Long Pigmented Poems
Long Pigmented Poems. Below are the most popular long Pigmented by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pigmented poems by poem length and keyword.
Indiscriminate bombardment will flow
with endless pigmented possibilities;
A cross of Penelope pop-socks and indigo;
Abstruse, the two primary colors;
It must be that brush of butterfly effect
the wild one pulled from under the covers;
Intangible to all but the one who strokes
the canvas with bubbling neon flames;
A smeared showpiece each drop stokes;
Quilted texture of poodle-prairie red
dances with lines of earthy caveman;
Stimulated Muse taunted, empowered;
Passion-ridden poppy colored hands
leave only the most elegant stain;
That backsplash born of bold badlands;
Lush hues of whimsical rain pour out
exiting the smallest tube on the table;
Children’s daydreams fall from it’s spout;
Behind perfectionism a child will lurk,
screaming at you to relax and have fun;
Who cares if it is pristine or patchwork?
In our Asian-cum-Eastern land
No one prefers or admires
the dark-skinned or tanned
Gosh, as if the fair-skinned alone
belonged to the so-called fairer sex
And here, 'black is beauty' a phrase unheard
All falling for the light skinned almost in reflex!
Bachelors on the hunt for a non-fictional Asian 'Snow-white'
Even an ugly heart will do if the skin is white, pale and light
For them lighter skin tis brighter and better at beauty
even if superficial and skin-deep
The dark-skinned maidens thereby left single to weep
But while the ebony dark- pigmented
go on applying whitening and lightening creams
The white Westerners frequented
the sunlit beaches for dark tans from sun beams!
So in westerners females wish to look browned and tanned
Thus the opposite is preferred
so to that end they may sun bathe for hours on beach sand
Ah and though from the point of view of my motherland
I am luckier that God chose
to model me from a peachy whiter lighter clay,
I still feel this tug-of-war between complexions
needn't really join the fray.
For when you and I glance at Naomi Campbell
we know beauty can be white, brown and black as well
Like love, beauty knows no colour, creed or race
As proved by this gorgeous black supermodel.
Besides, we all have come across
both dark-skinned angelic saints
and fair-skinned folks with sinner's taints
Ah, Black Beauty, or Fair and lovely
Beauty has never known any bounds
For God He distributed beauty rather equally
No argument can last on these grounds
Oh, a soulmate's inner beauty ought to be earnestly sought
Too bad lustful passions fall for those merely outwardly hot!
Salmon Run
A flurry of reds emerges distorted from the river
As the sockeye salmon return from the ocean,
Following the scent of their home stream water
And swimming upstream to the place of their birth;
In this, their final act is to propagate the species.
During this migration, the sockeyes consume no food
But depend on their stored body fat reserves.
The salmon flesh is red due to the krill they eat,
and this pigment moves to the skin where they absorb their scales
as the flesh turns white, which is an indication of their health.
They endure the struggle over falls, up rapids,
And past man-made structures and predators
To reach the spawning grounds of their creation.
The name originates from the Pacific Indigenous peoples’
Salish languages,
Who called them “suk-kegh,” meaning “red fish,” after their colour.
For centuries, the coastal tribes’ ancestral heritage
fished the salmon for sustenance
And traditions and believed that all living things were once people.
To them, the sockeye salmon symbolizes determination,
renewal, and prosperity.
Frantically, grotesque-looking fish splash furiously.
The females in a frenzy sweep their tails to make beds,
While males await excitedly, defending their mates,
Ready to move in between them and the nest
To fertilize the eggs that are about to be laid.
They didn’t always look this way, with the upper portion
of the snout
Elongated, protruding over the bottom as if hook-jawed
With long fanged teeth and greenish-hued heads,
And red-pigmented bodies with thick leathery skin,
With a hump on their backs that makes them appear freakish.
The juveniles remain in the freshwater until mature.
Then, they swim out into the ocean for two to three years
before returning to repeat the cycle.
Steely silver-blue tinted colour with white bellies
And heads of natural proportions to the rest of their sleek,
transparent-scaled, torpedo-shaped bodies;
Magnificently gorgeous for a fish.
What is the purpose of your visit young man?
