Best Puce Poems
Mum sat in her aromatic garden,
admiring its charm and grace.
It was a cold morning,
but mum never seemed to feel it any more.
Her eyes were tired, life's adversities had taken their toll,
yet the smallest things filled them with joy.
Like the perennial ivory lilies blossoming
among her loyal, royal forget-me-nots.
The tranquil scents of lilac lavender,
blooming among radiant Jerusalem sage,
always made her smile.
Her hands were wrinkly, but resilient,
despite years of hard work as a single mother.
Still strong enough to tend to her grandiose display
of ruby red, aureolin yellow and puce pink roses.
Mum always told me the thorns were like knights -
there to protect the rose's fragility.
That a woman is a man's most precious flower,
requiring tender care and appreciation.
Evergreen conifers parade along the perimeter of
my lovely mother's garden, like a colony of soldiers,
protecting a beautiful, yet delicate,
Japanese cherry blossom tree.
Mum always told me it reminded her about life,
how everything was temporary, just like its fragile buds,
that only blossomed in the spring and
how the lightest breeze blew them away.
Mum taught me so much and was my inspiration,
picked me up when I was defeated,
taught me that only in defeat do we learn.
When the world tried to change me,
taught me to accept myself,
to love myself before I could love others
and be true to who I am.
As I sat with mum admiring the beauty of the seeds sown,
melancholic tones flooded my emotions,
wondering how I would cope without her.
Was I selfish wishing to die before her,
so I would not have to mourn for her,
but it would be so heartbreaking
for her to mourn for me.
My contemplation was interrupted by an outbreak of rain.
Mother simply smiled and said:
"Rain is mercy from God, my son."
Written 26 February 2016
NB: This is a repost, originally deleted.
The vermillion sunset has long dissipated
Over the marine persimmon horizon afar.
In the deep subterranean silence of the charcoal night.
Obfuscation confuses the illogical mind,
And conjures titanium dreams or harlequin volitions.
I feel your power descend upon me,
Subjugated surrender becomes inevitable
As I become malleable like puce plasticine.
I discern my wife approach, shimmering in thin air,
Dressed in a dark turquoise threadbare gown, in the pale rays
Of the chartreuse moonlight, resembling an enigmatic ivory ghost
Drawing near in a flimsy wisp of a nocturnal mist.
Come closer, come, I want you near me,
Sing an echoing mesmerizing mermaid melody for me,
Or slide into an enticing dance macabre.
I thrive upon such inexplicable endeavors,
Where nocturnal indigo sprites whisper dreamy antics
So pleasing to the provocation of the mind,
Combine to please the sybaritic nerves
Of this old and senile useless mind of mine.
It’s Jubilee tea at my auntie’s care home
Aunt Phyllis’s hair could do with a comb
But she doesn’t mind and puts on her hat
The queen won’t be there’s no need to flap
The table is laden with all sorts of food
Ada burps loudly she’s so blinking rude
The cucumber sandwich crusts are cut off
My hair won’t stay curly I hear Mable scoff!
Gerald’s secreted cream scones on his lap
I’d not touch them now he’s a dirty old chap
There’s a heated debate is it scone or scon
I do not comment as they have all gone!
Old Edgar demands jelly and ice cream
It’s not on the menu he begins to scream
So he gets everyone to bang their tea cups
They’re acting like kids and not like grown ups
Along comes the matron she says ‘Dearie me,
You are spoiling our Platinum jubilee tea’
Edgar gives her some lip - he’s adept at verbals
He shout’s ‘Matron you just remind me of Goebbels’
Matron is livid, she turns puce in the face
Edgar’s sent to his room, as he’s in disgrace
He is reprimanded for causing such a scene
At the jubilee party for our wonderful Queen.
06/02/22
Nature imbues a prairie Spring
with color's majestic splendor.
And Spring's pathway gets dappled with
purple pigments and puce pastels.
Tepid Chinooks melt mountain snows
that feed meandering rivers.
Forming long lazy loops that snake
across an emerald grassland.
A rising sun erases night
with a sense of hope and magic.
And gilding the edge of darkness,
Dawn heralds day's resurrection.
A watermelon horizon
marks the birthplace of a new day.
And pink, cotton-candy clouds float
upon a sea of vermilion.
Reminiscent of paradise,
the wildflowers are in full bloom.
