Long Magenta Poems
Long Magenta Poems. Below are the most popular long Magenta by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Magenta poems by poem length and keyword.
A pageant of seasonal beauty
Unfurls amongst deciduous trees.
Tawny leaves are edged in reds and golds,
Unique to Autumn's color palette.
Muse to poets, sculptors, and artists,
Nature inspires Jack Frost's masterpiece.
Color plays out like a rhapsody,
Of subtle notes in a melody.
Lacquered leaves, orange and cerise, fall
On the ground, below oaks and maples.
Raining down like wind-blown confetti;
Scarlet and tangerine commingle.
Autumn is like a magical sprite,
Riding atop colored canopies,
Elvishly inking the changing leaves.
Almond and magenta, interlace:
Magnifying their intensity.
And groves of birchbark trees resemble
Zebra, left exposed to Winter winds.
Intrinsically ostentatious,
Nothing, short of Spring, can rival the
Glorious spectacle, we call Fall.
Lovely, rich dark purple lilacs bloom in early spring
Fragrant spring air decorated by vibrant purple gems
Bright yellow striped tulips emerge on Kelly green stems
Magenta petunias attract a hummingbird’s fluttery wings
Peony’s vibrant hot pink flowers opened saucer wide
Hydrangea bunches magnificently displayed in tanzanite blue
Lupines and wildflowers decorate the country side in bright hues
Summer rugosa roses climb along on beaches near ocean tides
Chrysanthemums in yellows, reds and oranges, festive fall flowers are here
Fields of sunflowers stand magnificently tall as birds feed from their seeds
Red and white poinsettias in decorative pots adorned with ribbons and beads
Beautiful amaryllis blooms displayed on window sills brings warm winter cheer
10/25/19
Writing Challenge, October, 2019 - Flower or Flowers -
Sponsor, Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
(Edited 10/26/19)
you might think
I'm that lazy student
who sits at the front of the class,
puts on his earbuds
and ignores the presentation.
i'm not lazy.
it's not every day you want people talking in your ear,
with all of that ajzktypzuq1Lgjqq...
whatever plays on my earphones also brings the silence of everything else.
if I don't have my ear buds,
I might hum,
which could distract other students
and I don't want to bother you,
or anyone else.
I could pass any class I want to, really.
I don't even have to be a genius or anything.
besides,
I didn't get here by failing classes.
I just don't like to hear people talk.
especially not your assumptions.
I don't want you poking my leg.
or interrupting my conversations.
I have my own life too, you know?
the biggest failures in life drown themselves in worldly pleasures,
collecting the energies of other people until their true self collapses under the weight of societal expectations.
take a journey of sound.
it's not a crime.
I've never had time by myself before, you know?
I'm not lazy.
like a printer with magenta, cyan, yellow and black ink,
I can run on over 6,000 different kinds of energy,
which means I can be over 6,000 different kinds of tired
and this is the kind of fuel I need.
don't poke me.
I'm on the phone with my best friend.
his name is Thom.
Thom Yorke.
he likes MF Doom
and I think that's cooler than your presentation.
thank you for listening.
The pampas grasses' tassels start to show
Creamy white against green
Behind the Crepe Myrtle's color
Banked like a sunrise preened
Gray clouds tinged with luminous light
From clear to magenta
A somber morn parenthesized
By stillness; fear enters
Silvery blanket drapes the woods
A foggy damp surrounds
Crickets sing a chipper melody
'Pon the damp, cool ground
Roosters' crows fall flat in the vale
Weighted by the moist air
Birds begin to awake and sing
Songs of love ending fair_
What will this day's purpose reveal?
Good, evil or neutral?
Only God knows ahead the events
Even the unusual
There you're alone
Gazing blue waters
In emerald splendor
Embedded within
A romantic landscape.
Visions of sundown
Peeking through blossoms
Bow down to greet you
And caress in love
Hints of my message.
You look elsewhere
At script on horizon
Setting sun engraves
Upon twilight tender
In vermillion intents,
As it dips beneath
Dreams of hushed river;
And scatters its rays
In marigold spray
On magenta fabric
Embroidered purple.
Too late my love
To turn and face me--
I’m no longer there,
When the sun set
So did your shadow.
