Best Burnt Umber Poems
I heard it said once
That attractive to an artist
Does not mean "pretty"
In the average sense
But more something that
Is interesting to look at
And makes you want to
Keep looking
To him, I can look for hours
And want to keep looking
He is the color burnt umber
Like coffee and cream
And purest black ink
Not blue-black, or brown,
But the undiluted purity
Of a spilled ink-pot
Shaped by the delicate curve
Of a calligraphy brush
Into perfectly, haphazardly
Beautiful curls, erratic and
Bold
And his eyes
Those eyes
Like coffee, taken
Without cream or sugar
But turned amber by sunlight
And sweetened by laughter
Making what might have been
Intimidating, with their darkly
Charcoaled outline that
Marks them as Arab
Instead as sweetly inviting
As the warm half-light of dusk
And so addictive
I've been looking for hours
And I want to keep looking
"I am sending you a gift of poetry, dear heart." This one really reached out to me in its simple
and uncluttered use of a sunrise to show God's handiwork. I thought that since your work was
in Haiku, I would try to do a free verse version relating the thought of God painting His
morning canvas. I hope you are okay with this.
Inspired by the poem: "Heavenly Sunrise" by Constance~A Rambling Poet~
For: "I Am Sending You A Gift Of Poetry, Dear Heart" Contest
Free Verse Poem Written by: Dan Cwiak
The Master takes his brush to palette~
Effortlessly is the day's canvas dotted with color.
Golden Horizon swished from the brush~
Darkened only by the earth tones of morning.
An Orange Ball creeps o'er the distance~
Shades of red and yellow stir the burnt umber awake.
Fine lines drawn for this morning~
No mistaking the Hand of God at work!
Dragon Anguish
Adam clenched his fists attempting to block his senses
from the growing growls that hammered against his rib cage.
The thousands of millenniums he had lived barricading his heart
from all worldly emotions.
Adam looked up at the daunting sky to flaunting dark clouds
creep overhead. He breathed in the sweetest aroma of petrichor.
Thunder grumbled breaking the silence in the coldness,
as strikes of white lightning flashed across the night sky.
He couldn't stop the desire to shift into a dragon and fly.
To feel the wind beneath him again, to stretch his wings
and weave between the clouds and roar.
Adrienne, his beloved was a mortal.
She was a lovely lithe blossom that he had vowed to protect.
Her smile would inspire leaves turn green
and flowers bloom and burst into color.
Her eyes were the color of the forest that would shimmer
like the night sky with a thousand stars.
She had a riot of long burnt umber hair
that cascaded down her slender back.
His memory's grip, craving her, again and again.
Kisses that engulfed and would open the doors of heaven.
Releasing a fiery passion within him engulfing his world.
When Adam had been gone hunting for food for several days.
Men from another clan came down from the hills
pillaged and burned the village, not a soul had been left alive.
He raised his head and gazed into the night,
never again would he unlock his soul.
Adam shifted and jumped as he spread his leathery wings
and flew in the cover of the night sky and the clap of thunder.
10/13/2018
Poetry Contest: Fiction - October 2018 Writing Challenge
Sponsored by: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
The night still young at seven,
leaving a warm afterglow
that makes the still sea
a mellow yellow~
mirroring your splendour
as I take a look once more
at the traces of our tryst.
Your smile is etched
upon the silhouettes
of seabirds taking flight.
Your voice is whispered
by the east wind
like the way you did
when you uttered,
"I love you".
Your arms I feel
in the burnt umber clouds
embosoming mountain crest.
Alas, the night is now old at eleven
but the star-studded sky
exudes a harlequin hope
that there will be~
"Time For Us"
One day soon!
22 August 2020
1st place
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (26) ,any form,any theme
Contest Judged: 8/23/2020
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Streaks of pallid moonlight
wash over blood-stained
burnt umber leaf blight.