As their purple petals open,
basking under indigo skies.
the box of Crayola’s has fallen to the floor
like pick-up sticks they lay, crisscrossed
and I without a partner or a pair of jacks
rolled paper named & swirled in ink of black
periwinkle and puce displayed
side by side the candied rainbow huddles
like children whispering at play
lilac and orchid cuddle
see the rusty red and the crimson lay
grin and giggles surround the paper pages
as the parents are kept at bay
lemon yellow is the sun
and saffron the flower in the bay
pink the fingers which grasp and pile
the colors so arrayed, by the fallen box
of crayons in the golden light of day
4/12/14
I accidentally let one loose -
I was tipsy and had no excuse
It happened at the rare breed’s zoo
When I decided to cuddle a cute kangaroo
As I crept into the fenced off enclosure
I struggled to maintain my composure
The joey leapt past me, I just couldn’t stop it
as it bounded away like a flaming rocket!
I tried to catch it by grabbing hold of its tail
but I slipped on a grape, and let out a loud wail
I could see the joey bounce away into the distance
It was clear I needed professional assistance
I got the attention of the kangaroo warden
She turned on me like a demented gorgon
and shouted at me, the air turned quite blue
as we both chased after that small kangaroo
The footloose joey demanded more intervention
His keeper spluttered words too rude to mention
The kangaroo bounced away at lightning speed
We needed to ensnare it, the keeper decreed
We were joined in the chase by the local vet
who used a long pole, on the end was a net
He managed to place it over the joey’s head
Soon joey was captured and locked in his shed
I tried to apologise until I was puce in the face
But they wouldn’t listen, said I was a disgrace
As a result of my action I’m banned from that zoo
I guess I won’t get to cuddle a baby kangaroo
I accidentally let one loose Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
7/7/18
Great Spirit whispers on breathing breeze; 'It is time',
puce plume in saffron noon signals hunt's aborning,
ThunderBeasts' harrowing hooves erupt Great Plains grime,
soon will ail, widow's wail like a wild dove's mourning...
Ancient wisdom, ebony eyes, high cheekbones wide,
buffalo, he knows, mystical foes who fight back,
astride, he rides his Spanish horse with native pride,
his soul cleared, spiritual prayers 'fore the attack.
Timeworn trails, bison beaten by shaggy stampedes,
hunting grounds feared and revered, tribesmen o'er the brae,
power potent, cloven cloud, hastened heart proceeds,
ambush laid, panicked herd, embrace the bloody fray.
Casualty's chance, horseback dance, drum lethal hoof beats,
thunderous trample of ample prairie crocus,
Sioux and beasts' sacred throes, their crimson flows 'neath feet,
death has a way of bringing life into focus.
Susan Ashley
October, 24,2017
~ Third Place ~
Contest: Tribute To Native Culture
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Classical infusion Beethoven’s “ode to joy”
Playing on blaring audiophile speakers annoy
Purposely looped to destroy vagrants with electronic music
Blends of subversive elements and anxious acoustic
Solution to loitering the bodega doo dropping
Spicy Shiitake broth smelling pissy store front,
Jaded daily stunt, at midnight wino corks popping
Abruptly segwaying into a film from one music scene to
a melting hallway, a lipstick alley with animate occupants
Disconnected unmoored, appearing eerie and dormant
Fluorescent lights unleashing a hum buzz in duress
Hissing sizzling hornets’ nest of unsettling unrest
Levels of unease, an iniquitous den
Such madcap absurdity is beyond my ken
Not a shack, mall, nor a Holiday Inn
A queasy Quasi-Moto mood which lies within
Backrooms filled in with discarded filets of fishy maceral
that have no place,
Frolicking pixella’s in a glossy abyss of liminal space
Plump puce brushed lips affixed
Swollen browns and purple mixed
Deep maroon and dusky rose, make-up art is what they pose
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
Crescent shaped moon portions mounted in pseudo walls
Mounted upon the glare in unpleasing patterned halls
Side by side quagmired half discs dawning a contorted face
In a half dazed-half-moon crest loon’s invisible phase
Not unconscious but in some in-between state
Bored while in transition and abandoned as they await
Whimsical moldings who see me try NOT to take a peek
An exit to this madness is what I and they seek
Maybe re-evaluate my sleep number, for gravity defying rest
What insight imports this encounter and what test?
What it means for a doomed generation Xer or a baby boomer,
tacked in stucco, Silly Putty it seems, in a warped sense of humor
I wish I may I wish away what is unreal with blinky eyes
I pray not to awaken one more inky surreal surprise
My
eyes are
sorely touched
with the harsh flash
of puce and pink-red
exhaust fumes leak lazy
from the line of matchbox cars
clogging humanities sewers
lungs gasp at green tires lay rubber
like the wail of infants taken from tit
dangling arms wave the air seeking entrance
to the already well come fill’d shunt
sighing rubbing my lids lights strobe
just past the seared surfaces
of my bruised retinas
my feet throb swollen
now depressing
releasing
pedal
push.
