Here we are, a little further into the season. The remaining leaves have changed and the colors have achieved a more rich and deeper hue. So we go into the palette again and tap the crimson shade to give a bit more variety to our poetry. As always, go where your muse takes you and let us see your vision.
MARIE’S RED RETREAT:
A Creator’s Palette (Sonnet to The Artist)
Describing “yellow” leaves in fall, for me,
Does not at all depict their cheerful gleam
As sunlight spills as liquid through the trees,
And they themselves could light the day, it seems.
So also “orange” can’t describe the bliss
That autumn’s gorgeous vista just compels.
And though I can’t rename it, I know this:
Fall’s celebrated color casts its spells.
My favored autumn shades though are the reds:
From rosy blush to crimson, fire-and-iced.
They fairly flaunt and flame as they turn heads.
There’s no way common “red” would have sufficed.
How can we label paints and pens of God
That leave us reverential, praise-filled, awed ?
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
##
WALT’S RUDDY MESS:
SEASONS MORPHED
Clouds in a hue of blue
that feels frigid, making
exposed digits ache and stiffen.
Autumn enters through
Summer’s rapidly closing door
and it’s true that fall may be hours old,
but the cold will have you believing
that looks are deceiving.
Summer is departing;
sheared down by the scythe of life.
Can a disheartening Winter be far behind?
I find that this respite is a diversion,
an excursion through these years of seasons.
No reason I can tell can suffice to quell
the brilliantly crimson leaves and the crystal ice .
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2018
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
BEYOND IMAGINATION
The morning sky reddens against the incoming storm
as if echoing the hues below on tree and field
Glowing garnet with flashes of gold and emerald
wildwoods and sky in competition to yield
a canvas that even Vincent never dreamed to capture.
Linda, “echoing the hues below on tree and field” is awesome.
Yes
Painted like a celebrated word artist (which you are). A master work as many pieces you craft are, Linda!
GORGEOUS, Linda! I see it before me!
Oh my, you all make me blush! Thank you for your kind and thoughtful words.
We are watching a video about Vincent now, and you add to the richness of our experience
Daniel, what video are you watching? He is a favorite of mine.
It is recent, entitled “Loving Vincent”
My favorite:
How did you like it? I LOVED it! Seeing his paintings come to life was magic! I grew up thinking that he painted Starry Night for me…some kind of cosmic connection because when my husband decided he wanted to give me something special, he got the last poster in the National Museum of it and had it framed. (This was before we were a couple.) When I asked why he chose this particular painting of all the paintings in the world to give me, he said…and I quote, “I don’t know, it was just that when I looked at it, something said, ‘This is Linda’s painting.’”
The post now hangs on the wall at the foot of our bed. I wake every morning to its beauty and the reminder that strange things DO happen in life!
Blessings!
A beautiful and vividly descriptive poem Linda!
I love this canvas on which your ‘word brushes’ have created a work of art
Love this line: Glowing garnet with flashes of gold and emerald
Keep writing. It’s true, a painter’s palette may not touch the real thing.
What a canvas!
IT STILL BOTHERS ME
I barked
at some old folks
before I recognized
my parents, leaving my sick face
crimson.
This is quite the visual epiphany, William. Brilliant.
Awww! I don’t know whether to giggle or feel horrible for you! Great creative take on the prompt. So much in so few words!
I’ve found myself in that moment too. Internal embarrassment–crimsin indeed.
Oh, my! Your words tell the story for many of us who have been caught like this. Well done!
You always seem to tell the truth, no matter a little pain
Thanks, but I also remember what mark Twain said about a lie: “… an ever present help in time of trouble.”
Wow, William. A very effective punch to the gut. Awesome!
Short but with much impact. Nice!
Ooh!
What an excellent sonnet, Marie!
Thank you so much, Bill!
Walt, your poem presented me with a cornucopia of colors and images. I use the word rarely, but I think this is awesome.
No sir, YOU are awesome. (a word I shy from myself!) But appropriate here as well! I humbly thank you, Bill.
And I get to hang out with the best of the best. You guys ROCK.
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, so thankful for this moment.
A descending sun
back-lighting the horizon,
transitions to fall.
I am immersed in this, and especially love the possibilities of “back-lighting the horizon.”
Oh my. This speaks to me this morning. STUNNING, my Partner. Just STUNNING.
A masterfully wealthy inventory of the season, Walt. Absolutely luscious.
Thanks, Kids. If I missed a “red” hue, I apologize! 😀
This is breathtakingly beautiful!
You. At. Your. Best.
when I see those ‘red’ skies, I wish I was a painter but you have painted a masterpiece with your words
Enjoyed the prose as much as the short poem at the end.
Gorgeous writing, Walt!
New Life Always Follows
Summer’s final breath,
ravens scout in blushing skies,
monks still pray for peace.
