits of all kinds, 
Apples, pears with grapes on the vine, 
Color me a crayon that’s really a crayon,
Not this old sharpened pencil that I just found,
To draw my picture on this brown paper bag,
That was once filled with gin and Ole’ Granddad,
Now, Dream me a dream…Once upon a time,
 I had a real father that I can call mine!

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Little Yellow Socks

* Written for my daughter, who really does have a precious pair of Little Yellow Socks.

Little Yellow Socks
       by Amy Swanson  12/5/2008

Little yellow socks
running down the hall
"Slow down with those socks on,"
I'd yell... too late, the fall!

Little yellow socks
padding softly late at night
climbing up into my lap
one more hug, out goes the light.

Little yellow socks
follow me with squeals of laughter;
Oh how she loves to run in them,
Begging me to come chase after!

Little yellow socks...
now not being worn a lot.
My little girl is growing up,
No longer just a tot.

Little yellow socks
will be cast aside someday
I must guard these precious moments;
in my heart, they'll safely stay.

Details | Yellow Poem | |

A Cold Dark Yellow Unhallowed Moon

A cold dark yellow unhallowed moon smiles beguilingly
In the pitch black starless and cold empty night sky 
Suckling upon the blood and the very life force of 
Pure innocence, light, and goodness . . . .

Fear stirs eerily in the forlorn sound of a fog horn that’s
Blowing and crying a sad echo haunting far in the distance
It warns of the imminent arrival of a malevolent Hellspawn 
Force of absolute unmitigated evil . . . The Phantom Vampire.

As the Phantom Vampire materializes from nowhere in the 
Darkest shade of night blanketed in the thickest of fog and 
The coldest of night air . . . One can sense with utter fear 
And foreboding shivering sounds touching from the shadows
Creeping softly cold fingers down the spine with walking 
Fingers crawling inside a prism of frozen ice and in a mist 
Of souls crying in the presence of demons while yearning lust 
Of one blanket covering the sky’s face painted showing 
Hell’s own hideous face—an exquisite evil and a spirit
Drunken and moaning in an eternal fiery abyss of 
Suffering and howling sounding their own lust for pain 
Great darkness grips them who walk this troubled Earth
Without joy casting happiness to the lepers always and
Forever chained to the darkness and eating out hope
In the very end . . . . 

From this spider’s web and nest of dark perpetual evil
The Phantom Vampire transforms himself from ethereal
Form to his human form quite frightening indeed for
Any human being gazing at his grim countenance and
His most fiery red eyes glaring intently whenever he
Encounters an unsuspecting soul . . . and the sight of 
His razor-sharp canine teeth bring on convulsive fear 
In the hearts and minds of his intended victims . . . .

The Phantom Vampire’s ritual on the foggy nights of the
“Cold Dark Yellow Unhallowed Moon” is to drink the blood 
Of as many young innocent people as he can all the while 
Destroying their lives and tormenting their souls in an 
Unending Existence of evil and debauchery as minions of 
The Undead . . . . 

As a servant of Lucifer himself, the Phantom Vampire’s 
Principal charge is that of a “Soul Seeker”— and seeking 
Them he does quite successfully while destroying lives  
This unending process is interrupted only by the dawn of 
The next day’s morning as the bright rays of sunlight warm 
The Earth and purify and sanctify the power and purpose of 
The Almighty Lord God . . . . 

As a priest . . . a man of the cloth in this bucolic Irish village
Along the sea coast, I hold my head in shame and revulsion
At the evil escapades rendered by the Phantom Vampire
During his nocturnal visits to feed on the blood and souls 
Of our innocent people . . . .   

I always turn and talk to God while earnestly praying for their 
Blind souls through their gossamer eyelids and seeking the 
Lord’s divine protection and delivery from this most dark and 
Wretched evil . . . May the bright sunlight show them the 
Road to true happiness during the Feast of All Souls and to the 
Gates of Salvation . . . .

With no fear and with most clear purpose in mind and the divine 
Support of our Almighty Lord God in Heaven . . . I shall be the 
One fulfilling God’s charge in driving that long wooden stake— 
Blessed with Holy Water and Angel’s Dust—through that 
Evil dead putrid heart of the Phantom Vampire! 

