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Best Yellow Poems

Below are the all-time best Yellow poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of yellow poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Yellow Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Yellow poems are below this new poems list.

YELLOW TIRES ON THE GRASS by EDDIE, CHICANO
My Room Is Painted Yellow by De Beaulieu, Darlene
The yellow moon by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
Good Morning After Yellow Event by CHUAN SENG, KENG
Green Palm Trees Yellow Helicopters On The Blue by Schumacker, Earl
Little Yellow Church by Hamner, Trey
yellow rays in sky by McLaughlin, Madeleine
The moon is neon yellow by Kirk, Tony
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Hauser , Mike
When Your Yellow Meets My Blue by Smith, Tim

View all new Yellow Poems

The Best Yellow Poems

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Where The Sycamore Grew

The sun-yellow house seems smaller, somehow
seeing it now,  with much older eyes...

The street seems narrower, the trees are taller..
Where once open fields spanned both sides of the road
they are building new homes, and fences have bloomed
The neighboring orchards have all but disappeared

But somehow we knew the house would still be there....
Strangely distant, ...yet, still much is the same

There's an unfamiliar red tricycle, and a skateboard that leans
along the smooth flagstone stones that wind to the door
A path that we laid on a hot summer day...
in front of this house that lies at the bend
at the end of the road, where the sycamore grew...

As sudden as wind, thirty years fades away, lost in the moment of this crisp autumn day
And quickly alive, memories rise, becoming again the springtime of lives..... 

...our first Christmas trees,..and first anniversaries...
 ...a place where I cried long into the night, the child in me grieving when mother had died...
      ..then long, starry nights, lost in the moonlight, 
           counting my blessings, and holding my babies

Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow house

It's funny, I know, but I'm glad they have kept the yellow...
And it still wears the trace of sun, and crisp-white shutters...

The little yellow house, with a flagstone pathway that we laid
that sits beyond the bend, where the old sycamore grew...


                                       _________



Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009

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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 shadowy 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 straight to the skies
The entity that so 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 then reached down to touch him
I told him that 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










Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

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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



Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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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 waits for 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,
as happiness runs to her open arms.

Together they skip, towards 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 now resides in her eyes!



Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

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Mellow yellow

Fluorescent fields of rapeseed, maize and barley greet me as I return home for Spring. That golden ball of fire seems friendlier among pastures not foreign to me. Hues of yellow make my heart feel mellow, as my senses are seduced by scents of yellow daffodils among marigolds, lilies and primrose fields of delicate chartreuse. Like Dorothy, I feel like I'm walking along the yellow brick road, among smiling tall sunflowers. Shades of delightful yellow guide me home as aureolin butterflies rest upon blossoming corn, but are disturbed by jonquil bees who seem camouflaged as they seek nectar from flourishing amber black eyed Susan's florets. As I near home, I can see mikado chicks following their mother chirping and squeaking. Why are chicks born yellow, I ponder, are they the sunglow yolk in an egg? Mother's herbs of mustard, saffron and vanilla pods fuse my senses, reminding me I am finally home. As I peak into the fridge all I see is yellow butter, cheese, grapefruit, lemons, melons and bananas. Which reminds me, yellow really is a mellow colour. 21 February 2016


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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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 

falls

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


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


Copyright © Melissa Wadkins Patterson | Year Posted 2006

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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.


Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013

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Summer Sunshine

SUMMER SUNSHINE - "Sonnetina Rispetto" Thank you Lord for this golden day, This sweet sunshine that smiles my way, This warm wind wafting through the grass, That makes my heart dance in delight; Thank you Lord for this summer light, That bids bulrushes burn as brass; Thank you Lord for this golden day, This sweet sunshine that smiles my way; Thank you Lord for these birds that sing A lovely welcome this morning, This warm wind wafting through the grass, That bids bulrushes burn as brass; Thank you Lord for this golden day, This sweet sunshine that smiles my way. ---------------------------- 14th May, 2016 (posted on 15th May)
{Dedicated to Anna-Lise - the Sunshine Smile of Poetry soup and one of my first friends here} {Thank you Dorian for your lovely poetry form} {Thank you Peter Duggan - your poem "How wonderful it is" inspired me to try out this new form} (The "Sonnetina Rispetto" is a new poetry form created by Dorian Petersen Potter on September 8,2009. This form has 14 lines with 8 syllables each. It can be written in 3 quatrain stanzas and a couplet or with an Octave(8) and a Sestet(6) lines. The rhyme scheme is as follows: A1,A2,B1,c,c,B2,A1,A2,d,d,B1,B2,A1,A2. The capitals A1,A2,B1 and B2...stands for the refrain lines in the poem. Any subject)


Copyright © Jo Daniel | Year Posted 2016

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The Snap

.




          before landing on pier — the snap stopped it        ever since




.


