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Lisa Aug 2017
Close your eyes and breath, breath in the air of the autumn month,
Opening your eyes you see the war between the faded and the vibrant coloured leaves scattering the ground and holding on for life from the trees delicate branches.
The mixes of orange, yellow and red blur in with the forest almost meant to be.
Breathe in the forest air, let it fill your lungs expanding with ever moment,
Feel the warmth when you finally let it all out, the chilled air warm from your body.
Listen to the sound of the leaves yelling in the wind begging not to be moved or fallen from their branches.
Close your eyes now,
And start it all over with every breath
With every breath of Autumn
kim Jul 2017
cute dog
cuter owner
Vale Luna May 2017
Downside up
In relevant confusion
Awakening in a slanted dream
It seems
Everything rhymes with orange
And you love me
SIDEWAYS EIGHT
More times than I love you

Broken mirrors
Are nothing but good luck
Four leaf clovers
And run for the hills
It seems
Everything rhymes with month
And I love you
Just not in that way
So you COLON, OPEN PARENTHESES
More than me

The moon's intense heat
Lights the day
While rain falls
From the grass to the clouds
It seems
Everything rhymes with wolf
And when I rejected you
You COLON, APOSTROPHE, OPEN PARENTHESESED
A little

Spiders are mans best friend
Children sleep with darkeners
In fear of light
And fairytale princesses
It seems
Everything rhymes with purple
And I feel sorry
That you love me
Leaving me with a COLON, SLASH

The stars are my only enemy
Crying at night brings me joy
And I cut myself
Because I desperately want to live
It seems
Everything rhymes with rhythm
And it's my fault
That your LESS THAN SIGN, SLASH, THREE



Sleeping into reality
Falling out of mirages
With a
DASH, UNDERSCORE, DASH
Look on my face
It seems
Nothing rhymes with orange.
If your too lazy to figure it out lol:
infinity
:(
:'(
</3
:/
-_-
Mihir Kulkarni May 2017
She doesn't think
I'm much of a guy...
I meant much of
An interesting guy.
I did say "interesting" before...
Didn't I?

Why?
Why does it matter?
Oh I love her I think...
We will go well together,
Like bread and jam
wait.. a better rhyme...
Like bread and "butter".

I must tell you...
The amount of efforts I make!
Even wrote her a poem to which
She said "For God's sake!
We are not in 19th century. Get new..."
It made me feel like leftover cake.

"Swag", she said
Something you lack ***;
I opened net and googled it
After our short conversation.
The guys must do this and that
Looking at it I went into depression!
(Have you seen the latest trends?
I'm soooo far behind. oh good heaven!)

Back home I sunk in my sofa low
I was ****** exhausted,
Nothing I did pleased her
Didn't get her one bit excited;
She wanted someone bad and strong
And all she got was a guy *******.

Why is it that...
Her crush drinks a bottle of whiskey down,
In one gulp and calls her cutie pie.
And I can't even pull off a leather jacket,
I'm just a ******* teetotaler orange juice guy.
In this world full of jibber-jabber,
I look at her as if She's my only high!

Okay!
So I'll love her silently and pray,
Like how Earth keeps Moon
Neither too close nor far away;
A miracle is all I hope for
(like the guy she loves shifting to Burma)
Then she'll have no other way!

I know...
I'm not a bad boy!
Why o God you've made me this nice?!
She loves to play with fire and you've
And you've...
Made my heart outta ice!
Sometimes you feel bad that you're a good guy.
Manny Arriaga Apr 2017
Red was the glow in his eyes,
The way his tinted lips took my attention
on an early glowing evening.
His sight sparked many shades of red,
And that of orange.

Orange was a layer of a tropical sky,
The sun casting down gently on such a gazeful gent.
As glistening was the pigment of a fine ring,
A mold had shaped his warm summer tan;
His skin a golden yellow.

Yellow was his natural shine,
A daisy in the midst of a patch of posies.
His character shined brighter than the exterior of his sky burnt skin,
And of that of any man I’ve come to know,
His flowery nature lasting among his sun-kissed petals,
Down to his burly stems of green

Green was the field of grass where we grew,
Our souls intertwining in such a lovely concoction.
I’ve never stopped to wonder which way the wind blew,
Or which direction sent the earthy string of nature ablaze,
Each strand flowing in an individual direction.
He held my hand through it all,
Our bodies lain across the patch.
Our hands encased and wrapped together.
Our eyes kept focused at atmosphere’s midnight blue.

