Long Technicolor Poems
Long Technicolor Poems. Below are the most popular long Technicolor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Technicolor poems by poem length and keyword.
The grey oppresses;
surrounded by fog,
I traverse this shadowland;
Dorothy in reverse,
stuck in this land of monochrome
Xerox grayscale in 2-D.
Hoping it is but a dream,
valiantly, I stroke in Technicolor
Only to see it erased, again
It is no more real than the specters
haunting my thoughts.
Still I stumble around searching;
hues of hope hover out of reach
as these low-lying clouds
cast a pall-- blinding me to joy.
Perhaps, I'm trapped
in Tim Burton's sketch board;
these monoliths of grotesque
caricature evidence such.
At every turn there is a new one,
popping out of the mists.
Large, unmoving blocks of black granite
ring me like Stonehenge-- surrounded--
Leaving me wandering this maze of dark surrealism.
Glimpses of color reveal themselves
in the distance through the shroud,
ephemera teasing my senses.
Blow! benign zephyrs;
sweep away the haze
invading my peace.
Rescue me the confines
of my self-induced prison.
Let me walk in daylight, once again.
Go now heartless one, its a time to say goodbye.
Together we danced to the music of the night,
but now the sound of music brings tears to the eye.
I could have danced all night, forever held you tight.
Together we danced to the music of the night.
I dreamed a dream where you said to my heart "I do."
I could have danced all night, forever held you tight.
Now any dream will do that does not include you.
I dreamed a dream where you said to my heart "I do,"
You said: "Its an impossible dream, forget those."
Now any dream will do that does not include you.
In time, each memory dies like a wilted rose.
You said: "Its an impossible dream, forget those."
Said: "If ever I would leave you, not to be sad."
In time, each memory dies like a wilted rose,
as seasons of love balance between good and bad.
Said: "If ever I would leave you, not to be sad;
your soul was born defying gravity - be strong."
As seasons of love balance between good and bad,
my heart believes somewhere someone sings my soul's song.
Your soul was born defying gravity - be strong,
but now the sound of music brings tears to the eye.
My heart believes somewhere someone sings my soul's song.
Go now heartless one, its a time to say goodbye.
Silent One
9 October 2017
A pantoum poem, consisting of 12 syllables per line.
The poem has 12 titles taken from Opera and musicals.
A time to say goodbye by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman
Music of the night from Phantom of the opera
The sound of music from the sound of music
I could have danced all night from My fair lady
I dreamed a dream from Les Miserables
Any dream will do from Jason and the amazing technicolor dream coat
The Impossible dream from Man Of La Mancha
Memory from CATS
If ever I would leave you from Camelot
Seasons of love from Rent
Defying gravity from Wicked
Somewhere from West Side Story
October’s Story – Kyrielle - 9-24-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
October’s Story
October splashes through streams of color
Gold and silver dawns in watercolors
Every shade of joy now revealed,
Fall scatters leafy bright color wheels.
Kaleidoscopic beatitude ideals
Flushed colors escape, no more concealed,
Bursting hues, legends technicolor,
October splashes through streams of color.
Sweet season touched by magic appeal,
Harvest glories, wheat from the fields,
Red orange bittersweet, blooms of bicolor
October splashes through streams of color.
Jubilant child shouts with glee so real
Soothes the land from hot summer ordeals,
Golden ecstasies in multicolor,
October splashes through streams of color.