No wonder the skies are blushing. Love this.
Be still my heart. ❤ Wow …
Oh, me too …..
Like prayers, those ravens. Amazing, Daniel.
…and write with quill pens plucked from raven plumage with ink that pales in comparison to raven blackness. So expressively vivid, Daniel.
Hear, hear!
Short but packed with action, Daniel.
WHY ADELAIDE CRAPSEY WEARS THE ROYAL CRIMSON
Her form
waxed poetic:
offering a new guise
and a twenty-two-syllable
surprise.
THIS! Why didn’t I think of this?! Perfection, Bill!
Because you think with my brain and not William’s. I didn’t think of this either! You made this pop with a capital “F”, William! (“F” is for fabulous!) 😀
Now see, why didn’t I think of that? 😉
Smiling!
clever man are you
Love this, William!
[…] FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS AUTUMNAL POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE, 2018, DAY 11: CRIMSON […]
Sumac Shouts
When changes come
on predetermined days
red Sumac shouts
in her predetermined ways,
in lyrics crimson, hues of her song
accompanied by a thousand-strong
flock of starlings, a sweeping throng
in cooler skies, in colder air,
above her hillside gathering…
… her clusters bright, her song so clear,
Sumac announces, “Change is here! “
© Damon Dean, 2018
Oh, yes! So lovely, Damon! I can envision this, and am enjoying doing so!
Love, love, love this!! Just saw it performed – starlings et al – on my way home from work! Wonderful!
Better than a painting. So visible
Not only are these words lovely and musical, but they painted vividly a picture of autumn that has too long been dormant in my memory. I adore this!
So fitting, given the color of those bushes.
Oh those beautiful sumac – so often overlooked. Glad you have given them their due
Like it very much. Wow!
Late to the game this morning, so it will sound as if I am echoing the comments of the others. It our wile with poetry that allows us to use our words to paint that picture and blur the lines so we do not know where the photo ends and the words begin. This is flawless, Damon.
“in lyrics crimson, hues of her song”
What a lovely painting this is, Damon!
Other thoughts on “crimson”…
When my eyes are filled with blood, my mood far from sanguine, even as I contemplate the vast ocean of wonderful writers, the crowded sky of prolific poets, it is easy to slip into insignificance, but when I sometimes say something which alters another person’s perspective, perhaps on a day when they needed it, I realize I am significant, along with everyone who dares to express their soul,
and when they respond with love, my heart beats a little stronger.
Understood
Absolutely!
You are far from an insignificant voice here, Daniel! You are as Vital as any poet out here. Your words and works touch us all in their own ways to fill in our gaps and fill our lives. We should all wear that mantle of humility, but accept the gift we have been given by Him who gives all things. We are all His instrument.
Crimson
Mom wore red lipstick.
As red as maple leaves in fall.
Our habit was to kiss our parents
before we left the house.
(In case someone got run over
before we saw each other again.)
The days she wore lipstick,
we were careful to kiss her
and escape before she left
crimson prints on our cheeks.
Ha! So nostalgic. For me it was the stink of Greek uncles’ cigars.
A Polish Grandfather’s same stogie here!
Oh Connie! How touching, sweet, and true. Well done.
Explosive laugh here
Oh, yes! A beautiful crimson memory.
And another grin from your childhood memories! Love it, Connie!
That parting kiss is always a treasured moment, whether it is a brief parting or longer.
I remember the crimson lipstick. It seemed all the moms wore it when they went out. Nice memory.
Sweet reflection, Connie.
Ah, just like Dad’s cigar that stunk up the car so badly, I would throw up on every long trip for years!
Today marks the two year anniversary of the surgery that almost took me out of this world. On this anniversary, just as with every day, I thank the One and Only True and Living God for pulling me through. And I thank my wife and children and all of those who prayed for me. The prayers and support worked. So, I guess y’all aren’t gonna get rid if me that easy. (and, yes, humor was an important part of the comeback).
Blood
In the autumn of the world
Those that feel the end coming
Stand boldly with the Good News
On street corners and in pulpits
Telling all of the saving grace
And the shed blood of Christ
Shed selflessly for all mankind
They fight ridicule and hatred
Ignorance and intolerance and
All that Satan throws at them
They have accepted His challenge
And will not fail His command
To preach to the lost and fallen
For the world needs the News
I can’t believe two years have passed. So glad you are with us, pointing us to Christ! Excellent piece here, Earl.
Yes, I too am glad God restored you to this life, for more poetry for us all.
It was meant that you should share more poetry, perhaps. Or maybe it’s richer because of your experience.
I recall the brief conversation we had before your episode. Glad we had connected and even moreso that you’ve pulled through with more work to do. Your praise of Him is well founded.
CREDITING CRIMSON
Wearing red makes me feel good.
It is my color.
So everyone says.
