Lawn Boy
Throughout the night
When theres no direct light
And a thin veil of clouds
Keeps the stars out of sight
I can smell the colors
Outside on my lawn
The moist green organic
That my feet tread upon
And the black oleander
Surrounded by blues
Im soon overwhelmed
By olfactory hues
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Stars In The Night
Look, look at the stars
How brilliant they are
How can they be shining now?
When hope is so far
Look, look how they shine
These cruelest of stars
What fire inspires them,
What faith is it fires them?
Darkness grows,the world turns cold
And still, there glows the light
Heaven knows what hope they hold tonight
Look,look how they shine
These stars in the night
The darker the night becomes
The brighter their light becomes
Chill winds wail
The tempest blues
and clouds asail the sky
Through the veil,
The stars refuse to die
In this world of darkest night
Where hope is hurled away
There they are
And still, there's light
Oh,so far, but will they
There they lift our hearts
As we lift our eyes
Are we fools to see
The harmony that fills the sky
Look,there's the light
Stars In The Night
The Stars In The Night
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whisper In The Night!
this world no longer black and white,
maybe it never should have been.
i've always seen colors, and shades,
hints and hues...
people have always been people.
different colors, different faiths,
different thoughts...
all sit down to eat!
love and shelter,
and a loaf of bread.
all whisper in the night,
to lovers and gods.
the sound of the whip
offensive to all!
the smell of sweat and blood,
the sound of bare human feet...
all whisper in the night,
to lovers and demons!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer Dawn.
Come with thy feet to the water, and bathe
Thy beauty here in the stream that will not pass!
The soft green leaves with their shadows swathe
The either bank, and under the ferns and grass
The dreamy crickets chirp in the dewy dawn,
Now that the light of the stars has grown
Into a thin pale mist in the night unknown;
The small birds twitter, whose senses quite
Have not yet out of their dreams withdrawn —
Here where my heart too waits for the light
Under the cloudy hills that soon will run
With bright feet in the ways of the sun,
As if they were but chained to the air:
Come to me now so fresh and fair —
Now that the reign of Sleep is done —
With twinkling feet in the dewy dawn!
O love, as grass comes to the lawn,
As day comes to the East, come thou —
Come to me now!
poem by Robert Crawford
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Van Gogh Nights
The colors of our nights
flow in different hues
blood reds on the satin sheets
deep dark blues of gentle breathing
candle light soothing;
the smells of body scents
and perfume;
August's most heated nights
the sweep of enfolding arms
the over head fan twirls
over gentle writhings
healing tremblings
as we two
spin away into
Perfection's Consumated Dream
where breathless love mates
with sensual overwhelmng
sighs seductive breathings
making it oh so clear
why
we humans were placed here
to make love and children
in the colors of our night
hot pinks
ravishing reds
and deep blues.
I look into your eyes
reflecting back to me
the nights perfection
come real
and if never again
to be seen
this time alone would be enough
to paint Van Gogh
colors and stars
on our bed room ceiling
forever
on this
Starry Starry Night
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Van Gogh Ceilings
The colors of our nights
flow in different hues
blood reds on the satin sheets
deep dark blues of gentle breathing
candle light soothing;
the smells of body scents
and perfume;
August's most heated nights
the sweep of enfolding arms
the over head fan twirls
over gentle writhings
healing tremblings
as we two
spin away into
Perfection's Consumated Dream
where breathless love mates
with sensual overwhelmng
sighs seductive breathings
making it oh so clear
why
we humans were placed here
to make love and children
in the colors of our night
hot pinks
ravishing reds
and deep blues.
I look into your eyes
reflecting back to me
the nights perfection
come real
and if never again
to be seen
this time alone would be enough
to paint Van Gogh
colors and stars
on our bed room ceiling
forever
on this
Starry Starry Night
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aura
The air was dark
The moon was dark
The night was dark
The cloud was dark
The heat was dark
The stars were black
The birds were black
The eyes were black
The shadows were black
The planes were black
A sound of night
The hearts of night
A chase at night
A fall at night
No help at night
The night is night
Where is my sight
I have no sight
Your light was sight
No light no sight
No one in sight
The dark in sight
Don't call my name
What's my name
They call my name
That's not my name
Who said its my name
I have no name
You took my same
It was our same
She was our same
She's now your same
Its all the same
I'm not the same
Judas and my hand
You took my hand
'I do' my hand
You kissed my hand
You broke my hand
You fell my hand
A tear in sand
A heart in sand
A body in sand
Alone in sand
A dust in sand
At home in sand.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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Let Us Speak Of Light And Colors
Let us speak of light and colors
Of ephemeral hues and strident tones
Of luminescence that commands
One's eyes to observe it
Of cobalt blues that morph into ashen grey
That in turn then steals away
Into black…
Soft and sensual as velvet
poem by David Whalen
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The Afterglow
The setting sun's last dying rays
Lay o'er the land a purple haze
And paint with colours - reds and blues,
On rippled waters, dappled hues.
As in the west, gilded with light,
Are laid the shrouds, once clouds so white,
Upon the far horizon bright,
As mourners cloak the dead from sight.
And trees that watch the sinking sun
Know that the night has just begun;
Know that the light of life has ceased,
‘Til born at dawn there in the east.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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CoLoRS
Red, green, and blue
tangerine, orange, and lavander
some colors you see,
around where you are free
black and grey,
you say?
dark it symbolize;
reach the light
to see the prize,
a world full of colors
you may think what a sight!