February 22, 2020
Placed 3rd: Strand #690 contest by Brian Strand
Tall Bougainvillea stops me, to my surprise
The neck and shoulder dancing in the breeze
To cool my head I need some ice
I refrain as frost would rob the look
All my boats rock in the current
Bougainvillea show is overwhelming
It is spring in the veins and arteries
Excited birds are chirping crazily
Aroused flowers escalate heart beats
Velvet tickling swings the existence
My whole universe belongs to Bougainvillea
Waves rock the firing granules
I look for and find a decrepit house
Bougain follows me with mesmerizing smile
Flooding my streets and narrow lanes
Seated by its side, I get hypnotized
Now arrives the enormous rush
Magenta, purple, orange and yellow
We combine them to make a bed
Lay on it hope there will be no tomorrow
_________________________________________
April 1, 2019
Bougainvillea Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
the soft yellow streaked the terra cotta,
shadowing the speckled sallow saffron
a bluish buff upon the cochineal;
brilliant boneblack
grizzled the engrain
citrine carnation
as
the fallow flaxen,rustic rubrical
rainbow-tinted
the magenta mandarine;
unseen
the ultra-marine, tinged burnt sienna,
reflecting a golden flame of raw umbery upon
the earth green;
bright mosaic gold
mottled the sallow sorrel
virent yellow,oak stained
the pale apricot;
while
blood red,reddish russet
dotted the olive lind;
freckled crimson,
a chestnut maroon,
on fuchsias faded apple green
as burnt umber sank deep
into its sanguine slumber.
What is a square, a shape, container quadraphonics, a traditional rollerskate
What is an atrium, a fireplace, a closet
What is a boxing ring, a gymnasium, blackboard
What are a checkerboard, deck cards, crossword puzzle, jigsaw puzzle, dice
What is a bed/mattress/ boxsprings/sleeping bag
What is a swimming pool, shower/bathroom stall
What is an upright piano/organ
What is a refrigerator, microwave, cellphone, monitor, TV, a room laptop, curio What is a dinette, medicine cabinet, bathtub
What is a book/shelf/sheet/tablecloth/towel/handkerchief
What is a quadruplet, quadrant, quadriceps muscle, cubic, square knot
What is a cushion, table, mirror, milk carton, van
What is a suitcase, cigarette pack/carton, bowling alley
What is a filing cabinet, bureau, grandfather clock, casket
What is a trampoline, stadium, arena
What is a deck, galleria, patio, smoke pit, plaza, terrace, aquarium, cloister
What is a tent, arcade, forum, mall, piazza, right-angled, square feet, acre
What is a parking space, pinball machine
What is a color scheme Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and Black
What is the smell of chocolate
What is the taste of cocoa
What represents the seasons
ANSWER: The number ....
2020 January 30
What's In A Number Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Juliet Ligon
YELLOW
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yellow stars are quickly receding, as I’ve always known they would.
Yellow is the sun touching the eastern sky adding color to the neighborhood.
Yellow is the warmth of mellow sunshine, mid woodland songs and cries.
Yellow is the egg yolk and buttery toast I eat on the porch watching butterflies.
Yellow is the morning of marigolds and sun, watching as the magenta finally fades.
Yellow is the frenzied canary who sits upon my rooftop and stays.
Yellow are the wheat fields underneath transparent, cerulean skies.
Yellow are the gigantic sunflowers standing at attention, vigilant sentries with black eyes.
Yellow are those scented hours, wishing they would never end,
Yellow is the beauty of seasonal colors upon which I’ve learnt to depend.
Yellow are nature’s melodies played on a loop celebrating the rising sun.
Yellow is this memorable day of days with its treasured life hardly begun.
We sat on a wooden bench
Beneath a rustling willow tree.
Your face glowed with love
Like a desirable lily flower
The purest hope of spring.
The evening ascended in a flaming stance
My yearning heart emulated a nightingale lullaby.
I whispered your name, sweet Marianna.
It was such a lovely name
And lovelier was your face.
Such delicate features,
Such graceful lips, so red.
I dared to kiss her long and sweet.
Tell me, who could blame me?
In the hushed silence of sunset,
I listened for the soft splash of spring.
Our tender faces breathed united in love.
I waited as the magenta moonlight shone on your face,
so that we could love as one, face to face,
in search of the glorious blue birds of love.