Best Orangish Poems
three tone tinted clouds
azure, orangish and red
at sunday sunset
Day-248 “Winter’s Wrath”
From out of the north
The cold winds blew
Hell’s inferno turned blistery cold
The Devil himself all
Bundled in ice coated steel;
His snarly, crackling laughter
Piercing the barren air.
His staff, a brazened fork,
Pierced all who ventured out
Searing holes in sockless shoes.
His razor sharp eyes
Turned pathways glazed
To monstrous graves.
Eternity could not be worse
This inferno from the north.
From out of the south
The warm winds came.
Across the Heavens,
In a chariot of golden sun rays
Pulled by a hundred whited steeds
Apollo took aim.
Over the plains they clashed;
Spears and swords took many a soul
White sheets covered the deadly fields.
The north wind hissed.
The south wind kissed.
Apollo cried out
“My blood runs hot
Forsake me not.”
From his scabbard a diamond blade flew
Cutting the breath of that mighty
South bound wind.
He ripped the armor
From the Devil’s redden skin
And turned it to dust; then
Took that angry man’s staff and threw
It to the sea.
With that the skies began to calm
And the wind turned warm.
Above the plains
In the setting sun
Selene stood proud.
As she glazed the sea
With an orangish glow
A smile on her face
For Apollo her man,
Boreas he tamed.
Lon 2/16/2021 #351
The splendid patency of the ocean so vast
Becalmed my eyes when the sunset orangish
Rimmed the depth of the blues far…
The beacon beams glinted by the ebbtide
The waves bravoed to the het up coast
By the breaking of the eventide.
Aweary the trawler homed with a news
The ocean rage is being followed by the force of the veil
Masses at mass bespoke towards their deity
By the voice so augured he willed their existence
A numb so spread met with the aura of peace.
Lasted by the night awaited for the day break
The sun adorned with its rays from the east aglow sky
Forenoon prayers prolonged by the sunrise
Joggers by the coast breathed by the sand
The artisan appealed the passerby by his sand built avatar.
The daylight brightened the coast to colours
A joyous time for the mankind to savor
Maidens in maillot and men in slacks
Plunged themselves into the ocean so vast
Far there the dolphin dance
The waited lensman captured the ken thence.
like ether, permeating all space
mesmerizing,
he walked away, head of his enemy
in his hand,
like a trophy ?
frighteningly orangish
a decapitated body shudders.
The holy war
demands its price of a joke.
The face of red and blue.
A terrible reminder of a snaky past
that kills the puppets. The hands
dance in air.
The irrepairable, pink wounds
bleed, sweat smoke
of death ?
SATISH VERMA
November Hunt
David J Walker
I drink coffee
in the morning and
I’m grateful for the warm flowing
Of Rich and bitter/black liquid from
The cast-iron percolation jukebox
Perched on the edges of a dancing
Mesquite campfire
A flame addressing my needs
greets me
It knows my name and offers
A slight barrier to the mornings
Raw cold
Not enough
though an inch
Away from too much
Canada geese cross the sky
Landing in their feeding grounds as
Cayotes patiently await
Their field mice breakfast
To carelessly pass by
I know this game
The hunter and the hunted
There is a loaded shotgun
At my side
The geese and I will have
Another encounter
The sun is an orangish glow
In the eastern distance
Its warmth will flow
Like hot black coffee
later in the day
She waits by the fence
A gentle breeze through her skirt
She waits by the fence
Aimlessly shifting her toes in the dirt
She waits by the fence
Birds overhead silently southward fly
She waits by the fence
Wiping tears from her eyes, God damn him, why
She waits by the fence
Minutes to hours, hours to day, days become a week
She waits by the fence
The sun slipping east, the warmth on her cheek
Turning to leave, her yard, her purpose, her fence
Her eyes meet the one’s that left her sometime hence
The sky orangish pink with a border of robin’s egg blue
No words are spoken, not certain that it is true
And still the fence waits
like ether, permeating all space
mesmerizing,
he walked away, head of his enemy
in his hand,
like a trophy ?
frighteningly orangish
a decapitated body shudders.
The holy war
demands its price of a joke.
The face of red and blue.
A terrible reminder of a snaky past
that kills the puppets. The hands
dance in air.
The irrepairable, pink wounds
bleed, sweat smoke
of death ?
SATISH VERMA
Naples perches in its own white washed stucco
Brilliant white. It almost hurts the eyes.
An irregular pitch of cliffs subsumed into terra cotta tiles
Orangish-red like scales of some headless fish
Arising from a rocky classic shore.
This, like the first Ulyssess would see of dear Penelope.
Her would-be suitors frothing like a sea.
These roofing tiles, the faithful terra cotta hue.
Not like the terra cotta Chinese warriors
Who, though sculpted in a terra cotta clay,
Stand immobile in a ghostly mummy dust.
Colors have more to do with light
Than material with which a thing is made.
I had a red jeep once,
my husband rigged it up with
Christmas lights on the running board.
