Where Caddo's Walked
The forest was an insect mix of salad hues
Emerald green, lime, beige and brown
against an upward sky of blue
A canopy of secrets
where copper toned girls whirled
their babes on hips,
and birdsong sang in the treetop tips
Frogs and toads jumped in the streams
flirt chirping sounds exhaled on breeze,
and raven haired ghosts
beat rhythm drum thrones
that begged to suck the life from marrow bones
And then, as dusk began to fade,
into the village, out of the shade
they'd gather as community and feast
murmuring their feathered history
in white tailed tongues
while dancing 'round the fires ring they rung
Then padding back to huts making their fists
to taste a puffy lipped sweet water kiss
and harness dreams while riding in the smoke
chopped down
from mother earths charcoal black oaks
poem by Sara Fielder
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Related quotes
Key Lime Pie
Ocean breeze, tire swing
Coconut fall if you shake that thing
And my, my, my - my key lime pie
Not too tart, not too sweet
My baby loves to watch me eat
Her key lime pie
Her key lime pie
Tall green tree, yellow bird
Bikini bottom and a tie-dyed shirt
And my, my, my - my key lime pie
Big white sail, red sunset
Lobster tail and don't forget
My, my, my - my key lime pie
A six string, ten shots
Of Cruzan rum, hey, I like it a lot
With my, my, my - my key lime pie
Tortola, a full moon
Shining down on a blue lagoon
And my, my, my - my key lime pie
Not too tart, not too sweet
My baby loves to watch me eat
Her key lime pie
Her key lime pie
We got Ginger and Mary Ann
Cookin' up a real good tan
And my, my, my - my key lime pie
Key lime pie, key lime pie
Key lime pie, my my my
My, my, my key lime pie
Key lime pie, key lime pie
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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North and South
O sweet are tropic lands for waking dreams!
There time and life move lazily along.
There by the banks of blue-and-silver streams
Grass-sheltered crickets chirp incessant song,
Gay-colored lizards loll all through the day,
Their tongues outstretched for careless little flies,
And swarthy children in the fields at play,
Look upward laughing at the smiling skies.
A breath of idleness is in the air
That casts a subtle spell upon all things,
And love and mating-time are everywhere,
And wonder to life's commonplaces clings.
The fluttering humming-bid darts through the trees
And dips his long beak in the big bell-flowers,
The leisured buzzard floats upon the breeze,
Riding a crescent cloud for endless hours,
The sea beats softly on the emerald strands--
O sweet for quiet dreams are tropic lands!
poem by Claude McKay
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Sunlight And Sea
Give me the sunlight and the sea
And who shall take my heaven from me?
Light of the Sun, Life of the Sun,
O happy, bold companion,
Whose golden laughters round me run,
Making wine of the blue air
With wild-rose kisses everywhere,
Browning the limb, flushing the cheek,
Apple-fragrant, leopard-sleek,
Dancing from thy red-curtained East
Like a Nautch-girl to my feast,
Proud because her lord, the Spring,
Praised the way those anklets ring;
Or wandering like a white Greek maid
Leaf-dappled through the dancing shade,
Where many a green-veined leaf imprints
Breast and limb with emerald tints,
That softly net her silken shape
But let the splendour still escape,
While rosy ghosts of roses flow
Over the supple rose and snow.
But sweetest, fairest is thy face,
When we meet, when we embrace,
Where the white sand sleeps at noon
Round that lonely blue lagoon,
Fringed with one white reef of coral
Where the sea-birds faintly quarrel
And the breakers on the reef
Fade into a dream of grief,
And the palm-trees overhead
Whisper that all grief is dead.
Sister Sunlight, lead me then
Into thy healing seas again....
For when we swim out, side by side,
Like a lover with his bride,
When thy lips are salt with brine,
And thy wild eyes flash in mine,
The music of a mightier sea
Beats with my blood in harmony.