Glistening stainless steel remains
within wilting noir roses
and blistered blades of grass.
Sickening hands shake my repose,
heart racing, sure to collapse,
feeling faint.
A revolting nausea elevates,
trying to find restraint,
as madness deregulates.
A heart separated
from a lifeless corpse—
death awaits.
Flashbacks play like static reports,
too hard to get a clear picture.
Splashes of splattered red fill
spaces in between scriptures.
Screaming echoes spill,
dirty visions getting clearer,
as the sacrificial lamb
becomes the predator, evaporating fear.
Fighting for the blade, fingers clammy,
spinning out of control.
How could you bring me to this?
Steel cuts against palms, foretold—
splatters of crimson spray, don't resist,
covering fear-filled eyes.
One last-ditch effort:
grab the hilt and arise.
On this deadening night, collect.
You became Samhain’s sacrifice,
a feast for the demonic nether, sanctified.
Bella's entrancing green eyes
stare wistfully into my own.
She's a windowsill jumper, bounding with grace
whose taken over my apartment as if it's her place.
She's such a pretty little kitty, a catnip dancer
who seems to see herself as a feline, divine.
She charmed me on the day I found her
but as a rescue, she needed time to come to me.
I know this is where she was meant to be.
Sweet girl with a history that remains a mystery
She never meows with sass when corrected,
and her purrs are soothing whispers in the night.
Bella brings me hours of great joy
so, I reward her loyalty with a toy or two.
Wearing a long-haired burnt umber coat,
she sidles up to me, anticipating a petting.
Bella bestows love that I'll not be forgetting
A lap-curler when she chooses to be social
but aloof which proves the theory to me...
'Sometimes cats just like being left alone.'
Under the wrought iron arch and gateway
crawling with both wild and deep red creepers
complimented by evergreens.
The fall colors are splendid.
Most of the flowers are giving way
to the chill, and the swans are graceful and content
with the breeding season now over
Walking slowly along the narrow drive,
spots of color scatter around the green grass.
What beautiful yards,
each house made of stone,
granite - marble - sandstone.
The foundation of the earth
Dark stone black, pink, white, gray, burnt umber, rose
beautiful houses inviting you closer,
please see my name.
I was here many years ago.
Cholera came to me and took my spirit away.
But I was pretty and young and full of joy.
For a little while.
Old stones to the early 1800's.
Stones with angels guarding a lamb
baby tears fall, in time giving the stone soft edges.
One from yesterday.
Come see me in my house. Mausoleum strong and tall.
Handsome and successful.
Each as individual in death as their homes and places were in life.
Over here, I fought for my country. Me and all my buddies here,
laid out under each of these many white crosses.
Hello, don’t forget my free spirit ... riding high over the houses
touring where ever the wind wishes.
Swirling fine invisible ashes through the trees
sparkling in the late closing sun.
A town’s history. Natural, tragic, sickness, murder ... all here
The history wraps around the casual visitor.
Keening out not to be forgotten.
Calling, we were important pioneers.
The end of day sun setting on their windows
Aglow with the spirit of yesteryear.
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
Summer wearily sighed then softly closed her door.
For three months she lingered, and now she'd slumber
while Fall lays a carpet of leaves upon the forest floor.
Her winds gather them together, in profuse number,
bronze, russet and crimson, all fringed in burnt umber.
In a cloudless sky, the cry of migrating birds is heard,
flying to a warmer climate as Autumn begins to unfold.
When Nature births a new season, changes are spurred.
A saffron sun warms the Earth with fingers of gold,
and a harvest moon ascends; glorious sights to behold.
Autumn days are emblazoned with dazzling coloration,
painting vibrant scenes like no other season can bestow.
I welcome her annual arrival with joyous acclamation,
knowing the nights will be filled with starlight aglow
before Winter laces the landscape with flakes of snow.
