I've never ever seen her face,
but in my mind, she's the color of love
strong like dark coffee
She wakes you up early in the morning,
gives you an energetic taste of loving
to get your day going
passionate fire flows in her veins
She's got crimson lips that blow words of desire,
to keep the flames rising higher and higher,
every time she speaks your name
smile is sunshine bright
She walk towards you in her canary-colored,
polka dot sun dress that accentuate her hips so well
Her graceful charm is so a-maize-ingly pastel
mood indigo can really touch you
She makes you want to love her always,
under ocean lit moonlight and clear cerulean skies
Embark on a passage of endless days
verdant valley of iris flower eyes
She's as a carpet of grass with enfolding arms,
wrapping you in her love
Bury your head in her bosom, safe from harm
sugar is the sweetest heart ever known
She has a boundless supply of caramel happiness,
taste the creamy richness of her sensuality
It's like roasted chestnuts offered to a welcomed guest
visions of a streaming, silky satin dress
She has a winter glow like pure virgin snow,
a gift waiting to be opened by a worthy beau
Beckons you into her ivory tower to rest
Forever gazing into her yet unseen face,
which in my mind is the color of love
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016
My parents said I could not keep the black, stray cat.
They explained our canary would not survive that.
Parents out, a sitter, and my four-year-old mind
Let the cat in and hoped for the best in due time.
I am ashamed to have plotted murder when four,
Sad an innocent bird died cause I liked cats more.
The whole family loved that sweet cat, “Little Bit”,
Plus, I promise, I have planned no other death hit.
For those readers who are curious; yes, the person I was at four did this, but if it is any consolation, the adult in me still carries ripples from that child's act which stemmed from 'her' belief that boring equaled a lack of body/emotion feelings!
... CayCay Jennings
February 24, 2016
Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2016
The warrior lays her weary head,
With heavy heart she cannot bear,
Burning tears stream down her face,
As whispered memories touch the ear.
Her armour tarnished by remorse,
Her battle-cry a wimpered row,
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude,
Will never know forgiveness now.
The song began two score ago,
When two came knocking at her door,
In need of refuge from the world,
Of that, and love, and little more.
Forced to fight for every smile,
Her only solace found in song,
She longed for love to rescue her,
And plant her where she could belong.
Jealous tongues are seldom kind,
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love,
The caged canary only sings,
When coaxed to praise from up above.
For the steely spine that now I own,
Forever shall I grateful be,
A gift from her, and from her own.
Courage mounted inwardly.
I'll not forget how I have loved thee,
And youthful memories I will prize,
Til on the shore of His forgiveness,
Whereto now, we both shall rise.
Copyright © Yvonne Evanoff | Year Posted 2011
Sometimes when matters are in the gray,
it ain’t always black and white
There are times when emotions are deep blue,
canary yellow thoughts can make us wanna fly, shy away
Then, bright orange glowing memories
bring gentle, evergreen smiles
As time’s seasonal change sunset down on us
Being lifelong lovers, we got
amethyst purple hearts of courage
that beats with
ruby red rhythms of loving perseverance
Here at this humble, brownstone garden abode,
two pink carnations have budded and bloomed
Now looking at the graying of the skies,
we can see the rainbows in each other’s eyes
Reflecting the soul spectrum of our love
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017
Yellow spreads her flowered self all along my lane,
asking only for some warmth and a little rain.
She might pose as Daffodil or enjoy the fame
of the seeded beauty which bears our sun’s own name.
Yellow makes the perfect gift - roses for the friend
whom you know is sure to be faithful till the end.
Yellow has a smooth gold hue stirred into our tea
as the nectar made for us by the honey bee.
But she isn’t always sweet. Yellow is a tart
when she shows herself to us with a lemon’s heart.
But she tastes so wonderful even when not sweet,
buttering the popcorn that most folks love to eat.
Nature uses her to paint over leaves of fall.
Used by man, she covers curbs or a bedroom wall!
Yellow whizzes through the streets like the cabs downtown -
yet acts like a traffic light when we should slow down!
In the jungle Yellow moves lithely on the back
of a tiger, blending in with its stripes of black.
We can smell, taste and see her in so many things.