One may be "Touched" in physically, mentally or spiritually.
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Terra cotta, craggy rocks
Scattered boulders, building blocks
In shades of sienna, ochre, buff
To form this high and hilly bluff
With sunlit ledges thin and wide
Place for hyraxes to sun and hide
Cerulean, azure, clearest blue
The cloudless sky that does imbue
Aquamarine lake, with cobalt tints
To gently ripple with sparkling hints
Of gleaming, flashy, silvery scales
With speckled bodies and stripy tails
Chartreuse, dappled, shades of green
Of forest, jade and so serene
Leafy, verdant canopy high
With soft and breezy, gently sigh
While down below in shades of lime
Fragrant flowers so sublime
Scented blossoms in fuchsia flush
And ripening berries in magenta blush
And poppies scarlet, crimson reds
Among saffron yellow daisy heads
With tangerine buds on sage green stems
And luminous violets these little gems
While in the distance, misty rose
Of lavender mountains in repose
Against a background, lilac-puce
And threadlike clouds not yet profuse
Blending into salmon pink
As the sun begins to sink
Plain glass inside the window frame
Now stained with colors of fiery flame
The last rays of sunlight on the glass
In incandescent reflecting rays of brass
And the ethereal golden radiance of day
Passing into evening’s own bouquet
watch clouds dizzily dreamy in
champagne light, watch with nostalgic
wistfulness the Canada geese
returning to balmy retreat
a graceful gripping formation!
watch clouds dizzily dreamy in
mauve! butterflies seductively
caress incandescent flowers ...
under luminous horizon
robin enticingly singing,
watch clouds dizzily dreamy in
rosy summer bidding farewell !
paths are strewn with puce, tangerine ~
red, orange leaves...swirling, twirling,
hint of autumn in crispy breeze -
watch clouds dizzily dreamy in!
August 11, 2022
8 syllables in every line - checked by HMS.com
For “Hint Of Autumn” Poetry contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
autumn's champagne sky dreamy clouds float
leaves waltz in puce, tangerine, red
swirling, twirling, crumbling in
breeze whispering tender
melodies from far
bells chime sublime
stream murmurs
tale of
love
August 13, 2022
Despicable
Marie Antoine
dressed in puce
paraded
her gown,
with a queenly
high head,
the pretty
little tome
soon to be
cropped.
When the chopper
had his way,
her head
came off
and her face
turned puce.
Was it purple
or puke green?
Maybe that’s the
reason puce is so
confusing.
In Marie’s case
she was not
confused,
just dead.
Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
for a contest about our favorite color. I must admit it is not my favorite
Nature's divided into four seasons
each eye-catching in a similar way
and yet, different for many reasons.
Winter's crystalline beauty carries sway
but She is both barren and deathly cold
with a hollowed-out heart of papier-mache.
Spring’s spectacle slowly breaks Winter’s hold
accompanied by a moist April breeze
She showers snowdrops as petals unfold.
Summer is known for Her emerald trees
dandelions, coleslaw, a picnic spread
grasshoppers, hummingbirds, and honeybees.
Autumn colors the leaves in shades of red
scarlet, crimson, puce, orange, and yellow
weaving a fitting shroud for Summer’s dead.
Together they keep the planet mellow
each a fine-tuned string on Nature's cello.
10/12/2019
Continued from Part 2
Some kid is spraying Clearasil,
He wants to make his pimples nil;
He paints his breath with chlorophyll;
I’m in the dream of someone ill
I’m fleeing but I feel a goose,
Behind me grins a guy named Bruce,
His velvet miniskirt is puce
Why can’t I even call a truce?
There’s Billy Graham on a binge
His holy words do make me cringe;
If nonsense were a door with fringe
Then Billy Graham would be the hinge
I hear some Wallace words unkind
How has our race so soon declined?
His thoughts should be in sheit enshrined;
Thank god my eyes are color blind
The Beverly Hillbillys pace the street
The crowds are lying at their feet
While Petticoat Junction joins the fleet
And Green Acres makes it complete
I guess I know that something’s wrong
I haven’t yet met old King Kong,
They say ‘he went back to Hong Kong
For that is where he do belong’
Now I’m pausing in the gloom
And watch the reruns they exhume
They still do stink, I smell the fume;
To run away I must resume
Here comes Mitch, he’s singing songs
While Lawrence Welk, he beats the gongs;
I need to buy some racing thongs,
Instead they sell me three Ding Dongs
Behind me now there grows a tree
While Howdy Doody bends his knee;
I haven’t lost my sanity,
I’m merely tuned to Channel Three
End