Best Burnt Sienna Poems
"If you're really in love, appearances aren't important. The best house is the one you build in each other's hearts."
Jung Yu jin
Autumn's alliterations amplified an acoustic of death.
Stillness of internal instrumentals silenced my acapella.
Words like wildflowers withered in winter wickedness,
without voice or verse I vanished behind a visible veil.
I was like a lifeless crystallised burnt sienna leaf,
as bitter breaths froze my brittle soul's ink.
Fatigued fingertips trembled from numbness -
without a purpose upon a speechless stage.
Afraid of crisp crying rain, which fell like a refrain.
my summer eyes turned amaurotic.
Life resembled a blank music sheet,
among an abandoned piano covered in iced cobwebs.
In solitude my music remained unwritten,
as I slept in a shivery silent slumber - tone deaf,
finding fading apricity in stolen daylight.
Until a silvery silhouette appeared. - sparkling.
Placed my hands into her warm glove-like hands,
wrapped me in an emphatic scarf-like embrace.
Her rose gold lips echoed in Orphic tones,
reviving my somnolent mute muse.
Blessed with vibrations from her vision,
senses awoke to rhythms of her heavenly harmony -
strumming an enchanting lover's lullaby.
Were you a gift from an orchestra of operatic angels,
sent to place hymns of hallelujah deep into my heart?
As her mystical mystery began to unfold.
In union our lyrics amplified into a rhapsody of romance.
Vibrant tunes from her intimate strings composed a
seraphic serenade, as we drifted into a dream world.
Today,
as we dance under emerald velvet northern lights,
snowfall covers our paths like an ivory blanket.
Soft flakes, like pearls glisten under tinsel moonlight,
as we leave poetic footprints behind in soothing snow -
a chorus of constellations glow to the tempo of our glorious sonata.
Categories:
burnt sienna, assonance, love, romance,
Form:
Free verse
oh ...
Gustav, how you pique the senses
captured passion's plural tenses
lovers twined in percale folds
caught supine with spattered golds
porcelain dolls in fetal slumbers
brushed sublime in tans and umbers
bold, the bleeds of Burnt Sienna
stippling scapes of fair Vienna
Yellow Ochre, Prussian Green
Cadmium Yellow, Blue Indanthrene
trees like soldiers, lilting boughs
abstractions spun of silken vows
ceilings meant to thus adorn
gilded graces - Heaven-borne
waters, tranquil - tresses, bare
a world composing textures, rare
you struggled long to e'er refine
your critics and uncommon line
subjects some then found appalling
yet, remained, your faithful calling
imbibing absinthe, sans a chaser
life you sketched with no eraser
and while we mortals can but dream
you left the world your gauzy gleam
so death would not define the worth
of genius meant to shake ...
the earth.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Klimt" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
burnt sienna, art, beauty, history, humanity,
Form:
Ekphrasis
I kissed July's hot tangerine lips
swam in cool aquamarine eyes
basked in blond and honey rays
dreamed in mango pomegranate sunsets
of lime hillsides and marmalade roses
Years of sweet citrus passed in golden hours
One day I woke
to find translucent eyes
in burnt sienna
as trees wept leaves
in burgundy and olive
Soon the eyes
were frozen in powder
Ashen shadows blew
across barren groves
of spindled spruce
and howled
with December's lonely moon
But from my fire lit window
I hold fast to memories
of daffodils and oranges
mingled with the burn
of lemon tears
7/16/17
Categories:
burnt sienna, fruit, imagery, lost love,
Form:
Imagism
Written: August 02, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
***************
In the slipshod cradle beneath the apple tree,
a bruised fruit folds ajar—
molten sweet sapidity pooling
through velvet skin.
Eviscerated grace, they say,
but I grasp the quiddity of life unmasked.
A burnt sienna kiss of aurora—
flesh undulating with fungal bloom,
wispy gossamer threads that stitch
the inevitable return to the earth.
It is not ruined.
It is a transformation:
a diaphanous ballet
between death and what dreams may grow.
We ogle brightness,
but rot is brighter still—iridescent with purpose,
alabaster spores pirouetting as sylphlike specters
on a sacred odyssey to placate
the starving soil.
It is seraphic.
It is a panacea.
It is quintessence made humble.
Rapture lies in this ineffable nexus—
decay whispers loud as a lullaby.
The rakish grubs maunder through
a velvet pyre of rind and memory,
and the loquacious beetle sermonizes
on endings as beginnings,
as though time had a gullet
And rot was its sweetest wine.
Call it grotesque.
Call it abhorrent.
But beauty—true, ineffable beauty—
wears many masks.
And in these nebulous throes of perishing,
I watch a face burnished by truth,
smiling with roots in its eyes.
