POETIC BLOOMINGS

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

PROMPT #170 – “TINT AND HUE”

Making great inroads into the Autumn season, we are inundated with the magnificent palette of colors that present themselves as the winds grow cold. Think of your favorite color. Find the variations in shade of your chosen color. (Blue – Prussian, peacock…) Write a colorful poem using as many of these alternate descriptors as you can. We are in a sensory mode since last week’s prompt. We continue by tapping into the visual beauty of color.

WALT’S POEM:

RED SAILS AND SUNSETS

Broad brush strokes of Alizarin Crimson
and amaranth, American Beauty Rose is a miss
that lusters like a ruby in the noonday sun.

Auburn tinted leaves leave little to imagine,
but the grin that spreads from ear to ear
is clear. Brick and mortar are not built for speed,

indeed they are solid; a structured foundation
upon which lives are constructed. We’ve tucked
our collars up and the skies remain changeable.

Unstable weather not withstanding, Fall
is handing us a sneak peek at the peak of the season.
There is no reason to stay sequestered, it has festered

for as long as you’ve been marooned. Soon
the Cardinal will perch on barren branches
and the chances are slim that Winter will delay.

All fruited hints of a tint so rusty; ruddy
and bloody replacing candy apple and cherry,
(although grapes make great claret; burgundy)

and we see the sun diminish at the finish of day.
Unfurled, our canvas sways and stays billowed
like a skyward pillow capturing the breath of Him.

Scarlet spinnaker shadowed in silhouette,
you have yet to pull anchor, thankful for this moment.
A descending sun back-lighting the horizon,
it will rise again on the next New Day!

Copyright © 2014 Walter J Wojtanik

 

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160 thoughts on “PROMPT #170 – “TINT AND HUE”

  1. Really painterly poem, Walt. I wrote a poem about blues a couple of years ago which – for no discernible reason – gets half a dozen or so hits every single day. It’s called Colour Me Happy.
    I wish to banish that one, so I shall try again starting from your prompt.

  2. William Preston on said:

    VERDANCE

    Some say
    aquamarine
    is more blue than a hue
    of lime, lima bean, or any
    true green,

    but tell
    the sea, when it courses the straits,
    that the land and the sky
    do not produce
    blue green.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  3. William Preston on said:

    ORANGE

    The papaya and the peach
    display a bit of it in each

    and when it shows as cinnabar
    it outshines scarlet red by far;

    in tea rose and in tangerine
    it is the first in hue and sheen

    and melon knows that apricot
    will make the most of all it’s got

    and when it’s burnt, it wears a frown
    and even deigns to utter brown.

    When autumn comes, the pumpkins glow;
    persimmons bear their harvest show,

    and when the sky is turning in,
    there is orange once again.

    I think of it as a pleasant fellow
    who, mediating red and yellow,

    bids sunshine turn all fall to gold
    and warm my heart, now I am old.

    copyright 2014, William Preston

  4. flashpoetguy on said:

    SHADES AND HUES OF YELLOW

    From the kitchen window
    Mama watches us at play
    as she tops her LEMON CHIFFON
    masterpiece with sweet CREAM
    and Beaker our CANARY sings.

    Behind her on the living room floor
    baby Serafina runs her CRAYOLA
    in and out the lines of blank faces
    coloring everything GOLD
    except the OLIVE grass.

    This was long before this CYBER time
    of computers and gadgets
    that require only finger exercise
    and the SAFETY of laughter
    is hardly heard anymore.

    Oh, it’s a ROYAL pain to us
    who remember the old days
    when MARMALADE spread on white bread
    was a simple pleasure after backyard fun
    like soldiers in KHAKI relaxing in jeans

    #

  5. CERULEAN SWIM

    I’ve seen you
    swirled,
    in cerulean satin sheets.

    But you wouldn’t
    be complete,
    without me underneath.

    I’ve seen you;
    naked, ready
    with priceless rounded
    beryl thighs.

    A seducing glare
    and lively eyes
    disguised as noon day sky.

    I’ve seen
    the accidence
    of sumptuous
    sapphire
    lips,

    gripped,
    tipped, gliding
    with mine.

    And I’m quite fine,
    tasting a tint
    of your brilliance.

    Cover me,
    wholly with azure,
    the soft nature of your skin.

    Let us begin,
    a cerulean
    satin sheet swim.

    Swirling…

    Let us be complete…

    Benjamin Thomas

  6. Heart Broken Grey

    The color drained from the evening sky leaving a platinum band studded with silvery stars that darkened to charcoal as night took control. Over the cinereous sands of the shore two raucous glaucous gulls dipped to glide an inch from the slate sea’s tumultuous waves while I in a battleship grey mood cried angry argent tears of rage over the loss of you.

