Tinted Poems - Poems about Tinted

Sometimes I forget To remove my thick glasses Jade and rose collide ...

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My rose-tinted lenses get me through the day My world isn’t plagued by the white, black, or gray Just rose My rose-tinted lenses show me only love Not any hate like the kind you hear of Who knows? My rose-tinted lenses made me “naive” They say I only saw what I believed I suppose… My rose-tinted lenses make all flags red Which is probably why...

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Sometimes, I've to wonder if the world is better off without me In my head, that statement is, without a doubt, true After all, what value or significance do I have to share I'm just a waste of space, according to numerous peoples But for some odd reason that I don't seem to comprehend My friends believe otherwise They are convinced...

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Quicksand caught generation epoch, restless whirring of a drill in the dust. Zenith of color shifts saturation to none, black and white film on video cassette. Ensnared in a cage lowering to molten, hourglass is losing sand to run dry. Eyes fixate to the sunny horizon, flicker dims as monsters crawl, from beneath beds, closets, bathroom stalls. Those noises, creaks in the floor, are very real. Ignore them, rummy...

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Crimson leaves flutter with every brisk breeze, sending cerise ripples through the treetops. And as the Autumn winds tickle the trees, sunburned farmers start harvesting their crops. A scarlet sun bleeds onto carmine clouds, inking colors that adhere to Night's brush. And Dusk's magenta and rose-tinted shrouds conceal Sol's death in a vermillion blush. When Nature's pallet imbues Autumn’s art, cinnabar collects on the...

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I’m building a wall Ochre color, tan and tall I hired an artist to paint a mural Graffiti subtleties that will unfurl White-washed and Chicano like me I fell hard for him, exposing clarity I knew there was no chance in hell He’d choose a brown, White-washed Chicana for a spell So, I’ll just play the victim and twist truth around And make myself...

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Time As it passes we look behind us To the then The when When we were younger. A time when all was not perfect. Yet in our dotage we see the Misty perfection of youth. But look not upon that to come as chore-some, Our mark is made from start to end. Grasp what we have to see the now in all....

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TINTED STRAND OF WISDOM The day my eyes beheld the sheeny silvery strand almost had a nervous breakdown was it not just yesterday we recited nursery rhymes and danced in the rain yesterday when we wore oversized shoes and baggy clothes that mama bought us for christmas yesterday when we were just girls who had gabfests filled with giggling about the far future oh...

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His poems were about racism. About the white man who wouldn't hire him because he was a “dirty Mexican.” My mind shivered in disgust. In the end he said, “…and I thank my wife…” He spotted her in the audience, nodded, and smiled lovingly. I immediately turned to look for the Hispanic woman in the crowd....

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Slowly the procession passes by, large black limousines like snails creeping along, the village street where a gathering crowd watches black-draped mourners through tinted windows. Everyone I know liked the mayor, a genteel fellow, hale, well-met, died of unknown causes; that is, unknown to the common folks lining streets, glimpsing through tinted windows. Rumors say it was too much wine, women, drugs, suicide, some think, a heart attack of...

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“The soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts.” Quote By: Marcus Aurelius Tinted in hues that I never imagined this pilgrim soul has ventured farther then ever before together as one encumbered with deeds unexplained claiming the winds of change as culprits and friends; I plucked out strange thoughts like plums from a tree thanking...

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Sepia-tinted season is on You are yellow and red Crunching leaves in the lawn Soft sun on bed You are yellow and red As I pick apples Soft sun on bed Squirrels under maples As I pick apples In red-and-gold forest Squirrels under maples A Robin in your armrest In red-and-gold forest Snowy mist in air A Robin in your armrest A petal in your hair Snowy mist in air Gondola...

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THE PROCESS OF SESTRATION OR SESPACATION HAD BEGAN THEY WHERE READYING FOR COUNTDOWN READINESS BOTH CREWS WOULD LAUCH 10 MINUTE APART THEN SUDDENLY AN EXPLOTION HAPPENED ONE MINUTE LATER ANOTHER EXPLOITION THE PEOPLE ON EARTH REPORTED BOTH CAMERA'S HAD STOPPED AND THEY HAD NO FURTHER IMFORMATION WITHIN MINUTES OF THE REPORT PEOPLE THOUGHT THE CREWS WERE TO BE LOSTED FOREVER SUDDENLY REPORTS START...

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Therapeutic thoughts have feelings of resonance and dissonance as healing behaviors have internal beliefs motivating inspiring spirited resilience and passions for love surpassing anger, compassion conquering all dispassions, positive attraction reconnecting past negative distractions. Feelings have internal colors compassionate green health environments and narcissistic snarky red hot interiors and radiant blue light and absorbing yellow warmth, and many multiculturing other hues and cries for resonant ultra-violet peace with black and white and brown...

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Arriving softly, the opulence of night Which exults an iridescent moonglow As heaven flashes its tints with delight To adorn the view… young stars in a row. Against late dusk’s chasm, rustling are trees Like silken plumes…warm gift from nature’s green Caressed by impetus of a flamed breeze Where no dark mockery can jar this scene. And not vicarious is...

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