I was always shocked when I went to the doctor's office and they did my X-ray and didn't find that I had eight more ribs than I should have or that my blood was the color green.
quote by Nicolas Cage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Red.
Red, the color of love romance
The color of our hearts.
Red, the color of blood,
My blood coming from where you stabbed me with your dagger.
Red, the color of your evil vile face.
After you realized what you’ve done.
Red, the color on the floor.
From my blood to yours.
poem by Angela Landa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What is the color of love?
What is the color of love?
I'll paint it with RED.
Do you ask me why? Because.....
Red roses are the symbol of love,
Red sunrises are the symbol of life.
What is the color of love?
I think I'll paint it with ORANGE.
I'll give it to you by the segments.
It looks so naive but....
You have to believe.
What is the color of love?
And now I'll paint it with YELLOW.
It's the sunshine of the bright day.
It's the color of flowers in spring.
What is the color of love?
I'll better paint it with GREEN.
'Green grass of home...',
Green leaves, green piece...
What is the color of love?
I think I'll paint it with BLUE.
It's the color of the sky,
It's the color of freedom,
It's the color of seas and oceans
It's the color of the devotions.
What is the color of love?
It is sometimes dark blue
When the ocean is angry
When someone's love is not true.
What is the color of love?
May be it is VIOLETTE?
Don't try to guess
As I'd like here to confess:
It's a RAINBOW!
Larisa R(Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Adventures Of Isabel
Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
Ho, ho, Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.
Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I'll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off.
Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.
poem by Ogden Nash
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Color? (Hope)
what color
was the dust
from which the stars
were made?
what color is the hunger
written on the child's face?
what color is justice,
forgiveness, desire, truth?
what color is the wind....
the rain, gravity,
and knowledge?
what color is equality?
what color is freedom?
what color is eternity?
what color is redemption?
what color is God?
what color were the nails
that hung Jesus on the cross?
what color was enlightenment
falling on the Buddha as he sat
'neath that tree?
what color is prejudice, hatred,
fear, greed, apathy.....
what color your skin?
nay, what color is your blood?
and what color are the eyes
of humanity staring through the darkness?
and what color is hope?
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red.
Red,
The color of blood,
Red,
The color of my tortured bud..
The color of my rose,
The color of my focus,
The color of my arm,
The blood streaming,
Down
Down
I pull my blade upto the little spot I dug,
Make it deeper and longer...
Let's all just start over again.
RED
RED
The color of my broken hearted soul,
RED
RED
The bleeding that I suffice in all words.
In all words.
poem by Cory Burton
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Murder is a Colorful Thing
Red is the color of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Orange is the color of her stained shirt because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Yellow is the color of her shirt before it was stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Green is the color of her stomach as I cut her tummy open through her once yellow shirt stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Blue is the color of the happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Violet is the color of my swollen face from crying under the blue happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Murder is a colorful thing...
poem by Tamara Buengener
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Color
Performed by the steeles
Composed by prince
Color me black if u color me just like u
Color me angry if u color me less than I do
(whoa, whats your color? )
Yeah, whats your color?
(whoa, whats your color? )
Whats your color?
Color me happy if u teach me what I need 2 know
Color me gone if u dont, if u dont cuz every child needs 2 grow
This I know
(whoa, whats your color? )
Oh, whats your color, yeah?
I wanna know
(whoa, whats your color? )
Oh, whats your color?
Listen (listen)
Love is my color when Im shown love in return
But when I am not, its a bet u can guess what I have learned
Whats my color?
Hey
Color me green (color me green) if I cannot have what uve got
Color me blue (blue) until I do cuz the fire will shonuff be hot
Yes it will
(whoa, whats your color? )
Whats your color, yeah?
Hey yeah
(whoa, whats your color? )
Whats your color, yeah?
Oh, make me a promise (make me a promise)
Oh, make me a promise (that whatever u color me) that whatever u color me
U will at least color me then I can color u 2
Whats your color?
(whoa, whats your color? )
Whats your color, yeah?
Hey
Color
(whoa, whats your color? )
Whats your color?
(whoa, whats your color? )
Whats your color, yeah?
Whats your color?
Make it love
Whats your color?