I breast the primal flood of being,
Too clear for speech, too near for seeing;
And to his heart, new reconciled,
The Eternal takes his earth-bound child.
Who the essential secret spells
In those gigantic syllables,--
Flowing, ebbing, ebbing, flowing,--
Gathers wisdom past all knowing.
Song of the Sea, I hear, I hear,
That deeper music of the sphere,
Catch the rhythm of sun and star,
And know what light and darkness are;
Ay, faint beginnings of a rhyme
That swells beyond the tides of time;
Beat with thy rhythm in blood and breath,
And make one song of life and death.
I hear, I hear, and rest content,
Merged in the primal element,
The old element whence life arose,
The fount of youth, to which it goes.
Give me the sunlight and the sea
And who shall take my heaven from me?
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Blue
Blue, but you are Rose, too,
and buttermilk, but with blood
dots showing through.
A little salty your white
nape boy-wide.Glinting hairs
shoot back of your ears' Rose
that tongues like to feel
the maze of, slip into the funnel,
tell a thunder-whisper to.
When I kiss, your eyes' straight
lashes down crisp go like doll's
blond straws.Glazed iris Roses,
your lids unclose to Blue-ringed
targets, their dark sheen-spokes
almost green.I sink in Blue-
black Rose-heart holes until you
blink.Pink lips, the serrate
folds taste smooth, and Rosehip-
round, the center bud I suck.
I milknip your two Blue-skeined
blown Rose beauties, too, to sniff
their berries' blood, up stiff
pink tips.You're white in
patches, only mostly Rose,
buckskin and saltly, speckled
like a sky.I love your spots,
your white neck, Rose, your hair's
wild straw splash, silk spools
for your ears.But where white
spouts out, spills on your brow
to clear eyepools, wheel shafts
of light, Rose, you are Blue.
poem by May Swenson
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Emerald Green
Emerald green is the colour of life and of the springtime,
Conveying harmony, joie de vivre and most important, love
Emerald green retains its lively vigour all the time
In all nuances, like those wonderful green eyes that rove.
Sunlight dances across the Gulf of Mexico, a lovely place
With emerald green waters and very hot white sand.
Moreover, we see this green in a forest, a darker space,
Or we can see it in the green grass in the Spring land,
A metallic green body with small yellow sweet stripes
And emerald eyes has the Hine’s emerald dragonfly.
Nymphs hatch in marshes high in sedge meadows,
When sheds its skin and emerges an adult to fly.
A mineral emerald green contains the Romanesque murals.
The old Masters used verdigris for them and copper green
To make a deep brown, mixed it with sulfur-containing colors,
Such as cadmium yellow, vermilion or blue-ultramarine.
The green we see in December represents the evergreen tree,
A symbol of life continuing even in that dark day.
We look to the pins and the rhododendrons and we agree
That greenery will return to the world again someday.
The green chosen for the color scheme of Christmas night
Is emerald green, that deep, pure, clear green inside
That seems to shine with light, in the season of white
When there isn't much natural green available outside.
A very ambitious plant is hymenaea courbaril, the tree named Amber
It has the most attractive emerald-green heart shaped leaves.
Like Orchid Tree, so pleasing to the eye with their alluring shimmer.
Lycopersicon esculentum has emerald green tomatoes with dark green stripes.
With this emerald green Van Gogh wanted to paint plastic correctly
Maybe his eyes saw a special nuance, after cutting his ear
He worked alla prima, on to the canvas painting directly
From his imagination and from reality, making the image believable.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Shifting Colors
Washed
the moon
graces dusk
screaming
birds
on the wing
gather
swiftly
descending
black
ink
against
purple sky
spilled
pink blue hues
and shadows
know thy name
poem by Raven Black
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Neighbours you would like to miss
I
The type of whites that camp out
on the sidewalk
frying their barbeque just there
with chops and sausage grilling,
enough for a huge feast,
talking loudly in order to inform
the whole neighbourhood
what they are saying
and with heavy beat music playing, partying
and dancing to early morning light
while their kindergarten kids
are pushing carts up and down
in the street, getting every
dog to bark all night long.
