Best Viridian Poems
Green is serene.
This color of nature
resurrects in early spring
to paint our landscape again,
from drab brown to soft fern haze.
Slowly, spring deepens into a sublime
mixture of emerald, and Shamrock hues.
Mid-summer, our lovely trees, and shrubs
are bathed in luxurious velvet forest green.
Later, summer paints with a deeper Viridian.
Our forests, mountains, valleys, hills, lawns,
trees, and plants...all saturated in greens.
Tranquil, flowing greens, soothe the soul,
as silky grasses, like waves of the sea,
ripple gently in the summer breeze.
Lush tree tops kiss the blue sky.
Green embraces every lake.
Green paints our lovely
landscape of nature.
Green is serene...
Serenity
like
flecks of gold
strewn on a
magnificently
grandiose canvas
of rich cerulean blues
deep viridian greens
and ultramarines
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on April 13, 2019 for contest APRIL 2019 PREMIER 4 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Silvery ripples and swirls of viridian currents
Moving through ancient gorges,
Molding and shaping solid shades of gray granite…
Soft and round,
Craggy and sharp,
Here and There…
Solid rock thrusting up
Shaped by shifting currents of the river
Rising and falling,
Rushing and fading,
Over time.
Who knows where
The current will go next
Or what shape the rocks will take,
Over time.
Nevertheless
The river and rocks remain,
One, solid and steady,
The other, fluid and ever-moving.
Sitting here
My heart longs to shed its burdens
To let them slide like a rock into the gently swirling water
And be carried away by the swiftly flowing current beneath the surface.
I want to know …
Can I remain solid and steady, yet fluid,
As the currents of change swirl
Around me?
I want to know …
Can I be molded and reshaped
As the river of life courses
Through me?
I want to know …
Can I be moved in new directions by love,
Harmonious and true to the voice of my heart
Echoing in the ancient gorge of my own soul?
The only answer that comes
Is the flow of my tears and
The sound of the river as it continues
To ripple and run around the rocks.
Maybe
That
Is enough,
For now.
Slowly, slowly,
advancing with tender steps,
emitting clouds of scarlet butterflies
with each tremulous breath,
the golden maiden
through viridian fronds quietly crept
Brazenly her locks tumbled
shrouding her shoulders
in champagne curls.
And the dusky angels
turned their heads in envy
as even the spiders silk seemed coarse
The heavy shadows blurred
the silvered path she trod,
where startled dandelions
puffed their clocks,
though time stood still
and sunrise never came
In the blessed grove
where the soft grasses
solemnly bowed to the moon,
the lilac air filled
with the songs of souls awoken
by an unfamiliar beat
And as they watched
that unknown maid,
her iridescence faded,
turned to pearl translucence
as, with grace, she slid
into their ethereal embrace
hands of the north wind
suffocate viridian
bruised; reds and yellows
Alizarin azaleas
in the myrtle moss
where my flax feet cross
to the saffron sand,
in my magenta mind...
Beneath a cerulean sky
where the fuchsia fowl fly
to a haematic horizon
for true lavender love,
with my turquoise thoughts...
Ascending a viridian vortex
was my amaranth amour
with its vermilion vim
to your henna hands,
from my hazel heart...
Such silver sincerity
fades to xanadu xenon
as your damson dissent
shoves the taupe truth,
down my thistle throat...
Umber unanimity
in my wisteria world
has turned my crimson comfort so,
indigo.
Blue Iris,
Grimoire gondolas steal unbound human yawns,
Each Charon poised with sallow spear along the River:
Austere laughter of headless boughs
sipping grave-scented spiritual kisses.
Gruel to Drinking Fear you do coerce,
Till evil flees the dawn within its hearse.
I shall not warn my successors, no—instead
I shall laugh
A Godless laugh
From this unlit, inward tower
At the Thoms ever drawn to a fog-rent
Harbor of Lights,
Forever in flight
t’wards a searing promise:
“The shadow of your smile when you are gone.”
Softly flows
The Months; cadence down
The end of Years,
All Great Whites closely duty-bound
Gleaned russet stress and tears.
All I do
As gardens do
As zephyr hewn
Is wash my hands
I watch my hands
Just watch them grow—
Closing impossible crimes
By the cold March of Time.
Shall I catastrophe? I shall wasp anew
Geronimo! hellbent swoons: withered Eye see U:
A veldt vision on this peace of death
That singes arrows unto my breast,
Non-quietus—not of suede nor hawthorn
That singing! Unveiled Vistas Reborn.
The summer breeze made chill wastrel flames,
E'en herrings dappled across minstrel viridian
All bearing my name.
Subtlety
Is your root, surely as I inhale the palpitations
Of this noxious City so small
Yet so grand in its delusion.
Rachel or Leah? Suffice it (and damn it, too), at least Jacob’s subtle darkness
Invited crystal warmth to dine on elegant raindrops. At Life I laugh,
And Life laughs long, dreamy along kestrel seams. I dine
On sweet air.
Despised dream origin.