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2016

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Xanthophobia

Zanthoxylum shrubs with clustered yellow flowers,
Yolks of eggs and yellow jackets make her want to scream.
Xanthophobia ensnares her. It is sickening
Wakening to an aureate dawn’s bright rays.
Vehemently she shakes!
Ubiquitous are sunny days; she much prefers the clouds.
They keep her safe from light and her anxiety at bay.
Secluded in her rose pink room, she stays inside,
Rarely venturing outside except at eventide.
Quick is she to greet fast-falling snow.
Pedestrians abandon streets. Then she likes to go
Out to see the colored world buried in tranquility,

Nauseated she becomes just seeing people eat
Macaroni’s yellowish cheese, all things buttery,
Lemon cakes, bananas, mustard. It is a feat
Keeping herself calm. Sometimes she panics.
Jaundiced skin can do her in.
In many cases, she turns to Xanex. 
Hideous to her is this disease,
Growing, never slowing. Even therapy
Fails to help. Whatever can she do?
Emotionally frazzled, living with unease when
Dandelions, daisies or ducks come into view.
Corn, baby chicks, and girls that she has seen
Bleached a brilliant bombshell blonde so bold!
All of it - florescent dreams - are nightmares laced in gold.


For the First Ever ZYX Contest sponsored by John Lawless


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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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!


Copyright © Steven Miller | Year Posted 2006

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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.


Copyright © Amy Swanson | Year Posted 2008

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Yellow Shoes in the Darkness

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

The shadows started retreating as colour permeated the ground
Out of the shadowy darkness I heard a most horrible sound

"You sir do not belong here so I command you to go away
You are in the land of shadows, 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, to the dark sky it did rise
The entity that so scared me was revealed before my eyes

As my shoes banished the darkness, the entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows he could't tap into my fears

As I reached down to touch him I told him he was safe
He looked up with such 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, yes shadows have a 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 to head for home with this strange lesson I had learned









Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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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.


Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006

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For Suzanne, Green and Golden

“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot

A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of 
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one 
As green,  as golden.

Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee,
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away our golden hours
And the painless green  of youth.
 
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.









Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2013

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Shadows from the Past

.


       shadows from the past — ebon heron behind     white one



.





Footnote:
Thanks Charlotte for your suggestion.


.


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2016

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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



Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2011

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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


Copyright © Jeremy Martin | Year Posted 2013

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Yellow Joy


Yellow Joy


Bright, yellow, fun balloons rise up in air,
bring optimistic and good-humored flair.
With cheerfulness, enthusiasm share
a brilliant, yellow, sunshine-like affair.


Sandra M. Haight

~2nd Place~
Contest: United Colors: Yellow
Sponsor: Silent One
Picture #1 - Balloons
Judged: 03/04/2016

Positive keywords for yellow: optimism, cheerfulness, enthusiasm, fun, good-humored


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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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.


Copyright © brittany martin | Year Posted 2008

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Fighting Depression With Your Yellow

Your yellow appears during
the darkest days
as you feel the black set in. 
Being aware of your 
instincts causes a chain reaction 
that bleeds into nothingness,
blended below your tortured remorse.

You're scared, I know. 
The trepidation crowds your self-worth.
You're sad, I know.
The truth of the matter is that your
foreboding crisis creeps outside the 
color of your true essence.

Your essence is yellow.
Always has been, but you
could never feel your sunshine.
The daily struggle of haunting ghosts,
makes you relive the childhood
demons over and over again.

When you were born, you held
a golden locket in your heart.

When you were born, you held
a medallion inside your soul.

These shades made you...you.
And you...basked into the smiles
your mother gave you when in her arms.

Depression sets in during trials of
lost souls. The lost souls crowd around and
eat at your flakes of sanity.
Chemical reactions ignite, and somewhere
in between your despondency and agony,
the fire breaks through and you crave
the rain.
Your rain is full of satisfied contentment.
Your rain comes to an end,
and there it is.
Your sweet shades of insightful yellow.

I only have one wish.
That you could've seen your yellow,
before it was too late.

Good bye, my sweet, may you rest in peace...

Written By: Laura Loo
Date Written: March 21, 2016







Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016

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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


Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2006

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Rainbow Something II


melting, Red, hot in passion imagine some try to ration teasing, Orange, stimulating in pleasure really do try and measure laughing, Yellow, funny in humor sadness here is a rumor growing, Green, reflecting in nature you the ever unique creature soothing, Blue, calming in peace come share a little piece thinking, Indigo, evolving in wisdom using mind to expand kingdom tickling, Violet, rendering in imagination such minds have no station


Copyright © Richard Martins | Year Posted 2016

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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?


Copyright © Steve Eng | Year Posted 2009

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Autumn Fire

Life embracing death in fire
Orange red yellow and brown
Moments hugging before departure
A colour bonanza in sundown

The oranges that you gave me
The tomatoes that I gave you
Nothing in fact in vain has been
Look at them in the autumn hue

Deep orange is the nature
In fading sad summer leaves
Dreams of the lingering life
Autumn wool bleeds and weaves 

Crimson whispers of the cool wind
Into the yellow red and brown
Incites the autumn fire further
Freedom fire in the town

Starved of green I am in fall
Even in transit I am in love 
With this green and yellow life
And your lovely lifeful cup

Glamour game of autumn fire
Golden brown and yellow balls
Colours of the laughing tear
To greet lovely tiny footfalls 
______________________________
27/10/2016






Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016