II
A bull of a black man
almost gigantic in size
who uses his pickup
to unload a huge black ox
in his back yard
and then slaughtering the thing
just there with it bellowing
to invite his ancestor ghosts to visit
the neighbourhood and his garden
while a witchdoctor is dancing
around the beast, singing and beating a drum
and then he tries to spit roast it
on a huge fire burning all the meat and inviting a squadron
of minibus taxi drivers to a feast of uneatable charcoal.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Drug Ballad
Back of the building, we're with your friends
Back of the mind, smoke in the air then
Let's clear that up, even if we felt ends
Something these withdrawal pills won't mend
The numb tips when my hands on your hips
The nasty taste on lips, oh how they miss
Your dirty kiss, drugs, love, must mix up rough.
Oh princess, you can keep all that stuff
Smell of the haze, reminds me of my dad
Slowly no haste, do it till I don't feel my hands
I can't feel my face, don't stop till I can't stand
Give me that slutty taste, show your friends...that I'm a man
Snow the white, burn the smoke, just to start, dropp the spheres
It isn't right, down the throat, cut the heart with your spears
Bite my lips, I just might back
We're so lit, let's come back
Numb those hips, break that back
Drug ballad, dancing with you
Drug ballad, even though it's threw
Drug ballad, dream of it, oh yes I do
Drug ballad, I know you do too
poem by Freddy Ibarra
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Song of songs
It’s early morning
and the sun hangs like a large orange
Just above the hillocks
Three teenage girls
undress at the clear water
of a Brooklet.
The are shy for others,
but like to bathe together and walk
with bare feet into the rocky little stream.
Everyone of them is still young and pure
and splash and frolic while the sun
shines hotter and brighter.
The water is still cold
and their nipples are hard and black
on their round breasts.
While they wash each other
it sparkles shiny and rows of drops
are on their brown skins
The water runs of in little streams
down arms, stomachs, hips and thighs
and they stand and talk and laugh.
Something quivers in the reeds where is grows in a thicket
deep into the stream and they see
a dark green water monitor going into the water.
They run screaming and stark naked
and try without any clothes, to get direction
to the shacks of the village where they stay.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Muse on Memes (Larmer Tree July 2007)
When the drum beat pounds and the night explodes
And the music sounds through a humming crowd.
There’s a flash of red from your dancing head
And big brown boots couldn’t give a cahoots!
‘cos she’s “always dancing, always dancing”.
There’s a soulful lyric, or a sax solo
And a birdsong mimic or a mobile phone
In her own space, in her own time
Fire in her face proud ‘cos she’s ‘mine’.
Professional shimmy to eclipse my stomp
Longing for to gimme a hop, skip and romp.
Freedom of spirit - fly, fly away
Up above the limit, dance another day
There’s a flash of red
From your dancing head
And big brown boots
Couldn’t give a cahoots!
‘cos she’s “always dancing, always dancing”.
July 2007
poem by Colin Phillimore
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Battleground
Black nigger white nigger standing in the dark
Listen to the rhythm of the bass boom
Black nigger takes a hit sending up a spark
In the dark heat
Swaying a little to the bass beat
White nigger takes a hit takes money out
Says this is what its all about
Rots your brain - who cares
Black nigger stares
White nigger sighs
I like your music
I like your style
I crack a joke so why dont you smile
White nigger dancing out on the floor tonight
The bands not good but the beat seems right
The bands all black and the floors all white
Clenching fists unite and fight
Rock agianst racism rules tonight
But in the real world
No-one rules
But fists are clenched all right
Down in the underground
Out in the playground
The common ground
Is a battleground
Now you dont have to be black to be a nigger no more
The writings on the wall
Say - black is power
White is flower
Diveded we fall
And behind the wall
Behind the door,
In the dark heat
In the rhythm of the bass beat
Something is wrong
And no-one is taking the blame
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Shall Return
I shall return again; I shall return
To laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyes
At golden noon the forest fires burn,
Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies.
