Below is a link to Wikipedia’s list of Crayola crayon color names, both current and retired. Choose one (or several) to add a splash of color to your pretty words. Can’t wait to see the colorful variety that will grace our site this week!


Sky Blue (born in 1958, the year of my birth)

Who came to decide
the precise color of sky –
which blue hue, and why?

For the ocean’s sky
on a sunny day, may be
pegged as Robin’s Egg,

while she that adorns
a brisk Erie autumn morn
is a deep, cold blue –

the loveliest hue.
And I’ve clamed her and named her
my October Sky.

© Marie Elena Good, 2022



Children of  the sixties, 
Ensconced in memorabilia,
Just some spaced out hippies
Hooked on psychedelia.
When Rock and Roll takes control
they really make the scene.
Here to touch your musical soul,
The Atomic Tangerine!

(C) Walter J Wojtanik -2022

95 thoughts on “PROMPT #414 – COLOR ME POETIC!


    Well, I suppose this is out of the blue,
    but who colored me? And—who
    colored you?

    This could become a gray area for some,
    but then again, I’ve always been the black sheep
    the family.

    So hurl your fervent piercing arrows,
    and those vying vicious venoms—
    let it be done. However, I’m not dumb.

    Who colors the countenance of our cratered moon? The rising of our warrior sun?
    Or the faithful skies at midday noon?

    Who then dashed Mars with a touch of maroon?
    The candid beauty of the known universe?
    For who can find fault with our stars?

    ©️ Benjamin Thomas


    My sister often made me blink
    and sometimes made me pause and think,
    but nothing brought me to the brink
    as when she’d mention sky-blue pink.

    She wasn’t talking of the cloud
    that sunset wore upon its shroud;
    no, she’d clamor, long and loud,
    she meant the sky, so broad and proud.

    The sky, to me, still looked quite blue
    without a trace of magenta hue;
    she’d sneer at me without ado
    and leave me there to fume and rue.

    Eventually this led to drink
    and long nights, standing near the sink.
    Now I’m left with pen and ink
    to try to capture sky-blue pink.

  3. Good Advice

    I don’t pretend to understand resolution,
    pixels, monochrome cameras or Bayer filters.
    I just know when I told others of my Kenya plans,
    many advised me to take a good camera.
    I thought my little Canon would be good enough,
    but two raw sienna splotches on my camera
    looked like majestic lions to my sister’s.
    On mine you can see a monkey silhouette.
    On a friend’s, a mama monkey cuddled her baby.
    Yes, those are elephants on my camera.
    But on other cameras, you can count the wrinkles.
    Yay for PhotoCircle where our tour group shares pics.
    But this year I’m making a resolution resolution.
    Before my next trip, I’m getting a better camera.

  4. Tangerine Dreams

    Brown season is past.
    No smoke on the horizon.
    Time to mend the roof.

    Summer’s colors fade,
    Fall bloomings now in season.
    Time for new seedlings.

    Red flowers opened,
    pomegranates in waiting.
    Time to make sun tea.

    Orange Navels eaten,
    Valencias unfavored.
    Time for new apples.

    White snow on some hills.
    Summer will thirst for its melt.
    Time to clean windows.

    Pink Christmas cactus,
    bougainvillea scream crimson.
    Time for new thinking.

    Epi’s bloom briefly,
    same as with cactus flowers.
    Time to call my friends.

  5. Multicultural Crayons…

    In training we were given
    Each a box of crayons.
    These were to show the many colors
    That people’s skins could be.

    There was black and white…
    As one comedian I know said…
    “Two of the blandest colors
    In the box of crayons.”

    We were given
    Apricot, burnt sienna
    Mahogany, peach and sepia.

    But I like what that comedian said,
    To go down to the paint store,
    And find the exact color
    Of our individual skin…

    Because we all wear our skin
    In different shades…
    From a lighter shade of pale
    To ebony black…the darkest black there is.

    It was a nice gesture
    Those boxes of crayons…
    Side by side
    Just wish we could walk
    With each other
    Like that box of crayons.

    One day I am going
    To go down to my favorite place
    To shop… a hardware shop
    And I will find that color that is
    The color of my skin.
    But I will have to find two shades…
    One for my skin and one for my spots
    As an adorable little girl
    Told me that white people come
    In funny colors and
    Some are spotted like me…
    Those were my freckles.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 27, 2022

    The comedian I am speaking of in this poem is Sam Adams. By the way I still have that box of crayons somewhere.