Mine is love
(whoa, whats your color? ) yeah
(whoa, whats your color? )
Whats your color?
(whoa, whats your color? )
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I remember being shocked when I came out from under the focusing cloth after a minute or two being submerged within that, at the startling green color of those ferns.
quote by John Sexton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meaning Of The Rainbow
The rainbow
Red because the blood I see because of you.
Purple from my heart
Orange your favorite color
Green the color of your eyes
Yellow the color of your hair
Blue the color I feel every night
This is the color of my rainbow
The meaning of the rainbow
You use to point at them
And this is what it reminds me of now
when I see the rainbow
I cut when I see red
I let you bruised my heart so my heart is purple
When I see orange I feel hatred
I think green and I want to puke on you
I see blue and start to cry
I see yellow and think about you
So I restart with red over and over again
poem by Baybay Tucker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monroe Louisiana
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
So green, green
Wet-luscious green and alive
So green after the rain
So bright green and clean
Just passing through
On my way to tomorrow
But so green today and yesterday
It was on that stranger's green, green farm
And I didn't stay long
And I didn't expect someone
To fire that shotgun right next to me
The barrel pointed out the front door
Into that green, green world beyond.
There were hot springs
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
Back in 1973.
poem by M.L. Squier
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Prose Poem V
and when she gets home they're painting the shutters green'.
'Green'?
'Yes. Green was her husband's favorite color.He preferred the shutters green. It was the sign she sought'.
'I see', said Eileen, not really thrilled by this example from literature.
'You don't believe it'?
'I have to think about it. It sounds a little hokey.
I tried to appear shocked, but I'm not very good at it.
'I know what you mean', I said simply, remembering my vow.
Eileen looked at her watch. She had a case to shoot. She dismissed me, turned and walked off down the hall, her abrupt departure both relieving and disappointing me. I, too, looked at my watch. The afternoon was early and there was still lots to do.
poem by Robert Dickerson
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A Mixed Breed
I have the blood of a white man,
My papa's blood that is.
I have the blood of a black woman,
My mama's blood that is.
And so my blood is a mixture
Of blood that's hers and his.
It courses through my veins each day
With its color imbed.
And every time I have cut myself
The color of it's red.
Can't tell which is my papa's
Or mama's that I see?
Only thing I really see
Is it doesn't matter to me.
I've been loved by black and white.
I've been hated too.
Sometimes at night while I'm in bed
I wonder when I'm through
Will I be judged by the color of my skin
Which is neither black nor white?
Or the blood that gave to me my life
as I tried to do everything right?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Ballade of the entrepreneur
I
On the way to the office
Jacaranda trees are flowering,
here and there some people stop me
asking for a cigarette,
some want a Rand or two
and the day is very bright after the night of pleasure.
There are smoke fumes curling into the air at Iscor,
a train passes groaning on the track,
while machines are whining unendingly.
The girl at reception smiles at me
and bend over so that I see her well-proportioned breasts
before she blushes,
men with white helmets and white coats
rush into my office
and quickly I give attention to figures and sketches
until everything around us suddenly goes silent,
a thunderous bang whips somewhere in the factory
and somebody screams hysterical
and I run quickly
to where smoke clouds are rising,
where people in confusion are talking.
II
A worker has been killed, has been shocked dead
by a machine of which I had drawn up the plans
and other employees are seperated from him.
Fear cuts right through me
that a medical doctor will have to come
and that I will have to avoid him.
Immediately I make corrections to the machine,
that nobody can lay a finger on me,
before he gets attention and I am calmer
and to his wife I will say that he was stupid,
had gone against guidelines,
did not want to fit into the company’s plans.
The employees are astounded from shock
where they are standing talking
but work on, separated from each other
while ambulance men take the body away
and the doctor and I have a conversation
about negligence and he does not raise any more questions.
That afternoon I drown my worries
at the local pub
and feel weak and tired.
III
The days rush past
while the factory is running well
but in the evenings the killed employee haunts me
until I cannot take it anymore
hear voices, see faces and cut my own wrists
and see blood splashing in all directions.
