Best Discolored Poems
How do I tell you that you’re beautiful?
How can I be different?
How can I express my attraction?
When columns upon
Columns
Of testosterone filled wolves
Dressed in rented Italian suits
And discolored, mesh sneakers
Speak similar flirtatious dialect
Will this baby scented Sunflower do the trick?
I picked it from my walled Garden of Eden.
I spent 4 years mending these butterfly coated petals,
Solely for this moment
How can I express my need for your smile?
When tattered paper donations have been sent
To elicit short-term, newlywed goose bumps upon your flesh
...
May I have this dance?
You’ve never heard this sensual ballad.
But, it’s an element of my Spoken Word
Waiting for your translation
I await your palms,
Because this is not a Man’s world
This can be ours.
But, will you leap off from trampoline’s corazon?
My syllables are in your hands.
My book is within your misunderstood palm paths.
But,
If you’re going to read between my lines,
Do not be illiterate to my heartbeats.
Your move…
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
discolored, friendship, life, longing, love,
Form:
Free verse
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
In a house where a maiden's dreams were crushed
An open seam forever left impaled
Discolored remnants of a wedding veil
Beneath a stitch in time that came too late
A silver needle sewed her final fate
A blushing bride she never was to be
A spinster was to be her destiny
The war years seemed like only yesterday'
As I gazed on the ruins and disarray
A mildewed wedding dress that stood in wait
Beneath layers of soggy tattered lace
Then beneath the leaking roof and fallen beams
I heard the humming of that old machine
As she tried to mend the dream that fell apart
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
Categories:
discolored, dream, marriage,
Form:
Personification
Walking a tightrope across my inner self…
Dare to look down pass the pages from my shelf…
It tells the story of the mind that sits outside my soul…
Discolored and torn but the meaning still screams from what is whole…
Tiny scars stained by raindrops that never really dried…
Washed down my hand and caressed the tears I could never hide…
The journey left me crawling for my peace…
Onto a table beside a pen I sit and release…
Categories:
discolored, introspection, journey,
Form:
Couplet
Stretched along the silent winter garden
thrives a cold, dark dirt blanketed in olive decaying leaves.
Beneath the food of natural fertilizers, life emerges from its long hushed sleep
in sprouts of pale yellowed seafoam tender tiny greenery
with shoots of seaweed blue tinged daffodills
that push aside the hued lime grass carpeting.
The faded colors lost in the long white winter, rises,
in emerald peekings of a snowdrop wrapped in hazel eyed hues,
lush colors bleed into the awaiting shamrock meadow below,
escaping the melting and discolored snow.
Life springs forward to welcome the new season.
along the roof moss grows freely along the edge in pickled shades
thriving and living as a neon florescence in the sun
and the world is once again,
reborn to pistachio and clover imagery
lying where the green grass grows again.
Categories:
discolored, color, garden, green,
Form:
Free verse
I was walking through the forest
Saw a leaf on the ground
It looked discolored and tattered
Exhausted and dreary
So I turned it over
Was so colorful and bright
So fresh and brilliant too
I began to wonder
Why it landed that way
Or had it changed over time
I then looked at all the other leaves
So many dim and lacking color
I began to turn them all over
Until there was a golden glow
With brilliant reds mingled through
I felt so much better
And became revived
As I discovered this is the way
To start the New Year
By: Greg Stanley
December 23,2011
Categories:
discolored, allegory, inspirational, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Upon the desk the Great Poet’s pen ; covered in dust, lays unused
The discolored , unfinished POEM speaking, a LOVE never defused
The Great POET’S Soul leaves this earth to live with the Great Divine
Memories of a Great POET’S words , FOREVER embedded in Your mind
To die and be remembered for the eons of ALWAYS
Inspired by Light and LOVE : Deborah Guzzi’s Contest : “ My Inspiration “
Dedicated To Carol Brown
My Inspiration : “ Upon a Great Poet’s Death “ by “”Carol Brown””
Categories:
discolored, death, loveinspiration, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Hate,
You came to me
When I was a child
I don’t want you to
Be near me
Ever again
It was during WW2
Japan ruled
Koreans obeyed
One day
Mother came home
With tears in her eyes
Her voice filled with bitterness
A Japanese soldier kicker her
With his heavy boots
In a busy street
Where everyone was watching
Watching her bruised knees
Discolored shins
I felt hatred filling my entire being
Spreading like a wild fire
Not only against the soldier
But against all Japanese
I was a seven year old boy then
Late in life
I realized:
This must be how we learn to hate
A person and a nation
If unchecked, the hate will grow
Like wild fire
Spreading all over
Mother taught me to love
She said love was like
Spring sunshine
Helping people to get out
Of their cocoons
And mingling with others
As brothers and sisters
But how can I love
Instead of hate?
