Best Palette Poems
Her persona is like
a portrait
of picturesque perfection,
embalmed in
bittersweet lavender,
unseen within depths
of tributaries of elixir.
If only they knew
the chaos that flows,
constrained in
a confined
gallery of grief.
Not everyone is
a master painter.
Some brush with brutal
bruised strokes,
provoking timeless
streams of
implicit secrets,
from crimson stains
on ivory satin,
where scents of juniper
evoke phases of
unpredicted phenomenons,
oblivious to chronicles
of forsaken tales,
which hide
beneath barriers,
many have struggled
to venture within.
But there is an artist
with a
pastel on his palette,
that can correct
her disfigured pigment.
He holds cryptic
calligraphic engravings,
veiled behind the inflamed
chamber of her heart.
He understands that her
spirit drowns when
winds are forceful.
How her
delicateness has
been sleeping
on withered roses,
wilted by
cruelest rays of a
summer
mourning
morning star,
Where bedtime stories
were puppeteered
by hurricanes
feeding on
fenceless vulnerabilities.
yet when
sleepless silence sings,
it can disturb
in reverberating
heavy metal screams.
So she echoes her trauma
through hurtful hisses,
poisoning with
vicious venom.
Her aura alters in
acrimonious attitudes
from serene sunshine
to furious gales.
She remains without
a grip on untamable
seasons of
unholy torture,
Only he knows the poem
in her eyes is the
last train home,
so he calms her
tempest temperament,
enabling hidden rainbows
in her mind to reappear.
He is a soothing
gemini night-flower,
even with outcries
of midnight thunder,
his patience resembles
raining jasmine water,
purifying
her murky waters,
into a crystallised milky-way
of kyanite desires,
guiding her
to swirl and swoon
into
whirlwinds of closure.
The color palette of the world has changed.
Wispy painters brush clouds line a clear calm sky.
The day is dry and cold, powdery snow starts to fall.
Flowers have ceased budding and spilling over in the garden;
yet the passion, fragrant, rosebud cherry and amber
honeysuckle vine, twines round the wooden arbor,
inviting the few scarce bees to come to its nectar.
Forbearance wooden starlings and mourning doves
move on with their singing and coo-OO-oo throughout the day.
Warm breath onto the cold window, a traced note of love.
10/1/2023
Lessons of Autumn
Summaries of schooling
— lessons upon lessons guiding
Thoughts in class after class…as bells ring…
Volumes to consider about ways of interpreting…
As the world takes Life on a continuous spin
— round and around — outside and within —
Orbits, tides, seasons, moods, visions…
Lessons taught that Winter is The Dead or Hibernating;
Spring is Re-birth; Summer is The Growing;
And Autumn? Well, students were asked to see
— symbollically, spiritually, scientifically —
That Autumn is the season of Dying, of Leaving.
Autumn, the antithesis of Spring;
Autumn, the harvesting, the taking away
from the earth Spring’s born and
Summer’s grown.
Autumn is the drying, wilting, wrinkling;
The changing from acting to waiting…
And ending.
But, in Autumn, Mother Nature displays
Some greater lessons using God’s deeper palette:
To layer by layer paint, and year by year present
How Autumn’s weeks pass on
Gifting the hemispheres with her splendors
In a glorious prelude to turning with life,
Tier upon tier, into a new year.
All around, Autumn transforms the landscape
From too monochrome into blended tones
Of copper…and red…and yellow aside goldened greens
That shiver before the backing blankets
of violet horizons;
And often the trees for awhile, may even
lean in together to endure
The colder winds and rains pattering.
~ When sweeping Autumn begins,
Leaf by leaf breaks off from branches and twigs…
And, by design created, floats down,
Each laying on a palm of air, to soften
The fall ~
The living in nature all have their seasons…As we
Too, grow on the many branching pathways of our own,
Hopefully learning the value and beauty
In the circling of all time’s teaching seasons…
As each and every leaf sways, wafts, flutters, twirls,
Slowly waltzing down to the waiting earth,
To lay there, with such vibrant color,
Over the dust that made us.
