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Ian K Mar 17
Everywhere I could be
your scent persists.
Vibrant.
Brissiling.
Blooming        out
to the edge of sight.
This bed of flowers that follows.
What fragrant colors
fill my day: Platinum, pale gold, indigo
as you linger on me,
rested in rich black
soil. So familiar
it seems a mirage.
I never cared for green,
For I was not a camera lens.
A colour, everywhere seen,
Making the environment intense.

In every scene, every shade,
I now find a glimpse of you.
Distances begin to fade,
When I feel the emerald view.

Now, I see it everywhere—
in the way ivy clings despite the weight,
in storms, and nowhere
Resting in its own shade.

I never knew I'd like green,
Til you showed it so serene.
I received a green heart!!!!
🍏 MEAN GREEN 🍏
like a
🍏 GRANNY SMITH APPLE 🍏
as GREEN as LIMES,
EMERALDS, and GRASS,
FROG'S 🐸, and GRASSHOPPERS 🦗,
need you even ask!!!
GREEN like MONEY 💰,
a lot to be seen,
GREEN GRAPES, GREEN SNAKES,
GREEN, GREEN, GREEN,
GREEN WITH ENVY,
Don't you agree???
GREEN LIKE A SHAMROCK,
🍀ST. PATRICK'S DAY 🍀,
🍀 CLOVERS 🍀 are GREEN,
NO PINCHING ME TODAY,
GREEN was created by:
YELLOW and BLUE,
GREEN is NATURE,
VIBRANT
and TRUE,
If the saying
is true and
it does apply,
THAT THE GRASS IS ALWAYS
GREENER ON
THE OTHER SIDE,
GREEN IS DELIGHTMENT,
GREEN IS EXCITEMENT,

🍏🐸🦗🍀THIS IS MEAN GREEN🍀🦗🐸🍏!!!!


B.R.
Date: 3/8/2025
Gideon Mar 8
Red is for roses,
Or so they say.
But roses are green too,
At the end of the day.

Why focus on flowers,
Temporary, fragile?
When instead there are thorns,
Durable, agile.

Think about it really,
What is red giving?
For green is still lovely,
Lively and living!

Green holds pine needles,
Oak leaves, and ferns.
Red holds hot fire,
All that does is burns!

Why flare up in moments?
Why flare up at all?
When you can be a constant,
Like a bright green moss wall.

Ever growing, ever changing,
But never erased.
Doesn’t that sound much better
Than a love laid to waste?

It soaks in the power
And warmth from above.
Yes, green is ideal.
The true color of love.
Amir Murtaza Feb 9
The house at the corner of the street,
with its striking red and green windows,
stands out.

An old neem tree still stands tall.
A few years ago, the place was filled with plants and flowers,
and I even noticed butterflies fluttering around.
But now, all the plant life has dried up—
there’s no water to sustain them.
neth jones Jan 29
arthritis tippled wooden relief    plugged in a bed of mud
the leaves that decay to its side                                   
                          comp­liment the carved ones that feather the face
but it is creaked   crevice and sinuous  
  a kind crumpled face  or maybe a stern  yet approving  parent mask
two seasons of weathering                                                    
  ­                            withered   saturated and withered again      
this self unearthing
worth moulded from
the decaying green man
reapplying  for a creative birth
for a visit  on the Autumn hearth
filling in its ****** details     with broken and discarded
school yard pencils   scudded over litter  and mud
soon to be worshiped again...
would settle for a respectful gift        from a child

for all his wonders in spring                                            
              ­                  he has envied the witness of harvest
but attention goes to other gods

he pouts  out of season     for no one here  greets him
Traveler Jan 27
The detachment is necessary
In refusal of pain I rest
I cleverly disassociate
From everybody’s death’s

Don’t look for me at funerals
I’ve no need for grim reaper’s grief
I’ll stay out here in the forest
And I’ll remain forever green!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
Zelda Dec 2024
I think that concludes the collection of poetry
I have called

"Green and Gold"

June 2023 - Dec 2024
heidi Dec 2024
Swimming in a sea of liquid jade
Green waves semi-opaque,
Droplets shining crystalline like jewels
Tendrils of seaweed, entangling embrace
short poem inspired by a section from chapter 13 of The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
Amaris Marie Nov 2024
Endless, dense forest,
The sun sears against my back.
Will I ever make it out?
I’ve been here before,
Yet I’ve never found the route.

I am near to break,
But not close enough to escape,
To leave this cursed thicket.
Though I loathe this place,
I am safe—
At peace within its picket.
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