Best Crayons Poems
Some were peeling
others chipped and cracked
Some crayons sat tall and semi-pristine
others were beautifully bent and black
One was dotted with the colors from another
All were silent as ice mountain monks.
There were a few empty seats
(monuments to the lost?)
Where do the discarded and forgotten go?
Where do waxen souls leave their mark...
An old box of crayons is much like a city bus.
(Dedicated to and in memory of the
children who were killed in the
Connecticut school shooting.)
Remember bells and keep your eyes
from crying,
from the sights that held your
screams today.
Leave your stolen dreams taped to
the windows
and live each one until you fade
away...
And should you need the words of
sweet
St. Agnes.
Weeping as she says a prayer for
you.
Standing with St. Nicholas on the
threshold
Hoping you won't have to
understand...
Why your mommy cries with folks
around her,
And your daddy's head hangs to the
ground.
And should you need the words of
sweet
St. Agnes.
As she spreads her arms for you
today
and all her fellow saints offer their
verses.
Because today she cannot find the
words to say.
Farewell now, sleep well and keep on
smiling.
Twenty crayons, left upon the
ground.
Farewell now, we promise to
remember...
that twenty crayons have fallen
down.
Blue Monday
they say
A green tuesday,
we celebrate birthday
The color red is wednesday,
an ordinary working day
Thursday, I paint yellow
my neighbor plays cello
Black Friday
... stay away !
Saturday is purple,
we are together as a couple
Finally a pink sunday
a lovely day, do you agree ?
21.11.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
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yellow lemon
green apple
red raspberry
orange orange
/\/\/\/\
grey goose
pink flamingo
red robin
raven raven
\/\/\/\/
gold fish
blue whale
red snapper
salmon salmon
/\/\/\/\
black panther
brown bear
Redd Foxx
sable sable
\/\/\/\/
copper head
black mamba
red racer
snake skin
/\/\/\/\
black man
white man
red skin
human
\/\/\/\/
zebra stripes
leopard spots
diamond back
rainbow trout
CHAMELEON
I’m not certain when it happens.
When the high fidelity stereo of a youthful past
Drowns in the monophonic static of tomorrow’s responsibilities.
When cowboys and indians or cops and robbers
Become traffic tickets and the politically correct, Native Americans.
When the king of the castle ends up under a mortgage and tax escrow
Owned by bank and government alike for standing strong on a playground boulder.
When the real fear of catching cooties from the girls at recess
Gives way to the real fear of catching cooties from girls in your bedroom.
But it invariably does.
You wake up and notice something interesting about mirrors.
Your reflection isn’t there anymore.
That person doesn’t know that fruity pebbles taste better than bran flakes.
That pens and pencils are made for drawing, not writing checks.
And crayons are better still.
That person has forgotten that mornings are to be celebrated
And bedtime is another way of spelling tantrum time.
That person is a grown up.
And certainly, that person isn’t you.
Are they?
04/24/15
We are like a box of crayons
Diverse and unique
The difference is; crayons
Does not battle to be the best color in the box
They are content in creating a stunning picture
No matter if one color got preference over the other
We need to stop making life a competition
The joy of putting each other down
Last only as long as your effort is highlighted
Tomorrow something else takes centre stage
The only person left with the scar is the one you put down today
For your temporary moment in the limelight
Life is about more than that
@WN Neels 231120162003
I
think
that sooner
or later, Crayola
will have to take the
blame for continuing to
make Crayons nostril width
as a young child
you don’t understand
the cause of broken crayons
is from your hand
you push hard to make it dark
you have to learn over time
making a picture dark
doesn’t color any line
so your mommy tries to tape them
and that color just wont work
like it did at first
taping a crayon is not something new
my mommy taped my crayons
when I broke the color blue
I thought I would be smart
and I tried to use some glue
but that didn’t work either
before I know it, I had broken two
if you learn to color gently
your crayons will last
then taped crayons will be a thing of the past
When I was a little girl, no higher then your knee,
I was given a box of crayons to enhance my creativity.
