Long Color Poems
Long Color Poems. Below are the most popular long Color by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Color poems by poem length and keyword.
It is spring.
White is blooming abundantly
on the ornamental pear tree which she stands nearby.
Her beau kneels to slip a diamond on her finger.
Above them, wisps of clouds decorate
the radiant April sky of this perfect day.
It is summer.
White is elegantly trailing
a June bride whose swan neck is adorned with pearls.
Doves are flying, and beneath her beautiful veil
her smiling mouth reveals teeth that sparkle
and are as white as her rose bouquet
It is fall.
White is softly glowing -
illuminating a cottage with ivory azaleas.
Luna, in her fullness, peeks down
through the leafy limbs of aspens
onto the couple’s new white picket fence.
It is winter.
White is magically falling
glistening all around them.
Beneath December’s setting sun they trudge.
Laughing, they fall backward in the snow.
Angels they are making as they glow.
The cob web city sticks to your skin
as you pass through it jumbled strings
on its corners are hustlers
and men with wigs wearing worn heels, selling their wares
Traffic moves slowly, like long crawling slugs
eyes get accustomed to waves of heat,
rising like dragons from the concrete streets
where scents drift from food carts fill
Old men linger near drug stores, smoking cigarettes and coughing
the broke and lonely stop at every bar and chili parlor,
trying to fill empty pockets with pennies, lifted off the floors
sticking to the soles of society's shoes as a reminder,
that young is old, when left to fend for themselves
evil is a cold hand, never born from a gentle touch
Gray is a constant color when life becomes motion,
with unintended consequences, stopping long enough,
to disappear into the city's web
the people passing by see only shoulders and backs,
leaning against graffiti walls, trying to stay out of the rain
until locked doors open, at the shelter
contest Just Down the Road
I
Count
Stones
Bones
And
Tones
To Be
The Wind
Alone now
A Quiet space
Reaching to find you
Expansion of mind
Reaching to find a kind of place
where vision flows and color flies
through too A candlelight spiral as it floats on by in the sky
Tonight in my dream I remember why I write into the Light
A Pharaoh searches for his Queen
Through time and space he comes again
Sound of a Wind hears
Expansion of Mind
A Quiet space
Pharaoh's Queen
Time now
To sea
Hear
As
Here
She
Be
Fair
O
0
0
0
to the Center ........... the other one
Fair Count
Stones Be
She Bones
And Here
As Tones.
To Be, Hear.
To Sea, The Wind.
Alone now. Time now.
Pharaoh's Queen. A quiet space.
Reaching to find you. A quiet space.
Expansion of mind. Expansion of Mind.
Sound of the Wind hears, Reaching to find a kind of place
where vision flows and color flies. Through time and space he comes again.
A Pharaoh searches for his Queen, through too A candlelight spiral as it floats on by in
the sky.
Tonight in my dream I remember why I write into the Light
Form:
Real Tea
We steep it far too long,
lowering thermometers,
holding rulers to steam,
timing the swirl of leaves
in glove-warmed hands
in our cosie cuddled pots.
We revere the cup,
catalogue the aroma,
argue whether the color
means what we think it means—
what real tea ought to be.
Meanwhile,
the real tea drifts,
up and away
with the vapors
that escapes
our nostrils
inhalation!
Wandering off
beyond the grim
plain-glazed rim,
It flaunts its time
it chimes its rhyme
it grins at our
uncertainty
out of reach
of a real cuppa tea.
bit by bit,
itty-bitty—
sip by sip
slip by slip—
whiff by waft,
one leaf at a time.
away from the cup,
away from the tongue,
away from its solemnity
away from the label—
Real Tea!
It's Real?
This Tea!
It's Real Tea!
~"I am covered by the dread. I'm encased in brown this has been dark since birth. For you the means a angered person. So impervious to include and yet so impractical to explain excludes me. Enraged you get still enthrall awaken not in daylight. And yet so impractical to include me, you called me not human. You choose to not accept my light. Never the less I shine. Throughout my outer skin I'm risen. So I am broken I stand through I've been crawling
~
Trapped in a testament I believe do my spirit starling resonates. As mine soul cries out mine freedom dies. And I am so denied yet I still. I rise
And I am so denied hidden high rise rose my persecution
I rise
Denied my humanity caught up in my other color brother's
Enslaved in the hundred years past
Once suppressed now I am risen
I rise"
Prospector Pete had roamed the hills fer years searchin' fer gold!
