Long Viridian Poems
Long Viridian Poems. Below are the most popular long Viridian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Viridian poems by poem length and keyword.
A riot of colour, unfurling the plain,
as you drive the vast ways in Australia.
Vivid and broad, the landscape is changed
painted in hues of the flower.
Viridian and gold, violet and blue
the dirt itself is red,
sets off a contrast, a vision of hues,
no other place on Earth - homebred.
The Queen of Sheeba, occupies the space
as the everlasting colours transform,
the majestic camouflage of winters embrace,
defies the rules of the tundra norm.
Deprived of water, for the desert's their home,
they challenge the grace of the source,
emitting small buds against the furious loam,
life's promise, a powerful force.
Life will out, and new beginnings begun,
a testament to hold in wonder,
for winters drought, under our burning sun,
cannot deter these flowers down under.
25/10/2018
Colors splashed upon a canvas
Expounding rhyme and reason
The paintbrush tells a story
Of love, trust and treason
A flux of emotions spread abroad
Fusing hues of green and teal
Blueprinting a love gone wrong
Phantasmagoric and surreal
Falling tears of cobalt blue
Emblazoned with crimson red
Blended well with vivid scarlet
Depicting a heart that bled
Melding oils on a palette
Coining shades of black and gray
Distraught strokes glaze the surface
Warranted rage on display
Fuchsia construes your courtesan
Infidelity exposed in viridian light
Goldenrod and lemon chiffon
Symbolize this woman's blight
A recollection of betrayal
Expressed in abstract art
Hung upon a gallery wall
Portrait of a broken heart
Fall always comes
As September rises
Leaves crimson, some gold
Say it's September 11
All over again and again
Every year the date reminds
Like a cruel Xmas on repeat
Keeping our presents
Every score, a bit forgotten
Until no one recalls planes
Till it turns to politics
Trying to find sweets in chaos
Flies are buzzin’
Some had hit our Twin Towers
Some were drawn to our pentagon
Some bravely missed the mark
The sky was falling on 9/11
Says Chicken Little
Too chicken to mourn
The day the sky really fell
We in America really felt it
All those purple bodies
Like confetti discarded
Like shrapnel remembered
Raining down to the abyss
On America's children
For twenty-five years
For what design?
For a virtual harem?
The flies are still buzzing
Everyone loves the Fall
But the few and me
We like growth over decay
Spring over the Fall
Petals died on 9/11
They fell like sakura
The Fall births cherry blossoms
For us to consecrate
Life is holy like petals and maples
But is the US holier?
As if we are just foliage
Whatever color discarded
We all bleed as one
Mingled with all the dust
That day will be forgotten
Be the few to ignite the forest
Smoldering, but not forgotten
Irrefutable as dust
Indefatigable as MLK
The youngest would be 25
Now a memory viridian
A charred acorn waiting
Unforgettable like a date
In a pit waiting to burst
In any hemisphere
A new memorial
In an undiscover'd country
From whose bourn
No traveller returns
Waiting to sprout
On nine eleven
Forget us to live
They say
No we say
If we forget
Who'll remember us?
Unless
The singularity
Is US
Cherry blossoms in September
Blood red leaves falling in May
Where towers never fall
They rise
If love is real
Grab me by the hand
And let me show you a world
Of earth and sky blanketed
In a dream of night and snow
The snowflakes were thick and heavy
And caressed in the gentle glow of the streetlight
One boy alone in the coldest of nights
Staring wide-eyed at the snowy lights
A lengthy night was washed away
Swept up in the crimson tide I'd prayed for
My arms and heart went numb
Learning to tread water for the first time
The ocean evaporated under the light of the Eclipse
As I rapidly sought to refill it from my wrists
My Full Moon Queen cast a shadow over the Sun
And I reached as far into space as I could
I launched myself through time
In order to hear those crimson echoes
They danced across three screens
As the sword I relied on rusted away
The Eclipse faded away
Yet the ground was as cold as ever
I shied away from the harsh light of the Sun
And sought solace under the light of the Moon
The woods and cars passed in a blur
As I spent those weeks on the road
Alone with only my time machine to save me
And my dreams of possibilities
I cast my voice into the infinite expanse
Shaky, unsure, yet full of hope
Two children, one of viridian, one of crimson
Set out to carve their names in the annals of time
The Full Moon faded entirely from the sky
As a New Moon hovered ominously
A flash of pink entered my dreams
And vanished as soon as I realized it
Smoke rose in the air
As I lived the many dreams of dying men
Setting a future in stone
As the one who would tread uncharted territory
In a dimly lit room
I called out weakly to whoever would listen
A figure clad in pink grasped my hand
And vanished as soon as I realized it
I found myself thousands of miles from home
In a small room in Shibuya 104
Caressed in the gentle glow of the streetlights
I raised my hands to the night sky to embrace the snow
CELESTIAL BLUE
Reaching mountain top at sea side
we swam and sank into celestial blue
gazing at azure sky embracing aquamarine ocean
in cyanic horizon.
Crowd of clouds turned turquoise on sundown.
Indigo twilight blending in teal mist spreading celadon shades.
Cerulean ambient in patches of prussian hues.
Ripples of tarn on cobalt rock reflecting cat's eye glow.
Your eyelashes on lapis lining.
Your sapphire eyes glistened in my lavender love.
Evening merged spreading viridian veil.
Periwinkle stars twinkled.