I can even hear her when my canary sings.
Yellow, keep on shining in wings of butterflies,
and keep looking down on us from your sunny skies.
Written Feb. 7, 2014
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
Her world is as radiant as the sun,
golden as dandelions that cover
the fields and hillsides in springtime,
or the sunny faced jonquils and daffodils
that turn winter white to yellow bright.
Her touch lingers in pools of golden carp,
in yellow bananas peeping out from
verdant large leaves in peaceful plantations,
and in succulent golden ripe pineapples.
Her beauty is embraced by the yellow feathered
warbler and canary who sing joyful tunes.
She resides in the golden fingers of
light that spill through clouds, and in amber
leaves that slowly morph to red in fall when
she colors chrysanthemums and marigolds.
Earth's gold veins call out her nurturing name.
She is a divine dame...she is Mother Nature!
March 26, 2016 (rev.)
© Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016
Cuckoo clocks are quite ornate it is said
But those raucous squawks we suffer with dread
Why could not its designer
Have found a bird much finer
Like a sweet trilling canary instead
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 5 in Brian Strand's "Five Lines Down" Contest - May 2011
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2011
Pardon ma'am, but I noticed you've been staring at this painting for a while
She is beautiful but has such a melancholy face, it's hard to look away
Her name is Veronique and that's me behind her, the little canary
She's been my sorrowful mistress now for almost two hundred years
When the artist painted her she was wearing a subtle smile but then
Gabriel told her he had to leave for a fortnight and promised to return
He vowed to finish this canvas, painting her smile back on again
but thousands of fortnights and volumes of her tears have come and gone
no sign of Gabriel, so my Lady sits and stares wistfully, remembering him
She touches the bow of her violin but hasn't played since the day he left
I hear her weep late at night when she reads the poem he left for her
The edges of the page are torn and tattered, tear stained parchment
but Veronique reads it night after night then holds it against her heart
He wrote in extravagant hand the words, now on yellowed page:
Thou fill'st my heart with love
More than any winged birds
Could fill the heavens above
Thou art the chalice of my soul
The cup from which I drink
My warmth when I grow cold
Thou art nectar of my desire
Thou art the spark of my fire
Those are words any fair maiden would swoon to have written for her
She still holds hope that her Gabriel will return but I worry about her
She keeps repeating the words he wrote on the back of this painting:
My Veronique ~
Goddess with cinnabar tresses in green velvet dresses
I've told you her name and mine is Cyros. May I ask yours?
A subtle smile crossed her lips, her skin pale and wrinkled with age
This lovely woman with touches of cinnabar in her grayed tresses
Stood with charm and grace. She curtsied in her green velvet dress
In whispered voice said, "Cyros, I am Madame Veronique Rossetti"
Painting: Veronica Veronese Artist: Dante Gabriel Rossetti
6th of May, 2016 Within A Gilded Frame Contest
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016
The year is 2025
I have come back to my past
To witness the Mayans
Who said Earth would not last
Was the year they declared
That the planet we knew
Could never be spared
An Asteroid shower
We could never comprehend
Sends this heaven to hell
In catastrophic spend
The first to hit
Was the daddy of them all
Our axis twisted
The human race in fall
Just of Madagascar
In the Indian Ocean
It's where it all started
That set our demise in motion
Like giant tower blocks
As Polynesia rocked
The force of impact
On the Canary Islands
A dormant volcano so reft
It's massive mountain side
Into the Atlantic slipped
To the eastern seaboard
Of the United States it shipped
A second Tsunami
Half the world long
Would submerge the east
Taking the weak and the strong
The second to hit
Hit a place struck before
Tunguska in Russia
Receives another sore
Daylight turns to night
As earth meets our skies
Fallout from the reactors
In shattered demise
Eventually filter down
Leaving bleeding lacerations
As we humans death drown
Some just a few hundred feet
Around the world they were marvelled
Until they meet their greet
The place where I stand now
Was Yosemite National Park
Now dark ridges of black
So bare and stark
It's been many many years
Since the sun shone through the screen
When I close my eyes I remember
When the earth was lush and green
How many of us survived
Will we ever know
Was this in our destiny
I think all around me, now shows
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
Kaleidoscope of a rainbow's hope,
realizations of grandiosity from a splendorous mount-
A looking glass for a peace, alas,
crystallization of beauty from an azure fount.