I did not tell myself to hate
It happened without trying
When I saw Mother’s bruised knees
Ugly face of hate filling my entire being
With the red banner of death
Coaxing me to revenge
Can I shove this hate
In the chamber of my will power?
Or Will it explode with mighty fury?
Or should I pray to God to diffuse it?
Categories:
discolored, evil, forgiveness, mother,
Form:
Free verse
Sometime after midnight, it had rained
Putting out summer’s sultry heat
The sky had its face washed clean
And wiped the grime off Earth’s soiled feet
The dawn is quietly breaking
Night lights still glimmer here and there
The blue firmament remains cloudless
And cool is the mild blowing air
The sleeping town is slowly waking up
And at this transitional point
I look out into the street
To see a sight that shall never disappoint
Along the road moves one, ragged and withered
His discolored white hair left unkempt
With hunch back and drooping shoulders
The marks Time has left of the hard years spent
Though age has drained his life sap away
He has a firm resolve never to beg
His frail body supported on a stick
Serves as a veritable third leg
With his staff, he perseveringly stirs
Every heap of abandoned rubbish
Indiscriminately piled on either side of the road
Hunting for trinkets lying hidden in the trash
A rag picker with a sack on his back
Picking up today’s treasure
From yesterday’s discarded trash
Things, for him ‘priceless’ beyond measure
With complaints none
He faces life and its trials
Never losing the glitter in his eyes
Though a loner in life’s dark isles
I ask myself, why every day
I routinely look for this man who limps along
And I get a quick answer
‘He helps you turn your sobs into a song’
Categories:
discolored, appreciation, career, encouraging, inspirational,
Form:
Rhyme
Wings of an Angel that are not so white...
Mine are just a little discolored
from what should be right...
I tried to sing but silence stole the stage...
I'm now trapped in a box of
of words without a page...
I will scratch on these walls till it makes some sense...
And then whisper a song until it
tears down the fence...
On the other side I shall stand upright with my pen...
And in the air I will scribe from
where I've been...
Categories:
discolored, imagination, on writing and
Form:
Rhyme
The old man gazed at the sun about to set
And its molten core soon to dissolve in the sea
Scratching his head with tremulous hands
And running his fingers on the stubble of his unshaven face
He held once more tight to his wheel chair
Casually he had a glance at his hands
Those dry, weak and shriveled hands
Gone wrinkled with passing years!
His hands once so busy are now limp
His days once brisk are now long and dull
He noticed the discolored patches on his skin
Under them the lattice of tortuous veins on the dorsum
They run down to join with the bigger ones
Like small rivulets flowing towards larger rivers
He remembered how the streams from summits
So vigorously come down with a gush
Also the noisy cataracts somersaulting down,
Leaving reverberating echoes all around
But they produce only a soft musical sound
As they join with the rivers and pass through plains
And finally end in a kind of hushed stillness
Just before merging with the sea!
The old man philosophized;
Life too is like a river:
Fierce and ferocious when one is young
Gentler and sedate after middle age
And slow and sloppy in old age
With this calm acceptance of the need to de-accelerate
Wrapping himself in the shawl against the growing cold
He turned away from the window.
Pushing his wheel chair,
He moved forward,
Knowing no haste…..
Towards his bed for another night’s tired sleep!
