POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.

COLOUR MY WORLD – PROMPT #39

The musical group CHICAGO has a long running classic by the same name, and being about as big a CHICAGO fan as I am a BEATLES fan, I felt the title of this prompt was apropos. Here we sit, the Holidays are a not-so-distant memory, and Winter is just catching her wind. The skies around  our Lake Erie region are dank and dreary. Marie would agree, we could use to have our world “coloured.” So this is our nudge. Write a colorful poem. It could be a poem about a specific color. It could be a poem of many colors. You might make a passing reference to the palette at your disposal. Just make sure the color is vivid and graces the title of your poems in some way. Colour My World (and we don’t even care if you stay within the lines!)

 

Marie Elena’s Portrait:

FLESH (a short lesson in color harmony)

You
(yes, you  — whoever you are, wherever you are)
complete my masterpiece.

 

Walt’s Spectrum:

BLACK LACE

Beauty beheld in eyes so tired and weary,
a bleary glimpse at the trappings of allure
and comfort. Graceful and delicate,
tatting in ebony hues. Slinky, sexy,
a sight for sore eyes. No surprise.
There is surely a place for black lace.

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180 thoughts on “COLOUR MY WORLD – PROMPT #39

  1. SHADES OF GREY

    The sunlight hid behind the clouds today
    on the frozen shores of Lake Huron.

    When my daughter and I walked out to the edge of the pier,
    we saw so many grey tones
    almost half the number of Johnny Cash’s 40 shades of green.

    Grey was everywhere—
    in the ice clouds rocks stones pebbles
    shipwreck driftwood dog seagulls geese
    boardwalk sand branches straw sticks
    ice floes
    ice chips
    cold waters—everywhere.

    Mesmerized
    by the rocking ice-covered waters,
    we thought of Titanic
    100 years ago.
    What chance did the passengers have
    On their April voyage in that cold Atlantic?

    On this January day,
    bundled up in warm winter coats,
    scarves and hats in red and grey,
    we pondered this question as we gazed at Lake Huron so great
    almost one century later.

  2. SKIN

    Sometimes called black,
    look hard, you will see
    brown, pink and white
    in that silky surface.

    Sometimes called yellow,
    when gold,
    creamy or sunny
    are happier words.

    Sometimes called red,
    it can be leathery,
    a gleaming mahogany
    or conker brown.

    Sometimes called white,
    it can be pallid, or clotted cream,
    bronzed from the sun
    or the sun lamp.

    Why should the colour of skin be important?
    As cause for distrust or fear,
    When it’s only a quirk of melanin
    present or absent.

  3. Colour is such an important element in my life especially as a quilter, that I had to give you more than one poem for this prompt!

    COLOUR ME HAPPY

    Cerulean, a beautiful word
    for a heavenly colour of sky
    When Spring once more
    colours me happy,
    when fluffy white clouds
    speckle cerulean coverlet
    my sombre winter mood will fly.

  4. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    This prompt brings to mind a lovely song called, “Colors of the Wind”, by Vanessa Williams. I need to immerse myself in the music to find my poem. Thank you for this beautiful prompt!

  5. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    On the Horizon

    A dazzling orange beam
    igniting a blanket of
    puffy quilted clouds.

  6. ~TANGIBLE TANGENT~

    Each day I choose
    Museful colors;
    A nudging of blue,
    Shades of teal,
    Maybe navy.
    Every morning
    My mind finds
    A color to please
    Warming my spirit;
    Soothing rose,
    Rousing red,
    Life giving green.
    Playing colourful
    Tunes in my head.
    A moment of feeling
    Converts to hues,
    Soft banana yellow,
    Bursting kiwi green.
    Passing emotions
    Felt in rich display,
    Magenta, fuschia.
    Lingering layers
    Spelled in memories,
    Sunsets spread
    Across distant skies.
    Each day colors choose me
    Filling my life to full
    Diverse, watercolored mirage.

    © Hannah Gosselin and Metaphors and Smiles, 2012.

    It’s a bit rough…running late for church! Couldn’t help myself from stopping to write! Thank you for the colorful prompt, back to visit soon! ~Warm smiles!

  7. RAINBOW REFLECTIONS

    Every day I choose something to wear
    that reflects my feelings inside:
    The blue of the sky or the gold of the sun
    Or grey if I just want to hide.

