Poetry competition CLOSED 3rd January 2015 3:36am
WINNER
littlePrince (pallormortis)
littlePrince (pallormortis)
Color of emotions
Melting Point
Seeing red at the infidelity
of a love held so dearly
within a blush pink heart
now circled green with jealousy
he kissed another so ardently
white as death chrysanthemums
she watched her visions
swirling thoughts of revenge
he slumped in his bed
white sheets turning magenta
as her red hot revenge
bore fruits in her labour.
Seeing red at the infidelity
of a love held so dearly
within a blush pink heart
now circled green with jealousy
he kissed another so ardently
white as death chrysanthemums
she watched her visions
swirling thoughts of revenge
he slumped in his bed
white sheets turning magenta
as her red hot revenge
bore fruits in her labour.
- Colors of Magic -
Blood red, the sun that rises like a resurrected soul,
Extends its’ arms in welcome for the unborn glow...
Mother Night, whispers her last ebon enchantments.
Azure day cracks the black shell by no coincidence!
But first, the orange haze of dawn casts its’ sorcery.
And by such magic the daylight gains a new victory!
Behold, as the emerald blades of grass wave about,
Wet with dewdrops painted by faerie folk that pout.
For they are sad to see their work end with the day,
Since, night is their time and from it they rarely stray.
If life is a rainbow, then the colors of magic paint it...
Upon the canvas of creation, where true art does sit!
At noon, the wind weaves through the swaying trees,
While against rich brown bark, caresses each breeze.
Still and silent lay the meadows, as autumn is coming,
A silence broken by a golden church bell’s clear ring!
The gray season of the dead follows swift once more,
Whilst a golden-haired little girl skips by: happily sure.
I tie pink ribbons in her tresses, soft as silk to touch...
And hand in hand we walk along never needing much.
Her sapphire eyes gaze into mine, big with young life,
As all my troubles melt away and gone is all my strife.
Guided by this colorful spirit, I walk beyond worlds...
To realms that sparkle like diamonds, clear as pearls.
At dusk, the childlike wonder of the day winds down,
Whilst the purple veil of twilight descends all around...
The brass of the sun trumpeting the night like a herald,
Until the very first yellow leaf falls, in a forest so feral!
Autumn comes with Mother Night, with ancient joys...
No longer bound, by summertime heat: humid, moist.
The air is cool as pale ice, even crisp as a rosy apple!
The child of day skips in shadows, young and supple.
Bells ring, children sing and somewhere faerie dance!
And so, the jade cricket is heard, and seen to prance,
For night has descended once again upon all the land.
I follow the child into the evening, and clasp her hand!
Blood red, the sun that rises like a resurrected soul,
Extends its’ arms in welcome for the unborn glow...
Mother Night, whispers her last ebon enchantments.
Azure day cracks the black shell by no coincidence!
But first, the orange haze of dawn casts its’ sorcery.
And by such magic the daylight gains a new victory!
Behold, as the emerald blades of grass wave about,
Wet with dewdrops painted by faerie folk that pout.
For they are sad to see their work end with the day,
Since, night is their time and from it they rarely stray.
If life is a rainbow, then the colors of magic paint it...
Upon the canvas of creation, where true art does sit!
At noon, the wind weaves through the swaying trees,
While against rich brown bark, caresses each breeze.
Still and silent lay the meadows, as autumn is coming,
A silence broken by a golden church bell’s clear ring!
The gray season of the dead follows swift once more,
Whilst a golden-haired little girl skips by: happily sure.
I tie pink ribbons in her tresses, soft as silk to touch...
And hand in hand we walk along never needing much.
Her sapphire eyes gaze into mine, big with young life,
As all my troubles melt away and gone is all my strife.
Guided by this colorful spirit, I walk beyond worlds...
To realms that sparkle like diamonds, clear as pearls.
At dusk, the childlike wonder of the day winds down,
Whilst the purple veil of twilight descends all around...
The brass of the sun trumpeting the night like a herald,
Until the very first yellow leaf falls, in a forest so feral!
Autumn comes with Mother Night, with ancient joys...