Categories:
burnt sienna, analogy,
Form:
Free verse
Morning fog was parting for the day's performance,
and an audience of just me sat cross legged,
waiting for ghosts.
They appeared slowly, one by one.
Old whalers, freighters and, fifty yards out,
slate grey bones scarred with burnt sienna,
a young trawler.
A Cormorant dried its wings on the wheelhouse,
primary feathers spread, glistening ebony,
tattered like a tramp's raincoat.
The surf whispered warnings.
February 4th 2016
For contest 'The Sea shore' sponsor- Craig Cornish
Categories:
burnt sienna, sea,
Form:
Free verse
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
Categories:
burnt sienna, animals, inspirational, natureyellow,
Form:
Free verse
I love to spend my October afternoons walking ankle-deep in dried, curled leaves.
They cover the back country roads, the forest floor, and my own front yard.
But, I cannot bear to rake them away, or burn them.
The dead, gnarled leaves drift down around me like confetti.
Some are in shades of red and maroon and crimson.
The color of country barns you pass by, when you are going home for Thanksgiving.
Or, those crisp apples, waiting to be picked from the orchard's trees.
And, taken, to be pressed for cider, or dipped into warm caramel.
Some are in shades of yellow and gold and butterscotch.
The color of dried corn husks and stalks, bundled together to decorate porches.
And, the fields full of bright sunflowers, guarded by straw scarecrows.
Or, like the buses and the #2 pencils, waiting for the children to come back to school.
Some are in shades of orange and amber and burnt sienna.
The color of pumpkins sitting in patches, waiting to be carved out for Halloween.
Or, like the sun setting on a cool, September, Indian summer's evening.
Or, a full harvest moon when it rises, late, into the night sky.
Some are in shades of brown and chocolate and pecan.
The color of fragrant cinnamon and nutmeg, sprinkled within my Mom's apple pie.
Or, like maple syrup dripping from my pancakes, on a November morning.
And, those acorns, fallen from oak trees, inhabited by squirrels and owls.
Autumn lasts for maybe, three months, but to me it feels like only three minutes.
So, I take it all in while I can.
I look up through the branches,
where the golden sunlight beats between the rustling leaves.
My heart beats with warmth and joy at the sight.
Even though, the wind chills me to the bone.
A long winter will soon arrive, and the world will be nothing but white and gray.
Yet, the rich, unforgettable beauty of fall lingers within me.
Because, sometimes, when the snow finally fades away in the spring,
I can still smell those decaying, dead leaves.
Then, instantly, my mind returns to the autumn days that took my breath away.
Categories:
burnt sienna, autumn, beauty, nature,
Form:
Free verse
beautiful
is evenfall
when sky
begins to blaze
and clouds appear as
plush pillows
floating
persimmon
on a
comforter
with rich threads
of burnt sienna
and scarlet interlaced
draped
over my valley
May 15, 2020
title chosen: Option 2: Evenfall
for the 'Pick-A-Title, Vol 17 - Yalto -' Poetry Contest of Edward Ibeh
Categories:
burnt sienna, sunset,
Form:
Verse
I just want to unveil
all my unspoken litany of love
embossed in my silver scroll
when I think of you
each silken silence.
the sigh I cast~
upon your silhouette
on burnt sienna sunsets.
the whisper I make~
retelling our sacred story.
on each wandering cloud.
the unwritten love letters~
stored in purple petals
of spring blooms.
the dreams I decorate
for you and me~
carved upon
the rustic rocks
of make-believe
hoping that someday~
there will be, " Time For Us".
the beats of my heart
that spawn sublime symphony
inspiring me~
to paint a masterpiece
of your idyllic innocence,
and write my last poem
only for YOU.