Sunset hues of yellow and white,
with a splash of Prussian in rain's delight-
Contrasts of the day and night
with a flash of a lover's fantasy sight.
Spectrum dreams, not as it seems,
continuous light shines with fervor's gleam-
A rift of a cliff of a twilit stream,
clashes with reverie’s majestic supreme.
I've seen the beauty held in
a rainbow's desire, as the rain ends with sangria fire-
Releasing all the glow acquired with the flow,
glistened tints of pink sapphire.
Palatial sprays in canary ways are believed to
shower life with nectar,
my medallion stays on my porch
these days, and receive nourishment from a
Chartreuse and cobalt
with a splash of honeyed hazel shimmer,
brings abstruse beauty with a flash
of lovely palatial glimmer.
Date Written: February 13, 2017
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2017
Be still, Mother Nature...
Fill me with a breath of fresh air from your whispering breeze-
Thrill me with the scents of fresh pumpkin that put my senses at ease.
Be calm, Mother Nature...
Cover me in crimson leaflets as Autumn begins to arrive-
My beloved and I love our walks as this season does keep us alive.
I've traveled through Tuscany and landed on mounts with refreshing waters. Seen sights beyond comprehension and still, I am left breathless as I watch a
Canary flutter as it closes up its nest...for it is that time of year again-
The glowing embers ablaze in my back yard release me from the stress my day has brought. Mother Nature has birthed such beauty in the softness of twilight. Orange hues from the Harvest moon bring loveliness to the beautiful -vastness of creation.
Date Written: September 15, 2016
Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016
Reflecting the world tiny one,
In what you see where you've landed.
Dancing, copying, becoming.
Now, a yellow wild canary.
Then, a dandelion puff.
Not pretending but reflecting,
Becoming, summed in soul.
In the mirror I see the wrinkles,
In the silver see your smile.
I see the outside in decline,
You only see inside, for awhile.
By Edlynn Nau
© May 11, 2016
Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016
In the southern parts of Africa
You can hear me singing my song
A member of the finch family
Maybe the smallest one
I’m a small passerine bird
Such a tiny, tiny, thing
Like the colour of the sun
Bright shining from my wings
I’m a vibrant yellow soul
With an attractive mellow hue
I’m a border fancy singing
Whistling these songs to you
We are the songbirds of America
Hey’ the special roller tours
The beautiful American songsters
The ones you cannot ignore
I’m a small passerine bird
Such a tiny, tiny, thing
Like the colour of the grass
Bright shining from my wings
I’m a vibrant green soul
With plenty of attitude
I have a wide range of songs
Let me sing you the blues
Were a colourful chorus of birds
Competing in the shows to sing
But not during the molting period
In the summer just after the spring
Were the birds of Canary Islands
But took refuge on Spanish sails
The most famous finch in history
Singing beautiful as nightingales
I’m a small passerine bird
Such a tiny, tiny, thing
Like the colour of a rose
Bright shining from my wings
I’m a vibrant redish soul
A brilliant little actor
Hear me bellow out
Have I got the Xfactor
We are popular cage birds
On both sides of the Atlantic
The hen she’s kind of cute
But the cock, now he’s romantic
© Copyright KC.Leake
27th November 2014
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © kevin leake | Year Posted 2014
Flaxen oars comb golden ripples as I set adrift into butterscotch fog-- my miracle has led me here
Alone, enchanted by soft canary light from a distant Tuscan sun I look to the honey glazed horizon
Leading me deeper into blonde bliss I follow the fire in my belly as it suffuses me with amber valor--
Neither dream nor destiny, as the wind carries the dandelions, soon reborn from a yellow chrysalis
March 3, 2016
Copyright © Sam Jameson | Year Posted 2016
Happily the budgie chirps, his voice so clear and bright
And then canary voices join in, singing 'til day becomes night.
Robins pause outside our window to hear their harmony.
My birds sing with such happiness even though they are not free.
Outside, in trees, voices join in, a chorus of feathered friends.
