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Charcoal Night
On a charcoal night the owl calls.
On a charcoal night wolves sharpen their claws.
On a charcoal night children shake with fear.
The charcoal night is growing near.
On a charcoal night the demon dogs sing.
On a charcoal night the little stars gleam.
On a charcoal night the air goes cold.
The nightmares and stories are always told.
On a charcoal night wolves wet their fangs.
On a charcoal night the owls call rang.
On a charcoal night the beasts are out.
On a charcoal night this is their town.
On a charcoal night lock up the doors.
On a charcoal night don't sleep on the floors.
On a charcaol night say good bye to those dear.
Because the charcaol night is finally hear.
poem by Okami Kamikaze
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Charcoal
Charcoal is an impure substance
Called bone-black.
Of the animals is this charcoal
And we ascertain longevity
By heating the way of life.
Upon its character we find no smoke or flame,
Merely the rigidity of a fireplace,
Hotter than relics or artifacts.
Burning one way and another.
Burning again, like charcoal.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Inspired by Issa - morning charcoal fire
morning charcoal fire
excitements of the new day
in the fiery sparks
morning charcoal fire
embers' sparks spread
excitements for the new day
morning charcoal fire
sparks greet and give
way to the new day
morning charcoal fire
first the sparks
then the warm new day
inspired by
morning's charcoal fire-
the mountain's pine breeze
wafting by
-Issa,1813
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Like Any Other Color
This is no joke
This is no egg-yoke
Black is not like any other color
Black has its unique beauty
Its own charm and splendor
It is the color of the reality
It is the absence of the sun
It is the exile of the moon
Black is the last color
That we will see before crossing the border.
Black can be positive
Or negative
Depending on someone’s perception
Interest or observation
Because of ignorance
And lack of experience
Many neophytes unfortunately use that color
As a scapegoat, as a traitor
Who can stab in the groin or in the back
Charcoal is black, coffee is black.
At times, it may not be apparent
Black is beautiful and different
It is the color of the night
It is the absence of light
It is the last color
That we will see before crossing the border
Where no color exists afterwards
Where there are no sounds, no words
No opinions, no aroma and no prejudice
There live absolute serenity and peace.
poem by Hebert Logerie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Art is accusation, expression, passion. Art is a fight to the finish between black charcoal and white paper.
Gunter Grass in The Tin Drum (1959)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Michelle
I am as black as the charcoal,
And you are as white as the milk;
But i will drink the juice of your love like the panda bear.
What can i say about black and white?
For my grandmother was a Scottish and my father is an African;
And like the exploration of Christopher Columbus in the lands of America!
El Mina,
Like the code of my life to share my love with you;
For i am Michelle and i know my ways in the bush,
But the ship of love landed in my village.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Poem That Morphed Me
Charcoal black the sky
Tickling the breeze.
I morph into
A fragile rain-drop
I morph into
A delicate sapling
and
I morph into
A dancing peacock
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Utencils
Pencil, pen, charcoal, graphite, i can use whatever utencil
I want to write ' rhymes so slick'
I could write a lymric in skilcraft or a sonnet with bic
And if you want to learn how come close, Ill show ya
This is the beginners lesson, grab yourself a #2 ticonderoga
get your piece of paper, some lines to lay on
Maybe at the end draw a picture with your favorite colour crayon
You see im an artist, what i do is compose art
My first set of colored pencils: 12 pack of roseart
But no matter the tool, graphite charcoal pen or pencil
Ill try to make art with any utencil
poem by Jason Murak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black and White
Black and White By Dilantha Gunawardana
A story in black and white
Black and white;
Black in white; perhaps black on white;
White embedded in black;
Black around white, sprinkle or a speckle even a trickle;
Shadows on the porch on an eerie white night;
A piano keyboard, intertwined in ebony and white;
A checker or a droughts board or lofty chess pieces;
Black stallions and white mares;
All galloping in the pursuit of unending happiness;
A flow of nimbus with a speckle of cumulus;
Showers of blessings, black rain and even snow and hale;
The smog that kisses the snow flake clouds;
Chimneys and embers inside snowy winter bungalows;
We begin in ashes, black residual ashes;
Connected to a white umbilical cord;
We are born white, virgins in every sphere of life;
Then we learn of the agony of the ebony;
Even the bright light of white, even white water that softens our stance;
Criss-cross, diagonal, straight or in jumps in the many paths of life;
Life, a game of chess, as we sprinkle our lives with black and white;
And in the end, we are left with nothing but black and white;
A powdered white peau against the back dropp of a charcoal black suit
In an ebony coffin, with white shimmering handles
Then we burn in to ashes, residual embers
Ashes to ashes, powder of our existence
Black and white;
Our true essence of life.
