Best Off White Poems
I recognize a tune from album of your songs
And listen intently to impressionist sounds
As you hop scotch from branch to branch
Like a child all excited, frolicking in playground
Peeking from behind shamrock green leaves
Singing of love in blossoms of dogwood tree,
As you tease a female, flapping your round wings
Showing off white patches, revealing breasts
Pointing curved beak to articulate a message
In verses of romance, courting your soul mate
Inviting her to celebrate the visions of spring.
A prolific singer, you mimic songs of blue jays,
Woof-woof of dogs, and croaks of hiding frogs,
Wailing screams of sirens on ambulance moving fast
And hasty beeping shrills of my alarm clock;
Reserving your very best for ardent mating calls
Choreographing dance-moves fit for wedding halls
As you seduce a female on youthful virgin date,
Aspiring to one more voice, one more etiquette
Adding to repertoire another song of desires
Pursuing next newness, next chase to happiness.
June 30, 2019
Placed 4th:Pick a title, volume 6, personification contest by Edward Ibeh
Title chosen--The Mockingbird
HM: Strand choice 3 contest by Brian Strand
Written: September 07, 2023
______________________________________________________________
The bulbs hum with color in this off-white cube.
I move slowly, to catch the glimpse that's doob.
I wobble and drift through the sails of my mind.
Searching for peacefulness in this sleepless rind.
Outside forces can feel remote and far away.
I stalk a distant star within walls that can sway.
My body may be scarce but my mind may soar.
Uncover the cosmos of notions that we ignore.
Photonic pairs of notions dance in my head.
I sink to extreme depths where whim led.
Fade, disappear, oh weariness and despair!
Since I'd prefer to leave this insomniac affair.
I pursue my goals with faith as my guide.
With the dreamless embryonic night ride.
Sleep disorders may be outside my grasp.
I roam this frantic realm, lacking the clasp.
In the cracks of my ambiguity, ideas whirl.
With each raw hint, my commitment hurls.
I'm a phony hero, a fallow shambling traveler.
I'm still finding my own advice in this dark battler.
Halloween Night
Good evening Boys & Ghouls, with anticipation and all your drools
Especially the ladies with fake jewels, tonight breaking all the rules
Why it is finally Halloween night, and for most of you a festive fright
I see Dracula with a boastful bite, showing age with fangs off-white
Frankenstein holding his second spleen, a great photo for Halloween
And Vampira the horror Queen with her succulent after-dinner cuisine
Michael Myers with his pocket knife, giving you the gift of eternal life
Looks like an evening of strife, good of you for bringing the lovely wife
I see Freddy chasing teens, with something extra in his Krueger jeans
Jason with his playful routines wants you to be his quest by all means
Leather-face shaved for this event, using his saw the only way to vent
Jigsaw will encase you in cement watching you solve puzzles in lament
Mummy & Werewolf do their dance, enticing the ladies with freelance
If you leave this is your chance, but you will miss this Monster romance
We want you to stay with great delight, saved the best for last to excite
A poet from Poetry-Soup to recite, their poems, a scary frightful sight.
No animals or humans were harmed in the making of this poem, maybe some monsters...please forgive me if I insulted anyone...this poem is for laughing and educational purposes only...do not copy.
Oct.19.2018
Halloween Night
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Placed 3'rd
Premiere Contest
"I start my day with wonder to go yonder."
~ J. G. Cuevas
Where can I find some ruby red?
Yonder, an apple tree that bled.
Where can I find some azure blue?
Yonder, the sky sheltering you.
Where can I find some olive green?
Yonder, the valley's grassy scene.
Where can I find some milky white?
Yonder, the full moon sheds its light.
Where can I find some yellow gold?
Yonder, the chickens run, behold.
Where can I find some tangerine?
Yonder, the setting sun is seen.
Where can I find some purple mauve?
Yonder, lavender's scented suave.
Where can I find some off-white cream?
Yonder, those cream cups bloom and gleam.
Where can I find some ebon black?
Yonder, that raven flying back.
Where can I find some rusty brown?
Yonder, that tree trunk rooting down.
Where can I find some blushing pink?
Yonder, that rose with salmon ink.
Creation colours mesmerize,
Yonder, Nature's vibrant surprise.