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem, 
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (November 6, 2014) 
(Free Verse poetic form)

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Granny had a yellow cat

                            Granny had a yellow cat Matty Sand-arum
                       She was fond of Cherry Blossom and bubblegum
                                       Cherry ached in her tummy
                                          Bubble is double balmy
                   She yelled out scummy gummy and fell into the scum

    Granny had a yellow cat/Limerick©Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 18 November 2014

Details | Yellow Poem | |

X Love, Hope, Eternity, Faith

 The four Squares


Slips     away   in    time

              We  are   all         one in harmony
              Universal       desire  and suffrage
              That   mankind  is the benefactor
              Of      the      universal goodness
              The masses  seek comfort in god
              The   universe   will bring   peace

                                                                Sa   voir
                                                                Heal  er
                                                                K     ing


                                  Draw        lines     of     wisdom
                                  Around  the  cross of    sacrifice
                                  The        vision     will     inspire
                                  You   shall  be circled  with  love
                                  When    you    calling   is   made
                                  You too shall see the 4th square

As you fade
                into the night

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Sunshine Flowers

The Daffodil, peeks at the yellow rays of the Morning Sun
She raises her head  :through the withering snow mound : with Dazzling Beauty
The Daffodil , Sings in harmony; Arise for I am : the Spring
The Golden weed, the Dandelion , reflects the yellow Halo Floating in the Sky
Knowing Life is short ,the Dandelion dots the Summer landscape
With Her Halo turning White, She calls the Wind and flies through the rays of the Sun
Goldenrod waits until summer is  nigh o’er before waving elegantly 
To the Yellow orb, warming her roots, She melodiously  Sings Forever be Your Glory 
The Goldenrod , humbly  Hums Hymns : to the very Eye of  a Loving GOD 
Yellow Roses speak of the Memories : “watching  the grass “Sportsman’s WAVE””
She sees the Glory of Nature : more Beautiful with each Magnificent  : Sunrise
Yellow Roses, petals so Silky Soft, holding in “ Remembrance “  a long Lost “ LOVE “
The “ AquaRose “ that Grows, in the deep Caribbean Sea “4 miles North of Aruba” 
Screams For the Sun, from her watery Grave, Yet she shines in a sea of  “ Sapphire   
                                                 " Blue " 
The Depth of the  “Blue sea, the Blue Sky above” Shadow  the glow of Sweet  
                                            "  Sunshine "
       Inspired by the Contest : " Flowers " : Sponsored by Francine Roberts
             Dedicated To my LOVES : " Barbara Jean "  & " Lenore Ellen "
              Author's Note : I Hope this is Read the way it was Written
                  YOUR Liege ALWAYS, LOVE : HGarvey Daniel Esquire
                                                7th Place win

Details | Yellow Poem | |

The warmer months

I always feel like a prisoner in the winter, banished from the outside by the jealous wind. As I get older, I continue to make peace with the cold, but I follow the spring. It is a different door, one covered with vines and stars, and to it I am drawn, as if to a beautiful girl.. no other days compare to her.
The flash of a disposable camera, clicked with young fingers, pink-polished nails. A yellow sun dress patterned with orange daisies. The basket on the bike is filled with stuff for lunch, sodas and sandwiches and things. Laughter resounds over the tops of trees as we careen, the children of May, across the sun-spotted road.

The compass points north You know, this is Saturday That means we go east
You yell to me that I run too fast, but all I hear is my heartbeat in my ears. I look back, you run faster. The evening begins to cast a spell in our town; the colors purple and orange appear like watercolor in the sky and we both stop to watch. Vapor trails crisscross above us, they're streaks across the fading day, pieces of the memories we've made.
Heat lightning at night She's reading a magazine Sarah's rare green eyes
To your door we go, but only you proceed. Your father doesn't trust me yet, but I tell you that I'll try harder. Maybe, one day, he'll give me a pat on the shoulder and a smile. It does hurt, I won't deny, to listen to the screen door wheeze shut and hear your bounding footsteps on the stairs. What comforts me is that I know tomorrow brings you around again, walking through a high archway, lovely enough to steal the sun's attention from the flowers.
These suburban dreams The pink and yellow houses Waiting with my thoughts
-For Debbie Guzzi's "Spring Haibun" contest

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Behind The Door

Deep in the city, dark on the street
A masquerade waltz where speculation greets
A door that shuts the neighbors' eyes
Walking by stirs the curious mind
Is there a warm embrace that fills a heart?
Or imposing silence, that breaks apart
A smile that fades upon the strife?
A claw at the shawl that chokes a life?
Behind the drapes where yellow glows
We try to guess, but cannot know
What lies inside, where secrets hide
Where forlorn sunsets flare and fade
Out of the silence and the pulled down shade
Out of the sound of the ebb and flow?
What is real
Do we know?
What is real
Out of the sound of the ebb and flow?
Out of the silence and the pulled down shade?
Where forlorn sunsets flare and fade
What lies inside, where secrets hide
We try to guess, but cannot know
Behind the drapes where yellow glows
A claw at the shawl that chokes a life?
A smile that fades upon the strife?
Or imposing silence, that breaks apart
Is there a warm embrace that fills a heart?
Walking by stirs a curious mind
A door that shuts the neighbors' eyes
A masquerade waltz where speculation greets
Deep in the city, dark on the streets