Autumn always,
is time’s heavy curtain,
Taking its cue to fall…
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 10/2023
Soft, pastel-pink, aqua, sepia
Turning sharp, gold, striking
The sky is a willing canvas
Waiting to be kissed
By the palette of colours
Multi-shaded layers dapple the heavens
The pace of life is set to slow
Announced by the sleepy, restful sun
Her dying rays cast playful shadows
Open to interpretation!
Liquid gold outlines the classic oak tree
So near, and yet so far!
The firefly dances with excitement
Her luminous tail aglow
And the songthrush folds down her wings
Relaxing in the still warm air
Soft peach clings to the buildings
While strong apricot dresses the windows
From liquid gold to burnt orange
Now a mauve sheet covers the horizon
The crisp silhouette of the tawny owl
Graces the evening magenta sky
And the crickets begin their shrill song
Heralding the arrival of the long, dark night
Seductive winking stars and the creamy moon
Commence their clandestine romance
Wildlife dare not relax
Predators lurk in the jet black ether!
Gradually, the backdrop loses its ebony
And the scenery takes on an intense cobalt blue
The gentle dawn is slowly approaching
The softest lilac bedecks a fresh morning sky
Irridescent speckles espied through the laurel bush
Dewdrops like glass drape the orchid
Reflecting the fiery citrus blanket above
Before turning warm, cheerful lemon
And powder soft azure blue
This kaleidoscopic carpet starts its journey
On a never-ending cycle of wonder
I get lost in a dream of my choosing,
A zest fairy tale or reality;
Drawing my heart strings with abstract musing,
Idyllic poetic shared fantasy.
Natural colorants of black silk night,
Glorious effulgent wide azure sky,
Spilled crimson horizon morning sunlight,
white jasmine laden boughs whither so high.
Purple heather on the verge of blue creek.
Rich autumn rainbow play sips its nectar.
A gray wolf bearing its long fangs grows meek,
Flying sapphire dragon, king's gold scepter.
A palette of colour fluidity
Through unwontedly buoyant poetry.
1/11/2020
Without you my words are an unadorned poem. By poet.
At the edge of silence this soul screams,
unable to save the decaying flowers in her garden of deceit.
When her sadness is in love with me,
anchoring emotions weigh me down,
as cathartic metaphors reveal a labyrinth of tears.
In an unadorned monochrome world
hope floats from purple petals to ebony buds,
where a jaded heart is breathing to exist.
But If black wasn't a colour how would stars glow?
Would the marigold moon be forever invisible?
When grief is a guest how would we portray darkness?
Satan will always seduce scarlet poetry
inducing Lilith to dance in the ballroom of temptation,
where demons meet me in the wasteland of wicked souls,
but I've already drank from the fires of hell.
It's been a while since your rose darkened my garden,
so I search for pastures of poetic peace,
where idyllic dreams compose an effervescent melody.
Life is an endless journey of adversity,
I've become a king of trials,
engraving my seeds onto a tapestry of tulips.
I am my own warrior polishing a maroon mirror,
so I can sing with an orchestra of angels.
Those who judge my words,
say a rainbow will overflow into the shadows.
We are all petals of imperfection sharing the same sun,
envisioning vivid visions of verdant valleys.
My palette of poetic musings manifest
verses in revolving echoes of kaleidoscopic tones.
My blood flows through emerald ink veins,
in hues of burgundy bliss like blushed blue butterflies,
tangled in turquoise tranquillity,
yearning for serenity from a peach and rose sunset.
Destiny cries to the empress of the waves,
to adorn me in her effervescent treasure.
To kiss me in the cerulean bay of harmony,
under the shimmering of azure moonlight -
as miserable colours can only heal from her touch.
God's Palette
How does God paint a calico cat?
With smidgeons of orange, gold
and the most charcoal black.
A white background is his canvas.
His heavenly brushes, of these, God
has no lack!
The cat serenely stands, as God
chooses what blessed brush to use
with His Divine artistry!
The cat suddenly speaks:
"Please, God! Can I have half of an
orange mustache and a black hat,
too?
One of my eyes surrounded in orange?
The other surrounded in charcoal black,
please?"
God does exactly as directed, then says:
"We are not done my creature,you!"
He paints her back, swirls of gold,
orange and black.