Now and then they pause to rest as their harmonies reach an end.
Yes, these sounds, so beautiful, put a weary soul on the mend
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2013
I once knew a sedate gent with class,
who would not drink red wine at church mass.
Would take a wee sip,
to wet his wee lip,
since red wine made him expel built gas.
Was time for his daughter to marry,
gentleman who liked to drink sherry.
Being a good dad,
he toasted the lad,
then prayed for audacious canary.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2011
Pampero you rush across the pampa's of Argentina
blowing fast and strong bending all before you.
Mighty and powerful you make your presence known
as you travel o'er the pampas in triumphant passage.
Ah Simoom you shift around the sand dunes
sucking up all moisture as you journey the Sahara,
creating vast clouds of blinding sand. Stinging
sands that cut like knives tearing at clothes.
Tramontane you blow so cold as you traverse
the Alps bringing with you freezing ice and snow.
And flick over to the Pyrenees where you dance
in delight as you blow hard and strong whipping up snow.
Wreckhouse you blow down the slopes of the Range mountains
of Newfoundland. Cleansing and refreshing as you bring
life giving rains to their slopes. Vibrant greens left by your path
as you go on to who knows quite where
Fremantle Doctor you are an afternoon sea breeze
coming in from the Indian Ocean you bring
welcome coolness across Perth with a salty tang,
but only in the summer months do you work your charms.
Plough winds breezing along in straight furrows
preceding thunderstorms forming clusters of rain.
No deviation in your path straight as a arrow
you bring lightning flashes that lit the skies.
Calima the dread of housewives as you bring
dust laden clouds to the shores of the Canary Islands,
coming south to southeasterly carried by the
Saharan air layer. The sooner gone the better.
Abrosolhos with your frequent squalls that traverse
in the months of May through to August known in
Portuguese as open eyes you flow between
Cabo de San Tome and Cabo Frio causing chaos.
contest Wind sponsor Skat
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014
There’s a J-Bird in my hand
Feels just like a gun
I might kill someone
Feathers come to dust
I walk sideways
Down the hall
And baby *****green
Nothing sane about me
Take your time
Before you speak
I’m on my way to jail
Blue Jays and colored grass
Is all I have left
And rabbit holes
Will have to hold you
Till the band comes home
A carnival dream
And a canary hat
My banjo on my knee
Look under the bed
And read the book
It tells the story
Of a man who’s dead
Never loved a single thing
But his death and clarinet dreams.
Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2013
They stand before me in uniform columns
A mixture of snapshots and Polaroids
As testimony to the time of us
Each is a witness to a moment that was
When I clicked you into permanence
And sanctified an instant never to be denied
There is the shaded image of you asleep
Your hand resting easily on the pillow
And I remember wondering where you had gone
In the passage through your dreaming
You are there with funny face and clownish pose
Sitting pensive and aloof beside the River Po
Lifting a toast, as if to us and all tomorrows
Somber and dejected on the day the canary died
You are there, made as forever as a statue
Immortal upon flexible plastic
And indelible upon my memories, you are there
Each photo a recollection, like ashes of reality
Engraved upon my soul in kisses and promises
You are there because I am your inheritance to you
Copyright © DAVID ELLSWORTH | Year Posted 2012
My color is white -
white like a dove
A second color
flutters near me.
It’s the yellow
of a canary
that sings in the sun.
Basking in light,
it’s looking for fun.
Your color is red -
red like a fire,
a fire that crackles
and sometimes explodes.
The cool hue of blue
is following you -
cool like the sea.
Sometimes your blue
swallows the red
before you are
You can’t understand
the colors I am
though yours I try hard
Burn with your red,
but I’ll softly coo.
Then cry your blue tears.
In the sunshine
I will keep singing.
Written Jan. 16, 2016 for the Anacreontic II poetry Contest of Edward Ebbs
This poem is based on a personality test (used by professionals) called The Hartman Color Code and describes a marriage that is truly a marriage of opposites. To take the test and know more about your primary and possible secondary colors' meanings, see the link in the About Poem Box.