Aurora Borealis
A crystallization of color spreads from the upper regions of the dark sky towards the trembling nipples of the waves. The feathering fringes of clouds fade behind pillars of green light. Transparent curtains tremble every-where. In the arctic temple, the hidden Samson of light shakes the moon-green pillars of the night.
Color these crystals with sudden blood; it is dawn, or else the last consumptive saliva of the dying day. Heartless hard light!
In the crisp light of the frozen tinkling stars, no waters flow. The ice-stars are icebergs in this black ocean. When the green glass cathedrals crash, the light and the pillars of light and the green pillars of moon-green crystallized light are reflected through space and finally settle like sharp blades above the trembling nipples of the waves.
Samson moves in the glass cathedrals. Samson and the bull and Samson and the sun and the sun is the bull and Samson is the sun and is the bull.
Let crackling twigs of green-white light weave fantastic tree-patterns on the mirror of the sea. Let the deceptive sky celebrate the fall of its ice-cathedrals and its icebergs and its ice-stars when darkness hardens the black waters into the sullen black ice-pack of night.
Red Samson the arctic red sun is moving in the groves of green pillars. There is the red tinge of consumptive blood flickering behind the moon-green glass pillars of light. Blood of red Samson, red blood of Samson, the red thief is sprinkling blood on the slanting pillars of the falling sanctuary of light that is doomed to succumb soon to the black ice-pack of night. Then there will be night and, suddenly thrust into dark night, the red sex of the Samson-sun must later rise out of eastern whiteness and destroy the night.
Then the pillars of the black shattered temple of night glow with a white light and a red light of consumptive blood, but again later comes night then again the same Samson as the temples crash each time when the red thief scatters blood on the pillars of the light or the pillars of the night. And the thief is Samson and the red sun is Samson and Samson is the thief and Samson is the sun.
poem by Edouard Roditi
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Consumed by Love
man when overwhelmed
by love, his eyes are
two moons cruising
through thin veil of clouds
never can you see them clearly
for they shuttle between
desires and reality
trying to rise above the
consuming tide of libido
but never really succeed to
the young woman
overtaken by love
tries to sleep like a log
inundated by her
burning desires
and woven dreams
she wishes night to be day
and day to be night
when she can see
the two pair of eyes she so loves
cruise through her heart
- and swims in them in esctasy
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Words... (I Am)
words...
fall like bombs
on the straw huts
of the soul...
the sky of silence
torn by the colors of noise!
or silent epitaphs,
that only whales understand,
or perhaps elephants...
written on the inside of the turtle's shell.
spoke into being...
or being adorned,
with the trinkets of ownership...
do we choose?
what is language then?
should we ask the trees?
perhaps the mountains will tell.
the rivers only laugh!
does it have a smell?
a taste? a touch?
does it recognize identity?
spoke into being...
are we then spoke into death?
is the veil between paper thin?
is there a veil?
perhaps the only difference
between darkness and light
is vantage point...
where we stand in the shadows!
dogs bark, cats meow...
I Am!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Playing Golf at Midnight
Playing golf in the moonlight,
at midnight, at night, when light
cannot be trusted, when sight
deceives, it can’t be right.
He drives the sphere with the craters
like the moon, white like the moon,
orbiting like the moon; soon
it will collide with grass or sand, and
the black night will swallow the white
moon and the driving sphere
and no one will know where
went the white and where went the black
and why.
And after the ball has divorced its tee
and after the moon laughs
and retires behind the roofs
of the neighborhood houses,
the silence of the green
and the heartbreaking loveliness
of the green emerge and converge
and here in the suburban
wilderness, the only home he has,
he sees for the first time
how clouds absorb
and disperse
the light of the moon.
poem by Sonny Rainshine
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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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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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Evening routine.
A maple tree is glowing red.
Highlighted by the setting sun
A fiery glow that quickly spread
to tint the clouds now day is done.
When day is done before the night
comes to erase the pastel hues.
Which fill the western skies with light.
I watch and glory at the sight.
I watch until the stars appear
as spots of light against the blue.
It is a ritual, I fear
I have become accustomed to.
Then I will take my homeward way.
A peaceful ending to my day.
Wednesday,27 October 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Golden Loom
Smoky autumn night, stars up in the sky,
I see the sailin boats across the bay go by.
Eucalyptus trees hang above the street
And then I turn my head, for youre approachin me.
Moonlight on the water, fishermans daughter, floatin in to my room
With a golden loom.
First we wash our feet near the immortal shrine
And then our shadows meet and then we drink the wine.
I see the hungry clouds up above your face
And then the tears roll down, what a bitter taste.
And then you drift away on a summers day where the wildflowers bloom
With your golden loom.
I walk across the bridge in the dismal light
Where all the cars are stripped between the gates of night.
I see the trembling lion with the lotus flower tail
And then I kiss your lips as I lift your veil.
But youre gone and then all I seem to recall is the smell of perfume
And your golden loom.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
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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Renewal
There must be a death
if there is to be a resurrection;
The demise of something
in part or the whole of:
that portion of one's being...
Only then shall we see
with eyes new as morning's first light.
Only then shall we have
reinvented ourselves:
allow ourselves to take the first steps
laden with amnesia
of the former, forgotten self.
Come and cease to be
and let today bow to the
kiss of tomorrow's promise.
Tread upon the petals of yesterday
and smell the fragrance that
lingers, that solitary spectre,
olfactory memory that words cannot outline.
Wound your forgiveness with the scar of remembrance.
Nothing is as sweet to the lips
than the ashes strewn from the phoenix rising.
poem by Frederick Kesner
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