I laid out all those crayons in a long, long line, you see.
Mesmerized by what laid just at my fingertips for me.
I've held a rainbow in my hands and a unicorn with blue eyes.
I've sailed on the back of a fire breathing dragon to my surprise,
Through a purple-black sky, twinkling stars and a golden moonrise.
The most precious gift of all was my imagination that went sky-high.
Today the smell of crayons will put a grin upon my old face,
And then I'll color in my grand kids coloring books with grace.
Amidst shattered hues, they stay alive,
Broken crayons, yet they thrive.
Purple persists in its royal grace,
Pink too, in its delicate embrace.
Shorter, yes, and somewhat marred,
Yet each color, its essence unscarred.
A tapestry woven, albeit frail,
In their imperfection, they unveil.
Awkward they feel, in a trembling hand,
Difficult to sharpen, to understand.
Yet in their struggle, a lesson learned,
To cherish each moment, each color earned.
Through the scribbles and the lines,
A masterpiece, against all confines.
A star awarded, a testament true,
In every stroke, their resilience anew.
An A+ gleams, a testament bright,
In the world of hues, they shine with might.
For in their fractures, a beauty found,
Broken crayons, still coloring profound.
Pencils, pens, crayons, and markers
Makes me
An artist of the highest degree.
I can make the neatest tree
With a bird family using it as a new addressee.
It will have all sorts of flowers around it with
A hungry bee.
While I am still sitting on my knees
I can make a zoo in which I have the only key.
These animals are the likes of which no one
Will ever see.
My mom is laughing with glee
As she relaxes with her cup of tea.
She says " Come here my favorite artist who is
Only three
Sit next to me as we go on your zoo journey."
My mom had set my heart free
Now I was filled with lots of creativity.
We've been thinking how Crayolas come in a box
Because we hear they've been compared to a lummox
That's a funny thought, a mystery, and a flummox,
But we know red is the most used because it rocks!
Could be its gender-related that girls choose blue
Boys opt for black. Do they have a somber view?
Jenna always says, "Put it back when you're through."
Milt presses too hard leaving them broken in two.
Pink is not Milt's color. It's not his preferred hue.
He prefers earthy tones, like brown and bamboo
While Jenna seems to favor a deep shade of green,
Like dew on mountain grasses, with a glossy sheen.
We use orange for the sun. It's always plausible,
but avoid using the purple, whenever possible.
Milt doesn't have clothes in that shade of color,
For a boxful of thirty-six, we'd trade for our cruller!
Asking why boxes don't have the color bronze?
Milt was told, “You're dumb as a box of crayons!”
He looked at that guy like he didn't have a clue...
Laughing, Jenna said, "He has a crayon’s IQ."
A Collaboration with Milt Hankins
It was fun writing with you.
Broken crayons in my bag
Still has a purpose
It can add color to a dull day
Words, you are afraid to say
Can be shared without shame
These broken crayons still has its worth
Just like us as humans
We might be a little broken and bruise
But we are still important
We still have a purpose
You can brighten someone's day
You can paint another's sky with a myriad of shades
Be like those broken crayons in my bag
Let your actions be your words
©13102021
There were only eight colors
in a flat box.
They were round
constantly rolling
challenging
our dexterity.
We colored
“inside” the lines
lest we be chastised.
When we dared
we mixed the colors
made rainbows
challenged the “status quo”,
ventured “outside”
the lines
searched
for the Leprechaun
and his pot-a-gold.
John G. Lawless
©8/20/2022
I COLORED OUTSIDE THE LINES,
DID IT ALL THE TIME,
COLORS WERE PRETTY,
BACK OF HIS BOOKS SO DIRTY,
HE BROKE THEM,
WITH A VICTIMLESS CRIME,
HE DID IT ALL THE TIME,
I COLORED OUTSIDE THE LINES,
PRAYING HE WOULD GO BLIND,
BROKEN CRAYONS,
STILL COLOR FINE,
THEY DO IT,
ALL THE TIME.
~VICKIE THAYER~