Long Technicolour Poems
Long Technicolour Poems. Below are the most popular long Technicolour by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Technicolour poems by poem length and keyword.
The soil is dreaming in a silent technicolour,
peaceful and alone. It exhales, gently without the tragic
trampling of mankind snapping roots, without the world above
and its usual stampede. Gone. Branches noticed it
first - slowly having time to stretch, to watch clouds;
time to open their barks wide and bows sprawling and luscious,
away from smokes and steams and smogs. The sky is blue,
clear. Rivers are lapping, sighing. Birds fly in a chorus, circling
in trills below the moon’s pupil-white skin - seen at night.
Fields are resting their patchwork bodies, their tissues of
grass and pores sewn from the vapours of oak, birch and ash.
Nature’s legs are stubbly now, growing hair left wild and unshaven.
In the morning, rabbits stand tall on haunches saluting the sun.
To be an artist
By Michelle Morris
26/10/2024
To be an artist
Is to see the world in technicolour
The kaleidoscopic views
That keep changing with the seasons
Not hindered by concrete greyness
Or the destruction of war
Where rubble lies where cities once lay
And red is the dominant hue every day
To be an artist
Is to be a lover of life
Where passion and curiosity
Spark inspiration and joy
Not shackled by the conventions of normal
Or labels or politics or silly to do lists
That hinder our present moment Zen
And keep us blinkered to Nature's beauty
To be an artist
Is to be brave when thought mad
To conquer doubt and cynicism
Because our heads are in the clouds
Not held back by others
Their strangeness that we kindly accept
Despite their rejection of everything we stand for
Our Time and Liberty is just too important to waste
To be an artist
Is to embrace peace and fulfilment
Juxtaposed against our constant discontent
Because we seek perfection of our creative reflections
Not stopping because we are unsure
Or critical of our blessed expressions
But forging onwards to heights unknown
Through clouds we aim for where the stars glow
© Michelle Morris, 2024
Dubai nights - 4.11.18
The lights glow over the horizon
in a technicolour display of sparkles; a fairyland.
An invitation to enter the city, reminds me home,
The Arts Centre and the Westgate Bridge at night time
with its twinkling Melbourne City below.
Its dark, yet the lights play their part across the roof tops.
The pool an iridescent blue - lit up as the children play.
Bright blue against the stark white walls, reminds of a Greek landscape
reflecting and shimmering, dancing like a cascading water feature
refracting the light across the background
Umbrellas poised and folded,
sentries to the night as the nights moon bathers recline
lovers come to swoon in balcony corners,
shadowy and camouflaged by the shifting lights,
an intimacy shaded - a space for all.
Earth is sleeping. It is dreaming in silent
technicolour peaceful and alone, calm and
gentle without the tragic crush of mankind
and its usual stampede. Nature noticed it
slowly - having time to stretch, to breathe,
to open its eyes wide and bright and luscious
away from smoke steam and smog. The sky is blue, clear.
Rivers are lapping, gently. Birds fly above in chorus.
The moon can be seen waving twinkling and white.
Earth is resting its patchwork body, its tissue of
grass and pores made from the exhales of trees.
Its legs are growing hairy, left wild and unshaven.
This time of solitude and watery reflection
is repairing habitats and watering oceans -
replenishing nature, whilst strengthening us.
