Poetry competition CLOSED 14th October 2024 2:41am
WINNER
ThePalestRider
ThePalestRider
Page:
RAINBOW BLIND
Poetry Contest Description
Describe a colour to the visually impaired
Pick one colour from the rainbow, or black, white, and grey.
Describe it to someone who has been born blind.
New writes only
One person persona
Any length
Any form, even prose
Describe it to someone who has been born blind.
New writes only
One person persona
Any length
Any form, even prose
The Comfort of Green
Warm like the sun, shining on your face on a crisp September morning
Feels soft like leaves of sage when your fingers are exploring
Smelling of freshly mowed lawns during a hot summer day
and young stems on a Conifer tree in the middle of May
Sounding like Celtic music as the violin weeps into sound
or the rumble of a stream as it rolls over mossy ground
It tastes like spearmint but also of citrus discovered from a lime
Such is the colour of green. Its lively warmth, simply sublime
Feels soft like leaves of sage when your fingers are exploring
Smelling of freshly mowed lawns during a hot summer day
and young stems on a Conifer tree in the middle of May
Sounding like Celtic music as the violin weeps into sound
or the rumble of a stream as it rolls over mossy ground
It tastes like spearmint but also of citrus discovered from a lime
Such is the colour of green. Its lively warmth, simply sublime
Written by mel44
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those people
those people,
whose blood is red
but their sky is black...
those people,
whose dreams are colorful
but their vision is pitch black...
those people,
whose journey came to a halt
as soon as it began...
those people,
who feel the golden morning
and saffrony evening in the darkness only...
those people,
whose life is laden with black
and whose shadow is also adorned with black...
those people,
who do not feel any difference
between the shine of diamonds
and the blackness of stones...
those people,
who feel suffocated
but they don't cry...
those people,
who continue to struggle
behind an innocent smile...
those people,
in whose life, the sun rises everyday
but their sky has set..
those people,
they are the waves of the river
that have stopped,
but their journey is still going on...
whose blood is red
but their sky is black...
those people,
whose dreams are colorful
but their vision is pitch black...
those people,
whose journey came to a halt
as soon as it began...
those people,
who feel the golden morning
and saffrony evening in the darkness only...
those people,
whose life is laden with black
and whose shadow is also adorned with black...
those people,
who do not feel any difference
between the shine of diamonds
and the blackness of stones...
those people,
who feel suffocated
but they don't cry...
those people,
who continue to struggle
behind an innocent smile...
those people,
in whose life, the sun rises everyday
but their sky has set..
those people,
they are the waves of the river
that have stopped,
but their journey is still going on...
Written by dimpy
(dimpsmoon)
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A blind man’s longing
Wading through life under sable waters
Closed in
Insecure, at best
I finger the void in search of clarity
But the sincerity of the empty is perpetual
My blindness unclothes me
I am an artist’s blank canvas
I am a sculpture, unchiselled
I am a scripture not fully written of this life;
my quill dipped in the tincture of venom
Black stains every inch of my fragments
and I am enslaved by the world this bastard paints
Darkness— in bold
My world writ of yearning
Inundation of hues in the parlour
And I can only feel them
they’re gritty
like a mislain swoon
Speak to me in colour
I want to sensate in the cerise that defines your lips
I want to breathe the carmine that spices your quips
I want to inhale the scarlet of your indiscretions
The crimson scold of hard-bitten lessons
I want more
Red is a cruel voice when life staggers off path
Red is the depth of the reel of a wrath
Red is the lust in a bitter indiscretion
Red is the bite of the hand of oppression
Red is the liquid of life’s treasured kin
Red is a wisp in the breath of a sin
Red is the wanton; the filthy— impure
Red is the essence of a lover’s allure
Tantalizing fermentation of the umbra
My senses, immersing in rich, vivid inhalations
with an essence of sweetgrass and honey
woven on the vacuous loom of a blind man’s longing
Written by Everavalon
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"Whispers of Grey"
Space between sound and sleep
Where silence hovers, soft and deep
It’s the cool touch of early dawn
Before the world has fully drawn
Grey is the sigh of a quiet stream
Neither too bold, nor lost in dream
It’s the soft breath before the storm
A place where nothing shifts or forms
It feels like mist on a gentle breeze
Not cold, but calm, like distant seas
It’s the weight of clouds that never rain
A quiet peace without the strain
Grey is the pause when thoughts are still
When time itself bends to your will
It’s neither harsh, nor sharp, nor bright
But holds you close in soft twilight
It’s the touch of stone beneath your hand
The steady pulse of sleeping land
A space where all things simply are
Neither too near, nor yet too far
Grey is the balance, the place between
Not too loud, and never unseen
It’s the world at rest, a quiet hum
The serenity that’s yet to come
Space between sound and sleep
Where silence hovers, soft and deep
It’s the cool touch of early dawn
Before the world has fully drawn
Grey is the sigh of a quiet stream
Neither too bold, nor lost in dream
It’s the soft breath before the storm
A place where nothing shifts or forms
It feels like mist on a gentle breeze
Not cold, but calm, like distant seas