~October 14, 2020~ ~Autumn Quintain ~
Sponsored by Francine Roberts
(Reviewed by a snooty correspondent)
November dons her coats of warm terries,
tans, a few ochres, but surely not bright.
(Except for sneaky, red-coated berries,
peeking from bushes, agrin with delight.)
November's dress: pretty dull, never shines.
We prefer October's boisterous charm.
Branches bare, it's said limbs often recline;
sunbathe to keep their tans, and also warm.
Fashion designers often grow somber
and turn November into works of art.
Choosing russet offset by burnt umber
we find those dull colors lacking in heart.
Whispers of Summer heard in fashion parks.
Soon we'll write of a new bridal-white show.
Days ending sooner, dusk now wearing darks;
Winter waits coyly; looks lovely in Snow.
November 10, 2021
November or December Quatrain Contest
sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
Drained and dried by life then left to die
She lived to love; but oft was left to cry
Counseled to carry on she continues
Shriveling as to She'ol her heart schuss
Holding on to hopes a hazard in her eyes
Immature and imbecilic it implies
Weary from wishing an end to her woe
she shelters her shredded spirit in shadow
Without febrility from festering passions to foil
unavowed feelings wilt under burnt umber soil
As expectation of love's exalted expressions fades
desires deaden; in desperation she no longer wades
03/25/2018
Light by the fire, through orange colored glass
Sienna and burnt umber encompass
The shades in the spectrum of excitement
And passion exudes within anointment
It excites the soul to command delight
Her heart alights with sensual insight
In desire lays kisses beyond belief
Through passion I feel the greatest relief
Orange invigorates the soul to last
Fire warms the body for love’s prideful cast
The candle burns with ecstasy inside
Leaving us to peel our grudges aside
Through the colored glass of lovely passion
Feel the heat of the flame’s hot emission
Russell Sivey
Contest: SOFTLY SENSUAL
Sponsor: nette onclaud
8/21/2013
Persuasion's possessive verses
'midst absolute poetic madness
surrendered in rhapsodic poesy,
poets are a tidy sum of quirky &
care zilch of external perceptions,
content to breathe 'round seduction
and unicorns' phantasmagoria
insomuch nonsense amid candor,
directionless winds 'neath allegory
'pon posies and dragon's intimation
twisting mundane to vibrant intrigue,
translations representing prism's
kaleidoscopic colorful impressions
and themes of whimsies' schematics,
transparency & transcendence yielded
'neath abstraction's elaborations,
refining & expounding unspoken lyrical
compositions of a fancied expose
commencing communed communication,
redundancies' excesses never take recess
panoramic hues of conceptualizations' foibles
reverberating gusto of paradoxical aberrations,
chromatic visuals swaying eye's sensory perspective
distorting brain synapses proliferating alterations,
dancing 'tween fiery moonbows & dandelion whims
'pon emotions flabbergasted mid-starry night folly,
prancing within rain's whetted infidelity of sunrises
hanging amongst cosmoses' effulgent constellations,
feet never planted firmly in earthy burnt umber
viewing worldly horizons differently upside zest's zing
of inky relished sublimation and shifting symmetry - -
and we make naught apologies for imperfect paragons
The dark season of cold, pallid vastness
Has not broken the tenacity
Of the first snow fall
Heralding the purity of the colorless
And the aroma of burning pine
This opaque mood I am in
Rejoices for the dark season
Yellow and brown ochre highlights
Burnt umber trees of plasticine
Molded by the hands of nature
In my mind, I am alone in this one-way reality
And yet, I delight for the dark season
If I could share this sensation, I would not
For it’s the prelude to a poem
About a cold and distant soul
The fragrance of a memory
From childhood long ago
I’m brought back
To a fenced in backyard
Crayola blue sky
Burnt umber ground
Islands of green and yellow grass
The scent of Summer Hill wafts
As the unseen is revealed
A dream remembered then forgotten
You say it didn't happen
I recollect the aroma that says it did