Long Color blind Poems
Long Color blind Poems. Below are the most popular long Color blind by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Color blind poems by poem length and keyword.
Let's reflect on
being mortal, and spiritual beings.
Between the pain and confusion
life offers, and the finality of death:
we find faith, hope, trust, and love.
We're endowed with emotions, consciousness,
and a conscience;
which fuels the human heart:
buttressing the poorest foundations,
to carry the weight
of higher expectations.
Miracles only happen
to those who believe in miracles.
Looking back in time:
often shows us a distorted image of reality:
a collection of brutal truths and outright lies,
filtered through the passage of time.
And while bigotry cannot erase yesterday's shadow,
it can alter tomorrows',
by penciling in the shadows of today.
History's jagged edges
cut as deeply as any knife;
draining the heart of love,
and the soul of hope.
Skin color is a human obsession:
God is color-blind,
as is Man's best friend: the dog!
How can we understand each other's color,
When we use the same flavored word?
It's impossible to say it any duller,
And through our glasses the meaning is blurred.
To you something bright as the sky,
Will always strike me as navy blue.
With a fire truck we could try,
But to me it is simply maroon.
Something as distinct as a rainbow,
To me, a blurry line of tones.
Something as beaming as the snow,
Might quietly sit with the stones.
All I ask is that you don't judge me,
When my eyes can't shine like the moon.
Believe my words over what you see,
Because color is what drives every tune.
There is no justice
Of course there isn’t
Why would anyone think there is
No person is truly color-blind
How could anyone be
Even Stevie Wonder isn’t – and he’s blind
There is no such thing as the perfect spouse
The very notion is ludicrous
Only a fool would think there is (or pretend to be one)
Is there anyone alive who’s never gotten angry
Is there anyone who’s never made a mistake
Is there anyone who is totally selfless
If there is, then he’s a big pain-in-the-ache
Men,
I think I'm color blind
The way I see, no color on the skin
Is white lucid?
Or is it black being hazy
Ain't no love for White
Neither loyalty for Black
Don't just be preaching Black Lives Matter
How about if we all matter
Speak against discrimination
Men, speak against segregation
It's all against the laws of God
Remember, we all created
In the image and likeness of God
I bet, therefore, you and I should hold hands
Our conscience is rational
That means our thoughts need to be radical
For whether we work for good or evil
We'll all be judged on the same scale
And it's either the promised Heaven
Or the bottomless Hell
Surviving Pawn
Now having reached three score and ten
it sounds like fun to just look back
over the years that's gone by
it's a wonder all I've had on track
Born two days after Santa's day
adopted at 6 weeks by new mum and dad
I then was found to have a stammer
that was difficult for a mere lad
After school, I worked as an electrician
but I was found to be color blind
so found work in food wholesale
which mostly was an enjoyable find
In my mid-20s love met me straight
Jean being my real love so true
we got wed in '81, life was fab
sadly Jean passed away in '82
After being a widower for 9 years
found a real love in Christine once again
now being married all of 34 years
happy we've been, making a special blend
The greatest thing has been Jesus
meeting God's saviour changed everything
dying in my place on Calvary's tree
Jesus's eternal love makes my heart sing
Now in my retirement years
enjoying a life filled with peace and calm
having got contentment with every word
even to write rhyme like David's Psalms
(I thought having now passed 70 years it would be good to write my thoughts based on my true story in poetic form on how life has been with its ups and downs, hope you enjoy reading this personal piece. )
I have a grey shirt, grey short pants and grey socks.
The grey school with its grey toilet blocks and grey nuns
made my mother buy them,
which was understandable, because folks like us
were supposed to only buy grey clothes, and live in grey towns
for fear of going color-blind.
If ever we had understood
that the grey faces that ruled us
were all working for the Ministry of Greyness,
we would have run.
The Queen, the B.B.C. and all our betters
felt that too much color in our lives
might lead us to seek impossible rainbows,
and so, we were taught to know our place
on the color chart of life.
At ten, mum bought me a pair of long blue jeans.
I felt like I could ride a horse, or rock and roll
as good as Elvis (he was an American who lived far away
in a world of razzle-dazzle grace).
The girl next door, without prior warning,
took off her long grey dress and put on
a red short skirt dotted with colorful butterflies.
Neither of us being grey that day,
we gravitated together dangerously.
Dad warned us not to be too flashy,
but we went to the park anyway.
As we walked in a hand-held gentleness.
We saw the flowers turn their blooms to us.
We knew then that we were in an English poem
a poem that had never been grey,
but was forced into shapeless muted tones
by those who kept all the words to that English poem
for themselves.
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
Ok ok ok
I know what you're
thinking
"This is not what I
thought it was"
I "RAN" because
what you envisioned
for me wasn't what
it was cracked up
to be
You see
I had your back
but behind my back
you did an about face
I saw 2 faces
& was in awe that you
could be in two places
at one time
It's giving
shape shifting vibes
Color blind I suppose
seeing how I couldn't
see your true colors
Those rose-colored glasses
were head & shoulders
above any disguise
I'd seen at the time
Those sweet sublime
lullabies had me missing
time while being lost
in it at the same time
I tried telling you
time & time again
I was gonna leave but
you didn't believe what
I would say
It took me walking away
to make a reality
of what you saw as
dreams
Now it seems I've been
made the villain because
I never gave permission
for my boundaries to be
stepped over & things
Moreover you knew
I was not the one
to play a slew of
games with
Maybe you missed
the messages conveyed
& now act as if
you got played
I agree
you played yourself
playing with me
thinking I didn't see
Never mistake subtlety
for weakness
nor kindness for
shyness
Maybe now through
the tint of those glasses
you see your own blindness
up close
I chose me & for that
you chose to be
morose
Now you see me
as a ghost in dreams
with haunted themes
never realizing
Things didn't have
to be this way so
don't go on despising
You know I'm not lying
so don't try explaining
away what I have
to say
If you think I'm talking
to you today
I probably am
Orrrrr maybe I'm
not
Maybe it's spam calling
out minus the bots
we see & hear too often
these days
It's true I've softened
my view of you per say
but that doesn't make
what I'm saying
less true
Here's to you
hoping you're well
& truly finding
your truth
Please believe
this is a lesson
I never meant
to teach
Reach deep within yourself
& find the peace
that continues to
elude you
It's only been evasive
because you
aren't being the
real you
This is my stance
& the real reason
I ran
When I was at school
We had a test to see
If I could tell the difference
Of colors in front of me.
We all stood there in a single line
I didn't know what to do
The teacher showed us purple
I thought it was blue.
Then we had another test
This time on our own
We had to spot a number
Within a colored zone.
The first was a red seven
On a white back ground
I thought this test was easy
But it got harder as I found.
The third page was so different
The number I couldn't see
For that page was full of dots
It completely baffled me.
My mate was standing next to me
He whispered number three
The teacher saw what he was doing
And said hey you leave him be.
The number there I could not tell
The colors blew my mind
Then the teacher turned and said
Are you color blind.
So from that day the colors I see
May not be quite true
If you see the color purple
I will see it blue.
-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet-
Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause
The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance,
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest,
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein
You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal,
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."
I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter,
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer
Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light,
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes,
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.
If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause
by;PD
I do it for fun