Long Sallow Poems
Long Sallow Poems. Below are the most popular long Sallow by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sallow poems by poem length and keyword.
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.
a repost from 6/2007
She basks in the golden glow,
Draped in sunlight, ready for the show.
Empty laughter fills the evening air,
Her dreams alight, she doesn’t care.
Twirling in silk, adorned with lace,
Capturing moments that can’t be erased.
The world’s her stage, the city her muse,
The awaited golden hour, she can’t afford to lose.
Just a block down,
Another woman weeps,
Through crowded streets, she weaves,
Where hope has been denied
And promises deceived.
Her heart heavy as the golden hour strikes,
Burdened by night, searching for solace
Whose bed will she share for tonight
As they both glance up at the tie-dyed sky.
The other’s pout parts,
The other lets out a weary sigh.
One basks in warmth, while the other hides,
For the golden hour decides.
Their fates so different
Two lives entwined in a fleeting hour,
One finds bliss, the other her power
The sun sets low, casting shadows,
Skin tan and glistening
While the other is pasty and sallow
The starlet hopes to shine
The trick dreads tomorrow
Their paths entwine in the golden hour,
Where both their worlds realign.
The Imp sat atop the dresser, unmoving,
in the corner of the room, I waited, pen in hand.
No sound did he make, nor his locus improving,
as his bloodshot eyes, my attention, they demand.
In days slipped past, he spoke in lulled timbre,
for years he abated the fears that I had,
his mind so subtle, his thoughts so limber,
but through each day my questions he forbad.
I wrote each word, every syllable, every notion,
spoken dark or tender, whether thou or thine.
He laid before me his songs of emotion
and I stole each one and made them all mine.
In his voice, I claimed, all of his treasures,
without a thought he'd discover, in time.
Yet, now he speaks with words always measured,
and burning glares that scream of my crime.
Does he know I've used him to privilege my psyche?
Does he know how his rhymes have impassioned my soul?
Would he care if I offered to proffer my ego,
or pay, with my heart, this immeasurable toll.
“Living In The Dark ,“ so easy he spoke this,
while together we lived each verse, he and I.
Darkness foreboding, for he, was in bliss,
but for me pure terror as his words I decry.
He laughed at my fear and smiled with derision
as my name I placed at the end with the date.
His eye slowly narrowed as if changing his decision
but I watched as the dark made these feelings abate.
I gather before me his sonnet's solemn lines,
He allows me to name it,"Fire," seems right,
as his bitterness taunts me with each phrase he entwines
leaving visions of me in the sallow dim light.
I live in his blindness through eyes of midnight.
The coals of his vision, burning embers of fright,
but the words he has spoken I endeavor to requite
for they linger and fill me with horrendous delight.
Each syllable I have written, each turn of a phrase,
I owe to this Imp as he glares from the dresser
but silence, now, while he sits in the shadows,
how I wish again to become his confessor.
10/07/2020
Mural Musings
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.
This a favourite poem because it combines my two hobbies art and poetry
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Another loved one has too soon been taken from me.
Bereaved, now I sorrowfully speak in subdued soliloquy
Consoling myself with solemn prayers, I try not to weep.
Divine God, please hear my humble voice before I sleep.
Each life of family and friend ended with one last breath.
Fate's hands control the destiny for everyone in death.
Grief is an arduous burden to carry for those left behind.
Hearts terribly miss admired ones who come to mind.
Inconsolable am I, and those who are also left alone.
Joyless, will be the days when we kneel at the headstone.
Kindred spirits are we, in need of courage and compassion.
Lost souls with sallow faces whose complexion is ashen.
Mourning masks us with the miserable pallor of gloom.
No name can be given to the reaper; no nom de plume
Other than death, for immortality belongs to no man.
Perhaps one day when there's a change in our lifespan,
Questions will be answered when those we once revered
Return from realms of sleep. No more will death be feared.
Sullen and saturnine we will be for those we once cherished.
Treasured and loved beyond measure before they perished.
Usurped of sharing their existence, we cry, "Ashes to ashes."
Veiled are our downcast eyes to hide the flow on our lashes.
Windswept will be storms of drenching rain that will lave
Xenolith slabs of stone with chiseled names upon each grave.
Yearning that loved ones might return to us when sunlight's
Zenith reaches its peak, the pinnacle point of heavenly heights.
