Mediterranean
1
A bright red boat
Yellow capsicums
Blue fishing nets
Ochre fort walls
2
Sahar’s silk blouse
gold and sheer
Her dark black
kohl-lined lashes
3
A street child’s
brown fists
holding the rainbow
in his small grasp
4
My lost memory
white and frozen
now melts colour
ready to refract.
poem by Sudeep Sen
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Related quotes
Incantation
A white well
In a black cave;
A bright shell
In a dark wave.
A white rose
Black brambles hood;
Smooth bright snows
In a dark wood.
A flung white glove
In a dark fight;
A white dove
On a wild black night.
A white door
In a dark lane;
A bright core
To bitter black pain.
A white hand
Waved from dark walls;
In a burnt black land
Bright waterfalls.
A bright spark
Where black ashes are;
In the smothering dark
One white star.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Our flag is red, white and blue, but our nation is a rainbow - red, yellow, brown, black and white - and we're all precious in God's sight.
quote by Jesse Brown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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Repetition
Johnny is a man
And hes bigger than you
But his overheads are high
And he looks straight through when you ask him how the kids are
Hell get home around seven
cause the chevys real old
And he could have had a cadillac
If the school had taught him right
And he could have married anne with the blue silk
Blouse
He could have married anne with the blue silk blouse
And the food is on the table
But the food is cold
Dont hit her
Cant you even cook?
Whats the good of me working when you cant damn cook?
Well johnny is a man
And hes bigger than her
I guess the bruises wont show
If she wears long sleeves
But the space in her eyes shows through
And he could have married anne with the blue silk blouse
He could have married anne with the blue silk blouse
Shows through
Shows through
Shows through
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Yellow Rainbow
Way way up way up in the sky
I am sitting on a rainbow
Holding tight so I won't slide
I am sitting on a yellow rainbow
Yeah my baby
It is a yellow rainbow
There is no green
There is no red
There is no blue
Purple or any other hue
Yet it is a rainbow
A rainbow of seven yellow stripes...
Nahh dont let me slide
Dont let me fall
Keep me up there
Way way up up in the sky
Atop my rainbow
With seven yellow stripes....!
[To YeLlow GirL.... for painting my world YeLlow...]
poem by Rowving Smith
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Friend named Sahar
O, dear Sahar, Sahar, < Sahar
You are so close still very far
I can't reach you by car
Bur I can see you in bright star
I can’t hear your voice in ear
You can' be seen throughout the year
I still feel you are here
Your fading memory bring in tears
I enjoy and don’t fear
I love to last with and bear
You breathe slowly but I feel it near
Is it so because you are so dear?
You are like upcoming star
You may shine from distance and look very far
It may matter very less or nothing
I find your message encouraging and something
Listen to what others say
You may find the way
I remember Sahar from that very day
She came to me in the form of ray
She was thousands of miles away and opposite the bay
What a memorable exchange it was on that day?
I would love to cherish in golden memory
It will bring on fore all cheers and no sorry
I may not see Sahar again or be able to find
Gesture on her part find unique and kind
You had put your little step just forward
I always prayed you should never fall backward
I see in Sahar bright future and reward...
I have nothing but few words as award
I feel so much warmth and great feeling
I wish her poetic skill to reach new scaling
*S A H A R …is..emerging poetess
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Scene In A Little Town
the sky is white
the sea is blue like silk
on the sea three fishermen
pull their net
their boat is small
and wooden
on the sandy beach
a child plays with his white dog
how peaceful is this place
how wonderful is this life!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our flag is red, white and blue, but our nation is a rainbow-red, yellow, brown, black and white-and we're all precious in God's sight.
quote by Jesse Louis Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black And White
He painted a picture all white and black
because in his life all color did he lack.
He lacked the yellow of the sun each day
for the sun had never come his way.
He lacked the green of fresh green grass
for the cement of the city he couldn't get past.
He lacked the blue of the sky above
for no one had ever shown him love.
He lacked the red that the rose did give
for no roses grew where he did live.
He lacked all color from his sight.
All he knew was black and white.
The picture he painted could never tell
of how his life became a living hell.
He'd lost his sight when he was three
and the colors were a lost memory.
His sole memory was of dark and light,
night being dark, day being white.
And now he created art to define
everything that was in his mind.
But beauty came from the paint he used.
The black and white became infused
with the extracted senses of who he was,
a man filled with passion for what he does.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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White And Black
He painted a picture all white and black
because in his life all color did he lack.