No longer bound, by summertime heat: humid, moist.
The air is cool as pale ice, even crisp as a rosy apple!
The child of day skips in shadows, young and supple.
Bells ring, children sing and somewhere faerie dance!
And so, the jade cricket is heard, and seen to prance,
For night has descended once again upon all the land.
I follow the child into the evening, and clasp her hand!
colours
my soft pink blush of teenaged love,
the bright red passionate heat.
pure white innocence of a dove,
tenderly purple smiles are seen.
though yellow lies swirl about
and
mingle with sad blue
and create the green of jealousy.
im scared ill loose you.
the conforting purple returns
and we remember why we're pink.
the hot red passion brightly burns
and our white innocence makes us think.
i love you.
my soft pink blush of teenaged love,
the bright red passionate heat.
pure white innocence of a dove,
tenderly purple smiles are seen.
though yellow lies swirl about
and
mingle with sad blue
and create the green of jealousy.
im scared ill loose you.
the conforting purple returns
and we remember why we're pink.
the hot red passion brightly burns
and our white innocence makes us think.
i love you.
Camille
Before him, she lit
the prettiest candles,
all pink lace and charms.
The bowl of purple ornaments,
their glittering shiver.
How it filled her, the sight
of those white marble counter tops.
Only the barest, most delicate
finger of dust.
She would tongue the chipped tooth
at the back of her mouth,
the morning a perpetual taste of red.
A black velvet ribbon
round her slender, white throat.
She memorized the intricate pattern
of green vines in his carpet.
His eyes neither blue nor brown
but some murkiness in between.
Her hands, peach instruments of ache.
The bones worn fine and thin.
In shadowy rooms she could hear
her desire. Magenta. Panting.
How it echoed in corners,
the mauve sadness of doorways.
The fog at her lips.
Under silver-threaded blankets,
the dolls moaned.
She was a little too much
in love with objects.
With lavender journals and chandeliers.
The pink Haviland china and
the red Exacto knives.
The grey well-water in her hair.
Black glass buttons on her shirt.
Always catching.
Catching.
Before him, she lit
the prettiest candles,
all pink lace and charms.
The bowl of purple ornaments,
their glittering shiver.
How it filled her, the sight
of those white marble counter tops.
Only the barest, most delicate
finger of dust.
She would tongue the chipped tooth
at the back of her mouth,
the morning a perpetual taste of red.
A black velvet ribbon
round her slender, white throat.
She memorized the intricate pattern
of green vines in his carpet.
His eyes neither blue nor brown
but some murkiness in between.
Her hands, peach instruments of ache.
The bones worn fine and thin.
In shadowy rooms she could hear
her desire. Magenta. Panting.
How it echoed in corners,
the mauve sadness of doorways.
The fog at her lips.
Under silver-threaded blankets,
the dolls moaned.
She was a little too much
in love with objects.
With lavender journals and chandeliers.
The pink Haviland china and
the red Exacto knives.
The grey well-water in her hair.
Black glass buttons on her shirt.
Always catching.
Catching.