I heard that you have the best marmalade in the world
Well we do import oranges but you look a bit foreign to us
I am a seasoned voyager look at the stickers on my case
That is what we are worried about just making sure you are not a friend of Islam
Just a travelling tourist Sir and I am not a criminal communist either
The usual hassle ensued at the border post and the police enjoyed its authority
It gave them power and a reason to be with nothing better than a bit of control
Made Britain great again and ruling over waves of incomers called for respect
Open your bag we can sniff drugs and destruction because your skin is so dark
It is called mixed complexion blame the Spanish because I am from Peru
I can offer you some tales from my journeys to take home for the kids
Bribery won’t work and now trap your dirty snout while we consider your entry
You must be trafficking something and have come here to infest and destroy us
Don’t like your sort and you are too big for your camouflage Wellington boots
But my papers are in order please look at the stamp in my passport
I have been to the world back and beyond and now you give me grief
If you don’t keep your gob shut we must send you straight back to the jungle
Not before we blessed your pigmented pelt with a firm handout from true justice
I may look a tad scruffy to you but people come in all shapes and sizes
Small I may be and yet I can fill hearts with joy and kind exotic delight
He pleaded with the dignity of a stranger which was an alien concept to them
Diversity had died very long ago and the Empire had suffered a solar eclipse
The guard’s hearts had sclerosed from an onslaught of ignorance and regulation
Luckily Paddington had a duffel coat and hat to keep him warm while detained
17th November 2019
" My mother shed her protective love around me and without knowing why, people sensed that I had value." ~Maya Angelou
" As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. " ~Kristin Hannah
“ I hold three magic rocks, in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind"
Born female, and upon my brow the magic mark ,
as my mother's mothers before me.
Red pigmented and shaped like a broken heart,
the very heart of my story.
From generations of wombs and bloodlines before,
I am chosen to take up these stones.
And being apart of this family,
I am yet destined to be alone.
The Amber, with whiskey color glowing within…
pumpkin tinged and power singed.
Giving its wielder healing power and
protection through the midnight hour.
The Sapphire stone, deepest indigo,
as the depths of the ocean's foaming folds.
Granting wisdom within it's warming light
and discernment of truth, of wrong and right.
And the third stone is a Ruby of red,
whose clarity muddles the mind and clouds the head.
Releasing passions once held in check,
while you see clearly, their pulsing neck.
Combined the three, passed down to me,
from maternal bloodline flows.
So now with these words and the heat of my hands,
I part the veil to long ago...
Though darkly, I see, far back through time,
this several great-great grandmother of mine.
And watch as she, undeservedly,
is made to lie in an early grave …
No knight in armour in this tale,
Herself alone she must save.
These stones that I now hold, she finds,
as in darkness they begin to shine.
All air is gone, her breathing stops
and the heart inside can beat no more.
Until the magic finds a home in a wronged woman's maternal core.
Then hearing
a weak pulse,
somehow
MISPLACED...
upon her brow I see
the red- pigmented mark,
the broken heart
Upon her brow,
BEGIN TO B E A T....
And now we know this history,
the story that began my own.
I await the rest of my family tale
from inside the stones, I'm shown.
When I know my true life's purpose,
when I am connected with all of them…
then my hearts blood will stop beating...
...but my magic heart beat will begin.
I yearn to be ...irrevocably unveiled,
the dripping devotion
curling between the yin and yang
of your stoic sanctuary ~
the asylum of your ache,
the devoted rose damsel
burning to bathe
in drizzling thistles and petals
of your pulsing petrichor,
soaked in russet and rouge
of irresistible silence,
still tracing lifelines between
spaces of laser-blue sparks,
carrying the cadence
of creatures consumed in confusion,
unable to contain
the colors of love’s trust,
oblivious to the lips
pigmented with pixels
of passionate patience.
O soul-flame, seraphic sanctum
of strawberry moon-rain,
must I allow the stars to seize
our kismet in blushing blaze?
What if the darkness beholds
what we breathe beyond our
armored attachment,
that elevates the
mystery of muted magnetism?