Where I come to my sense in a mental institution,
people with white jackets gather around me
with their faces hidden behind masks
and other patients are separated from me
where I am tied down to a bed,
before a doctor pushes a lever and I am shocked by electricity
and fear now goes right through me
when some more medical personnel and doctors appear
and I want to avoid them
but get some more electric shocks
and yesterday, the day before that and the other day all evaporate
and I am free of all my worries
and my soul is stripped away,
I scarcely know who and what I am,
when somebody tries to talk to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Nature's Favorite Color
The green foliage is an attractive sight
On the vast landscape on a clear summer day,
As the white daisies gradually unfold along the side
Of a winding roadway that is somber and gray.
It is a picturesque view that one will readily admit,
Blesses the color of green to the greatest height,
And yet it is a scene that enlightens one's mind
With euphoria and great pleasure and delight.
It is not the beauty of the unfolding rose,
Nor the mellow sunflowers near the old mill,
But the color green - Nature's matchless green
On the highlands that gives one a welcomed thrill.
It is beholding of the color of green,
On the growth of leaves on a swaying tree,
And on the landscape far and wide indeed,
As green is Nature's favorite color for all to see.
.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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The Color of the Grave is Green
411
The Color of the Grave is Green—
The Outer Grave—I mean—
You would not know it from the Field—
Except it own a Stone—
To help the fond—to find it—
Too infinite asleep
To stop and tell them where it is—
But just a Daisy—deep—
The Color of the Grave is white—
The outer Grave—I mean—
You would not know it from the Drifts—
In Winter—till the Sun—
Has furrowed out the Aisles—
Then—higher than the Land
The little Dwelling Houses rise
Where each—has left a friend—
The Color of the Grave within—
The Duplicate—I mean—
Not all the Snows could make it white—
Not all the Summers—Green—
You've seen the Color—maybe—
Upon a Bonnet bound—
When that you met it with before—
The Ferret—cannot find—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Color Me
I wish that they would color me
The color of the rose
The color of the spring
Or the color of the snow.
If again they’d color me
The color that I would be
Would be the color I could see
As long as I am free.
As I wish that they would color me
The color of the trees
Or the color of the leaves
And then that color I would be.
I wish that I was a rainbow
With the many colors of the sky
Or the single color of a star
Shimmering in the night.
And if again they would color me
The color that I would be
Would be the color that is me
Is the color that I could see.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Living in Bowling Green (Ghazal)
Excuse me, but my favorite color isn’t green
Even though I live in the city of Bowling Green.
In its history the people played such lively games.
On many sunny days their fun was bowling on the Green.
In his boyhood here there lived a man named Duncan Hines.
One day you might find his colored cakes in Irish green.
Oh yes, this city is the home of the car Corvette.
If it pleases you, you can own one painted blue green.
The school my son attended here was Bowling Green High.
His closest friend in French class was Emily Green.
About once a week I visit our Bowling Green Mall.
There you can plainly see its signs printed all in green.
With pollution and economy the way they are,
I am happy to see the city still going green.
- October 3,2009
Published online Dec.21,2009 by The Ghazal Page in the Color Radif Challenge Issue. Go to: http: //www.ghazalpage.net/
poem by Ben Gieske
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Green Rose
I am a green rose
No one can see me
Because I wont show myself
My real self
All around me are red roses
I am a green rose
Its not impossible to find me
Just try, keep a search
Were am I
Were you can find me
Inside
Not a red rose
I’m a green rose
I’m hard to find
Impossible to think of
Amazing in the inside
Good color
Forget those red roses
I’m a green rose
Different
Different is always better
People like different
Seeing a green rose
Shocks the world
I not like a red rose
Never
Red roses are always the same
Like a clique
There is only one green rose
that’s me
I’m a green rose
Beautiful, Different, Pure Beauty
poem by November Nelson
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My mother did movies from the New Wave, but I was quite shocked I didn't know much about that period. Bernado showed us film of the demonstrations of the time.
The Color Green
One color I do not like is the color green which can stand for envy which to me is an emotion that would make the world a better place if it decided to take a vacation or holiday if you will. But green isn’t all bad it can be merry color like in Christmas green’s partner is red which can stand for the emotion anger or fury depending on what happened. But put emotional meaning aside they can be nice colors.
poem by Ammo Anderson
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