datura-ish dream-reads
in fatal attractions you draw me inner
your voluminous contents, edgy page
shades in mattened ripples
spread in
the fluorescent passion of fanta-ish
saffrons, reiterate our monogamous
bindings, your frank black
and white elements
in clairity pearl
prints over
monotonoy
the off-whitish straw background smells
addictively bookish inspite of its
lifelike sandy dulls, bursts
nostalgic of the colourless
skies from your
encyclopedic
libraries
in timelines of mossy to military, earthly
to pragmatic greenish volumes, blazing
with outrageous red blurbs on covers
rare starry glimmers peep
out as wiggly
silverfish
cloudnines
median page holds a just-in soft press
herbarium beauty, a fascinating
dream chapter in purplish
borders over her
flawless flowing
white gowns
seductive datura, with tender swan
neck is in earnest commands
for pale-pink crescentic
moonbites, petallic
nibbles in freestyle
margins and tough
stalk below
pictures dark nipple with dusky
tusk thigh, heightens crisis
in mustard-yellow flames
that dehydrates
but not chars
we settle down as the original
residue, off-whitish
straws of our fluent
bookish accents
Anonymous
Will be back with an entry,great theme
Anonymous
BLUE, grey, red and black
On a day, when skies are blue
Our house has a happy face
It sings with it\s heart
Door opens
Window unlocks
Seeking to catch
The mild summer breezes
On days when the skies are grey
Our house is frowning
Echo in the hall
Voices breaking vows
Shaken from the silence
The secrets fall from us
On days when the skies are red
I wait for hours to watch the faint flicker
Return in my fathers\s eyes
His shadow flies towards the corners
The bat is bathing in the light
He whispers
On days when the skies are black
I run inside to show the blind to see
Curled curtain dancing upon the winds
Piles of laundry draped like a white tower
I try to pick them up
My mother\s voice seems broken
suddnly remembered this poem,seemd accurate
On a day, when skies are blue
Our house has a happy face
It sings with it\s heart
Door opens
Window unlocks
Seeking to catch
The mild summer breezes
On days when the skies are grey
Our house is frowning
Echo in the hall
Voices breaking vows
Shaken from the silence
The secrets fall from us
On days when the skies are red
I wait for hours to watch the faint flicker
Return in my fathers\s eyes
His shadow flies towards the corners
The bat is bathing in the light
He whispers
On days when the skies are black
I run inside to show the blind to see
Curled curtain dancing upon the winds
Piles of laundry draped like a white tower
I try to pick them up
My mother\s voice seems broken
suddnly remembered this poem,seemd accurate
Brown
Right now I'm feeling brown
All these colours are mixed wihin me
I live in the aftermath of colour
where colour used to influence class
thus influence happiness
right now I'm flowing with red
maybe I'm just feeling blue
I live in a time where a lot of people see green
and feel the monster within arise
Right now I'm feeling yellow
as I tremble in all this mellow
I live ina time where me and you are able to be together
despite our colour me and you create grey
and feel the happiness in our souls
Right now I feel turqoise
I'm un understood yet I stand for my emotions
Right now I feel brown as I feel my brown skin
I am filled with joy as the emotions within me
lead me to my glory
Right now I'm feeling brown
All these colours are mixed wihin me
I live in the aftermath of colour
where colour used to influence class
thus influence happiness
right now I'm flowing with red
maybe I'm just feeling blue
I live in a time where a lot of people see green
and feel the monster within arise
Right now I'm feeling yellow
as I tremble in all this mellow
I live ina time where me and you are able to be together
despite our colour me and you create grey
and feel the happiness in our souls
Right now I feel turqoise
I'm un understood yet I stand for my emotions
Right now I feel brown as I feel my brown skin
I am filled with joy as the emotions within me
lead me to my glory
Anonymous
Burnout Grey
She is remnants
a toddler weeping
in autumn downpours
torrential puddles of yesterdays
kneehigh quicksand
waiting on the sweeping embrace
from consoling solarrays
She is fractures
encapsulated
splintered prism shards
kitsch stained glass
sullied
by scorch marks
a carnival
of smouldering nicotine patina
the envy of every arsonist
her shine burns
She is
a singular droplet
of acid rain
She is remnants
a toddler weeping
in autumn downpours
torrential puddles of yesterdays
kneehigh quicksand
waiting on the sweeping embrace
from consoling solarrays
She is fractures
encapsulated
splintered prism shards
kitsch stained glass
sullied
by scorch marks
a carnival
of smouldering nicotine patina
the envy of every arsonist
her shine burns
She is
a singular droplet
of acid rain
The distant bright crimson horizons
Fade away as the thick smoke rises
Soon after, the red moon follows
Through the dark cloud of no tomorrow
Now there's nothing to lose, and nothing to gain
I watch blood and fire fall like summer rain
Explosions and screams are the last things I hear
While the cloud consumes all, both far and near
Fade away as the thick smoke rises
Soon after, the red moon follows
Through the dark cloud of no tomorrow
Now there's nothing to lose, and nothing to gain
I watch blood and fire fall like summer rain
Explosions and screams are the last things I hear
While the cloud consumes all, both far and near
Anonymous
###