At God's altar of bounty, she kneels,
Fruits from orchards, sweet corn from cornfields
Asters and Mums blush in tri-colors,
October splashes through streams of color
The Colours of Happy
I am the painter of happy
Traveling along life's dark streets
listening for the beat
Feeling hidden colors with my feet
I see the beauty
beyond the dark
I'm floating within this concrete park
leaving my mark
Playing tag with a can of paint
My art is vibrant
I won't settle for faint
What you see as ugly
it truly aint
I'm not afraid of dingy places
I let colours flow outside the lines
My choices are different kinds
Injecting a symphony between life's spaces
Color removing tear drop traces
Grey shades this paint erases
I see possibilities in others faces
Finger painting
or with a brush
I make the concrete blush
Beauty awakened with my touch
I love the power of yellow
If you are down
or feeling mellow
I just might be the right kinda fellow
My flavors are sweet like jello
Within these hands
I wield a rainbow
My tools, stardust and ultra glow
From my bowl
I pour happy on your soul
Until your own light begins to show
Watch me move quick
when others are slow
Wrapping amazing
with a platinum bow
Let me paint you
a different kinda blue
bright skied Technicolor
the perfect one for you
A bubblegum happy kinda chew
Grab life and dance
do what you want to do
Choices many
don't settle for so few
I can paint you
A penny for your thoughts
help you realize just what you've got
Be the dreamer
it will help a lot
Choose exciting
a life that's red hot
Forget Generic
there is more to be got
Let others choose boring
what I offer
can't be store bought
I'll hand you a brush
we can cover more ground
flower squirting
big footed clowns
Spreading happy around
that joyful sound
Multi colored
me and you
Unconventional freedom bound
our happy can astound!
What was lost
its been refound
Time to open these eyes
happy colors surround
You too can see
just have to look around!
Form:
Our sweet, all white cat Snowball had ten
kittens! Goodbye to Zen.
Each one a different color,
some muted gray, or ginger, and some multi-color;
and one was all black,
and a real little jumping jack.
When the time came for adoption they were in a playpen,
and people came time and again.
First, adopted were the bright cats with fur technicolor,
and the cats in muted watercolor.
But, on each visit the black cat hung back,
then, when we were alone he was a maniac.
And then, there was only him and a ginger in the pen,
but ginger said goodbye one day, and then
there were no more bright cats multi-color
and no more cats technicolor or watercolor.
Just one little bright-eyed maniac black,
that I kept and named Jack . . .
I keep my Jack close, when
out, 'cause people can be mean every now and then.
________________________
January 7, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Bright Jack, The Maniac
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9807-76-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
For the contest,There is a Brighter Side
sponsor, Eve Roper
First Place
Inspired by image #2
Rhyme Pattern - aabbccaabbccaabbccaa- 20 lines
Rhyming verified on Rhymezone.
bewildered, i try to find a chapter in which a comforting compromise is inevitable
awestruck, i seek the majestic bookmark that restores that definitvive warmth to my hypothermiated soul
i need your warm hand on my heart until forever becomes a limited mute
i need the central base of your reassuring vibrations until endlessness develops bruises due to multiple bumps, slams, and crashes
a virgin in the dark sitting under the medicinal consumption of a streetlight, i revisit the merciless deluge of parking lot depression
i recall your absence leading to a dizzying constipation and a nauseating compression
the stubborn tears unfallen still produces a pain obstructing my 20/20 view of the actual reality
i once thought that this was how it USED TO BE
i used to think that letting you go would prevent you from becoming reduced to me
then....all....of....a....sud....den....i....re....be....gin....to....m....m....m....miss....you.......
i cannot believe that i see reflections of the tantalizing technicolor i feel when i would kiss you
now all i have is my invisible itch request....and....all....i....can....do....is....sadly....and sim...ply....list....you.....
in vain and shame for my personal survival to concretely remain my must MYSELF take a frigid dip in Truth and properly....place....the....blame.....
WEATHER THE STORMS SOAR
I
Shadow dances impart across lite path
Souls entrenched in technicolor harvest
Comparable passage denied terrain grasp
Rainbow corral blurb optic delusions trust
Blown wind scars the clouds rains falls down solace
Weather the storms soar the heaven’s cry
Grasping at the middle climax remains
Compels vibrate illusive prey contains
Weathering the tornadic torrents space.
