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Best Yellow Poems

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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....
Yes....it 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 | |

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 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 | |

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

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 | |

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 | |

Yellow



____________________________________________________________________

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Yellow Heads

Sweet day yellow heads 

Sweet heads of yellow

standing high on one foot above the earth

kindly sharing paintings of blue and 

white sometimes solids in grey watercolors

How do you keep your head such a stunning shade

Borrowing from the sun?

Shouldn’t we have heads of bulbous yellow 

Feed strictly from the earth’s garden for fun

Drink refined liquids from the hands of mother nature

Yellow heads all over the world would carry such

a message for everyone

Together we would all be bright

and mellow if we had heads of yellow

Thinking bright thoughts speaking in tongues of brilliance

Golden!

Tucking under nights indigo blanket

Creating a harmonious combination when we peek

Indigo with yellow heads a picturesque way to bring

the closing of the day 

My aspiration to become a yellow head 

Head of yellow

playing among the vivid bouquet 

Greeting the world that way


Details | Yellow Poem | |

The Wanderer part 1

I remember a day I smiled at her
And she smiled back
That was miles away
down the road
We parted there
And I came back
to find her long gone
No trace, no note, no sign
I wondered if she
had hesitated before leaving
Was I worth a moment's reflection?
Does love escape so easily?
Can I hope for an equivalant peace?
I sat upon a stone
for an hour
On the deserted road
And reflected upon her existence
which so troubled me
How many have traveled
these worn paths?
Why do I see nothing
from horizon to horizon?
I smashed the stone
over my head
Hoping it would
ease the pain
No fresh thoughts 
flowed; but merely,
a second of intense pain
which melted into anger;
and resolved to despair
Alone I sat
till the sun had buried itself
below the distant hills
A cloud pushed it down
I knew I might die there,
if I did not travel on
Death has no mercy
So I put my shoes on
and walked

There was music
in the distant hills
flowed through the leaves
Did I detect a sinister leer
across the moon's face?

I spat at the stars
Whose light shone on me
with such a total waste

Each step
towards those grey and black hills
brought a recurrence of
each burning memory
I had no solice in thought

I took off my shoes
as I stumbled over the gravel
Hoping the jabbing pain
of each stone's attack
would flavor my thoughts

I was embarrassed
even while being alone
For I knew I was a fool
Had I not held her tighter
Had I not dragged her
Had I not missed her
on a different road.
I had not
And I paid dearly
for a few moments
of unexcelled bliss

I spent six days walking
in silence
Not a soul passed me by
Only the crickets saluted my march-
or did they laugh at me
from their dark dens?
I tried sleepwalking
when the agony of thought
burnt too deep
But I bagan finding myself
wandering off the road
You need both eyes
to travel that road

I was close to death
one weary night
A night so weary
I was restless with exhaustion
When the darkness
reached out to grab me
And I nearly smiled
to see my end

A sudden flash!!
A gleaming yellow light
The dim flicker of hope
swelled at the
possibility
So I ran
with my last moment's breath
to embrace a beauty
which outshone my old love

Strength returned and
my feet were no longer sore
Love bloomed to heights
I never knew existed
Old loves and earlier horrors
were dispelled by her
shining yellow light

(continued on part  two)

Details | Yellow Poem | |

This poem is my own recovery from Valium O Little White Tablet

‘0 LITTLE WHITE TABLET’

O little white tablet, how I hate you,
I was only 21 years old, when introduced to you.
You looked so innocent, so white, so pure.
I was told you were the answer to everything,
(The cure)
No-one told me, when they introduced me to 
the rest of your family, the yellow and the blue.
The blue being five times stronger than you.
No-one told me of the dangers you held within.
Of all the pain I would have to go through, all the suffering.
No-one told me. YOU would rob me, of eighteen 
years of my life.
That I would be unable to function properly,
as a Mother and Wife.
No-one told me, I would get addicted to you.
Of all the pain and suffering, I would
have to go through.
To get you out of my system, alone took two years. 
Two more years of heartbreak, many, many tears.
Then to find out, I had Agoraphobia.
Several more years, destroyed by fear.
Which a lot of people, say is caused by you.
Not being able to go out, far or near.
Hurting all the ones, I loved so dear.
O little white tablet, how I hate you.
But in the end I was the winner Not you.

This poem refers to prescribed drugs

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Beauty Causing Tears

I see stripes across the land
Some are green and some are brown
And then there are red, yellow purple and blue
As I get closer I smell the view

Red Carnations, Yellow Mums
Purple Violets and blue phlox
To me it is a pleasant scene
To those with allergies they want to scream

Details | Yellow Poem | |

Yellow

Yellow
A dandelion,
Maybe flowing blonde hair,
Or like a golden wedding ring.
Warm sand. 

2/7/2014