    I don’t shy from purple if I’m feeling bruised
    Or red if I long to shine.
    But the colors I wear just can’t compare
    To the feelings I bear: they’re all mine. .

  8. Pink

    I used to be prejudiced against pink.
    You know, pink was fluffy and girly.
    Ballet slippers
    Barbies
    Tutus
    I wore a lot of blues.
    But when I became an artist
    I took a good look at pink.
    I painted my walls
    a barely-noticeable pink.
    My winter jacket’s pale pink.
    My living room’s accented in pink roses.
    I like pink, I think.
    The other day,
    my friend wore a dark pink leather jacket.
    It looked nice on her,
    but I’m not there yet.

  9. “The Cinnamon Room”

    We painted the wall
    in cinnamon
    to accent the warmth
    of our home.
    Then added coffee
    colored carpet,
    for comfort
    no matter the season.
    Orange cheddar cheese soup
    gurgles on the stove top
    sending scents
    of beauty throughout.
    White snows
    finally
    cascade down
    forcing us from our sloth.
    Warm bellies
    wrapped in warm clothes
    we play until cheeks
    glow rose.
    Then return to the cinnamon room
    for cocoa
    and blankets
    and popped corn
    then closed eyes
    and bedtime
    and dreams.

  10. The Color of Her Dresses

    She loved the bright colors
    when she was a child,
    in odd combinations
    to baffle her mom.
    Yellows and purples,
    orange being the most fun.

    White she wore on her wedding day,
    with no sense of irony or play.
    It was an honor fought hard for
    and justifiably earned.

    Red she would wear
    when his attention would wander,
    or just to feel better about herself
    when stopped by a mirror.

    Giving in to the convention,
    she wore black when he was claimed,
    and for most of the year after,
    though she truly hated the attire.

    Age removed social restrictions,
    no longer restrained by inhibitions,
    she returned to her love of color;
    joined the Red Hat society,
    mainly for the company,
    but still felt orange was the most fun.

  11. Cracking and breaking,
    Overflowing with worry, the
    Lukewarm sky came crushing
    On
    Us. That’s when we saw it – the
    Red tail
    Of an autumn squirrel,
    Firing through the park, playing
    Hide-and-seek,
    Oh, there it was again!
    Peeking from behind a bush…
    Everything was going to be fine.

  12. This was a response to a prompt from Carry on Tuesday (the line to be used was ‘As I was lying in my bed.’)

    As I was lying in my bed,
    I watched the shades of color red,
    The Sun would use to paint my room
    With scarlet roses in bloom,
    That live and die in such a haste…
    I rose a brand new day to taste!

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      Oh, yes, Happy; I, too, watched the sun’s magic this morning on my flight; lovely!

    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      As far as your “comment” issue on your blog. Do you have to moderate your comments? I left you a note a few minutes ago and it said it will appear after you approve the statement. Maybe why they’re not showing up. Walt.

  13. Such a great kaleidoscope of colour!!!!!
    Viv: Lake Huron is a huge lake, so blue in the summer but yesterday was grey in so many varied shades. Tried to convey that in my poem. Thanks!:)
    Henrietta: Hope you get a chance to see these Great Lakes some day. Thanks for your comment!

  14. OK, warning – I’ve been playing in the dark again! I’ll see if I can’t come back with a happier offering later on. In the meantime, here’s what I’ve got for right now. 🙂

    The Grays and Browns

    I’ve wandered this barren land too long,
    The landscape drenched in
    The grays and browns of death.
    Nothing grows here anymore,
    Lost in endless winter,
    No warmth in sight.
    All things need nourishment,
    But there is no sustenance,
    Nothing vital and alive,
    All is decayed, putrefied, emaciated.
    If I remain, the same will happen to me.
    The time has come for escape,
    To cross the border to a new land
    Where my heart can once again flourish
    Rather than join the withered remnants,
    Lost forever to the grays and browns.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      Here is a song for you: Leann Rimes’ “One Way Ticket” to sing your spirit back to the light! 🙂 !!!

      • I love that song! It’s kind of strange sometimes that my writing is generally very dark and depressing, because I’m nothing like that in my everyday life. Most of my family and friends have no idea where I come up with most of this dreary stuff.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      Oh!!! I am so happy to know that about you! I know exactly what you mean….. for years, some of my writings have painted a picture of the “me” who I am NOT EVEN CLOSE TO in real life, and I have had to smile to myself at some of the outrageousness….LOL!!! 🙂 !!! It’s all good and most fun, and guess what? It means that we are going a GREAT JOB in our writing!!! Hen

    • Dark can be dreamy and poetic, as this is.