4th May 2023
For "Writing Challenge - 'Y' words" contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
The moon sunk her teeth in a sky of black,
Over city backdrops and the scent of crack,
Neon spilled burning through traffic veins,
Dead man's handles on subway trains.
I tasted of acid in the end of night,
Snow descended dirty, off-white,
Staring through curtains at six a.m.,
Into the kitchen and back again.
All currency spent in the cheapest of bars,
The ones beside wreckage of burned-out cars,
Drinking from morning 'till midnight chime,
With stoned stool-pigeons and lives of crime.
I hurt nobody, only hurt myself,
Sat in the shadows, toasting my health,
As sleep comes calling I start to fall,
A dreamer washed-up with no dreams at all.
Don't tell any secrets, don't tell any lies,
There's enough depiction in these blood-red eyes,
Don't require religion or my soul to save,
Or a shallow legend on a shallower grave.
I could preach you sermons to warp your mind,
I could show you things to strike you blind,
But the world won't listen, it remains the same,
Always leaves me stranded with a crying shame.
Try to get out of bed early, try to make your bed. Inhale.
Your off-white bedsheets haven’t been washed in a month.
Try purchasing a new detergent, one of those that’s petal-scented:
2 in 1 Aroma Boost Spring Daydream Wash.
Try smiling in the mirror; especially
If you have dimples. They’re the new “it” thing.
Inhale. Do yoga.
Do yoga and dance. Catch your breath.
Go on YouTube and search up Boho Beautiful, pretend
you’re a clean-girl white-flare has-it-together pilates almond mom.
Make a protein powder banana-peanutbutter shake. Ignore its soil taste.
Inhale and purchase some lululemon leggings.
Write out your feelings. Inhale. Lie to your journal about
the ache hosted in your ribs.
Call it your “self-reflective daily diary,” where you
Write about a fond memory, your [insert therapy term] place, pretend
your year-long headache isn’t pumping your eyes out anymore.
Write about your childhood. Write about the dog you never had.
Act like you finally know what’s caused your hollow.
Travel. Book your Ryanair all-exclusive roundtrip to
Hanoi. Book a tourist bus. Go on a zip line.
There, you will find yourself, and when that stranger
Puts a conical hat on your head
You will thank them for healing you.
You will return, completely changed, smelling
Like hibiscus flowers. Inhale and call your friends.
They’d love to hear from you. Just not
during your 5 AM seeping into icy bathroom floor tiles,
or the third day in which you’ve needed to take extra sleeping pills
that made the window light look hazy.
Call them. Just make sure it isn’t during their own
self-reflective cinnamon candle eating ritual.
NEED MORE TIPS ON HOW TO FEEL BETTER?
SUBSCRIBE: ONLY $5.99/MONTH!
Inhale. There’s still time to save yourself.
Inspired by Andrea Dietrich's poem: One More Lonely Night - Revised
With an uneven complexion - off-white,
the moon said, to Andrea, shining bright,
"Won't you, mine, always be"
"No sir, I cannot", said she -
"You are just a 'fly by night'".
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
Off-white is my color
On this time of the day
When darkness swallows me
And I illuminate
Through Its gossamer skin.
As soon as my purity
Slumps
Onto the ground,
It falls off - but not by my fault:
Children love to slide down my back
And the sad ones
Hate to feel my cold presence.
But I bring the warmness although I seem
Cold. After they've had my first embrace and
Soft touch on the cheek,
They've had enough of me.
On this time of the night
They want to get rid of me.
Then I become even colder
And leave with the promise
That I will be back and this time
It will be in a smooth and moony night
Followed by a cold and tiresome morning
Oblivious of benighted dreams coming true.
Revelation of my purity. Your ephemeral merriment.
You're cold again as i slide down your neck.
Blackberries start as white dots in a sea of thorns
The flower will fade, and a green berry will join
Protected, it will grow and be pink
Safe from even a massacring mink
Larger, it will swell until it is red
No enemy can lay down their head
Darker and darker until it is black
The berries are ready for an attack
Sour, but delectable
The thorns are detectable
But what about the thornless blackberry bush?
Poor girl, she starts off white
Like the others that night
She grows into a misshapen berry
Unlike the others (who are), lucky? Very.