I shall return to loiter by the streams
That bathe the brown blades of the bending grasses,
And realize once more my thousand dreams
Of waters rushing down the mountain passes.
I shall return to hear the fiddle and fife
Of village dances, dear delicious tunes
That stir the hidden depths of native life,
Stray melodies of dim remembered runes.
I shall return, I shall return again,
To ease my mind of long, long years of pain.
poem by Claude McKay
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Into White
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice
Tables of paper wood, windows of light
And everything emptying into white.
A simple garden, with acres of sky
A brown-haired dogmouse
If one dropped by
Yellow delanie would sleep well at night
With everything emptying into white.
A sad blue eyed drummer rehearses outside
A black spider dancing on top of his eye
Red legged chicken stands ready to strike
And everything emptying into white.
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice...
And everything emptying into white
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Wonderful Painting
A Wonderful Painting
by Alex Lewis
I remember before my mother's art
When I was but an egg.
The painting took color in every part.
One shade is but a leg.
The lavish blues spread across the page like a waving, smiling sea.
The canvas was plain and bare, except the blues, happily set free.
With the blue, I went to play as childish as I may.
The one clam and I sat with ourselves on the whaling bay.
This is me, like a leaf, on my first day at green.
So, all the others spoke; I found that none were mean.
There were dark greens, light ones, and one stuck in the middle.
After math, my friend and I learnt to play the fiddle.
My friend and I continued to play our little tune.
We soon fell in pink to which neither one was immune.
Our pink grew and grew as each day had passed.
Green had ended blue; only pink would last.
We took our pink and ran right through to angry, waiting brown.
Brown was angry for making him wait with a black-white frown.
We explained that blue made us wait for an azure set of eighteen.
He forgave us. My friend, brown, pink, and I live for only one team.
We decided to get the canvas and add a dash of white.
Pink was overwhelmed as white carried on through the love-filled night.
We can add white to family before blue decides to return again.
Red will also join the painting party-Another eighteen before men!
It took a lot of work to make my dear reds come.
I enjoyed the work, but my reds were way more fun.
One red stayed with us, but the other ran away rather young.
Maybe brown kidnapped him early, but strange words travel by tongue.
We turned grey as brown dimmed down, but we swear we've never seen pink more bright!
Brown had completely gone, like both of our reds, but pink still made things light.
I then feared and cried as my pink's grey burned out like a setting sun.
My grey began to fade too, but I was ready. My life was done.
My mother handed me the canvas and the frame,
But I had to add all the colors (none I showed for shame) .
Blue, green, pink, brown, red, grey-my portrait is made of those colors,
But I am just one piece in a gallery, and all of you are the others.
poem by Alex Lewis
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Reveries of an Imaginary Landscape No.12 - Morning with Water
White mist
hiding the brownish patches of trees
looking upward the canopy scrumptious, vivacious
The air
cold at first
fresh, invigorating
Cool red earth
pitted and smooth, damp and vibrant
silky red flowers and burgeoning patches of green and blue
The sun
blasting, rippling through the canopy
bright dancing shadows on the red, red earth
Running water
clear, warm, from a steamy spring
shiny droplets dripping
poem by Timothy Marshal Nichols
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There Were Late Afternoons As A Child
There were late afternoons when as a child
I would see the tall popular trees
making the pale blue sky seem much higher
where they grew next to the old farm dam
with there branches whispering
in the early night breeze,
with doves and finches calling
from their nests in the shelter of these trees,
when an early moon would appear
and the evening star would suddenly start twinkling
blue-white in its sheer brightness against a darker blue sky,
like a mother goose leading all of the other stars.