  15. Yellow (a piku)

    The sun shines
    on
    my world once more.

    Some of you may remember The Colors of My Day written for a “color” prompt back in June — life looked much different then. This small piku is its sequel.

    ~ Paula

  16. Red and Green Don’t Mix

    You must wear green,
    you have red hair.
    I always heard them say.

    I didn’t then.
    I still don’t now.
    I’ve always been that way!

  17. Purple Paradise

    In their world, beige walks
    a neutral line, and white shirts
    are always on time to spend
    their hours among colorless
    walls and gray halls, focusing
    only on a black screen or yellow
    lined pads. I was sad living
    in my tan cube. My world
    is purple–royal ruler of colors–
    soft in shades of lavender
    fields, and startling in violet
    eyes and storms. Purple urges
    me to create words in its ink,
    and to sink at night on lilac sheets.

  18. To enable Colors:
    From the Loveliness menu
    choose “life”, 
    and in the tick-box there
    uncheck the option “gray”,
    check “colors”
    and click Share. 

  19. (I know this is off-prompt, but…)
    Just noticed on Facebook my 70-year-old cousin’s picture
    dunes and wild oats behind her,
    she’s in a white Adirondack chair, white blanket across her lap
    tourquoise shirt, brown dog: all sunset lit, and tinged pink, even her
    white blond hair.

    but that’s not what this is about.

    Her husband’s added comment:
    I don’t remember the beauty of the sunset but it couldn’t match
    your beauty.

  20. Andrew Kreider on said:

    S.A.D.

    If I had slipped down to New Mexico
    in late November, before the snow flew,
    perhaps my world wouldn’t look like skim milk,

    like spectral skin stretched on an old man’s lips,
    like the back page of this morning’s paper;
    that bloodless translucence, that lack of hope.

    I can’t count the days. Instead I treasure
    every spot of oil splayed on the white earth
    against this midwinter melancholy.

  21. cultivating color

    this may 
    take a while, it’s foggy.
    make tea (it isn’t gray) tick tick eight
    tick tick nine tick tick ten eleven. just shy of noon: 
    the fog and sky are welded into one bedraggled cotton field
    matted with leaf mould and soggy sticks
    in mud made of Pompeii’s old 
    blanket and Alexandria’s 
    burned books.

    go dig a hole out in the front yard, by the rule of thirds, 
    not halfway to the drippy gray horizon, 
    closer.  and not midway between 
    hedge and drive.  dig to see
    it from the window.  
    set a clump 
    of cattails 

    in it, heavy-headed, and yellow-gray; and wait
    for the crows to leave; wait
    see the tails of 
    the pigeons
    sparrows

    the starlings and the wrens.
    this may take a while
    but patience 
    is bright
    gold.

    and you’ve broken the drab lines 
    of that gray horizon, 
    so, 
    soon enough the holly will wink
    from beneath its dominating 
    leather leaves toward 
    the red-fruited honeysuckle 
    and flags will wave redly on mailboxes 
    all up and down,
    passing pickups 
    will flash their 
    fire engine
    (red) brakes
    and even on gray porches, plastic toys
    stop feeling left out 
    and blink brightly at 
    jogged baby bundles, 
    pink, in cherry chariots, flying before 
    moms’ red
    Keds.

    until at last a tag of red graffitti
    lights and 
    bends
    the cattail
    with a flash of scarlet epaulettes.

  22. Green Around the Gills

    Stomach flu running rampant,
    I’ve soiled my kilt and tunic so.
    I’m feeling beneath the weather,
    I don’t remember it being so low.
    Excuse me please, I need to go.

  23. Scotsmen Wear Plaid

    Quite the blend it sends me,
    my tartan ne’er upends me.
    Despite my fair skinned palor,
    don’t say plaid’s no a color!