  6. Pingback: About My Daily Jaunt – eastelmhurst.a.go.go


    given our differing ages
    going through all the stages
    we choose a variety of colors for sure

    it all depends on our mood
    avoiding what’s demeaning or rude
    maybe something designed to allure

    finding fun in colors that flash
    resisting any that could possibly clash
    hoping to catch a certain someone’s eye

    we’re intent to be seen
    perhaps as a princess or a queen
    as we go laughing, swirling by

    on the wildly fun dance floor
    twirling around, hoping for more
    we might choose a razzle, dazzle rose

    with the goal of sweet attention
    our colorful movement has intention
    which is our true purpose, I suppose

    with all the flair of magenta that’s hot
    giving our blended hues all we’ve got
    as we feel our freedom to dance

    trying out any new moves
    working with the current grooves
    happy to be there, every chance

    knowing we can dress it up or down
    as long as we stay all around town
    moving to hip hop, classical or jazz

    we must sparkle and shine
    feeling simply divine
    spinning just fine in our purple pizzazz

    and after those years have gone past
    we’re in new phases that last
    pearly purple may take it’s place

    walks by beautiful sunsets
    a lovely time that one truly gets
    absorbing a calming twilight lavender

    or a soothing mystic maroon
    under a late autumn full moon
    still making wishes on that very first star

    (c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2022

  8. Maybe it was Maize,

    or a salvage from a hoarded box
    that still held a stub of Maximum Yellow Red
    wrapper long gone and the crayon
    covered with flecks from rubbing up
    against black and purple embedded
    like dirt into the yellow wax but

    I only knew it as Chicken Foot Yellow
    kept for those farm pictures in my
    Lassie coloring book
    where roosters strutted with their flocks
    of hens scratching in front of a split rain fence
    red barn and silo rising behind

    Dad always taught me to be true
    to nature in those color books
    every picture carefully outlined
    then filled in with one-way even strokes
    lassie the same on every page and
    pages divided into three day sections
    every section dated. Here chickens

    never the dyed pink and blue of
    dime store Easters but black and white
    feathered black and white Plymouth Rocks
    Rhode Island Reds and a white leghorn
    grudgingly thrown in ugly then and now

    feet and beaks saved till last the dirty yellow
    filled in beneath drumstick legs and above
    clicking nail and jabbing talons, only I owned
    the secret to this color, the only one in my class
    and maybe the school, still raising chickens
    outside the city limits, leaving the rest
    to their ignorance of how hard I had to work
    to get the picture complete.

  9. Coloring Clouds

    It will not take many crayons to
    color the sky today. It has been mostly
    Gray with occasional touches of White,

    and scattered patches of Cornflower.
    But when a storm rolled in there was
    no color in my box to add the menacing

    darkness of the clouds before the Steel Blue
    lightening flashed, for Charcoal is no longer
    included, and my sky remains incomplete.

  10. Mending the memories in an old flannel gown…

    It is over twenty years old…
    This gown I have inherited…
    First worn by my Aunt Vennie,
    And then by my mother…

    Three shades of blue flowers,
    And olive-green leaves on white background…
    Except the gown has been stained
    By cups of tea my mother spilled
    Over those three years she wore it.

    Last winter it tore, and
    As I was packing up my winter clothes…
    I hesitated… I could cut up the cloth
    And use it somewhere
    Like in a flannel throw
    Made just for me.
    Instead, I packed it away.

    As I hand whipped the torn places,
    I thought how Ma placed a needle
    In my four-year-old hands and taught me
    How to sew on buttons
    While she peddled on her peddle machine.
    Sometimes I played with the spools of thread
    At her feet… and told her nonsense stories.

    I watched her mend torn shirts, and
    From her I learned how be creative
    In my patchwork… as I fixed my
    Worn denim blue jeans.

    I could have done it with my sewing machine
    That sounds like a machine gun.
    That machine will next summer be fifty years mine.

    I picked a scrap of flannel from a gown,
    That I never finished- work got in the way.
    It was bright white with sky blue flowers,
    And mint green leaves.
    They do not match,
    And the brightness of the new cloth
    Makes the other look so old,
    But the new doesn’t have memories
    Of two women I loved…
    One who made me think and
    Reminded me to always treat people
    With kindness for we never know
    What they have been through.
    The other told wonderful stories,
    And grew lovely blue hydrangeas…
    The last day I saw her
    She gave me hydrangeas for our church.
    It was just before thanksgiving,
    And she was gone before Christmas.

    With my needle in my hand,
    I repair this gown,
    And maybe I will get a few more winters wear
    Before I put in the rag bag.

    By the end of the week
    It will be finished,
    And I will sleep with memories
    Once again.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 27, 2022

  11. This Poem Is A Rainbow

    This poem is a rainbow
    that could not
    make up its mind. Tried
    and Sage, Burnt Orange
    and Banana Mania. This poem
    scratched its head, went
    to bed, and thought some
    more. It dreamed Asparagus
    and Cerulean, Manatee
    and Fuchsia. Nope. Not
    satisfied. Then, this poem
    had an arc of colors pop
    into its head. So instead,
    the rainbow became the colors
    we now know. This poem went
    home with a Cotton Candy glow.