II
The wind invisible clams and flies goes
Soul’s fiction blinded spirits solar glows
Darkness flees from higher, highest bright light
Ground labor encumbering dusty bare
Light chasing the darkness blight night
Troposphere next to stratosphere so fair
Spoken forth breath and life birth
Forth going as well as coming go
Universal darkness encased in light earth
1/4/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
What's in a name, you say
Is a rose still a rose by any other
And isn't 'Mom' a lot more loving
Than calling her 'Mother'
A name is an occupation, a means to a living
There's Taylor and Saylor, though never a Jailor
There's Carpenter, Brickman and even Ferdman*
Stockman and Lockman -- but as yet no Nerdman
A name's an ideal, a wish for Biblical greatness
There's Moses and Aaron, David and Saul
Esther and Mordecai, Jesus and Peter and Paul
There's Jacob's son Joseph, his technicolor coat
All the rest of his sons ~ Abraham, Martin and John**
Let us come full circle and return to our Rose
There are flowers like Camelia and Amelia Bedelia***
There's Dahlia and Zinnia, Blossom and Bluebell
Jasmine, Yasmina, Violet, Daisy, Hazel and Surapon****
Though all of these names are so pretty, so nice
My two favorite names are 'Sugar and Spice'
____________________________________________________
* 'Ferdman' means 'Horse Man'
** 'Abraham, Martin and John' was the name of a Top-10 pop hit, recorded
by Dion DiMucci in 1968
*** Amelia Bedelia is the slightly wacky heroine of a children's book series
****Surapon sneaked in here because I needed a rhyme. The name has
nothing to do with a flower. It is a male name. I know a Surapon who
is an ESL student from Thailand at the University of the Potomac.
His name means 'brave warrior,' (I think)... Oh, well. What's in a name?...
How do I write a poem about me,
What story is there to tell?
Do my words paint pictures,
Do they cast a spell?
What would someone say if he wrote a critique
About what it is that makes me unique?
I am often a dreamer,
And in my dreams I'll be found
Singing and dancing and prancing around
In swell musical productions
Full of glorious technicolor,
Stupendous cinemascope,
Quadrophonic sound,
And, of course, the more recent innovation of spectacular HD.
These days my slumber's not nearly so deep,
And my dreams are interrupted at least twice a night
And, often as not, I can't get right back to sleep.
So as we come to another year's end,
I find myself sitting alone here again
With pen in hand and tongue in cheek
Painting word pictures,
Casting my spells,
And trying my damnedest to be unique.
Is this an attribute of,
Or homage to,
My latent creativity,
Or a reflection of my artistic vanity,
Or merely a part of my all too-natural fallibility?
After all, I'm only what I'm here to be.
So how do I write a poem about me,
What story is there to tell?
I was born, I grew;
I learned, I knew;
I loved a few;
I won not one;
I lost a lot;
I proved, I got to here today,
Scribbling and painting and casting away,
Still trying my best to weave a spell,
And hoping that some future critiquer
Will find me, not trite,
But a trifle uniquer.
Words are enough.
They don't some overdramatized definition of them,
Don't be a fool to explain it to me.
I'd rather die a lonely and cruel death, by my own hands.
Words —
They don't come easy, do they?
The blurry effect on my left iris left me partially blind.
It tears my other eye to see it in the mirror.
Words, they are spat out like fetid, rotting chunder,
Why do they taste so putrid and smell so obnoxious?
When I try to let them out, they escape through my eye,
Leaking and spewing festering dross.
Technicolor yawn mimics the man in the mirror and then
He would call in sick the next day.
As the pus decay in the drought and barren land of my eye,
I was recommended using Ciprofloxacin.
Words —
Words like "I need help" and "why does it hurt so bad?"
I wish I never knew how to speak.
Instead of the infection of my worm-eaten and vile eye,
I desiderate it be my mouth rather.
Words like these are what made me feel how I feel now,
Enervated and debilitated.