  24. Master Painter

    Into His heavenly palette He dips an ethereal brush
    While slumb’ring earth lays dormant on the palm of midnight’s hush
    He gently breathes in dulcet tones upon the darkened sky
    A hint of lavender and bronze to tease the wakening eye
    And as the doleful veil recedes with heaven’s passion stirred
    The puddles, lakes and oceans bleed in colors of His word
    As hope takes on the burnished hue of orange and ruddy glow
    Reflected in the morning dew like ruby-tinted snow
    Then drooping hearts and heavy eyes are lifted from despair
    Uplifted by the glorious art-work startling placid air
    And bolder now the Painter speaks, impassioned in His quest
    To render sangfroid doubters weak and His believers blessed
    He splashes ‘cross the universe fluorescent pink and gold
    Stroking afar the blackened curse in shades redeeming; bold
    As grace in glorious form declares, ‘Behold, the great I AM’
    His wonder fills the morning air; the shadow of The Lamb
    Whilst I in my amazement whisper softly, ‘who am I
    That You should bless me with freely with this master-piece from high?’

  25. Green

    All through the long grey winter
    We have waited for the world
    to turn green and now it is
    spring and yes, the grass
    is the ripe color of early apples
    the brightest green of the green
    crayon in the box of crayons
    or the green of the traffic light
    that tells us it is safe to go
    and now I want to go and walk
    barefoot across the front lawn
    let the blades of grass tickle
    my feet and I will know I am still
    here and still able to touch
    the world and let it touch me.

  26. Angry Birds

    Colbalt tears seemed to seep
    from the crows of my eyes
    like water running
    on the parched earthen furrows
    that were too hardened
    to allow the healing moisture in
    and days had to pass
    before a seed of hope
    could rise to greet the sun.

  27. in lieu of blue

    for want of wave
    and cobalt cave
    and sandy cerulean smile

    she preens her green
    this quiet scene
    decides to stay awhile

    wanting nothing.

  28. PI(ku) for ROY G. BIV

    RED
    Lady Bug
    flight;
    whispers of love.

    ORANGE
    Vitamin
    C
    blossoms orange.

    YELLOW
    The sun shines
    on
    my world once more.

    GREEN
    Envy not:
    green
    around the gills.

    BLUE
    The sky is
    the
    limit: endless!

    INDIGO
    Depression
    is
    deeper than blue.

    VIOLET
    No spectrum’s
    com-
    plete without it.

    Just a little fun with Roy G. Biv, my pal from elementary school!

    ~ Paula

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  30. LOVE this, Paula! 🙂

  31. ‘The Color of Dawn’

    Anticipation, that is what moves me,
    Knowledge that precedes knowledge itself,
    That blind triumphant confidence
    In something glorious coming,
    When all is a promise
    Of divine beauty,
    Sheer happiness,
    The burst of
    The sun-
    Rise.

  32. Purple Candle

    A purple candle was lit
    and it brightened the room.
    At first a dim flicker on the tip
    of the wick appeared that intensely
    grew into a glowing flame.
    The wax began to melt
    and drip down the sides
    of the burning taper.

    Browns turned to green and tiny
    buds appeared as evidence
    of the new beginning.
    A brisk breeze passed quickly
    through the room and extinguished
    the flame for a moment.
    A single burning ember on
    the wick sparked the flame
    to bring back the light
    and it grew even brighter.
    The wax continued to flow down
    the sides of the ever
    diminishing purple candle.

    Large green leaves grew from the
    buds and provided a cool shade.
    Early in the second season a strong
    wind gusted and tried to extinguish
    the purple candle once again. It was
    not to be and the flame flickered
    even brighter than ever.

    The purple taper was briefly moved
    into a darker room and illuminated
    the faces all who would bear witness.

    The large leaves would turn to
    brilliant hues of red, yellow,
    orange and gold. A cooler shade
    would prevail as the wax of the purple
    candle would melt away while the wick
    was quickly being consumed.

    The shade would disappear
    as quickly as the gold would drop. A
    blanket of white began to cover the
    wilderness. Intense moisture smothered
    the yellow and blue flame and black
    and gray smoke swirled above
    the stub of the dark purple taper.

    By Michael Grove

  33. Sorry I’m late to the party. It was another busy week for me, including my fourth move in less than two years. My poem below is not a brand new one, but it is a newly finished poem which fits the prompt perfectly. Many of you may have seen (and even helped me along in the process) as I wrote this poem as a response piece to an amazing (and extremely colorful) photograph a friend of mine took.

    Anyway, here is the final version of it, just completed the other day.

    Untitled Getaway.

    for adixon.

