Crayola Poems - Poems about Crayola

Mother: a wax crayon candle in a starless room You have many layers, like an onion And you're coloured, but not green So a wax-crayon candle is favoured here. Much more poetic. Although I bathe in the dark You sit in my corner Flickering ...

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jungle governor green, respectable robin egg blue beyond banana mania, periwinkle too brisk bluebonnet, French fuchsia and plum tickle me pink, where did you come from? wild strawberry, chesterfield on my swollen lips radical red, overdressed orange wearing two slips midnight blue, outer space light saver green a few crayon colors at one time in a box seen....

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I'm tired of absorbing your depression like you're the only one on earth who has issues you think nobody understands your situation.. I don't believe you want anybody to understand because that's what you believe makes you unique- In a strange way it has given you purpose in life makes you special-one of a kind... the Crayola crayon with the funny name perched...

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Azure blue skies adrift with snowy clouds Traveling across the vibrant gold of the sun As it caresses the rich, black earth, home to Olive and emerald grasses rich with clover Oaks, birch and pine – soft jade and khaki Thrilling the soil with a bold, vivid embrace From the dewdrop liquid that sparkles delight On the supple, flamboyant petals whispering At the...

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splitting atoms head cracking chasm hold your mentality for ransom things done at random like writing about dragon tattoos done by a tattooing dragon mad passion rad pen creative imagination raw skills killing rhymes so gruesome he spoke with words that were truly wholesome better yet awesome I might say that often but writing just helps me feel a little less lonesome coloring out the dotted lines of poetry like...

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moi Moulded bred crusty Summers vino severed tie Auld Stinking Bishop Ma Shiny new sunspot Shadowed by Misses Meaner Clouded spineless imp Pa Longhaired lout cuddles Pints fizzing ale gently pours Tears orphan abandoned...

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I prefer them a bit tattered and tired. (a slow lick on a hard knife edge). A midnight she cat, sparkling like a pinwheel. The one that make you obsess, why they're one hour and-five minutes late. Why their mascara is off center. Why they have that strange strong scent. I like them a little mousy, a little off the beat. A chick...

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Life is like a box of crayolas at five. Trying hard to stay inside a line defined by others; trying hard to stay inside the line. Too much pressure, powerful force pushing down; I crack into pieces, fragments, pushed aside for another color different yet the same. Action repeat - instant re-run. Life is like a box of crayolas, many colors, all vulnerable...

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