It’s the weight of clouds that never rain
A quiet peace without the strain
Grey is the pause when thoughts are still
When time itself bends to your will
It’s neither harsh, nor sharp, nor bright
But holds you close in soft twilight
It’s the touch of stone beneath your hand
The steady pulse of sleeping land
A space where all things simply are
Neither too near, nor yet too far
Grey is the balance, the place between
Not too loud, and never unseen
It’s the world at rest, a quiet hum
The serenity that’s yet to come
Feel the Gray
If you can’t see it, you can smell
If it doesn’t work, then touch it as well
If fingertips are numb, then take a taste
If none of those, listen to the echoes of sound
You can smell it through the stillness
Drawing you towards the ominous source
During gloomy days, lingering in the cold air
Fog filling your nostrils, with each respire
You can touch it, your fingers softly gliding
Over the edges of the dark and light converging
Yet they never unite, you stand in between, tracing
The silver line, finding balance in a delicate margin
You can taste its shades in clouds cotton-shaped
The flavor leaves ashes of bittersweet aftertaste
It can be a chill metallic coating your tongue
And a warm haze hollowing your insides
You can hear it when you’re sitting together
With loneliness, whispering in your ears
Embracing you in quietude and solace
Its hug is your only comfort in the silence
All you need is one sensitive sense
To feel the gray, its vast and placid existence
If it doesn’t work, then touch it as well
If fingertips are numb, then take a taste
If none of those, listen to the echoes of sound
You can smell it through the stillness
Drawing you towards the ominous source
During gloomy days, lingering in the cold air
Fog filling your nostrils, with each respire
You can touch it, your fingers softly gliding
Over the edges of the dark and light converging
Yet they never unite, you stand in between, tracing
The silver line, finding balance in a delicate margin
You can taste its shades in clouds cotton-shaped
The flavor leaves ashes of bittersweet aftertaste
It can be a chill metallic coating your tongue
And a warm haze hollowing your insides
You can hear it when you’re sitting together
With loneliness, whispering in your ears
Embracing you in quietude and solace
Its hug is your only comfort in the silence
All you need is one sensitive sense
To feel the gray, its vast and placid existence
Written by Lilliputian
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A Girl Named Indigo
They say she descended after one summer storm
Like a pretty reverie arched right out of the blue
With eyes so expressive as if they whispered secrets
That men were entranced by that delightful hue
Some say she emerged from the sea late after dusk
A balance of dark and light that nature surely dyes
Designed and crafted by the hand of a divine being
Because the ocean depths were captured in her eyes
Others will tell you she rose from a field of flowers
As if the flora had tinted her windows to the soul
Bearing a delicate semblance of love and mystery
Like art captivating hearts so beautiful and bold
But…
It was I who witnessed her sliding down a rainbow
On a spectrum of imagination where fantasies go
In a stream somewhere between violet and blue
In a winged surreal dream of a girl named Indigo
Written by wallyroo92
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Smart-Ass Orange
It's not just your juice
squeezed from the citrus fruit
you hold in your hand.....
I'll tell you who "Orange" really is.
She's the smarmy, sarcastic
somewhat elusive being
who sits in the corner
away from everyone else
waiting....
for the right moment to strike
with perfectly timed
acid-tongued jabs
that cut right to the target.
You know the one,
who feels like a flame
when you hold your hand too close
^^that's "Orange"
She's the punk twin sister of Red
who does plenty
but never gets caught,
never gets pulled over for a speeding ticket,
makes you wonder if she's kidding
or going for the jugular
with her verbal perceptions of you.
You must think about her
and what she's said
until the realization hits
that Orange,
and her words,
are whatever you decide them to be
and she's completely fine with that.
squeezed from the citrus fruit
you hold in your hand.....
I'll tell you who "Orange" really is.
She's the smarmy, sarcastic
somewhat elusive being
who sits in the corner
away from everyone else
waiting....
for the right moment to strike
with perfectly timed
acid-tongued jabs
that cut right to the target.
You know the one,
who feels like a flame
when you hold your hand too close
^^that's "Orange"
She's the punk twin sister of Red
who does plenty
but never gets caught,
never gets pulled over for a speeding ticket,
makes you wonder if she's kidding
or going for the jugular
with her verbal perceptions of you.
You must think about her
and what she's said
until the realization hits
that Orange,
and her words,
are whatever you decide them to be
and she's completely fine with that.
Written by MadameLavender
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Anonymous
The winner of this competition and any runners up were decided by public vote.
Thank you to the following members for voting:
fianaturie8, Grace, Rew, WillowsWhimsies, lepperochan, Shilohverse, Honoria, Noble_Incubus, Anne-Ri999, Her, Phantom2426, James_A_Knight, Marks, slipalong, Everavalon, ReggiePoet, wallyroo92, SonderNinja, Lilliputian, Styxian, deadwolf, Kinkpoet, Detritus
Thank you to the following members for voting:
fianaturie8, Grace, Rew, WillowsWhimsies, lepperochan, Shilohverse, Honoria, Noble_Incubus, Anne-Ri999, Her, Phantom2426, James_A_Knight, Marks, slipalong, Everavalon, ReggiePoet, wallyroo92, SonderNinja, Lilliputian, Styxian, deadwolf, Kinkpoet, Detritus