He and his faithful burro, Fred, were both growin' weary and old.
He'd looked fer color in many a mountain and stream in Colorado,
Lookin' fer that mother lode, that elusive vein, his own El Dorado!
Oh, he'd found a few nuggets here and there, but didn't amount to much.
Those he did find he'd blown on gamblin', women, whiskey and such!
Pete would save a bag of dust or two from his many wanton toots,
To grubstake himself to re-supply his picks, jeans, shovels and boots.
He staked his claims along ripplin' streams and left many holes along the way.
The mountains and valleys are pocked with his many diggin's to this very day!
He'd come up dry, nothin' there, and move on to more appealin' pickin's,
Burrowin' and pannin' with elbows flyin' workin' like the dickens!
Pete would winter in his cabin 'til spring then he'd begin his annual quest,
Packin' his tools on long-sufferin' Fred and headin' fer the hills to the west.
If he didn't find that elusive bonanza this year he swore that he would retire,
To his ramshackle cabin at the foot of Mount Pisgah and enjoy the blazin' fire!
Years passed and Prospector Pete wasn't seen 'round town much anymore.
One wintry day his friends found him froze to death upon his cabin floor!
They dug Prospector Pete's grave and buried him outside his cabin door.
Eureka! Six feet down was that vein of gold that he'd been a-lookin' for!
The skies are gray, but the air is warmer
Just beyond the deep freeze
Wind chills reached the lowest recorded
Anything warm feels good
Beauty is tainted by blurred visions of scenes
I must try to remember the clarity from before
The sun shines through trees and turns red
In the middle of daylight, colors change
Floaters come and go, like a fly going by
Double vision makes headlights look like big stars
Or tail lights look like flames in the dark
It sounds like fiction, but it is real
The skies are gray, but today that is ok
Bright light hurts, so I will take comfort with the dull
As hard as it is to write, I must do it anyway
It's a part of my soul , a crutch in my life on my way
Through the changing days and skies of gray
Heidi Sands
2/5/23
Degrees of Blue
Sadness is a shade, a color, a hue
Sadness varies in degrees of blue
Little Boy lost, room without a view
A fresh heartbreak so sad but true...
Emptiness drowns in the chest of sorrow
Loneliness takes away all the morrow
Love is another thing that you can't borrow
The light at the end of the tunnel is so far though...
Left with the sad decision you're done here
Troubled soul obviously thinking unclear
Down each cheek slides one last blue tear
The emptiness in sadness the unconquerable fear...
bmdavey@10/04/16
old things look different in the light of latter years.
latent appeal of patina, driven by kinetic days and nights.
bronzing of biblical bravery with no forensic fears.
the lilting loveliness of velveteen rabbit and fairy tales.
miniscule muscles bruise and buffalo into iambic fame.
pigeons likely to stain statues, poop on patina’s parade.
beautiful bird baths wipe away the superachiever’s shame.
antiquated arsenal of party poopers wearing yellow shades.
Standing in the rain so long without the umbrage of an umbrella.
The air up there, chameleons the charming gallant green style.
Her torch fearlessly fired up, welcoming the weary. Our Bella!
Liberty’s perfect patina color amuses the Mona Lisa. She smiles.
6/28/2018
Patina Contest
Can you do this? She asked.
And so I did.
Can you do that? I asked.
But of course, I was teasing her.
She cannot walk.
As I cannot stay in water all night long like she can.
We are best friends with different talents.
And this is okay, it would be wrong if the world were the same.
We are friends, Luna and I.
We do not have to share the same skin color.
Although I would look fantastic in light blue skin.
I imagine she would never trade that color though, for it is beautiful!
Can you do this? She asks.
She jumps straight up in the air,
Splashing me with an enormous force of water.
Serves me right for not paying her attention.
How often do I get to swim with a dolphin?
We happily clown together.