He lacked the yellow of the sun each day
for the sun had never come his way.
He lacked the green of fresh green grass
for the cement of the city he couldn't get past.
He lacked the blue of the sky above
for no one had ever showed him love.
He lacked the red that the rose did give
for no roses grew where he did live.
He lacked all color from his sight.
All he knew was black and white.
The picture he painted could never tell
of how his life was a living hell.
He'd lost his sight when he was three
and the colors were a lost memory.
His sole memory was of dark and light,
night being dark, day being white.
And now he created art to define
everything that was in his mind.
But beauty came from the paint he used.
The black and white became infused
with the extracted senses of who he was,
a man filled with passion for what he does.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Black, White Or Coloured
I was born black and you were born white or coloured;
But we all came from the lovely hands of the Creator,
Because the Creator loves colours!
And like the muse of the rainbow seen across the sky.
I am always black! !
In the sun, in sickness and even when i die;
But the Creator made it so,
And i will be buried as a black when i die.
You were born white or coloured,
But you came out of the womb with the colour of the rose!
And you became whit eor coloured in the process of your growth,
But you are always blue when it is cold.
You do turn green when there is fear in your eyes!
But yellow when you are sick;
And like the various colours of the rainbow as seen across the sky,
But you will be grey when you die.
This shows that i am always black from birth to death,
But you do have various colours to satisfy your muse like the rainbow;
So you are more coloured than i am in this life,
And we all know the reality of these facts on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Rainbow Tears
Through rainbow tears I see love's true colors
Shining bright amongst them above all others...
Red, Green, Yellow, violet and blue...
All these beautiful colors I now see in you.
Love is my pot of gold,
Forever within my grasp
All I need are open eyes
And a map to complete this task.
And the storm will come of this we know
And darkness soon calls the show
Around me a rainbow of tears have spent.
My pot of gold to you have went.
And miracle is the day I found
My rainbow tears scattered upon the ground
My heart forever now is glad
Leaving room for light to replace the sad.
And to the dearest most sacred spot
My rainbow tears your hand has caught.
In this bond we shall forever rest.
Two souls combined for the rainbow test.
Copyright 2006 A.J. McKinley
poem by A.J. McKinley
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Choose Your Color
I will paint the walls blue
Blue is calm, blue is power
Blue is the color of tranquility
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the ceiling green
Green is healthy, green is peace
Green makes time move faster
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the floor red
Red is fire, red is danger
Red is the symbol of passion
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the sky purple
Purple is sad, purple is gloomy
Purple is the color of romance
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the tree black
Black is fear, black is death
Black is the symbol of grief
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the street yellow
Yellow is happy, yellow is fresh
Yellow is the color of sunshine
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the fence orange
orange is wisdom, orange is wealth
Orange is the color of success
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint everything white
White is good, white is pure
White is the color of faith
Have you seen my colors yet?
(August 16th,2006)
poem by Christopher G. Turner
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I Colour My World
Within the colours of this day--
I find myself recounting the days gone by...
Cherishing every blessed memory...
While gazing at the sky upon high;
I colour myself a warm shade of pink...
As i reminisce over past glorious time...
I colour myself red-with a love memory-in my head-
All collected together and written in rhyme;
I colour myself various shades of blue...
In remembering the loss and sorrows of my past...
That took a large part-of my heart...
These memories ever-engrained to last;
I colour my memories a bright yellow...
As i bask in reminders of my days 'neath the sun...
Happiness back then-and the where and the when...
All-a multi-shade of ONE!
I colour myself a rainbow...
A full spectrum of the shades of yore...
I am embraced in their true brillance--
From this day to the days of long before! ;
June 3,2010
The Essence
poem by Theodora Onken
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A Blind Child's Plea
What is the colour of the wind, Daddy?
Said the child so small
What is the colour of the wind?
For i can't see it at all
It is the colour of freedom, my child
Said the man to his son
It is the colour of all
The specks of light in the rainbow
That is the colour of the wind
What else, Daddy? What else?