There were early evenings when the sun
died with its deep red glow touching
the hillocks that were covered in sugar bushes,
and red flowering aloes,
when the scent of protea flowers was sweet on the air,
when blue changed to darker black,
when darkness came suddenly
and a myriad of stars sparkled all over the sky
while in the distance fires came to life
at the rural mud huts, while jackals
and dogs started to howl at the bright yellow moon,
while I knew that mother would be home soon.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Were Late Afternoons
There were late afternoons when as a child
I would see the tall popular trees
making the pale blue sky seem much higher
where they grew next to the old farm dam
with there branches whispering
in the early night breeze,
with doves and finches calling
from their nests in the shelter of these trees,
when an early moon would appear
and the evening star would suddenly start twinkling
blue-white in its sheer brightness against a darker blue sky,
like a mother goose leading all of the other stars.
There were early evenings when the sun
died with its deep red glow touching
the hillocks that were covered in sugar bushes,
and red flowering aloes,
when the scent of protea flowers was sweet on the air,
when blue changed to darker black,
when darkness came suddenly
and a myriad of stars sparkled all over the sky
while in the distance fires came to life
at the rural mud huts, while jackals
and dogs started to howl at the bright yellow moon,
while I knew that mother would be home soon.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Jay
I was pegging out your lime-green dress;
you were hoping the last of the sun
might sip the last few beads of drip-dry water
from its lime-green hem.
I had a blister-stigmata the size of an eye
in the palm of my hand
from twisting the point of a screw
into the meat of the house. Those days. Those times.
The bird was crossing the gravel path
in the style of a rowing boat crossing dry land.
Struck with terror when I held it tight
in the gardening-gloves of humankind, we saw for ourselves
the mouse-fur face and black moustache,
the squab of breastmeat under its throat,
the buff-brown coat and blue lapels,
the painted inside of its mouth,
the raw, umbilical flute of its tongue
sucking hard at the sky for the taste of air.
Setting it free, it managed no more than a butterfly stroke
to the shade of the unnamed tree, where we let it be.
They say now that the basis of life
in the form of essential carbon deposits
could have fallen to earth as a meteorite, or comet,
and that lightning strikes from banks of static
delivered the spark that set life spinning. It's a beginning.
But the three-letter bird was death, death thrown in from above,
death as a crash-brained, bone-smashed, cross-feathered bullet,
so we could neither kill it nor love it.
poem by Simon Armitage
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Robin
Robin and Robin!
Come to my cabin.
We can play in
With fuss and fun.
You can fly being gay
And catch insect prey.
As you like you play:
I won’t be in the way.
A beauty is your tail.
How ably you waggle!
When in air you sail
You are not fragile.
When you sing a song,
By your tail you clang.
You hold it upright,
Swing it down to spread
And gather it up
Like a drum beat,
Much in a rhythm
To your crooning rhyme.
Black in white is good.
White in black is good.
You’re black and white
And are superbly bright.
Chest and dorsal are black.
Ventral is velvet white.
Wings too bear white
You are white by black.
Koel like is Latha;
You are my Asha,
With look seductive
And voice captive.
You are nice to sing..
You’re nicer by wing.
Love, can you spring?
I love you, Robin.
With me, you are free.
Anytime you can flee.
I make you happy
When you are with me.
Don’t feel it a sin
To be with me in.
You will have fun,
Which is your win
Robin and Robin!
Come to my cabin.
I’ll play a tune.
You rest and preen.
28.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Pike
In the brown water,
Thick and silver-sheened in the sunshine,
Liquid and cool in the shade of the reeds,
A pike dozed.
Lost among the shadows of stems
He lay unnoticed.
Suddenly he flicked his tail,
And a green-and-copper brightness
Ran under the water.
Out from under the reeds
Came the olive-green light,
And orange flashed up
Through the sun-thickened water.
So the fish passed across the pool,
Green and copper,
A darkness and a gleam,
And the blurred reflections of the willows on the opposite bank
Received it.
poem by Amy Lowell
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