She stays as the others grow
Poor berry, behind she tows
The rest are protected by thorns of steel
But this poor one just needs a deal
From green to pink to red to black
The other blackberry is held far back
If only she could get some thorns
To protect her from the world's horns
The neglected female, without protection
Her parents have given her no love and affection
The other ones shall grow strong
Their parents are never gone
-September of 2020
Lace of dreams - long time gone -
Embraces waist of maiden
An off- white whisper's subtle tone
Drops shyly pearls from Heaven
Breeze flutters holographic Me
My wounded captain has returned
I feel like floating rainbow glee
His eyes are red and face is stern
He drops his gear and runs through me
A desperate undertow of sorrow
I never felt so loved and free
He screams as there is no tomorrow
The dawn drops soundproof double door
I leave him lonely in the wild
Surrendered heart returns to war
As I find peace along with child...
for Carolyn's Contest "Ghost"
In the late 1970s I was a bricklayer, and for about half a year we worked in a new housing allotment along a state highway in Ohio. There were towns in the area, and a small city about 10 miles away, but at the time this was still countryside. 15 or 20 of the houses had their lots right on the highway, and across the road was a cemetery. As we worked, we could see all the traffic going along the road.
One guy we saw every day. He was a small man, an older man, though it was hard to say if he was in his 50s, or 60s or even 70s. In the early afternoon he'd come down the road, and turn into the cemetery. After a time - usually about an hour - he'd leave, and this was 7 days a week, regardless of weather. The easy guess was that he was visiting his dead wife's grave.
He sat absolutely still in the car, and the car made almost no sound. It was a small, light Plymouth or Chrysler, colored gray. Must have had a small, smooth engine - you could hardly hear anything. He always wore a hat, a light tan color, and his shirts were light gray or off-white. He drove slowly, staring straight ahead. That's what I really remember about him, the sense of slowness, quiet, an almost infinitely light touch upon the world.
Liverpool
When night ends, the fog begins
Heavy as lead!
Shrouding the town:
Once grand
And home of grandeur.
The grand mansions
of old times!
Now in ruins: off white!
Harboring the ghosts of
The grandeur!
Who would have lived in a house
Like this?
My mind wanders;
The eye of my mind
Looking through the silver keyholes!
A wealthy merchant or an industrialist?
What became of the merchants and industries
Of this once mighty Town?
Perhaps the fog shrouding the town
became dense with smoke
Billowing from the ashes of
The industrious!
The Mersey River is just the excuse!
Who knows?
Liverpool: my husband’s home town
Liverpool: the origin of my beloved’s
Mellifluous tongue!
Liverpool: the TOWN of the famous four!
Why dost thou inspire such melancholy
In me?
Liverpool: Once a year, on Christmas day
We remember you: my husband and I!
Our hearts heavy with melancholy
Of the Christmases we spent
On your shores in past years!
Nothing connects us to you! No more!
All the family left your shores!
In mass Exodus!
To sunnier horizons!
Liverpool: one day we will bring our children
To your shores!
So that they will inhale your air!
Understand the roots of their father’s mellifluous
Voice! A voice so rare!
YASEMIN BALANDI
Take your filthy strands
of reasoning, shedding
off-white from my hair.
I claim this fistful of universe
as my own. Let my mind expand
and dance, unfettered in the fall
-in glory-
Let the rain cleanse my faith again
as I sing to a god
I know but have never understood.
Let me brush quick-healing
scars through the sky with my wrinkly fingers
and leave barely-there imprints from where
the balls of my feet embraced earth.
This is me.
I will not be patronized.
I will not be underestimated.
I will not be clapped shut.
And I will not make my life a mockery.
I will stand on my own
until I find the place that makes sense
to me.
Her destiny Ruth Adams squarely faced,
that innocent small child whisked off, white-faced,
one day by wild and whooping dark-eyed men,
and never more to see again her kin!
As over prairie ground fast horses raced,
her destiny Ruth Adams squarely faced.
No crying would she dare to let them see
nor fearfulness. . . not to the least degree!
Her courage and her strong will saw her through
as year by year, more wise and fair she grew.
Her destiny Ruth Adams squarely faced
inside that strange new world where she'd been placed.
Among the tribe there lived a handsome brave
whose passion burned for Ruth. At last, she gave
her heart to him . . for life must be embraced!
Her destiny Ruth Adams squarely faced