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
We were a poor Yacht Club, lacking prestige, but with knowledgeable sailors who believed in one another and more importantly, our club. We also had the best boat. A 65' two masted Schooner named S/V "Apparition" and with her we would attempt to win the 550 mile race from New Orleans to Isla Majures, Mexico, against all the challenging Yacht clubs, including those who raced Americas Cup.
Apparition first began as a dream conceived in the desert of Saudi Arabia while, club member, John Harkins worked for United Emirates in Nigeria. There he and his company weathered life threats and spent after work hours locked securely in their hotel rooms, leaving them little to do but think.
With time on his hands, John pondered his early childhood, his father's naval influence. He became addicted to James A Mitchner's series, "Adventures in Paradise."
Thus taking his mechanical engineering degree and dreams in hand John designed Apparitions interior to accommodate a couple but made certain that Apparition could be reconfigured to hold 17 during racing situations.
Finally the months of work and waiting for the Southhampton English Ocean Shipyard to complete Apparition arrived and John left with his self-sufficient crew of one.
Making stops in Spain, Gibraltar, Canary Islands, Portugal, England, Barbados, the Grenadines, Virgin Islands, Southern US, and later crossed the English Channel, Bay of Biscay, Straights of Gibraltar, and parts of the Mediterranean Sea.
So winning the 550 mile race to Mexico should now be a snap for us?
The fastest Apparition has sailed was off the Canary islands in up to 40-50 knots apparent wind in a broad reach with yankee fore and main. We were reaching at 110 degrees off the bow and the knot log was reading above the limit at 12 knots. At times she would heel while slipping down the face of 20-30 foot waves creating a rooster tail some 20 feet. She never felt out of control and we were in a hurry!
John Harkins Apparition and our poor south shore yacht club managed to win the 550 mile race to Mexico three consecutive times and we may do it again,depending on where the wind blows us.
let me just say if you're out on the water and happened to be racing , if Apparition's name is spelled backwards, she's out in front of you............
Copyright © Judy Konos | Year Posted 2013
Kermit is a canary,
He's such a pretty boy
And when he starts to sing,
He sings with so much joy.
Kermit is a canary,
The prettiest I've ever seen
And with his strange coloured plumage
It ain't easy being green.
The other canaries stare at him
Because he is unique.
They think because he's green
He's some kind of a freak.
But Kermit is a pretty bird
Who has a pretty voice
And as for his green colour
He really had no choice.
The yellow and the orange coloured birds,
They think they are the best
But little "Kermit the Green"
Just doesn't look like the rest.
But he can sing a pretty song,
The sweetest ever heard.
It just ain't easy being green
Especially if you're a bird.
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2010
I was deceived, my heart is sad!
My dear canary is now dead.
Oh fluffy cat curled in the sun,
Kin of lion-- kills for fun.
How dare you pose as faithful friend
When you have caused this song to end?
How can you sit like guest and beg--
Purr and rub against my leg?
No remorse will touch your heart
And so I harden on my part.
At my feet your kill was laid--
For that sweet life nine shall be paid!
Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2012
Spanish guitar music tape
murmuring hands on a lap
rises to cuddle a ringing tone
intone spanic delusional red rown
flamenco dancer in a paint'd gawn
canary islands inherited thrown
an a mild sadness in th' music rhyme
takes beyond thou memories line
to a place that's calm, gentle an fine
keeps your eyes open an kind
to finally get up an bind
a puff of wind of cherry rind
Copyright © Talin Kalishian | Year Posted 2016
I wished only
To suckle from your breast
I dreamed only to hold you
As you would embrace me to rest
I dreamed that love
Would set us both free
You denied me the fairy tale
You robbed your own broken heart
Now, we are both the poorer
The mourning makes us both the sorer
The canary sings when the new morning rings
The sun rises, and a young lovers smile rises
You are there
I am here
The road of one, still has room
Wonder when the cloud will lift the gloom
I have died long ago
No need to breathe on dead old leaves
If only the scar on the heart
Would open up
Only then could the rainbows sing
Letting the sunshine in
The blood would tumble and flood the floor
Flowing right out that heartless door
There I would be in soldier grey
Ready for the battle to make love stay
Into my arms, you would faint
I would stare and unspoken I would paint
The first small kiss you would awake
Open the book, so that verses we could make
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016