"Wake within the Rose Wilderness,"
with the sky of pinks as this day closes.
"I beseech the sun to undress the stars,"
as the moon comes over the crest.
"If I am your refrain, let my name burn,"
in the morning light as the sun climbs out of bed.
"Tortured by the taste of Touch,"
today will the hot sun burn me once more?
"What is a ripple without its rhythm?"
Like the daily sun without the nightly moon.
the pink walls
the pink ceiling
Pristine pink pumps press
past the pale pine,
Placing poised pirouettes,
perfectly prime.
Proudly, she pauses, portraying
pure grace,
Pacing the platform, a phantom
in lace.
She spins sweet symphonies,
swift, soft, and still,
Soaring so splendidly, showing
sublime skill.
Silken skirts shimmer and
shadows start sliding.
Don’t think about the pink elephant
Dammit!
Being told not to is one thing
Deciding you won’t is entirely another
I must not think about the pink elephant
I simply don’t have time
I’ve got plenty to work on, Lord knows
I really don’t have the time
Not until January at least
When I’m doing a little less
But here I am in August
Daydreaming
How is it that just weeks ago I was fine?
Recovering, maybe, from last time
But now they’re everywhere
Pink elephants
Probably because I told myself not to bother
No surer way to make it so
Suddenly they appear at every turn
How did I miss them before?
A week ago I saw one
Making eyes at another guy
I briefly wanted to kill him
But I spun on my heel and there is another
I need to focus
Or I'll start dropping classes
I realize I haven’t been praying
God, this is miserable
But in January I’ll be done
No more classes
No more volunteering for a while
Just work
And I’m afraid there won’t be any more
Pink elephants
God,
I don’t always understand Your plan,
and sometimes I question where You are
when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
But You have seen every tear I’ve cried,
heard every prayer I couldn’t finish,
and stayed beside me
even when I couldn’t feel You there.
I’ve asked You, “Why me?”
when maybe I should have asked,
“Why not me, if You’re preparing me
for something greater?”
So tonight, I’ll trust You
with the pieces I can’t put back together.
I’ll trust You with the people I’ve lost,
the pain I still carry,
and the future I’m afraid to face.
God,
if I forget that You are near,
remind me.
If I lose hope,
hold me.
And if I ever feel like
I’m walking through the darkness alone,
let me remember
that even there,
You are walking beside me.
Oh spoolies, tiny pink oracles,
you slept in bowls like moons at rest,
each one dreaming its own curl
before dawn could intervene.
At night you whispered to my hair~
odd little spells of twirl and tilt,
summoning spirals that rose at daybreak
like miniature whirlwinds of hope.
I swear you hummed among yourselves,
plotting mischief in the quiet drawer,
waiting to crown me with morning magic
spun from your soft, improbable dreams.
In the pretty pink sand I sit,
on a tropical island that is sunlit.
The blue water is very calm,
in the distance with a huge black palm.
The clouds are taking a break,
no rain for the weather's sake.
I love there is no time here,
my alarm clock can bring me no fear.
Dreams are taking me far away,
I want to stay for another day.
Poetry Wheel Says......
Theme: Dreams
Emotion: Calm
Color: Black
Season: Tropical
Form: Couplet
Object: Clock
Verb: Break
demure hushed in Avalon fog
weaving fables at grey spindles
river was tableclothed quiet
whiteness soft enveloped bodies
silvery sheath covered psyche
maidens mature into women
protective watchful fog unveils
ripened wombs awakening pink
__________________
sponsor : Nette Onclaud // 2.8.26
contest : Eight by Eight : theme Fog
Placing: Third
Morwarra wa bophelo,
the breath that once did clasp
Life's glowing warmth hath fled;
the frame that used to run with heat
now lies unmoving, cold, and still.
This mortal dust of him who hath forsaken us—
The late departed, newly reft of vitality—
hath vanished from the earth,
no longer bearing the quickening spark.
He hath no breath, yet he inspires no fear;
He hath a shape, yet he cannot tire.
He walked the earth, but now he stays
A silent house of cold, pale clay
About
Pink Santa only had one goal that day
To point out the mystery gift to his cousin Trey
Trey made fun of him, so the pointing stopped
in the picture, his finger got cropped
So, Trey had to wait until Christmas Day
To find out which package held his sleigh
It was his own fault, he should not have been a bully
Making fun of Santa for wearing pink, which was silly
sweet pink
I think
best shade
now made
when light
so right
when bright
alright
when dark
no snark
gold light hits the grass
long shadows stretch on the lawn~
the day starts to pass
red fire in the clouds
pink petals drift on the wind~
trees are veiled with shrouds
pink turns to purple
stars wait for their turn to shine~
night comes to settle
sun sinks out of sight
quiet fills the empty space~
rest rolls with delight.
soft moon starts to rise
Silver light waltzes on lake
Peace now greets the eyes.
Have you seen pink bull with the girly legs?
Why wouldn’t he have boy-ly legs? I asked
We don’t know but he is clearly from Winnipeg
Thinks he is all that, being cute is his task
I found the pink bull on a photo shoot
It was clear from the get go he thought he was cute
The legs did not make sense, bulls are male you see
I took lots of photos, to laugh about later over tea
The bright morning sun awakes,
peeking over the hill,
kissing the pink mountain tops.
Pink star, is your beauty an invitation?
I'd love to visit you and your children someday.
You've moved them behind the blackest curtain, far away.
You're probably too harsh for my soul skin anyway, and I'm too spiritually parched for yours.
Time is made from man's limestone dreams.
Space shine is nothing more than a cosmic tease.
A wish is the massaging of God's heart.
Hope is a pinch of sugar in a stye.
I'll never sip your magnificence
my beautiful pink star.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.