It makes me glow.
Being well read is my strength.
It is my source of joy.
It makes me more interesting.
It helps me to relate.
Seeing red is my weakness.
I hate my temper.
Its a family trait.
It is hard to control.
Autumn red should inspire.
It is so lovely.
But it makes me regret
the loss of summer.
Then I am renewed
by thre red flames of fall fires,
camping, firepits, and friendships,
and the certainty of summer’s return.
I admire this very much.
So filled with self-awareness…and hope
Love the many ‘faces’ of red
Excellent self-reflection with fine use of the many faces of red. Well done, Linda!
Loved this account of your various self-aware crimson hues. A marvelous approach to the prompt.
Love the alliteration in this line: red flames of fall fires, and the sound of “the certainty of summer’s return. Lovely.
I’ll have to say you are well red! A wonderful use of the color and all that it will bring to the palette of life, Linda.
A collage of wonderful reds!
The Regal Matriarch of the Backyard
The old Maple tree was always the first
To show color, a sure sign that Summer
Was in retreat and Autumn was approaching
While the other Maples were flaunting their
Yellow, orange, and gold tresses
The regal old Maple was adorned in crimson
The matriarch of the neighborhood
She gently dropped her jewel-like leaves
That fell, as if raked, in loose piles around her feet
Where children laughed and twirled
Among her fallen crown
Nothing says autumn like that kind of maple. Love this.
We have a Japanese red maple in our front yard that leaves a large red skirt on the lawn below her. Love the look, and love your poem.
A royal beauty, so well described, and I especially like the phrase “her fallen crown.”
Agree with Damon. “her fallen crown”
Thanks!
Beautiful, Candy.
Thank you 😊
This description is perfectly suited for the season. You have surely given it its due, Candy!
While
autumn leaves
reflect crimson sunset,
they
dance to
never ending rustle
of
branches singing
praise and halleluiah.
Marie, so enjoy your offering of color. It always amazes me the multitude of shades of colors God created.
Thank you, Marjory, and I couldn’t agree more regarding God’s creation! Wonderful offering today of yours. Halleluiah indeed!
🙂
Marjory, you’ve got me looking forward to these simply beautiful images each day. This one is lovely.
Thank you Damon – short seems to match my energy level right now. I have always liked the form since first meeting it in the Garden
Nice! I like the dance and the colour.
Thanks Carolyn – to me trees always seen to dance in the wind…..
A wonderful celebration of the color and His glory, Marjory!
Royalty of Autumn
Crimson is deeper than red, so plain,
in leaves, in gown, in lipstick hue.
Royalty wore it, and so should you.
Crimson clad trees are dressed in flame.
I am sure it adorned Auntie Mame.
Scarlet’s out, it’s Miss Crimson in Clue.
Crimson is deeper than red, so plain,
in leaves, in gowns, in lipstick hue.
Did your face flush crimson from shame?
So hard to hide from other’s view.
Autumn’s colors have imbued
the harvest, abundance, and joy’s reign.
Crimson is deeper than red, so plain.
Sara, in this poem you gave crimson its proper due. Well written, well constructed.
I like your association of red with royalty. And the repeated line too.
Thanks so much, Damon!
And your poetry goes deeper than red, as well. You inspire thought and emotion with your work, Sara. Yet, you are never plain.
Aw, thanks Walt.
Just now catching this, Sarah. So well done! The repetition seems so perfect for crimson. Great capture!
Thanks, Marie!
Rich Reds
Crimson, rich in colour,
the leaves of autumn
like a canopy
as I drive up your street
the yellow and orange beautiful too
mixed with the garnet of autumn
I picked up a leaf
turned it over studied it
it was the scarlet one, dark and rich
that I put in my pocket
Carolyn Wilker
“Into your pocket” to offer into our collective thought, Carolyn! This poem is rich on its own, crimson adds so much more to the images you offer.
Wonderful, Carolyn!
Carolyn, love your pensive selection, your soulful collection of this piece of a season. Lovely.
Thank you for your thoughtful comments.
Crimson
I love the colors of fall.
They come by night, from nowhere,
and should have magical names,
exotic names, expensive.
We should pay real gold, purchase
rare words for frost-stained leaves.
Ruby-red, crimson, scarlet;
amber, peridot, citrine.
Truth crumples next to such names,
such colorful words. Crimson,
the purple-red of venous
blood, comes from insect corpses.
Scarlet and vermillion dyes,
too. The crushed bodies of bugs.
Thousands for a yard of cloth.
How many to blood one tree?
At autumn’s end
fruit of the vine
withers and dies
Green leaves fade
from vibrant green
to crimson red,
to lifeless and brown
completely dead.
Flowers once bright
fall from their stems,
not to be seen
until life blooms again
fresh, new in spring.
[…] PB’s Day 11 “Crimson“ […]
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