    Grey is the color
    the heart becomes in sorrow…
    winter of the soul.

  7. SMOULDER OF COLOURS

    I am wrapped in scarlet,
    I am wrapped in smoulder,
    Smoulder all through the coldest night,
    Night pressed into one,
    Night begging off the sun,
    Sun spilling through lace,
    Sun spun into ice,
    Ice that calls up morning mist,
    Ice that teases with a kiss,
    Kiss me quick,
    Kiss me, tell me what –
    What I want,
    and what I must,
    Must we, must we,
    Mustard gleams a Spanish yellow,
    Yellow bricks and roads and flying monkeys,
    Yellow as jaundice,
    Jaundice soaks the alley,
    Jaundice in empty tin cups,
    Cups of steaming warmth,
    Cups of black sweetness,
    Sweetness that melts to pink,
    Sweetness like snowy fields,
    Fields ploughed and turned to spring,
    Fields of history and poppy red,
    Red is to focus,
    Red is confidence,
    Confidence to speak,
    Confidence to be still and silent,
    Silent conversations,
    Silent like a book,
    Book at table by the window,
    Book of empty pages,
    Pages turned into the wind,
    Pages printed with darkness,
    Darkness beyond hollows,
    Darkness of narrow thought,
    Thought I knew rain,
    Thought I was a rabbit foot,
    Foot into the slick of grass,
    Foot into greener deep,
    Deeper than violet,
    Deeper into purple,
    Purple that soothes and sleeps,
    Purple that speaks with colours,
    Colours scarlet as heat,
    Colours of bitter flavour,
    Flavour this moment ephemeral,
    Heat is a smouldering colour.

  8. Darlene Franklin on said:

    YELLOW BRICK ROAD

    Darlene Franklin

    In summertime, the road’s an easy stroll
    With sunshine on my shoulder and bamboo huts ahead
    Drink lemonade, eat roasted corn
    That’s wrapped in plaintain leaves

    Come autumn, yellow bricks peek through
    A bed of aspen gold
    A school bus rattles up ahead
    And hunter’s khaki waits for duck bill’s flight

    When snow falls, ivory covers path
    And travelers take taxi cabs
    To find an oaken home
    At rest on bales of hay
    They feast on cheese and ale
    Until the maple sap runs off

    Canary’s song and fluffy chicks hail spring
    Striped honeybees spread pollen here and there
    The road is lined with daffodils
    The destination crowned with gold

  9. connielpeters on said:

    Catching

    Martin talked Abigail into going Salmon fishing with him
    Abigail thought of Martin as a melon head
    but Martin considered Abigail a peach.

    Pine trees around the dam tapered up like green carrots
    Boulders on the beach like brown pumpkins
    And pebbles scattered along the water’s edge, kumquats

    Martin forgot to take the picnic lunch he promised
    A kindly couple in a row boat offered them tangerines
    And another fisherman gave them papayas and oranges

    Martin kissed Abigail and her cheeks blushed persimmon
    They caught nothing but fiery love as the horizon turned vermilion.

  10. cheeks blushed persimmon… that is a nice description

  11. RJ Clarken on said:

    De Nimes

    Sapphire, periwinkle, cyan, and teal
    undulate under cerulean skies.
    Blue defines my mood, but it can’t conceal
    the cornflower lightness of my being.
    Call me Alice Blue, since I am genteel
    as I dance until the hues turn to midnight.
    The song of the waves is royal with steel,
    but azure sea-spray is just a disguise
    for my beau-ideal on the world’s color wheel.

    ###

  12. SEA OF FORGOTTEN KISSES

    I’m
    just a
    Brandeis tear
    drop,
    settled
    within a
    humble
    bucket

    Well
    absorbed,
    by the crafty
    tawny
    corners of
    opportunistic
    rust

    A
    minuscule
    slice
    of
    celestial
    dust

    Fallen
    headlong,
    into
    a sea
    of forgotten
    kisses

    Concealed;
    deep within
    the masses,
    of Carolina
    blue

    Riding
    the undercurrent,
    of shifting
    baby blue

    Benjamin Thomas

  13. Purplish

    How like a plum the Japanese maple is,
    its early mauve and lilac tipping toward
    boysenberry fuchsia, summering in China
    rose steeped in dark raspberry, aging into
    pulpy purples, burgundy and jazzberry wine,
    grape-drunk with October. Its leaves spread
    their fingers ‘til the veins stand up crimson
    and magenta, beauteous skeleton, its limbs
    embracing slants of violet light that glaze it
    smoky aubergine, ripe for winter’s plucking.

