When you told me you love green and blue,
I happily said they're also my favourites too.
But in case you weren't believing me entirely,
I explained colourful scene in my mind I see.
I also told you another favourite of mine,
Purple, like cartoony mountains so fine,
As well as blue for skies, green for meadows.
I realized something special about us shows.
Those three colours, are the higher chakras:
Our open hearts, open minds, psychic auras.
We love these colors, we're unlike any other,
We are same, always meant to be together.
You are my beloved decreed by the stars,
You and I meant to heal each other's scars.
Someday we may see my colourful scene
And you will fully see just what I mean.
My purple diary is obese with secrets,
it wheezes loud like broken trumpets.
Pages sweat like me in fear,
on treadmills I dodge once a year.
It knows each tantrum, the midnight feast,
my tragic affair with a starch-filled beast.
It knows the chokehold disguised as care
the hugs that smother and a love unfair.
My purple diary is stuffed and perverse,
filled to the brim with confessions and curse.
A burden I dragged through endless years
masked by jokes I cracked to muffle my tears.
It knows the narcissist’s circus wheel
blindfolded knives spinning close to real.
It knows the family’s passive cheer,
the choir of "fine' hidden behind sneer.
One day when the world will pry it open,
expecting Shakespeare, finding soap-opera token.
They will learn you don’t need a camp or cell,
to suffocate, just family drama does it well.
They might applaud it with bestseller prize
or dismiss it as a carnival of lies.
Either way, the diary keeps wheezing still,
like woods that hold their silence on the hill.
Altho' for the nation it may be
the best possible proposed proposition
on principle it's automatically
shot down in flames by the opposition
yet should they meet in the middle
in some way shape form or manner
and agree to represent the country
their collective stars and stripes banner
as the U.S. Republicans are red
and the Democrats blue
in that highly unlikely event
then if when put together
purple would be the hue
A purple butterfly, lovely and rare,
Visited me unexpectedly, with a message to share.
Standing before my house, I felt her gentle breeze,
And warmth that spread through my soul, like a summer's ease.
She whispered secrets, of transformations to come,
New paths unfolding, like a rose to bloom.
Love, hope, and promise, all on their way,
A brighter tomorrow, starting from today.
Opaqueness transcends past despairs mainstream,
Brando wouldst cry whence heart parts, my desire,
Wit or witout, parleys saved, reigned supreme,
Self-secured, needless watch, aloof—steel beam,
Perch in want, puffed huffed girth lurks torment’s dire,
Opaqueness transcends past despairs mainstream,
Purpled robs thee of thy true color scheme,
Gray’s an area, right or wrong, prior,
Wit or witout, parleys saved, reigned supreme,
Budgie’s tales of my gamut’s length, extreme,
Dicky-bird, thou art my wordless flyer,
Opaqueness transcends past despairs mainstream,
Ne’er will the pair meet, sums nature’s pipe dream,
Empty nestles remembrances retire,
Wit or witout, parleys saved, reigned supreme,
Decisions abandon ruse quips redeem,
Eager claimed as death mounts, lingers satire,
Opaqueness transcends past despairs mainstream,
Wit or witout, parleys saved, reigned supreme.
As I sit gazing upon the unsympathetic clock.
Wiling away these last few dread filled hours.
Stirring my tea, or is it stirring me?
Confusion reigns.
My weary eyes plummet toward the newest envelope on the oak birthed table.
The Violet Grape Purple one, fore it is pregnant with the last love filled endowments of my now ex-wife.
Before when I had the guiltless luck to call her mine.
Or am I at fault?
Either way the staring envelope is all that reminds me.
Why did you have to come in the post just as I was forgetting?
Just when I was becoming too tired to care, about her presence in my bed , in my soul.
Reap me , tear me, but please don't remind me of her.
Wildflowers and persimmons the power in her laugh.
At long last I can stand no more, I gather the mocking, accursed letter and in a rush in a chair I alight.
By the fire I strain to throw you in.
I pitch back instead, hurtling down, down.
On the floor I weep.
In twilight’s hush,
a postman placed a violet envelope in my hands—
grape-purple, whispering of royal secrets,
its seal a shimmer of hidden magic.
I broke it open with trembling care;
a white page gleamed inside,
its words in purple ink,
a script beyond my understanding.
Yet meaning rose like starlight:
a princess revealed in the grace of her hand,
longing for my warmth,
her message wavering between silence and desire.
But what use is a summons,
if the words are swallowed whole,
devoured by the very skin of paper
that carried them to me?
Do princesses ever love peasants?
Do they scatter love in indecipherable riddles?
Do they bind longing in codes none can break?
And yet, the envelope whispered my name and address.
Sent by no one that I know
From the mailbox I did find
A violet paper soft like snow
A darker grapey purple kind
It wasn’t sealed nor stamped at all
There was no writing I could see
I wondered who had come to call
And left this purple note for me
I turned it gently in my hand
Not wanting to disrupt its look
Looking at the Hallmark brand
It had me now, bound and hooked
I lift the flap up just enough
To see the paper tucked within
I tried to pull it, not too rough
For ripping it would be a sin
The paper came and it was white
A contrast to the darker sleeve
And then I saw to my delight
My love said he would never leave!