20 July 2020
Categories:
burnt sienna, love,
Form:
Free verse
autumn winds rousing about
singed leaves of burnt sienna
twirling dance of sweet demise
~ bide snow wintry grave
AP: 1st place 2022
Submitted on September 30, 2020 for contest WRITING CHALLENGE - DODOITSU sponsored by CONSTANCE LA FRANCE - RANKED 1ST
Categories:
burnt sienna, autumn, change, color, nature,
Form:
Dodoitsu
Early winter sun; low in the sky
Warm light burnishing the yellow leaves that stubbornly cling to the birches
Silver trunks contrast with their own dark shadows
Russet browns of the larches beyond add a touch of fire
And the lattice of twigs and branches from the oaks and ashes
In harmonious concert, complete the sylvan scene
Texture is added by the gritstone crags here and there
And by the heather and grasses of the moorland foreground
A babbling brook tumbles over rocks and falls
Separating the open bleakness of the moor
From the closed impenetrability of the woodland beyond
The trees cloak the hillside, giving rise
To an amazing palette of colour
As layer upon layer of species and pattern
Weave an intricate canvas painted in unbelievable hues
Of ochre, burnt sienna, and umber
An ancient stone path
Worn deep by two centuries of feet and their untold histories
Winds its way down to the packhorse bridge
And into the woods, airy now in winter, but dense in summer
A dipper walks impossibly under the water before hopping out onto a rock
The pungent smell of mushrooms, making me hungry
Affords the excuse to dally a little longer
I rest against a dry stone wall with my lunch and flask
And bask in the human solitude
As I commune with the abundance of life that surrounds me
Shortly I will have to leave this place
For I have a few miles yet to go
The days are short now and the light will fade fast
But, although I will have to leave this place
This place will never leave me
Categories:
burnt sienna, nature, seasonslight, light,
Form:
Narrative
the soft yellow streaked the terra cotta,
shadowing the speckled sallow saffron
a bluish buff upon the cochineal;
brilliant boneblack
grizzled the engrain
citrine carnation
as
the fallow flaxen,rustic rubrical
rainbow-tinted
the magenta mandarine;
unseen
the ultra-marine, tinged burnt sienna,
reflecting a golden flame of raw umbery upon
the earth green;
bright mosaic gold
mottled the sallow sorrel
virent yellow,oak stained
the pale apricot;
while
blood red,reddish russet
dotted the olive lind;
freckled crimson,
a chestnut maroon,
on fuchsias faded apple green
as burnt umber sank deep
into its sanguine slumber.
This a favourite poem because it combines my two hobbies art and poetry
Categories:
burnt sienna, art, imagination, nature
Form:
Free verse
AUTUMN OUGHT NOT BE SO ORIDNARY
Setting now is another Autumnal sun
Another late October day is nearly done
And now I’ve another night all alone to face
Without a lasting and loving embrace
Sans a kindly kiss good-night
And a “sleep well my sweet” wrapped in delight
With sincerity sequestered in each word and her last smile so blueberry bright
No, just another very lonely night
Tonight my desires matter not since I am alone
Yes, of course there is always the telephone
But then all I hear is a disembodied voice
And if I had a choice and were I to make that choice known
I’d choose not to be quite and quietly so alone
Pictures of the past hang on a wall bare but for images of yesterday
Scenes of what sorrow and celebration had to say
Some in color and some in burnt sienna brown
Most that make me smile and only some that make me frown
The sad ones are photos taken while I must have been envisioning the sorrow of this day that has
so suddenly set in
And the darkness yet another twilight has let in
Another night to chase away with sleep and a prayer for serenity
An evening made imperfect for a perfectly maudlin man like me
Sereneness that may never arrive for a lonely man who longs for long-term love
Yet finds only fleeting lovers who are tourists in and out of a life made from madness and too many changes
With all the obscurity uncertainty arranges
As I think of all the good times I must begin to be forgetting
But alas, yet another Autumnal sun is just about setting
© 2012 copyright PHREEPOETREE…..~free cee!~
Categories:
burnt sienna, angst, night, prayer, day,
Form:
Monorhyme
A stranger once offered me
A cup of hot chocolate.
He looked awfully familiar
So, smiling, I accepted it
As I gaze at the light drizzle outside.
But the boiling brew
Warmed my body not
Nor it unfroze my cold, lonely heart.
It was molten live coals. Furiously it burnt
On my tender pink.
Wincing, I
Drew back but, oh!
Too late.
Rich, milky, burnt-sienna
Had scalded pale pink
So badly it left a lasting
Sting
And an icy-cold heart.
I take no more hot chocolate
From any stranger ever since.
Tongues and lips heal
But not hearts.
Mine never thaws.
And what stings more
Than the bitter, dark, hell-brewed chocolate,
Bubbling-hot and vicious on dear lips,
Is how I now see that
Everyone is a stranger to
Me.
Categories:
burnt sienna, chocolate, dark, drink, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
A novel that I haven’t read
Is Fifty Shades of Grey.
I know what it’s about, but why the grey?
I couldn’t say.
The only greys that I could name
Are charcoal, smoke or ash.
But fifty shades of brown?
Now, I could name them in a flash!
There’s mocha, chocolate, bittersweet,
Mahogany and umber;
Burnt sienna, saddle and
More tans that I could number.
Butterscotch and caramel,
Espresso, cocoa, rust;
Copper, coffee, khaki, chestnut –
There are more, I trust.
Cinnamon and chicory,
Malt and dirt and clay;
Sand and nutmeg, earth and mud
And one I cannot say.
Camouflage, bamboo and beige,
Bronze and fox and mink;
Camel, pecan, palomino –
Time to stop, I think.
I’ve made my point; as colors go,
I think it’s fair to say
That Fifty Shades of Brown makes sense
Much more than Shades of Grey!
Categories:
burnt sienna, parody,
Form:
Rhyme