  14. janeshlensky on said:

    Timing

    Even among the trees, love and drama
    fall unevenly, the sugar maples already
    flushed peach and blushed crimson, hot
    to hurry fall along, coloring scarlet, brazen
    vermillion and cinnabar, dropping leafy
    veils one by one, wind dancing ‘til they stand
    naked beside staunch old oaks green as
    wood moss, in rusty robes they won’t loosen
    until spring.

  15. (Photo w/image: http://lettheballoonssailmeaway.wordpress.com)

    Listening

    Dusky blue music
    Stars twinkling in tune,
    Sapphire brilliance
    Under a blue moon.

  16. Autumn’s Purple Haze

    Fortune teller Violet, predicted
    a warm Autumn. The seer saw this clearly
    as she gazed into her purple crystal ball.

    Lavender thistles began to bend
    in the cooler evening air, yet
    at the Farmer’s Market, we could still
    find the last pickings of Italian
    prune plums, Wonderful when folded
    into a buttery, yellow cake.

    Though today’s unseasonable warmth
    allowed me to don my orchid-colored
    t-shirt, by evening the temperature
    had dropped twenty-five degrees.
    We watched an earlier darkness
    deepen the sky from fuchsia and pink
    to indigo.

  17. Brilliance
    The brilliance of RUBY’S RED
    ablaze , just before so called death
    forging through CHILLIED veins
    unfurling RUDDY evanescent tones
    of crispy CRIMSON fingers
    forsaking TAWNY memories and
    twirling RUSTY shades that
    embrace IMPERIAL ageless circles

    With CORAL eyes and TAWNY lace
    like butterflies, they sway in the wind
    waving FLORID goodbyes
    as they merge into SALMON brew

  18. COMPOSITION OF TEARS

    Investigate,
    the intrinsic
    content
    of a rolling
    tear

    Examining
    with care,
    it’s splintered hue,
    it’s inner composition

    Determine
    its source,
    and consider
    its position

    A petite
    extract
    of raw teal emotion,
    a salted heart,
    liquid turquoise in motion

    Contemplate…

    If an artist
    constructs
    a picture,
    worth a thousand
    words

    A single tear,
    speaks of
    ten thousand
    more

    If a skilled
    artist depicts
    a masterful scenery
    that’s rich in color

    A shed tear,
    brings the
    real vista

    Benjamin Thomas

  19. Pingback: OctPoWriMo Day 13 – It’s a colourful life | Vivinfrance's Blog

  20. AFTER THE FALL

    The last leaf waltzes under pearly clouds
    while autumn tickles the ivories
    before walking away on eggshells.
    Dressed in its finest old lace,
    winter flurries to center stage.
    The glow from vanilla candles
    can’t melt the frosted windowpanes.
    Alabaster angels search the Milky Way
    for cosmic lattes and corn silk teas
    as a choir of freshly fallen snowflakes
    sings of hope for a White Christmas.

    © Susan Schoeffield

  21. Pingback: After The Fall | Words With Sooze

  22. Are my posts going into the spam folder? I post but nothing appears in the thread.

  23. Pingback: Carry on Clover | Metaphors and Smiles

  24. Carry on Clover

    October’s last lavender clover
    floats over sea of pine needles,
    amethyst gem buoys on the wind.
    Sun-light illuminates lightens lilac –
    filled of shadow her hue deepens
    voice of violet rises on gusty tide;
    fall’s periwinkle defeats frost
    another day – life in purple petals.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

    There’s an image if you’re interested on my blog. 🙂

  25. Singing Her: Blues

    I have violet tend
    -encies, a burning need
    for sapphire. Cyan I am,

    yes, cer
    -ulean. Soak me
    in midnight, cobalt
    my skin, let
    my marine layer
    run deep, pool,
    steep aqua,
    lake-leak steel.

    Azure my heart
    in teal and turquoise,
    periwinkle-powder
    my sky.

    Not even these
    gray matters can un
    -stitch my denim hue.

    Indi-goes
    wherever I do.

    .

  26. Pingback: Singing Her: Blues | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  27. Not very descriptive, but something I had on tap…

    PURPLE

    If only you could show me how
    The sun bleeds the grapes
    Whispers ancient runes
    to them
    Before transforming
    them to something
    Magical

    Or how the simplest fruit –
    plums – figure so prominently
    in that doctor’s
    famous poem
    So their colour
    disappears
    between
    the lines

    It’s the best colour,
    along with orange
    because
    nothing
    rhymes
    with it
    either.