Amongst the oaks and the maples and shrubbery so green
Runs a translucent flow, a stream so pristine
It's meandering contours hugging the land
Takes me back to the day, we met unplanned
The sky was pale blue on this hot summers day
Cotton wool clouds in mesmerising display
It's as if you could reach out and brush with your hand
This candy floss coating ceiling our land
Many meadows I walked through capturing the sounds
Listening to her marvels in cinema surround
Technicolour rainbows so radiant to the eye
Such beauty in nature, understandably why
I reach the turn-style that leads to the forest walk
Listening to the breeze through the trees as if they talk
These pillars of stature, as old as grandfathers years
Many stories they could tell, that would bring you to many tears
As I stroll through the leafy lanes, mapped out over many years
Trampled underfoot by it's inhabitants, badgers and beautiful red deer
I now reach the stream as I follow it's meandering flow
To a pool at it's end where past maidens bathed in glow
My ears now pick up sounds of singing and a splashing
Resonating from the pool, a glimpse of pink now flashing
A lady stands before me, bathing in the stream
Scarlet clothing in sporadic lay, am I in some kind of dream
I call out to this beauty as she turns and looks at me
Towards the bank she walks, and invites me in with she
Knee deep in crystal waters our bodies close in touch
My clothing now drifts away, the two of us in clutch
Into our eyes we both now look as blood flows through my veins
Her touch is soft and gentle, my hands now stroke her mane
Deeper we edge out as she floats and hugs my waist
The two of us in join in this beautiful serene quiet place
Our emotion creates commotion as our undulations reach the shore
Ripples of joy they are as underwater hands explore
The coldness incites a reaction, in pert and firm caress
In delightful blend we release, two souls in loving press
Kissing we reach the bank, on her summer dress we lie
Sighing in breathless spoon, we stare at the green canopy sky
Many, many hours have passed, lying naked below the peeking sun
This is the day I met my scarlet woman, the day our lives began
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-11.php
Take a long look at your life
no matter its length of years
whether that be short or long
look at how significant its sphere
Make your life like a movie
what would your part be to play?
a starring role or just a bystander
being humble or arrogant, would you say
Thinking aloud about your life
starting from your first day of birth
moving through all life's stages
laugh or cry for all your worth
Look ahead to your future days
no matter how many you've got
make them full of technicolour
remember the good you've been taught
Now make your trailer appealing
so many would want to come and see
be thankful and grateful for all of life
it's yours to live to be free!
(Reflecting on one's life and pondering it as a movie.)
When god smiles apon your life each step you take is gold,
a perfect husband,ideal wife to love you till your old.
No ripples on your still waters just pleasant calm apon your lake,
blessed with sons and graceful daughters no harsh decisions there to take.
The world is viewed in technicolour yet every problem black and white,
on your sleeve you wear your honour free to use safe and tight.
Every hurdle you encounter already downed before your feet,
lifes big wall made of paper king of your castles perfect keep.
All the people that dwell below you scorned are they for choices made,
bludgeoned with your fragile halo and unencumbered best plans laid.
So why does a man with equal honour profoundly gifted with equal heart,
fall from grace and beg dishonour with every step plagued from the start.
There can be but one true answer rich or poor, let live or die,
lifes a song your just the dancer, before the grace of god go I.
At night soil dreams in silent technicolour, peaceful and alone.
It exhales gently without the trampling of mankind snapping
roots; without the world above and its usual stampede.
Branches notice it first, having time to stretch,
to watch stars appear; time to open bark and bow wide,
sprawling and luscious. Away from daily smokes and steams,
the sky is a black mosaic of golden shards.
Rivers lap, sigh upstream. Birds fly in a chorus,
circling in trills below the moon’s pupil-white skin.
Fields are resting their patchwork bodies, the tissue of
grass sewn from the earthly vapours of oak, birch, ash.
Nature’s legs grow stubbly at night, wild and unshaven.
In the morning a rabbit stands on its haunches, saluting the sun.
the stars cry rivers of light
as the moon bows his head
the planet pauses in prayer
a laureate is now dead
words of wisdom were let fly
from the heart of mind and soul
to the pages we now read
in our minds she will forever stroll
a life lived without any fear
as seen in poetry and prize
and the truth of each line
is still in earth, it will rise
from the wisping dust she rose
poverty was the cloak she wore
with the passing of the years
she shredded it off some more
a technicolour warrior for peace
with hope enough for the world
she scribed her name on eternity
in heavens arms she’s curled
so the stars will continue to cry
the moon still bows his head
these prayers will be ongoing
we grieve that a poet is dead
White chalks.. on the glossy blackboard.
Black and White. .all matte and bored.
Technicolour scribbles. ..the world explored.
Vivacious markers...splashes the white board.
The aura of colors..the magical power.
Light mesmerising...the dull in cower.
Crayons and lipsticks..palettes of brush.
Vintage memories..in bookshelves flush.
Color of sun..darkens in shade.
Color of leaves..wither and fade.
Color of spring...never overstayed.
Color of life. .greys. .betrayed.
Reflections shimmer... the glass of solitude.
A kaleidoscope heart... colors in multitude.
Chameleon thoughts...in silence argues.
A 'Colorblind Dreamscape'...
the mind imbues.
8th September 2018.
Colored Memories Poetry Contest
sponsored by Craig Cornish