    Nothing turns away
    because it has nothing to be ashamed of,
    not the ruby gleam of the fence as it struggles for more permanence,
    the tan ribs showing through the exhausted green post.
    I ain’t done nuttin, says the man no longer present
    and possibly never past.
    Let’s have a look in those shoes, says the other.

    Red can no longer remember
    what it fences in or fences out,
    regrets the things it didn’t say to green
    while it had green’s ear between its teeth.
    Breaking down is a necessary part of building
    but try telling that to the homeowner who built
    the walls out of his own breath.

    Stare long enough and look, a piece of yourself
    is staring back,
    the piece you told no one about,
    not even the stream that runs under the street
    where you put some of the darker pieces.
    No brush in sight but look at all those splashes.

    You misunderstood the part about failure and tragedy,
    Brueghel says to Auden,
    not everything can be saved.
    What a mess for Frost and his good neighbor
    come spring mending-time,
    everything appearing right again until their backs are turned,
    but what charm when you take a crayon to chaos!

    Even the ground is unsure of how to describe what happened to her
    and so she says nothing,
    yells up at the sky loud enough to get through all the greyness,
    – all of this and we hear nothing from the sky, the gatekeeper –
    but when is the last time nothing happened? and colors,
    colors have something to say.

    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      mike, this turned out great! Did you give this to your friend yet? I wish everyone could see the photo.

      Marie Elena

      • Thanks very much, Marie. Unfortunately, I haven’t given it to her yet. Part of it has to do with wanting it to be perfect, but I also want to frame the poem and photo together and present them as a gift.

    • Just don’t let too much time pass, Mike. This is too meaningful a present to let too much time slip by.

      Thanks for sharing it here at Bloomings.

  34. Gauche

    Driving along the coastal highway,
    Nova Scotia bore no resemblance
    to American crowded beaches littered
    with the refuse of entertainment.
    This pristine stretch reminded me
    of Greek islands of my youth, back
    when we both believed in getting
    away to lands far off, where we could
    see our own country more clearly.
    Getting away had always spiced our food
    and added color and texture to our palette.

    Village houses painted in screamingly
    vibrant hues were set along that seascape,
    all shades of shy and muscular blues,
    flecked with whites of cloud, sea foam,
    and sand, the road itself trailing lazily
    through trees like a black ribbon dropped
    by a careless goddess dressing for a party.

    There in that small gallery—remember?—
    we saw paintings that so reflected the colors outside
    that we stood for hours shifting from one foot
    to the other, looking first out the window and
    then back at the framed work on easels and walls,
    the best water-coloring ever was really gauche,
    a media I almost wanted to eat just to get it
    firmly within me where it could satisfy
    a color deficiency, a craving I hadn’t known
    I felt until I saw what would relieve it.

    That drive should have told us that our lives
    had fallen upon a gray patch, a July dry grass
    and muddy pond patch, our bodies themselves
    yearning for the vitality of a blooming spring—
    Kelly green, coral, lilac, saffron, magenta,
    indigo, sun flower, scarlet, and umber,
    wanting to take that festival of brightness
    home with us, so we would not waste away
    on a steady diet of red, white, and blue.

  35. OOPs!! How gauche of me to misspell gouache. The title should be Gouache (the media). Color me embarrassed 😦

  36. Pingback: POETRY AND SO MUCH MORE… Re-introducing FLASHY FICTION « POETIC BLOOMINGS

  37. I am Blue

    The color which I most desire
    is frequently called blue sapphire.
    But any shade of blue will do.
    I ♥♥♥ the color blue.

    Celeste, cerulean and slate
    or denim, perse and royal? Great!
    There’s teal, smalt, cobalt…navy’d hue…
    I ♥♥♥ the color blue.

    Give me peacock (pavonated)
    even sky (so understated!)
    lapis, beryl and aqua too.
    I ♥♥♥ the color blue.

    The color which I most desire?
    I ♥♥♥ the color blue.

    ###

    Note: The form is Kyrielle Sonnet. Thanks for the colorful prompt. ♥♥♥

  38. The fat frowning blue frog,
    paper mâché swirls piped on his chest
    like cupcake loops from pipe-dream India,
    was bought in nineteen sixty-nine; is stuffed,
    up to his daisy eyeballs, now. With folding cash,
    in case I, too should find my coins all gone
    and need replacement parts. Bought
    with my cashed paycheck with my right hand
    while I stole, to be stealing, with my left,
    my banker knows an empty belly
    can’t be filled, entirely, by some memory
    of blue patchouli smoke and stolen candles.