  28. HER HEART PRECIOUS

    Her heart
    was a red plum cherry
    rapt with love,
    pounding strong
    like a drum,
    sounding out
    going pum, pum, pum

    Releasing
    an ever sweet essence,
    the fluorescence of her
    juvenescence

    Her life blood;
    precious, streamed like
    racing cranberry,
    but no soul ever tasted
    a bitter berry

    Benjamin Thomas

  29. “Somehow Brown”

    I like to pretend,
    as Autumn swirls about my feet,
    that the song
    sung by the leaves of sienna
    is sweeter than
    the song
    sung by those of rust.

    That those of persimmon
    carry warm notes
    through cool breezes
    to my nighttime window.

    That copper colored leaves
    spend more time airborne,
    enjoying the twists and turns
    than their russet neighbors.

    But the citrine colored
    leaves from this river birch
    are dotted now
    with moments of sepia,
    coloring time
    and condensing space
    as
    these lovely shades
    give way
    to charcoal lines
    sketched against gray skies
    and different beauty.

    await.

  30. Color Of the Sky

    His painting drew her from the start-
    She couldn’t tear her eyes away,
    Or explain the tug at her heart,
    And how her pulse began to race;

    It seemed to be all done in blues:
    Ultramarine, cobalt, midnight,
    Cerulean and azure hues,
    Shimmering in the changing light,

    Color that filled the mind with peace,
    The color God chose for His sky
    Painted the deep depths of the sea,
    Enhanced and caught in human eyes:

    Something she couldn’t quite explain,
    But knew all along its true name…

  31. I could read this over and over again and never grow tired of it. Quite lovely, Erin.

  32. HEART SPRINGS

    An ill-contemplated hue…
    And which pigment will you find?
    It’s understanding, far and few.

    So mind not the flavor of skin;
    it’s superficiality bears no part,
    in reflections of the soul

    Benjamin Thomas

  33. HEART SPRINGS

    What color is the soul?
    An ill-contemplated hue…
    And which pigment will you find?
    It’s understanding far and few.

    So mind not the flavor of skin;
    it’s superficiality bears no part,
    in reflections of the soul
    that spring, from chambers within the heart.

    Benjamin Thomas

  34. THE BEAUTY OF THE QUEEN

    Yet still soft, budding as vibrant marigold
    Her ears were pliant dusty apricot
    Her teeth were restive pale daffodils set in stone
    Her lips were valued rubies,
    Multifaceted and scented like flaming dahlias
    Her nose, keen to crossing winds,
    As an orange sky perks up when the day begins
    Her smile was sweet cocoa brown;
    That’s stretched for miles and miles diving underground,
    Unto running canyons that yield summer squash vegetation
    Her fingers were roasted hickory,
    Like slender terra cotta warriors
    Her breasts were astounding as atomic tangerine
    Her legs were solid Honduran mahogany,
    Stable in their length, breadth
    The custom hinges of each ankle were aromatic red cedar
    The work of a skilled craftsman
    Her toes were solid white oak,
    Strong but fashionable
    Even her toenails were adorned,
    In finely trimmed layers of walnut

    Benjamin Thomas

  35. Very nice, Benjamin. Very, very nice.

  36. The BEAUTY OF THE QUEEN

    Her neck weighed in as pure gold
    Yet still soft, budding as vibrant marigold
    Her ears were pliant dusty apricot
    Her teeth were restive pale daffodils set in stone
    Her lips were valued rubies,
    Multifaceted and scented like flaming dahlias
    Her nose, keen to crossing winds,
    As an orange sky perks up when the day begins
    Her smile was sweet cocoa brown;
    That’s stretched for miles and miles diving underground,
    Unto running canyons that yield summer squash vegetation
    Her fingers were roasted hickory,
    Like slender terra cotta warriors
    Her breasts were astounding as atomic tangerine
    Her legs were solid Honduran mahogany,
    Stable in their length, breadth
    The custom hinges of each ankle were aromatic red cedar
    The work of a skilled craftsman
    Her toes were solid white oak,
    Strong but fashionable
    Even her toenails were adorned,
    In finely trimmed layers of walnut

    Benjamin Thomas

  37. Pingback: By The Light Of A New Moon | echoes from the silence

  38. BY THE LIGHT OF A NEW MOON
    (a shadorma)

    Raven hair,
    obsidian eyes,
    ebony
    flesh; she shined
    on the starless night from the
    passion of his love.

    2014-10-15
    P. Wanken

  39. Sanguine Kisses

    The crimson tide rolls round the hills
    on autumns fiery wind
    and rufous limbs sway to and fro
    and cry their scarlet tears;
    as if to lament color’s death
    with a final burst of cinnamon and wine
    before winter knocks
    and comes to dine.

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