Begged the child
Explain to me more
For you can see what i can not
The sun
The sea
The Earth
And more
It is the colour of beauty
Of peace and light
It is the colour of love
And of day and of night
It feels so free
Said the child
With arms outstreached
I never would have guessed
The colour of the wind
It is the colour you want it to be
And it doesn't matter if you can't see
For the wind is your friend
And you alone
Know the colours of the wind.
poem by Lucy Westmacott
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The Colours
a rainbow has many colours which mean different things,
to different poeple,
red could mean love or danger,
yellow could mean the summer sun that rises,
pink could mean that they are happy,
green could mean the colour of the leaves on a tree,
orange could mean the atumn days or the sunset,
purple could mean peace and harmony,
blue could mean sadness or the colour of the sea,
so the next time you see a rainbow take a look and,
think what it means to you,
allow yourself time to remember the happy days that you,
have had,
your future could be as bright as the rainbow,
you have seen,
poem by Sharron Stephenson
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JAZZ and RAINBOWS
What is Jazz - What is a Rainbow?
You can ask the questions - don't expect answers
Jazz is free and yet constrained
Rainbows come and go as they please
Jazz is wild and yet restrained
Rainbow can't exist without rain
Jazz is open and yet contained
Rainbows always have red at the top
Jazz is unscored and yet maintained
Rainbows can be single - double - triple
Just as Jango Rheinhardt said to Segovia
Senor it ees all in ze 'ed
The same is true of rainbows
Zey are all inside my 'ed!
It takes all the colours of pure white sound
To create jazz.
It takes all the colours of pure white light
To create a rainbow.
Jazz and rainbows operate on the same principle
In jazz the tone colours are separated by the players
In a rainbow the visible colours are separated by a raindrop
Jazz and rainbows are boh equally beautiful.
After the rain there are stll some drops in the atmosphere
They refract the white light into R O Y G B I V,
In the same way the 'Jazz Combo' is able to dissect.
The white sound of music is disected by the musicains
On a sunny day - the white light hits the raindrop
The colours are dispersed forming the rainbow.
In jazz - each member if the Combo has a colour!
The double bass has red - the saxaphone is orange!
The percussion is yellow - the brass is green
The clarinet is blue - trhe banjo is indigo
The guitar is violet and the piano is striped!
The combo plays and whiite sound is re-produced.
Because we are humans our senses of life are acute.
Our eyes for colour and our ears for sound.
The quality of this provision enables us to distinguish colour
And to distinguish between all the tones and semi-tones.
So next time you see a rainbow - think jazz
And the rainbow will dance for you
Next time you hear some jazzy jazz - think rainbow
And the tone colours of the jazz will spring out at you.
(John Knight - Colchester - October 2009)
poem by John Knight
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Warning to Children
Children, if you dare to think
Of the greatness, rareness, muchness
Fewness of this precious only
Endless world in which you say
You live, you think of things like this:
Blocks of slate enclosing dappled
Red and green, enclosing tawny
Yellow nets, enclosing white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where a neat brown paper parcel
Tempts you to untie the string.
In the parcel a small island,
On the island a large tree,
On the tree a husky fruit.
Strip the husk and pare the rind off:
In the kernel you will see
Blocks of slate enclosed by dappled
Red and green, enclosed by tawny
Yellow nets, enclosed by white
And black acres of dominoes,
Where the same brown paper parcel -
Children, leave the string alone!
For who dares undo the parcel
Finds himself at once inside it,
On the island, in the fruit,
Blocks of slate about his head,
Finds himself enclosed by dappled
Green and red, enclosed by yellow
Tawny nets, enclosed by black
And white acres of dominoes,
With the same brown paper parcel
Still untied upon his knee.
And, if he then should dare to think
Of the fewness, muchness, rareness,
Greatness of this endless only
Precious world in which he says
he lives - he then unties the string.
poem by Robert Graves
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Night was coming
Night was coming
with a piercing huge orange sun
breaking through
white and black clouds
in the west.
It found a gap
and the sun was hanging
like a orange ball
above the street
and it was blinding.
Cars passed barely visible
above the orange glare
and some had already
turned their lights on.
The sun dipped down
below some trees
and for a time
it glowed behind them
and soon it would be dark
and the first stars
were already appearing
and a full yellow moon
was rising,
but below bright lights
was already burning
right across the city
in colours of amber
streetlights
green, yellow and red
traffic lights,
blue lights flashing
on police cars
and almost every bright colour
caught on neon signs
while people came and went
to different destinations
some smiling and relaxed,
others in a hurry
and some others
locked in a world of their own.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fishing On The Susquehanna In July
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.
Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure -- if it is a pleasure --
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one --
a painting of a woman on the wall,
a bowl of tangerines on the table --
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.
There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,
rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.
But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia,
when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend
under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandana
sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.
That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.
Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,
even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame.
poem by Billy Collins
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