A face in a crowd grows numb on the subway
which hides evening’s woe, then closes a day,
mirroring grief across late Autumn’s sky
to wrestle with angst she cannot deny
like one thorn circling down from a fogged lair
while hours pound this final ache quite unfair.
Her dream turns bleak through uncertainty’s flow,
it knows not which compass of life to go…
frightened to death , brushing sleets of mad rain
when a long gone illness comes back again;
like time’s flick winging a dark raven’s plume
as sallow hands collect flowers abloom.
But oh this wish to live stirs ever on,
for when litanies of prayer are done
each whisper tumbles as moonbeams abide…
while nights claim her dream, “ fate is in your side.”
5/4/2016
Silent One’s Contest: Lyrics Cliché Image
Inspiration from the lyrics ‘ Mad World’
Cliché ,’ Frightened To Death’ … Image # 5
Reality
sometimes I wonder
if the late
still rest in peace
when justice is
never in existence
in our present existence
reality
who cares about
your Cry's
who really cares
about those complains
you bleed
ever wonder why
so many ears hear you
but never truly listen
remember there is no more
a world for the poor
if you doubt ask
reality
reality
words of truth are never
written from a sallow mind
still I wonder how many
has changed from them
yet it keep coming
like we see our sow
realities
reality
nature we forbid
it fruits we refuse
it gifts we kill
it life we destroy
it beauty we ignore
it protection we abuse
it air we pollute
yet we yain for life
In an ignorant era
what a life
what a reality
reality
let talk about reality
first we need to weak up
the world is on a race
the human race is on a competition
each on their lane
controlling their tracks
no one truly care for another
so bury those Cry's those complains
those excuse and sit up to reality
it obvious our best are not enough
to speed us up
cos the head is corrupt
so always we worship change
what sims to be far from
our realities
I know remedy don't exist for nothing
I also know victory can always
be for the stronger
so I wish finally we can
weak up one day to our
reality
Once, sweet, unassuming persona so demure
Morphing into arrogant, calculating figure
Dexterous curves dancing like marionette
Now wilting shroud; prancing silhouette
Full, rounded cheeks with rosy shadow
Devolved into sunken crevasses with hue so sallow
Full, lustrous lips distilling frothy, sweet nectar
Transformed into dull, recessive spouts brimming with tar
From twinkling eyes stardust did flow
Now only flittering sawdust doth strew
Your warm, sensual fingers did titillate
Now dry, brittle tendrils do stagnate
Sparkling, coiffed hair with gilded braids
Became disheveled bristles with dulling shades
Soft, entrancing words did enrapture
Now dull, discordant notes obscure
The baby ponycorn took a long drink from the
Still water of the pond.
The Enchanted forest kept her safe and sound
Though the reflection in the water gave her
Chills that nearly woke the unicorns of old
From there dead slumber
Beyond the edge of the cliff where
A fatal lunge they took,
Saving the townspeople from the
Dark and grinning Drago
Thousands of years ago...
Now Drago had returned!
Through the ripples of the water
His dark and sallow face
Glared up at ponycorn.
She hobbled away from the riverbed
Staggering through the tall grass...
On her toddler legs she tottered
Into the city ruins, astrewn with the carnage
Of past battles, she stood against a small stone wall
Which rose into a tall pillar.
As she closed her eyes
In hopes of dreaming
Of centuries past,
She smelled smoke
Through her nostrils...
Her eyes shot open
To the sight of Drago
Charging towards her
On a water buffalo,
A torch high in hand,
Laughing hysterically...
The lean, sturdy little ponycorn
Blinked tears out of her eyes
As she flared her baby ponycorn nostrils,
Kicked dirt up with her left hind leg,
And charged!
Thus is the tale of the last ponycorn.
With enlightenment, not inhalation,
drawn from Jefferson Airplane's (Starship?) 'White Rabbit.'
(written by Grace Slick)
A Monotetra ~
Don't be drawn into that fairytale
with the Cheshire Cat's grin and tail
He'll lure you in and leave you frail
To weep and wail To weep and wail
If you're in the Red Queen's palace
Don't sip wine from her gold chalice
Her evil thoughts reek of malice
Go ask Alice Go ask Alice
You look weak, skin sallow and pall
Your White Knight's steed is in a stall
Alice won't save you when you fall
She's ten feet tall She's ten feet tall
Don't chase white rabbits down a hole
Deep descent will devour your soul
It's time to wake and take control
Don't pay the toll Don't pay the toll