Quickly, quickly, awaken me—unwrap
Your blessed hearths, creature,
And begone—I despise
Your balance of whimsy; I despise
All of your beauty.
colors rule this day
an abundance of blues
rule my beating carmine
under the heat of gold
walking along beige grains
i hold your fallow
you are true sapphire
we sit on jade
discuss my ex white
an ivory sun spray
a chartreuse periwinkle magenta saffron shaded arc
bite viridian rind
surrounded amaranth
juices magnolia and blush flow
you lay a magenta on me
wave a tea rose goodbye
i stay
watch an eggplant sunset
stroll home
in a lamp lit super black night
reflect on my colored day
thank the colorless heavens
my friend who held me up
i make it through
another cobalt day
As I fall somnolent in the sage stalks I bend my eyes to adore seafoam skies
An epiphany of emerald tranquility transcends my mended mind behind time
Ticking clicks of viridian sticks launch luscious thoughts adrift forest floors
More green galore than ever before my eyes graze the jade stage for even more
Basil blades slice at the soil like bamboo shoots rooted in moss masked stone
Seaweed strands wrapped up on asparagus sand like wet ropes of moist mesh
Juniper trees with mint leaves beam beneath warm waves of summer shine
Lime lily-pads aloft crocodile creeks carry croaking legs along shamrock streams
Parakeet feathers with chartreuse beaks rest weary wings on bent olive branches
This world of wonderment cradles my body in certain camouflage wildly unseen
To a vision of verdant dreams seen by my eyes before the rush of a restful slumber
March 1, 2016
Child of the Northern Lights
Blown in on a winter gale
Dance with the Stars at Night
High as the Moon and as pale.
Deep are the Oceans you sail
On curious shores to alight
Your footsteps in sand entail
Revelation – a secret revealed
Understanding remaining concealed
Your journey has barely begun
And the wounds that are still to be healed
Require further exposure to Sun
Align your keel, Northward at the Meridian
Tilt sail and oar, to infinite viridian
Blend of yellow and blue, it's a pickle and lime.
It is jealousy's hue and a plant in its prime.
It's an emerald, jade, and a lawn-covered yard
And St. Patrick's parade and an alien's card.
On a pond it is scum, in Wisconsin a bay.
It's a gardener's thumb and a soldier's beret.
It's a salad and spruce and a phosphorous glow,
Part of teal and chartreuse, and a light saying go.
It is chlorophyll, dill, and a countenance ill,
Dollar bill in a till and Hibernian hill.
It is Anne's house of gables, a slime-covered wreck,
Jolly giant on labels, and Kermit and Shrek.
It is leprechauns, mold, inexperience, and tea.
It's the place putts are holed and a party and pea.
It's rebellious hair and a ghoul's ghastly teeth;
A pistachio, pear, and a Christmastime wreath.
It is mint-flavored jelly, a jungle and bean.
It's viridian, Kelly, and olive--it's green!
i was dreaming of
colors inside
my lonely Soul of
Cobalt violet
and viridian skies
Inside keeping my
heart so cadmium yellow;
Claude Monet's lilies
keeps me alive.
Imagine cobalt blue,
a peace upon the canvas
lead white kissing
with French ultramarine skies
and we hold hands
-- where we leave grief
and misunderstanding
behind. Kissing beneath
the sun i say, "Cadmium
Orange hugging Vermilion"
And the world murmurs
"That's so very true."
:: 03212016 ::
Afternoon, late March, delivering promise
of downtime from errands, long lines at the post,
queues of cars at stoplights, what, if anything, is in
the pantry for supper. A glass of wine is nice, will suffice
against the mind's continuous monolog, news of unrest
in distant lands, world hunger, and men on South
Africa's wild coast who believe raping small girls
will cure them of their AIDS. For respite, I turn
to the wood storks and two world-class pines, sending
a blessing of straw and symmetrical cones into protective
lake growth, sealing its borders with a scrim
of airy viridian; birthright of sea birds seeking evening
asylum. So, what to do about an invasion of enormous
jaws that take no prisoners on a battlefield of buzz saws?
Machetes, felling pines, wild shrubs, and indigenous
palmettos with which landscapers decorate yards
of costly homes. Development, Progress, New
Construction? Words to glamorize rape of wetlands.
The storks are flying away, now, from across the lake,
where once in heart-stopping numbers they bivouacked
against the advent of night. This day, this hour,
they take wing, bird by bird in a ghostly exodus,
taking their "Reflection of nearly all light
from all visible wave links," purer than masses
of lilies on an Easter grave.
Colors splashed upon a canvas
Expounding rhyme and reason
The paintbrush tells a story
Of love, trust and treason
A flux of emotions spread abroad
Fusing hues of green and teal
Blueprinting a love gone wrong
Phantasmagoric and surreal
Falling tears of cobalt blue
Emblazoned with crimson red
Blended well with vivid scarlet
Depicting a heart that bled
Melding oils on a palette
Coining shades of black and gray
Distraught strokes glaze the surface
Warranted rage on display
Fuchsia construes your courtesan
Infidelity exposed in viridian light
Goldenrod and lemon chiffon
Symbolize this woman's blight
A recollection of betrayal
Expressed in abstract art
Hung upon a gallery wall
Portrait of a broken heart
Oh Freida who is fingering your shroud?
I can hear you coming, crossing the
old mansion’s tower and can see your
dark braided hair with feathers,
your perfume drifting past and
settling on uncut flowers.
But before I embrace your form,
I want to see with eyes full of flint
the draperies and naked bodies
in perpetual chiaroscuro.
Flirting with your pigments, I want
to dab violet on the face of mist,
gore sorrow with a riot of crimson-scarlet
and fling viridian on the face of earth to
be fresh again. Believe me I do not care
how you handle your brush or
whether unknown empires rise in your canvas
or knights and plebeians cross swords on
deserted beach.
I just want your blushing glow and
whisk the Dark Angel into first light.