Then adds black eyeliner for contrast
and hue.
At last, her back legs receive all colors.
God, then, is well pleased with his creation,
kisses her,and has His angels carry her to the
human nation.
Oh, most beautiful creature, God's gift
to us.
We will love, care for, and honor you...
A blessed and very celestial friend to us!
Panagiota Romios
3/29/2019
A sudden burst of painted glass
upon a gray and weathered stone.
They do not light within the grass,
but cling to secrets known to none.
Specks of orange, flecks of blue,
a torn and tattered canvas drawn.
across the morning's heavy dew,
as fragile as the breaking dawn.
No artist held a steady brush
to form this wild and fleeting art.
They came upon the forest hush;
painting on the woodlands heart.
A living mural on the bark,
alive and breathing to the eyes;
before they vanish in the dark;
a glorious graffiti of butterflies.
Tiny dishes on my palette
filled with a rainbow of colors
that I meticulously mixed;
arranged like a row of flowers
that I’ll use to paint her portrait.
Cadmium yellow for her hair;
white and yellow ochre create
her flesh tone; perhaps if I dare
a dab of cadmium red.
Cadmium deep red for her lips;
perhaps a lighter shade instead.
Cerulean blue for her eyes;
and like a statue she will pose
while my paint laden bristles flow.
HIS BLUE PALETTE
~anacreonti verse~
Lonely moon
shed yellow light
in month of June
falling, falling
are the tears
carrying sad tunes.
Palette of blue
is the pigment
spilled to his ink
eversince the day
red, colored their den
at the lush grass
is his wife, sprawled
gasping, gasping
for some breaths
a deep hole seen
under her chin.
Her lips bit open
as if to shout,
eyes mirroring fear
was it too late?
They got her first..
There are questions
bugging, lurking
into his mind...
Answers he longs.
justice he craves
two years gone
but 'til now
It is unknown,
no one knows ...
_______________________________
9:33 pm, January 07, 2015
I dub a little bit of colour here
A little bit of sparkle there
Splashing out the fear
Brushing on the care
Colouring over the tears
Painting better years
Drawing blue skies clear
Blotting out the scares
Till a masterpiece appears
A painting so rare
My palette of hope is here
Bring your troubles and cares
We will paint away your drear
With the paint of prayer
Envision: total tranquility,
captured as though by an artist's brush.
Attention given to the landscape,
lush green terrain, inked, primal, and rough.
Brindled hues, an assortment of tints,
merge with waters of indigo blue,
isolation mirrors creation.
Splashes of periwinkle and rose
dapple the ground; under a leafy
blend of emerald green canopies,
depicting a serene paradise.
Stretchy clouds of immaculate white
etched upon skies of aquamarine;
reflect off of a pond's silver sheen.
Hues and crests from God
Both a promise, and blessing-
Only seen in spring.
Striking features true
In minds of religious view-
Punish the wicked.
Noah, only knew
Covenant, words from his lips-
Spoke to all beings.
All animals joined
With some of Noah's own kin-
Is that not a sin?
My view subjective
*Dyaus' palette effective-
Poet's perspective.
* Dyaus- A god of the sky
Oh the bodies,
that dance,
throughout time
in orbit;
on a universal palette,
of color.
The colors
of heavenly bodies,
on the solar system’s palette,
in a universal “Crayola” dance;
coloring their orbit
and forgetting about time.
I worry about time;
it too, has many colors.
Parallel time, in orbit,
has colorful bodies,
that dance
across time’s palette.
The artist’s palette,
with time,
can cause souls to dance;
with bright colors
of emotion; swinging, swaying, emotional bodies;
like planets, in orbit.
I chew a piece of, “Orbit”
and consider the stellar palette.
Its heavenly bodies
and their spin through time.
Oh, how those colors
celebrate with their dance.
Round and round they dance,
a box of one-hundred, “Crayola” colors,
on a universal palette.
I want to dance throughout time,
And in orbit,
with those heavenly bodies.
Celestial bodies in an unending dance; bursting with color.
They are always in orbit; performing throughout time,.
“Crayola” colors can’t match, the universal palette.
Spring in the meadow,
a million unfurled flowers,
rainbow on the ground.