I have a special request, for I am King.
Messages for me you may not bring
inside a plain white envelope! Whatever are you thinking?
Blue, you say. What about blue?
Well, a nice blue regal envelope might do.
I’ll accept blue, but only if it’s touched with violet’s hue.
Yellow or green? Is that what you ask me?
Yellow is for cowardice. Green could show some envy.
I am King; my colors must show splendor and majesty.
I recline in luxury. Grapes from servants I am fed.
Don’t even mention brown or black be used in purple’s stead.
Bring me a GRAY envelope? I’ll say: Off with your head!
.
A violet grape purple envelope. That would make me ecstatic.
You ask where your freedom is? Do I seem as though I'm democratic?
Envelops not colored as requested will be very problematic!
She hadn't received a violet grape purple envelope,
As the invited guests had done. It was more than she could hope.
Each guest had known for ages to expect the guilt edge invitation.
The bedraggled woman knew this wedding was way above her station.
She stood in the foyer of the church, through the window to the aisle.
Her threadbare clothes hung around her form in denial.
She watched him take her arm, as they approached the groom.
A hush was heard as the organ played in the room.
How stunning the bridesmaids, four beautiful girls,
The bride exquisite, her delicate lace gown studded with pearls.
The crowd were obviously all well to do,
Men in Versace suits, women clad in Chanel and Dior too.
She listened as they said their vows and swore to be true.
She smiled as he proclaimed to his bride “I love you”.
Marriage complete, they would all soon walk out to the street.
It was time for the haggard woman to make a hasty retreat.
He glanced at her but didn’t raise an eyebrow.
She would never be recognized the way she looked now.
It was so long since she had cried, she shed just one tear.
Her dear daughter would never know that her mother was here.
Violet grape purple envelope
Beholder of your wildest dreams
Holding all the things you long for
Bursting joyful at the seams
Held in gentle mystic splendour
Locked, entombed, a treasured case
Sacred thoughts possessed so tightly
Coccooned within this hidden place
Wrapped in warming rays of sunlight
Imaginary classic trope
Bestower of the dreams envisaged
Violet grape purple envelope
On a dreary Monday morning, I slowly walk to the mailbox
In my monotonous routine check for packages or letters,
I don't expect any but I never know when either has been delivered,
My heart leaps in surprise to find a violet grape purple envelope...
Addressed to me!
I carefully unseal it and slowly pull out the letter to prevent rips
And read questions written in swirly script in royal purple ink,
The lavender-colored paper smells of wonderful wisteria scent,
Perhaps it is the promising perfume of a possible pen pal?
I send a letter of my own in a robin egg blue envelope...
A simple correspondence grows into a life-long friendship.
Time seems to fly by along with the years.
it was only yesterday when I was young.
I enjoyed shopping for pretty writing paper,
sitting in flowered boxes with colorful envelopes.
The box I loved the best,
was the violets covering the box and paper,
with the matching violet grape purple envelopes.
I would spend hours writing my love,
upon these pretty flowery pages,
then seal the violet grape purple envelope.
My red lips would place a love kiss,
to keep the envelope company.
Violet Grape Purple Envelope
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Contest Judged: 10/4/2025 11:20:00 AM
( 7th place )
In the mailbox, it waited,
a violet grape purple envelope…
not the plain white of bills,
not the business-blue of routine,
but a shade rich as twilight grapes
pressed into wine.
The flap held more than paper;
Its pulse echoed the warmth of a waiting hand,
the secret weight of words
never said aloud.
I lifted the seal,
and the room tilted…
like stepping into a midsummer orchard
where each branch hung heavy,
brimming with whispered secrets
of fruit still blushing in the sun.
Inside, no gold, no check,
just a letter, simple and trembling.
Ink curved across the page
like vines climbing a trellis…
every word a fruit,
sweet with risk,
staining me purple.
I held it close,
as though the page exhaled in quiet pulses,
like hidden grapes fermenting
beneath stone and quiet flame…
a slow transformation,
love softening into molten amber.
I can't avert my wistful stare,
from a memento lying there.
Tears fill my eyes, and I cannot see,
my thoughts immersed in reverie.
It was nineteen hundred and sixty eight
when I saw, with her, the Violet Grape.
Psychedelic wonders, and yet,
how could the entire world forget?
Is it only me who still knows
about the band that curled the toes
of me and my angel, the wild rose?
She gave me, enclosed,
tickets for two,
saying one for me, and one for you -
we will ascend to heaven,
on concert day, October eleven.
Reminded by a purple envelope,
of a night and girl who went up in smoke,
as if they never once existed,
a strange thought to be resisted.
I can't avert my wistful stare,
from the envelope, unopened there.
Specific Types of Purple Poems
Definition | What is Purple in Poetry?