Categories:
discolored, analogy, grandfather, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
old faded polaroid~
the memory of yesteryear
distant and discolored
snapshot of a past
vague but not forgotten
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Posted on March 7, 2020
Categories:
discolored, longing, nostalgia, perspective, remember,
Form:
Free verse
An arthritic flesh
Hesitant wipes off deteriorated lens
Every exhale,
Another tragic sulk unto morrow’s pit
Flaunting suicidal fallacies
Off-white flag motions
Signaling mercy under liar’s duress
Muted pride
Cracking dusty knuckles
Penetration’s decrepit vowel
Slipping in between faulty, stamped licenses
Just to belong
Another back-handed waltz
Bordering beggar dialects
Untrue
Towards paradoxical epiphanies
A faceless identity
Converging amongst unwelcomed hymns
Tainting hallelujahs with discolored spit
Worming their decapitated fingertips
With equilibrium massages
Back to a barricaded oasis
Deciphers from a slanderous heretic
Proclamation of syllabic want
As arthritic flesh
Scribbles out expendable nickname
Manipulating good intentions to be sadistically validated
From their rendered nether
Nameless never inscribed a verse to call their own
Struggling to swim
In the rivers they cried
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
discolored, life, sad, society,
Form:
Free verse
I just made it in time for Mary's funeral, it had been raining
heavily all day but the sun came out through the clouds.
And as I watched her coffin being lowered into the ground,
I was filled with emotions pouring out of my soul.
I recall that typical day four years ago that my co-worker
and friend told me she had discovered a lump in her breast.
No pain, she said, probably nothing at all but we all told her
to go have it checked.
The pathology report came quickly, Stage IV, invasive
massive cancer tumors; in lymph nodes, in her breast,
metastasized. I recall thinking how is this possible? Mary
was hopeful, saying, I will beat this. She joined groups,
did walks with others with breast cancer. And she wore
pink. At work we all wore pink ribbons.
Both breasts were removed within weeks and the nodes,
and maybe more; then she started chemotherapy treatment,
and radiation and hormone therapy. I think sometimes, why
did she go through all that when the end was obvious to all.
Cancer victims must have exceptional inner courage.
Mary called me to say she was losing her hair, next she
lost her eyebrows and eyelashes, her finger nails and her
toenails were frail and discolored. We painted them pink.
She lost so much weight, oh she was so thin. When I visited
I had to hold back tears, only after leaving did I cry.
When I saw her, Mary wore a pink turban or hat and put
on makeup and big earrings. Actually she looked quite
beautiful to me. But she showed me her horrible scars and
would weep. She talked about breast cancer awareness
and the need for research. So much inner strength.
There was a hospital bed in her living room. Husband slept
on the couch, cat in her bed. How she loved that cat, they
had put a pink ribbon around its neck. Family and friends
came, in hushed tones they kissed her goodbye. She just
smiled and one evening alone with her husband and her
cat, she died. He said it was peaceful.
Please support cancer research and awareness always and,
remember, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month,
so wear PINK!
______________________
September 8, 2015
Narrative
For the contest, Pinktober #2, sponsor, Poet Destroyer
10th Place
Categories:
discolored, courage, death, friend, loss,
Form:
Narrative
amidst my walls
a discolored rose
a wedding photo
a collection of memories
a discolored rose
a moment of mourning
as fragile as life
a wedding photo
of lovers once parted
united in the beyond
a collection of memories
coalesce together
a collage of juncture
i found this form online and wanted to experiment with it...
Trimeric
Trimeric \tri-(meh)-rik\ n: a four stanza poem in which the first stanza has four lines and
the last three stanzas have three lines each, with the first line of each repeating the
respective line of the first stanza. The sequence of lines, then, is abcd, b – -, c – -, d – -.
Categories:
discolored, death, life, memory, parents,
Form:
Verse
Discolored meadow
overtaken by swollen clouds,
comfort the wild tree...
Are there blue mountains
beyond the unfrequented prairie?
Find the horizon...
No cowboys on horses;
no coffee brewing on logs,
while they are singing...
Late Fall scenery,
not yet conquered by deep snow,
make this day dazzle...
Hungry spiders crawl
with a despised, changeless pace;
the coyotes howl...
Frightened by those sounds,
I feed more logs to the fire,
to shun strange vibes...
Seeing that sun blaze
over the landscape's stillness,
I begin to dream...
(c ) Copyright 2014 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
discolored, music, peace, sea, seasons,
Form:
Haiku