Would you still engulf my spirit
with emerald embers of empathy,
or would I be left lingering
in the electric aftermath
of a kaleidoscopic kiss ~
reweaving and reminiscing
the restless runes
rehearsed through the nights
when sleep abandoned these words
like an illusive touch
that never felt my need to belong
in a place where
our heartbeats danced to the
same endless echo,
resembling the rhythm
of Psyche’s pining sigh
and Cupid’s nomadic arrow ~
caged in craving,
misplaced in desperate devotion…
I will relentlessly remain
as your unapologetic heat ~
the merciful mirror to your
mellifluous manifestation,
for you and I,
we are ardent lovers
embracing the unseen and unspoken,
cocooned catastrophically ~
amidst the distance
between my sky and your gaze,
while fading within your
eccentric catharsis… forevermore…
There’s something ornately comforting, in a downpour of a day’s healthy rain
So replenishing, cleansing, as renewing, the ultimate giver to feed life’s grain
As standing undercover feeling the smaller flecks of the rain against your skin
With the thrashing of rain against the window panes, creating a deafening din
Each drop, creating rivulets that chase each other down, onto the window sill
There pausing, but, for a second in pools before they take their final overspill
God’s creatures sensing mother’s nature ungodly call find refuge in their lairs
Others finding cover from the torrents of rain that caught them, so unawares
Birds tuck their heads away, wait on the downpour of rain to end, its final fall
In this time just birds of silence, you seldom hear them making their bird call
Within the marble halls of mansions, walls glisten with dancing shades of hue
Gun dogs put out of work lie waiting for their prize, there’s nowt’ they can do
Children sit upon window seats watching as the rivulets fall upon each a wish
Their little fingers pressed upon the window pane giving each rivulet a squish
But; nothing can prevent nature’s raindrops falling, so they just watch in awe
Cats on their hind legs each trying to catch the rivulets drops with their paws
There is more than a sense of security, in this day’s healthy downpour of rain
Mother makes hot cups of juice, just in case, from a cold, we all need to feign
Grandfather sits very staunchly before the fire in his armchair made so grand
A tot of whiskey just for good measure, for medical purposes you understand
While dear Grandma is knitting away, totally in tune to the rhythm of the rain
In the hallway standing there idle rests father’s ebony and ivory walking cane
Who has now took himself into his study, sits to reminisce and to have a cigar
It saved just for such a day resting in its lacquered pigmented box of cinnabar
Cooks busy themselves in the kitchen making all the family their evening meal
Steam rising from the cooking onto the windows panes, does the rain conceal
Until the steam itself creates rivulets of their own, and the outside is revealed
In doing so, makes the clarity of the day’s rain even more so magically surreal
Life becomes weighted
as stones are placed upon the backs of men,
till they bend.
Pain from the weight makes us curse
pain makes us pray-pray away.
Pain welds a frown to the face.
Eventually friends will all go away.
Nobody likes to breathe in another's pain.
A smile is a pigmented trough
where nuggets of life are often caught
shining like God's cavity and everything is ok
until the next wave takes the nuggets away.
Life is weighted.
Even in death, they weigh your name with stones
which is forgotten by the weight of time-
In time your name fades away
into the cool blue shadow of forgotten.
Life and living are heavily weighted.
Unbearable Beauty in Black
The light has fallen down the endless solid cliffs
dejected there it sparkles lures on impact’s flight
Gunshots from a black revolver six shiny bullets
one bright explosion flashes mindless radiance
The hangman darkly clothed in jester’s gown
mocks tarred and feathered un-dyed blaze
A dose of over un-pigmented pills and pillage
sweet dreams of quiet and one last muddy void
Black is unbearable the pastel brush demised
but after thunder slowly comes the rainbow
A sentinel cries crisis please do not head the call
the change of guards disguised in shining armour
Requires holding on to blackness’ shielding voice
until unbearable becomes bearable once more
Pitch-miserable epiphany shouts when you cannot
want not paint no more yet flaking scraps find colour
Once you resist seductive guile beheading escapades
embrace depression as your strongest torch of change
07th November 2016
I am garnet Aphrodite,
vampire rose ~
the huntress of halcyon
wrestling with love and limerence
bleeding for the soul and spirit
of smoke-kissed sepals
stretching towards the sky
drawing you in delicate dreams
lost in luscious light
while these lips tremble
to taste the tight temperance
of true temptation…
and in the ache of aloneness
I still am fluent in
the dialect of devotion
the sacred symphony
to serenade a shield-maiden saga
choosing inner battles
for I belong where
the balm of burning balance
blooms to the sound
of thriving thorns
and murmuring myrtles...
I am not unstitched by silence
but tested by the trials
of wild-woven withdrawal ~
a sun-soaked sapphire
aligning the anguish
swirling through surging spells
connecting scattered
cosmic brushstrokes
to beautifully drape destiny
in pulsing pixels
pigmented with Seijaku...
I place my fingers
along the charismatic chest
of soft fuchsia walls,
tracing the tints of tremors
climbing as addictive vines
amidst cold crevices
to reach my skin
sighing to be within the
palms of patient passion
I will remain warmed
in the kaftan kismet
of a longing laced
in cobalt peacock promises
beaded with golden amulets
carved with cursive cravings
we are the wishful flares ~
the world cannot fathom.
but in the starvation
of collided touch
we do not phase ~
we fearlessly swell
into the deathless space of faith
where the spring breeze
phrases our
initials in sunset mauve...
O fragrant field to my mind,
paint me within the
stirring sentiments of your spine...
I own your signature ~
starry-silver strength
braiding my henna-hued hair
into a universal bun
of beloved blissfulness…