  39. Color Me Yellow and Green

    Mom, whhhat’s your faborit color?
    Yellow, I say, (although to be honest,
    I don’t really have a favorite).
    Marina, what’s your favorite color?
    Orange, is her choice today.
    But I love when she pauses and says,
    chartreuse!

  40. Back with another poem, though it’s not really a happy one this time either. I combined this with a couple of other prompts and ended up with a twist on a classic fairy tale. My ten year old told me it was “Weird, but in a good way.” Anyway, thought I’d share with all of you 🙂

    Sweet Temptation (A Gift for Snow White)

    Do not be afraid,
    My dear,
    I mean you no harm.
    I am merely
    A poor grandmother,
    Stopped to rest
    On my way home
    From a magical orchard.

    You see,
    My child,
    Inside the gleaming
    Crimson skin
    Of this apple
    Lies a secret:
    Magic lives
    In its juicy flesh.

    I can tell,
    Sweet girl,
    From your graceful carriage
    And genteel manner,
    That you were not born
    To toil in servitude
    In a dark cottage
    Such as this.

    Do you really believe
    That is all there is for you?
    I thought not.
    Your dreams,
    The wishes your heart makes,
    Can all come true,
    If you only
    Take a bite…

  41. Shannon Lockard on said:

    My Many Colored Days is a picture book by Dr. Seuss. I have borrowed the title and inspiration from it.

    “My Many Colored Days”
    I used to have many colored days
    a spectrum of yellow to green
    joys and hopes and happiness
    reflections of blossoms in spring.
    But now my days are gray
    with only flecks of colors frayed at the ends
    brightest when I’m still at home
    in the morning and once my day ends.
    A palette smeared and blurred and frantic
    from self-inflicted want for growth
    but now I’m stressed and overwhelmed
    and for hues of orange, I grope.

  42. THINK PINK

    When it’s cold outside
    some people make stew
    to warm them…
    both in and out.
    Not me – I’m with the Panther.
    I think pink – how ‘bout you?

  43. Finally found inspiration at the most random time – when giving my dog a much-needed bath!

    COLOR ME WHITE

    Just like snow in rain,
    she never stays white for long:
    dog-shaped chameleon?

  44. A Shade of Translucency

    He was the majority colour
    of his village. The primary
    colour, one might say. Most
    were the same nondescript
    hue; slightly translucent is
    the word that best fits. See
    there on his hand, where
    the blue tint of tributaries
    web across the back of his
    hand. Yes, translucent was
    the colour he wore every day
    and he blended in well with all
    the rest of the village.

  45. Pingback: A Shade of Translucency « MiskMask

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  47. I actually managed to come up with a happier, not-dark-and-depressing poem! Happy to be able to share it with you all 🙂

    A Curious Pair

    George has been her best friend
    For more than five years,
    A constant companion on
    Escapades through her imagination,
    Sleeping snugly in her arms each night,
    Two monkeys swinging from tree to tree
    In search of life’s next adventure.
    His brown felt skin is well-worn
    And just a bit dirty,
    His left arm bearing the scar
    From an unfortunate accident that was
    Quickly mended by Mom’s needle and thread.
    The keeper of her secrets,
    Her comforter when learning
    Her first lessons in harsh realities,
    Wide-eyed and smiling as always.
    George truly is her best friend,
    And if his stitched mouth could speak,
    I’m sure he’d say
    She is his best friend too,
    Even without the yellow hat.

  48. John C. on said:

    I’ve really enjoyed reading the poems here! Here’s my two cents!

    Hungry

    Living in a world of black and white.
    I’ve given up my hunger for the night.
    I’ve laid to rest my wondering and wandering,
    The muddled, befuddled strain of pondering.
    I’ve come to rest against my laurels,
    For, Father God, You know I’m mortal,
    And one certainty is that I know it, too.
    God, I hope I’m not supposed to figure out
    What this thing called life should be about.
    Because, frankly, God, even now I wish I knew.

    Give me a knowing of Your love,
    Put this in my heart like a rock.
    Give surety to a seeker of above;
    Grant release to laboring thought.

    Fill up my world with sure realities,
    Fill up my rainbow with brilliant hues.
    Fill my imaginings till You’re all I see,
    A sanctum of sensations breath-takingly true.

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