  12. Silly Scents

    I got a box of Silly Scents
    From under the Christmas tree
    The tag said it was from Santa
    But I know mom got them for me
    My mama knew I loved to color
    But all my old crayons were worn
    So many were cracked or broken up
    And the rest had their papers torn

    So I opened this brand new present
    Sixteen silly scented sticks
    Took the first one out of the box and laughed
    It was labeled “Alien Armpit”!
    Then I pulled out “Booger Buster”
    “Dingy Dungeon” and “Sasquatch Socks”
    I couldn’t believe these crazy names
    Then I pulled out “Sunburnt Cyclops”

    Each one had its very own scent
    With the crazy names they each had
    “Winter Wizard” was my very favorite
    “Gargoyle Gas” nearly made me gag
    But when the scents all melded together
    They’re nowhere close to “Princess Perfume”
    In fact, the smell is quite unpleasant
    Like “Ogre Odor” in a “Mummy’s Tomb”

  13. See Me Now

    I had a car no one else seemed to see
    A car as plain as plain car could be
    And the car was plain, not at all like me

    So I got real tired of not being seen
    So I had my car painted “Screamin’ Green”
    With the “Screamin’ Green” I was always seen

    But “Screamin’ Green” just didn’t fit me
    I’m not a screamer and I never will be
    I needed a color that better expressed me

    My wife said, “The Air Force was good to you.
    And Maine’s and its winters is where you grew
    So the best color for you would be “Blizzard Blue”

    As always, she was right
    That “Blizzard Blue” was bright
    And people saw me day or night


    Sometimes life is citrus, like a lemon.
    A gift of sourness, that just keeps on givin’.
    But only tastes right under ideal circumstances.

    Sometimes life is citrine, like an orange.
    It’s sweet once you peel back all the hardships
    and discover its profound essence.

    Sometimes life is tangerine. A clementine cutie.
    A collection of small pleasant moments—
    a taste of sunset, a juicy mandarin fruity.

    ©️ Benjamin Thomas

  15. Festival at Codfish Hollow

    Music played
    as a faded red barn
    in Iowa found
    new life in song.

    People from cities
    and towns came
    for a sold-out festival
    in the greenery
    near Maquoketa.

    Counting Crows and others
    played to sold out crowds

    those who snapped up
    the tickets

    to see a concert
    in the venue
    as it stood
    along a gravel road
    amid rolling hills,

    Light shone out of an open door
    a beacon for all
    as the day faded
    into a cerulean sky.

  16. Red Heels…

    My love of red shoes
    Began early…
    First grade started off wrong
    Because I wanted red shoes,
    And I got brown.

    I wanted red patent leather shoes
    For Easter, and got black ones.
    I was told that they would
    Go with more things…
    In my mind
    Red went with everything.

    First pair of shoes I bought
    For myself was four and a half inch
    Heels red sandals
    With gold on the heels.
    I had a red suit
    I wore with them
    To court with a white silk blouse.

    I felt the strength in those shoes.
    My feet hurt at the end of the day,
    But I still could strut with the best of them.

    Since I hurt my knee,
    My red heels
    Stay in boxes…
    One pair more maroon
    And the other bright cherry red.`

    Don’t worry.
    I have red shoes I can wear.

    And if I can’t wear those…
    I have red socks.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 28, 2022

  17. The dance of colors….

    I will play a song
    Of the color of Prussian blue…
    With a hint of spice
    In the color of crimson…
    Or maybe muted maroon
    Scarf with the rhinestones
    And tassels…
    I will dress in steamy black
    Legging and a loose top
    That is picked for my mood.

    I will toss stars
    Across the sky
    Crystal gleaming
    Of gold and silver…

    I will lose myself
    To movement of the music
    Flowing like a river of sound
    In shades of greens and blues
    Reflected from the trees and sky…

    I feel my spine reach upward, and
    I spread my hands outward
    As they grasp the air
    That hides the hidden colors
    Created in the light

    For just a few moments
    I can feel the crush of light,
    And I am lifted
    To a place beyond where I usually am…

    I want to go back there.

    And I look at my music
    On its shelves waiting…
    Oh, how I miss dancing
    I feel the tears
    Crest my eyes
    For I need to dance…
    I need to be released…

    Closing my eyes
    I feel myself spin,
    And I reach out to touch
    The giggle escaping from the me I was…
    How I miss the freedom!