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Daffodils' prayer

Swinging daffodils under the azure sky as if thousands of butterflies waiting to fly. In front of me upto almost horizon nodding their yellow heads in unison. A yellow sea amid lush green of Spring creating waves butterflies without wings. Praying to God each one looking towards sky 'Next time please give us wings to fly'. © kash poet ==============000================

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Red Yellow Purple Or Blue

If you had a choice Which would you choose Red or yellow Or purple or blue Your choice indicates Happy or sad Do you wake up each day Feeling good or bad Do as I do When I first open my eyes Say to myself Today is a prize The smell of the dew On the new mown grass The sun shining brightly The shadows it casts A wonderful feeling The fresh morning air The world's your oyster A life without care This is the way Life's meant to be lived Forget all your troubles The headaches they give You'll find there are days Much harder than some Keep your eye on the prize Till the sadness is done Tomorrow's are bright And shiny, full of hope Laugh at the world Tell yourself a good joke It's worked for me For many long years It'll work for you Just shoo way your fears If you had a choice Which would you choose Red or yellow Or purple or blue © Jack Ellison 2013

Details | Yellow Poem | |



Her bedroom was a sunny yellow
The paint reflecting her charms
She woke from slumber smiling
with enormous baby grins that greeted each morning

As she grew, this sunny disposition
came from her soul
As much a part of her, as her arms or legs
As sunny as the yellow curls that crowned her head

Her whims, could be soft and delicate,
like holding a yellow duckling in the palm of your hand....
but, most often, giggly and playful, and filled with mischief
like sharing yellow buttered popcorn with a friend, 
while tossing some in the air

Her heart grew like a little flame
growing brighter with every year
Her eyes would shine, like stars that twinkle in their mirth
and matured with kindness, soft as a pale yellow rose

The sun seemed to follow her radiance, a glow from within
She could warm a room on a cold day
A ray of sunshine, like the daffodils, born to lift spirits and bring a bit of cheer

It is no surprise
that the grown woman she would become
would bear a sunny little boy
with yellow curls, and a beaming smile
            who lights up my life
               who sits in the glow of yellow lamplight
                    who draws pictures of a big, fat, happy, yellow sun
                       with his favorite yellow crayon
                          and says to me.....
                                           "Will you color with me, Grandma?...
                                                   Which color do you like best?"......
For my daughter...who is the sunshine of our family...

Details | Yellow Poem | |

The Daisy

Dancing flowers plop at fullest bloom
in the rustled yellow burnt fields.
It sways an echo after the winds
and hits the grass aside who sheilds.

The dawn casts its tangerine color
after the flattery feilds of Daisies,
and a child runs the sunrays of early dawn
to pick a daisy for her Aunt Stacey.

With her white tipped finger she pricks
herself with yellow honey substance
and tickels it under her nose for scent.
She runs out the fields to her aunt in instance.

She looked at her and smiled, patted her head.
Aunt Stacey spoke, "Honey go play for awhile and I'll meet you
back in."  And the little girl ran out the door.
She put the daisy in a tiny vase where she admired it once more.

Details | Yellow Poem | |

My yellow slippers

Day one of her stay,
     and it was with my yellow slippers I had to part away.

She seemed to love them too,
     though they were worn she treated them like new.

A lot younger than me,
     when she smiled you could notice a missing tooth or three.

Her unkempt hair and shabby face almost gave me a fright,
     yet there was something magnetic about those eyes that shone so bright.

Giving me a sly look, hiding behind her mother's faded saree,
     I knew with her around I had a lot to worry.

Within a week she was to my mother what the moon is to the night,
     owing to which not a day went by when the two of us did not fight.

One fateful gloomy day when I came home from school,
     with the winds wailing loud and the rain clouds of the deepest grey looking so cruel.

The house looked deserted with no one in sight,
     it was only later I learnt that Meera, our maid's daughter had been hurt.

A bus ran her over while she was crossing the street,
     and no matter how much she willed she will no longer be able to stand on her feet.

My gaze now settles on the yellow slippers lying abandoned in a corner,
     as if mourning for it's limbless owner.

Details | Yellow Poem | |

color me you

colors rule this day
an abundance of blues
rule my beating carmine
under the heat of gold

walking along beige grains
i hold your fallow
you are true sapphire
we sit on jade
discuss my ex white

an ivory sun spray
a chartreuse periwinkle magenta saffron shaded arc

bite viridian rind
surrounded amaranth
juices magnolia and blush flow

you lay a magenta on me
wave a tea rose goodbye

i stay
watch an eggplant sunset

stroll home
in a lamp lit super black night

reflect on my colored day
thank the colorless heavens
my friend who held me up

i make it through
another cobalt day

Details | Yellow Poem | |

our colour of yellow

The lake was still sleeping
a light mist rose above,
a weathered dock could be seen,
its aged wood; full of memories.