07/14/18
'
Contest No 470 by Brian Strand Eighth place
First Place
'Best Free Verse in July 2018' Contest by Laura Loo
Third Place
'Any July Poem 2018' Contest by
Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
Second place
Free Verse Contest from July to October 1 contest by John Hamilton
I’m a midnight cat, by the name of Obsidian,
eyes golden by candlelight; by day they’re viridian.
As I lay here among my Mistress’s great books,
I am wondering what, for my supper, she’ll cook?
Mistress is a Seer, a Shaman, a Mage and
these books contain magic, spells upon every page.
This map too, is magic, it charts her course;
and shows her every single, natural resource.
For she gathers her herbs and plants for her magic;
to run out of these, for her, would be tragic.
She keeps everyone well, in our kingdom you see;
she even cures folks with extracts from trees!
You see, Nature provides, everything that we need;
though science won’t admit that better medicines, natural be.
There’s Digoxin from Foxglove and Aspirin from Spirea,
Ephedrine from Ephedra, it comes from various wild areas.
Once a nasty old doctor from a neighboring town,
tried hard to stop her from curing our Crown;
she concocted a potion from nature’s best weeds,
now that doctor, for her potions, pays money and pleads.
3-28-2022
Black Cat Poetry Contest
Robert James Liguori
The opalescence of the early morning light flows over everything
It touches over ever leaf, every tree, every exposed part of her skin
She stares at the sky as the dawn breaks
It shines brighter and brighter
The dew illuminated with the power of the sun
Everything around buzzes with the recharge of a new day
Everything but her
Volatile thoughts burrow through every cell
Leaving her empty filled only with the brisk sweet air
White knuckle grip on the rusty swing slowly creaking in the breeze
Time stops for a moment as the birds go quiet and the squirrels hold their breath
The silence was deafening so she screams
She screams out every breath she has ever taken-
She screams with every ounce of strength left in her-
She screams out all the sorrows, all the pains, all the contradictions
Gasping relieved from the build of feminine rage
She sobs out the anguish of unrealistic self expectation
She sobs in quiet determination to feel better or at all
She sobs to release the leash wrapped around her heart which keeps her tied to poise
Sighing she breathes deep even breathes of the fresh morning air
In and out
In and out
She breathes in the peaceful calm of the perfect morning
She breathes in self reflection of her beauty
She breathes in lost ideals of enoughness
She breathes out the snide backhanded comments
She breathes out the monstrous detrimental molds that she’ll never fit into
She breathes out the self hatred and regret and loathing
Stilling she looks around for the first time since she laid down and clung hopelessly to the swing
She smiles taking in the pink and purple watercolor sky
She smiles noticing the slight breeze ruffling the viridian leaves
She smiles as the the electric light beams which zap through the tree branches-
They dance around the ground and all over her body in waves
For the first time in a long time she remembers herself
She remembers herself more than just a woman
She remembers herself more than just a sister or a daughter
She remembers herself more than just a friend or a lover
She remembers herself below the depression and angst
She remembers herself as a person internally whole
She had forgotten her inevitable strength
She vows to never forget herself again
Standing in the warmth of the spring sun-
She laughs
Reading brings me to
another world of freedom.
While pages fly off the book,
so does in my mind,
as I become the figure
in another place in time.
Morning tropical
sun showers its breath form rays
on the sandy forlorn shore.
Barefoot on the beach,
warm fine sand between my toes,
the smell, and taste of salt air
on my face and lips.
Balmy wind wafts a few loose
strands of hair across my face.
My eyes squinting in
the sun glare to see clearly
the small sailboat out upon
calm viridian
hue and marine blue ocean
against the blue horizon.
Majestic stillness
a yearn sublime radiant
blue, sound of scattering waves.
7/4/2019
Picture 2
Poetry Contest: Fives and Sevens
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Green is serene.
This color of nature
resurrects in early spring
to paint our landscape again,
from drab brown to soft fern haze.
Slowly, spring deepens into a sublime
mixture of emerald, and Shamrock hues.
Mid-summer, our lovely trees, and shrubs
are bathed in luxurious velvet forest green.
Later, summer paints with a deeper Viridian.
Our forests, mountains, valleys, hills, lawns,
trees, and plants...all saturated in greens.
Tranquil, flowing greens, soothe the soul,
as silky grasses, like waves of the sea,
ripple gently in the summer breeze.
Lush tree tops kiss the blue sky.
Green embraces every lake.
Green paints our lovely
landscape of nature.
Green is serene...
(The Italian wine "Est! Est! Est!" got its
curious name because 900 years ago a
German bishop liked it so much, he
drank himself to death.)
Those bishop guys in days gone by
were deep and subtle thinkers.
They knew their scripture -- and no lie -
were quite accomplished drinkers.
A German prelate of the Church
was summoned down to Rome:
his servants helped him in his search
for taverns ("home from home").
How lucky we, with S.U.V.,
and motorways, and such:
twelfth century was leisurely --
ten miles a day was much!
What matter if the sun may grin,
and forest flame viridian?
To find an inn to shelter in,
their keen concern quotidian.
Not uninclined to "give it large",
unlike before or since,
he travelled with an entourage,
this spiritual prince.
Each morn he'd send a runner off
to scout the road ahead,
to find a decent Gastenhof,
and guarantee a bed.
The bishop stout (need we point out?),
a man of moral fiber,
was quite devout (but there's no doubt,
he was a keen imbiber!)