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Night Air
Florence
the stilt-walkers
dipped with the moon
under the arch of Constantoun
out of step
and out of time
from a woodcut
charcoal-black cartoon
stamping stumps
around a square
rooked and prawned
for a restaurateur
advertised
got board with fare
and in stilted lingo
from high in the air
extolled the pizzeria there
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Asphalt
We're charcoal black and under the cruel burning Sun
We melt with gravel and make you a smooth surface road.
You accelerate like jets your boisterous proud vehicles
Hit poor souls on the way and run away to hell or paradise
With an Angel face
Only white God knows?
* 'You are rewarding a teacher poorly if you remain a pupil.'
-Friedrich Nietzsche
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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All The Brazilian Souls
ALL
The Brazilian
Souls
Are now on fire
And the fire
Had burned
All the
Brazilian souls
Living them
Black like charcoal
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Storm, Momentary, Forever
Then summer said goodbye
to the station. Lifting its cap,
the thunder took souvenirs,
hundreds of shots on the fly.
The lilac went black. And that
instant, gathering whole armfuls
of lightning, the far clearing lit
the white station-master’s shack.
And when the whole roof ran
with a fierce torrent of malice,
and, like charcoal onto a sketch,
the rain crashed down on the fence,
consciousness started to flash,
here, it seems, flooding in play
even the corners of mind
where it’s always bright as day.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Abracadabra
I seem to spell different words in a way,
These signs are mine, too far away;
Financial worries belittle my blackened life,
Hosing the forest of black and brown so lowlife.
The charcoal in the upper eye contains my vengeance,
Continually it spurts danger at my absence.
Ghosts of coal do demonise the layers in my fabric
Animated by artists that aren’t academic.
My spell of magic and allurement amounts to weakness
Of the animal in me, it is my meekness.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Black And Red
Black and Red
The colours of dead
Black and Red
The colours of my bed.
Black and Red
swirling in my head
Black and Red
Killing my brov Ted.
BLACK AND RED
Black and Red
Colours that spread
Black and Red
The patterned thread.
Black and Red
The voices said
Black and Red
I Iove eating bread
Black and Red
My favourite colours till the end.
poem by Carniz Fatema
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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black RESPECT
Black shoes,
black suits,
black sandals
black you,
black specs,
black life,
black faces,
black casket dropped deep the dark grave,
Red ribbons,
red lights,
red flowers,
red wine.
Hearse sirens
wailing women,
Black speeches,
Blackened praises, all in all they call it the last respect
poem by Joub kahuria
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To The Hand Painter Who Goes Offline When I Go Online
i lied
when i said i like your painting
it is a pity
no one
buys it.
the truth is
what i saw in that canvass
was a man deprived of happiness
craving for
sex
but cannot simply accept
that his body
needs it
warmth is not all jacket
it is better
done with skin
to skin
inside a room where you are naked
and so private
with another body looking for that much
needed intimacy
in the middle of this city where
indifference
seems to be the mother of mankind.
i wish sometimes that you better
do a portrait of yourself
in black
and while
sketches
from a sharp charcoal
on a
very white and thick
canvass.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You can not write in the chimney with charcoal.
You cannot write in the chimney with charcoal.