The air crisp, breeze light,
trees majestic; watching all.
Squirrels  busy scampering,
as a flock of geese soared above.

Way over yonder
clear across the still lake,
shining brightly were yellow shutters,
on our cabin; our special place.

We had toiled the garden
planted yellow roses with great care,
we had painted the old wood shutters,
yellow paint; speckled our hair.

The roof  we re-shingled,
one painstaking nail at a time,
we even counted the ouches;
when our hammers got out of line.

With nothing but smiles
on our weary, aching bodies,
we held hands, and went running,
into the still of the lake; giggling.

We swam out to the dock,
it was a race; he won,
my hand he took laughing;
as he quickly scooped me up.

Our toes dangled playfully
sending ripples in the lake,
as we gazed at our cabin;
yellow shutters; fresh with paint.

The trees swayed slightly
as if nodding with approval,
for our cabin by the lake,
was our private sacred jewel.

As we cuddled together
warmth filled our souls,
for our bright yellow shutters,
symbolized, our love's blossoming growth.

It was on this very dock,
air crisp, breeze light,
when he gave me a yellow rose;
and asked me to be his wife.

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Chase A Yellow Poem

I caught 
a yellow poem 
in my hands, and 
it fluttered like a 
frighten flock of butterfly wings 

Spreading its 
yellow bright wings, 
Then gliding across 
a sea of gold, 
we landed gently 
as a ripple 
on the pond  
If yellow is 
the brightest color 
in the rainbow,
then, let me
chase a yellow poem
-- through your candlelight 

If we land
with both feet
on the ground,
I wonder, why  
we could not 
catch a yellow 
butterfly smile today

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Yellow Rider

Now the villager’s are waking from the dreams inside their heads,
They’re locking doors and windows, and they’re hiding in their beds;
It’s a yellow rainy morning with a mist across the sun…
You can hear the hoof beats coming, terrifying everyone.

It’s a legend sprung to life, and it’s a horror story true,
You listen in the silence and you know you hear it too,
And the sound is getting closer till it’s beating in your bones,
And it’s hammering and clattering upon the cobblestones.

Yellow Rider coming
Through the early light of day,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Too late for you to pray.

And the Rider’s coming closer still you stay inside your room,
You’re looking at his saddle, and his giant hat and plume,
But you cannot see his face because it’s hidden by the brim,
Still you recognize his saddle so you know it must be him.

For it’s silver-mounted leather from a Gypsy caravan,
His uniform is yellow silk imported from Japan,
And his sword is Spanish-crafted, and his pistol made in France…
And there’s nobody escaping, everybody’s had his chance.

Yellow Rider coming
Like a bandit through the rain,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Till they echo in your brain.

Now the Rider is departing just as swiftly as he came,
He’s taking someone with him and I will not tell his name,
But it’s either you or me or maybe someone else we know…
Now the Yellow Rider’s leaving as the sun begins to show.

And the people are appearing at their windows and their doors,
The merchants all are opening their markets and their stores,
And the villages will make believe he never came at all…
But away out on the high road you can hear his mournful call…

Yellow Rider going,
And he’s taking someone new,
Someone we’re both knowing,
Is it me or you?
Is it me or you?

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Quiet Beauty

The sun is shining brightly now
The clouds from the hurricane gone
Air is crisp, cool slightly moving
From the northwest where winter comes

One lone hugh hickory decorates
The wood below the house with gold
The water droplets on the grass
Glistens in the soft yellow sun

The crows and roosters seem to be 
In a choral competition
For on stage spotlight in woods where
Burnt sienna contrasts pine green

The needles still linger on trees
Ginko still is green waiting change
To the yellow of fall which means
Winter is upon the whole land

The sasanqa camelia blooms
Double white blooms first profussion
In seven years, early freeze kills
Most years, blessed with quiet beauty

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Yellow Leaf

I see it everyday
I walk by the same plant
Sitting on the kitchen table
Never really giving it much thought

But today as I was eating take-out
With that little plant sitting right there in front of me
I began to think more and more about it
And as I looked closer at the naturally green plant

I saw a single yellow leaf
Just there in the middle of all the green
Minding it's own business
But sticking out like a sore thumb

Sitting there, I just couldn't stop looking at it
It was bright and beautiful, yet in the wrong spot
I stared and stared at it,
Trying to fish out that thought I knew I was thinking

Then it hit me
If people could just be like that yellow leaf
Be different, stick out, 
And not care what others think

Swim against the current
Wear polka dots when everyone else wears stripes
Be Santa Claus on Halloween
Where pajama's to school

If only people, 
were more like that
one little
yellow leaf