Challenge: Let's write short poems or feelings about colors...

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Top 50 Contributor
Dancing Day-Tripper
Points 6,518

Jajajajaja!!!!!!!! This is too much... Chamaleon, it is lovably, cheers!!!!!!!!!!! from GOYA

M
Top 25 Contributor
Female
Wild Wiggling Wayfarer
Points 14,187

 Hello Poets -

I'm loving these juicy poems!  We live in a colorful world, thank heavens, and these poems celebrate that.  Here's one I wrote in half-surprise at my new fondness for orange - a color I'd discounted when growing up as either muddy (like our brownish-orange furniture, so characteristic of the 70's) or else too bubbly or exotic to have anything to do with us.  I surprised myself by buying an orange kimono and feeling like a queen in it.  Since then, I see orange as a flag of possibilities, of light-heartedness and honest beauty.

 

Orange

 

was only a flash among apples

in the kitchen,

not to be eaten but peeled away

to get at paleness beneath –

 

was paired in our house with brown

and dosed with rust

that left it limp

and unprotesting

as the couch it covered –

 

was, in our steel-grey and lobster-green lives,

in our brick-red and hospital-white days,

unthinkable

as an oriole preening on the mantel,

an incongruity

fanning a brilliant wing at dusk.

 

A flirt, a tease, a light-weight

I thought her –

nothing to do with us.

 

But last year,

in pumpkins she spoke first,

in maple leaves I heaped on tables,

in zinnias and lilies,

in monarchs and calendulas,

in new carrots and nasturtiums:

these were her first words to me.

 

And then, in certain songs

and the swirl of silk skirts,

in the flare and heat

that comes of reading some poems,

in fierceness that puts the flute

in your hands:

she opened me fully to her oratory.

 

And so I wrap myself

in the orange kimono

and wearing it, become queen

of flowers and desire –

her newest friend

and temporary vessel

for the world’s joy

she seeks to inflame.

 KateSinging

Much have I traveled in the realms of gold and many goodly sights have I seen...
Top 50 Contributor
Dancing Day-Tripper
Points 6,518

Bravo KateSinging, this is a great poem, and I admire your colorful words.Love them, thanks,

ORANGE

you paint my toenails orange

buy matching lipstick

I hope the words come out the same

you cream the soles of my feet with orange juices and roses 

and make me dance barefoot

in a garden of mexican paper flowers...

From GOYA

M
Top 25 Contributor
Female
Wild Wiggling Wayfarer
Points 14,187

 This one's for you Goya!

 

 

I went to Goya’s spa

 

and she colored my hair with pomegranate juice

(and fed me the seeds on a crimson dish)

 

then she clamped orange halves over my ears

and told me to listen to the fiesta inside them

 

then she lined up a thousand lemon seeds

and told me to take my pick of yellow good luck

 

then she smeared my skin with broccoli smash

and sent me to lie belly-up in the new grass

 

then she made a maze of blueberries

and instructed me to eat my way to the center

 

then she hung a bunch of purple-black grapes

from a streetlight and bid me fetch them with my wings

 

then she built a small perfect house of plums

and invited me to sit in its cool shade

 

Every color she speaks is healthy

 

 

KateSinging

9 March 2008

 

Much have I traveled in the realms of gold and many goodly sights have I seen...
Top 50 Contributor
Dancing Day-Tripper
Points 6,518

AWESOME, What a place...the four last verses, before every color she speaks is healthy, of this poem KateSinging are great images, it is a beautifully written poem that is vivid, and alive in every sense of the word.  Plenty of colors and tropicalism, and happy. You show us the way to the center: GRACIAS.

 

SILVER

We each become attendant to our skin,

the ears, the eyes, the hands,

the curve of rib, the wrist and limb,

and then, we made

salt and juices from the ocean,

like a moment from childhood

sleeping on the beach,

 with the scent of water, the aroma of colors,

dreaming  like ammonites.

Oh, our soft silver skin.

 

From GOYA

9 marzo 2008

 

M
Top 25 Contributor
Female
Wild Wiggling Wayfarer
Points 10,854

A Poem About Color and Other Things

Am I a poet if I call myself that?
And is it poetry I write if I put words on paper and call those words a poem?
If I am a poet and I write poetry,
why can I not find the words to write this poem?
I think to write about the bright colors, the gay moments, the feel of a cool breeze on my cheek
but today I see the browns and grays of soulful times, and the breeze is hot and dry.

Bo 

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.” Mary Anne Radmacher
Top 50 Contributor
Dancing Day-Tripper
Points 6,518

Poems about colors:

 

I could eat your poems

like a crow or a fox

eating eggs, fruits and brilliant things;

because they are rubies, bones,

clouds,pearls and gold

pulsating in my pages.

From GOYA

10 marzo 2008

 

M
Top 10 Contributor
Glory Giving Gypsy
Points 50,071

But as you, yourself, said to me, Bo, the browns and greys have a place in art!

Hugs ~ Aunt Bobby

Aunt Bobby at Artella Artella Tech Support Bobby@ArtellaLand.com
Top 10 Contributor
Female
Spiritual Sky Farer
Points 51,985

Yes, the "browns and greys have a place in art", Aunt Bobby and Bo!  The good thing about those seemingly 'ordinary' colors compared to Crimson Red or Peppermint Green, for example, is that they can be...

A Chestnut brown....deep, heavily saturated; or
Cinnamon...rich dark brownish red, sweet and aromatic
How about Sable...dark brown furry throws and so-soft cushions?
Rich Dark Brown...chocolate with its' smooth creamy texture that melts in your mouth - mmm; and
Mocha, expresso and cocoa....ahhhhhhhhh, flavor-flavor.

- chameleon

 




 

Make a Wish . . . Make it Happen!

Top 25 Contributor
Female
Wild Wiggling Wayfarer
Points 10,854

Nice, Chameleon,

Bo 

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.” Mary Anne Radmacher
Top 100 Contributor
Female
Tropical Tourist
Points 1,231

 My color poem quicky on this glorious March 12, 2008, 1:08 a.m.

 

DREAM RIDE 

Come night-horse on pthalo-blue wings,

blow over me.

Your pin-prick star winds pierce

my eyelids with silvered-comet random dreams:

black-hole nightmares threatening to suck me into oblivion,

left-over planetary dust clouds of grey-rock worry,

rainbow galaxies to organize into buff-colored files before

dawn's bright gold chariot pushes open my bedroom curtains.

Your journey is paradoxical, too long and still too short.

My hurting, tired mind blinks reddened eyes,

in no shape to face another jangled-nerve day. 

 

 

Peace, Luv and Froot Loops.
Top 50 Contributor
Dancing Day-Tripper
Points 6,518

THE BLUES OF JOSE MARIA MIJARES

I am thinking about your blue hands, Jose Mijares.

All the things they must have touch and paint,

like thoughts, building doors, the stained glasses,

the blue ladies from Habana. Clean hands,

the blue veins and bones like a ballerina's.

That young woman with a red lampshade in her head.

No smudges of orange  glow or brown here,

but blue seep from the skies undermining the folds of the night.

the blue fragments, the baroque elements,

the geometric colors of our own lives.

I a looking at myself now in your "vitrales."

From GOYA

 

 

 

M
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