I was puffed up about it.
My grandparents had the best
Christmas lights; they were jewel-toned,
and bubbled up and down, like a lava lamp,
before lava lamps were a thing, back in
the 50's.
my parents had the same boring, drab,
fat-bulbed red, blue, green, and orangish-yellow
Christmas lights. We wanted something better, but
these were already paid for.
The best Christmas light was the time I put on a Sunday
School play with 85 children. My vision was to rig up a giant
white star in the back of someone's pick up truck, and the children and their parents would all follow the lit up star from the church to
the sale barn, which was our stable.
I had to call all of the people in the church directory, because no one could figure out how to do it until I reached a man whose last name began with a Z. I think I can do that he said, and he did!
I will never forget the awesomeness of this Christmas light though; it was my all-time favorite Christmas light. The procurement of it was awful at the time, but is so sweet in the memory now. So worth the trouble!
Marble 79
Marble in blended colors rolled on in red
Blue and green seen above the surface next
Turned up to be observed against the orangish dawn
Emerged, rolled over again, and it must be said, forever
Sped past huge towers warm and calm
A round glass small, a marble rambler
Soft with subtle sounds, met the wet concrete serene
Here and gone without a hint of destination stated
Audible in the distance hollows heard
Moving steadily over dirt roads as a tinted echo
Marble 79 is just beginning in a wonder spin
It appears to fade away in towns and villages
Disappears through open windows
Goes down empty roads unnoticed
Goes underground
Slips past deserted streets unknown
Which has no meaning for obvious reasons
But picks up speed in desserts
Lifts sand into the eyes of enemies as it goes by
Rolls on as if it were a planet
Which may or may not be a crime
A purplish black dark sky night
Brushed the reddish moon with white
The sun has painted the sky with orangish hues
And tinted the stars of clarity with greenish blues
The yellowish new sun just minutes old
Has gild the moon a silverish gold
When all the brownish leaves turned gray
It rose a beautiful pinkish day
Amber, yellow, dappled rogue
Maples wearing orangish hues.
Mother Natutes changing pallet
Symphony of our living planet.
Persimmon trees are red-infused
A panoply of majestic views.
The summer season fades, Alas.
Harvest moon leaves shadow dance
Then, cold winter will begin
Three whole months of bitter winds.
Sculptured hills of drifting snow
Jack Frost sings blizzard tones.
As the north absorbs warm sun
Winters past iced rivers run.
Mother Nature in full bloom
Lavender, green, azure blue.
The empty creek by Main
Stones lying parched in the scorched mud
The bones dry as dust
Hummingbirds suck the last drop of dew
Oh dear earth what have we done to you
Fires still burn in deep creaves
Waiting for wind or grasses to waken them again
Breathing, Breathing, quietly burning burning
Quiet in the night, then light popping anew
Oh dear earth what have we done to you
Watching in the night as loose papers
Are swaying in the winds
A careless toss of a cigarette
Waiting to start you up again
The skies an orangish dark blue
Oh dear earth what have we done to you
The highest man in the land
Claiming we need to rake the leaves
Pray he is seen for what he is and goes away
As he plays in well groomed fake grasses
And our ancient redwoods try to put out roots in the ashes
Oh dear earth what have we done to you
Will you give us a chance to replenish our lands and seas
Can we once again start to restore and renew
Oh dear earth what have we done to you
If I were a color, I'd imagine myself being bright
It wouldn't be brown, or yellow or white
It would be something kind of, like in-between
A pinkish/red, or a Orangish/dark green
Silver is too sparkly, and gold is too bold
Bronze' not too shabby, but it'll make me look old
Purple doesn't cut it, nor does a light blue
But I might like what color I am, if I mix the two
So, the color I'd be, is the color I'd get
If I mix purple and light blue, I would be violet
men used to send love letters from war, but ok now they'll feed you bread-crumbs of attention each day, while you remain caught in a cage built of lies, disguised as love.
some people often ask, “how far will you go for love?” but would the distance, be it metres, kilometres or even light years, matter enough? when you find them right next to you, holding your hand, promising to never let go, even if your whole sky is set ablaze;
would he steal the ‘crimson-orangish’ hue of the flames from your burning sky and paint a beautiful sunset on that burnt canvas?
would he switch roles often, sometimes to be your partner in crime, sneaking in your favourite ice cream while the other times, being the calm to your chaos, slow-dancing with you beneath an imaginary drizzle at 3 am like no one's watching?
would he be the one you run to when you're too broken to stand your ground? i hope he holds you in his arms, not to devour, but to dissolve you in it till the two ‘love muscles’ beat in sync with each other, while your breath entangles together swaying like the blue flame of your favourite lavender scented candle or like two shy teenagers dancing at prom for the first time?
skip the talking stage, let's merge souls till we drown deep into each other's eyes that ‘returning would be as tedious as going over’ and the distance between us would become irrelevant.
so, tell me, “how far will you go for love, or would you never leave at all and stay by my side forever?”