    As I fall asleep,
    I feel the colors calling me to dance…
    Tomorrow, I whisper
    Knowing that tomorrow never comes.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 28, 2022

  18. Hah, Walt, you brought me back to my youth in the sixties… I chose Donavan still one of my favorite musicians and put his Prussian Blue

  19. Donovan’s colors

    I was fifteen when
    Donovan’s song
    ‘Wear your love like heaven’
    Made it on Billboard’s list.

    He described the sky
    In colors that
    I had not thought of
    Prussian blue was its color.
    Didn’t know what color it was,
    But I now call it electric blue…
    One of my favorite to wear.

    He described the clouds
    As being scarlet sheep’s wool
    It was sunset
    When he described those clouds
    For I knew the saying
    ‘Red skies at morning,
    Sailor take warning…
    Red skies at night,
    Sailor’s delight.’
    Besides the sun was crimson.

    He spoke of roses growing in Wales…
    (I believe he is Welsh)
    Which painted the sky rosy
    That was fading into murky maroon brown
    With a touch of alizarin crimson…

    I never heard these colors…
    And I dabbed in a little painting…
    Not much for there was one artist
    In our family and that was not me.

    All these years later…
    I have many shades of paint…
    And still love the blue he called Prussian blue,
    While I prefer what I call it
    Electric blue because when I wear that color-
    I feel electric, and consider it my color.
    (I think he thought electric was yellow and
    On this he is wrong.)

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 29, 2022

  20. Walt, dear Santa, forgive me for this… by the way I had way too much fun writing this one.

    The Grinch Virus…

    This morning I looked in the mirror,
    And there it was a teeny tiny patch of green…
    I can feel the grinch begin to creep into my thinking…
    And I knew I was still infected
    With the virus of the Grinch.

    It started forty years ago,
    When I had all this work,
    And had to take calls from people
    Who thought we should
    Buy them a fur coat
    When what we had went to pay rent,
    And heat houses.
    We all got our turn, and
    Little by little
    We all were infected-
    With incurable grinch virus,
    Though some not as much.

    Then angels began giving gifts
    That we were happy to get…
    For the children we worked with often
    Had Christmas mornings that were bleak.
    But it became a flood of packages,
    And the delivery was up to us.
    Where could we find the time?

    I saw my hair go green, and
    My eyes began to glow
    With devious plans
    That often went amiss.
    Seeing the prospect of trouble…
    I told the grinch in me to shut up.

    Still the grinch infection
    Began to turn my fingernails
    An ugly puke green chartreuse
    And my tongue became a maligned
    Dark deep badmouthed slimy green.
    And before I could stop it…
    My plans for a wonderful Christmas
    Went totally awry
    As the whites of my eyes
    Turned green as a lizard.

    In an effort to prevent the grinch virus
    From exposing itself…
    I do not decorate for Christmas.
    I do not plan any celebrations.
    I avoid fruitcake, and syllabub
    And how I miss that at Christmas
    When my father made it each year.

    I think celebrating thanksgiving…
    And the greenery in windows and
    Lights on downtown streets
    Woke the virus in me.
    There is no vaccination…
    Once you get it the grinch virus…
    It is always waiting to turn you
    Into a bright harlequin green.

    Enjoy your Christmas holiday…
    I am afraid…
    I have the grinch virus…
    Maybe it will be mild this year.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 30, 2022

    • I think of green as a Christmasy color, but ” … puke green chartreuse … “; that creates a different aura and aroma. Great fun, this.

  21. This is not so fun… My heart is heavy these days….

    What color is sorrow?

    Is sorrow the color of shadows
    That lurks in your heart?
    Or is the color of stones
    That weighs down your heart?
    What color is a millstone…?
    A light grey like a cloud
    About to storm.

    Jesus spoke of millstones
    That if we cause one child to stumble
    We would be better off
    To have a millstone around our neck
    And thrown into the sea.

    Jesus carries the sorrows
    Within his hearts,
    Did he see the sorrows
    We inflict on those so young?

    Did he see the cold grey of iron
    Of chains we have locked upon
    The hearts of those too young
    To understand?
    Did he hear the stumbling feet
    Of those who have just begun their journeys?

    Did he as he said these words
    See the words written in dark near black charcoal?
    Was his voice a rumble of a dark storm warning
    Those who caused them to stumble
    Would face a grievous future?

    What could be worse than
    Being tossed into the sea
    With a millstone around your neck
    And knowing in those dark tornado screams of terror
    Were not even close to what will come of you…
    If you cause one of those small ones to stumble.

    My heart is full of sorrow
    That little ones are used as pawns
    For agendas with no consideration of them
    As the white dove they are,
    But now they are used for the hunt…
    Who can use them best?

    The color of my sorrow is watery tears
    Shed for those little ones.
    Lost in the battle of warring adults
    Who hear only their own voices,
    And do not hear the stumbling
    Of small feet losing their way.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    December 1, 2022

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