Blue was our love.
The color of blood that ran through his veins
in which I knew gave him life,
And gave me mine.
Blue was the color of his jeans which excited me through their texture,
Their scent,
The sole object on him that I’ve come to realize was there the entire time,
From the lavender of a morning sky,
Casted down to the purple of an evening indigo,

Indigo was the night he loved me under the moon,
When the stars shined bright over our faces,
And the touch of his skin shined brighter than the stars themselves,
Among these constellations lying the pavement of a wind sulk violet.

Violet was the essence of his pores,
The essence that lasted longer than the span of life.
His natural aura glowed between us,
The same way a rainbow would shed its own;
A multitude of… colors.

Colors were his eyes.
His skin.
His smile.
His soul.

Colors were our blood.
Our scents.
Our sights.
Our sounds.

Colors were our everything,
From the moment he’d wake in bed,
To the last lovely thought he’d have when drifting into a slumbering sleep.

Colors were his height.
His hair.
His heart.
His hope.

Colors were my mind.
My thoughts.
My wants.
My desires.

Colors were mine.

But just like the Sun won’t last forever,
Until the moon rises above to seize the day and conquer the night,
A rainbow only lasts for as long as you would allow.
A rainbow only lasts for as long as he would allow.

For as long as he’d keep close attention to the surface,
He would only stay colored until his own face would dim into dust.

Suddenly the colors I once knew faded into shades of their own.

Red was the anger in his eyes.

Orange was the smoke,
The trail of his dead skin.

Yellow was the ***** of liquid poison,
The temptations of fermented gold that forever laid upon his tainted breath.

Green was the sickness of a disease,
His once foresty lungs and fiery stems gradually fading into their collapse.

Blue was his dried out veins.

Indigo were the bruises.

Indigo was the color of a midnight sky filled with constant arguing,
Our once amorous souls now unbinding into a useless string.

Violet was the last scent I breathed when he left me.

And soon after,
The departure of that one man,
Was the arrival of terror.

At the slam of the door,
And the silence of the night,
The colors soon faded as fast as he disappeared.

Suddenly, the cast of darker shades,
Darker sights,
Darker thoughts came along,
My feet drowning in the black that was once a puddle,
Now an ocean of thick dark water that spurt its heavy flavor into the throat of my own mouth.

The storm took me over faster than what I could remember;
What was once left a color now drowned in the black of evil emotions.

Memories broke down in the lightening of my mind,
The hope diminishing faster than I could see.
The black took control of who I used to be,
The darkness growing from what he took.

What was once love died into loss,
My heart no longer pumping the same red from before.
No longer glowing from the sky’s orange from before.
No longer warm like the yellow sky from before.
No longer growing in the green from before.
No longer controlled by the blue from before.
No longer resting on indigo night’s from before.
No longer essence of violets from before.

Before, my colors ranged from lights and darks,
But now,
Everything is black.

But just like the Sun won’t last forever,
Until the mood rises above to seize the day and conquer the night,
A storm only lasts for as long as you would allow.
A storm only lasts for as long as I would allow.

Gazing into the pitch black of the sea,
I know of what comes next.

As soon as the last blue tidal wave crashes,
As the glimpse of reds and oranges flow back from the abyss of indigoes and violets,
As the green glistens godly at the sight of the golden, yellow sun,
I come to realize:
The longer a storm crashes down on what you once felt,
The colors of a rainbow arrive faster.

I wait for what brightens again.
He may have drained what was left of the Earth,
But he can’t stop it from replenishing.
Neither… can I.
WJ Thompson Mar 2017
It was an atmosphere
It was an oxygen mixed with southern fog
Southpaw gloves tied in sailor knots
Waves of golden grains in ocean wind
The rolling hills behind property lines

It was the question you asked
not with words but in the way you breathed against the window glass
as I leaned against your Corolla
And we sang under the overpass

It was graffiti
It was graffiti
It was the cavernous concrete cats with purple hair and acid wash jean jackets
melting the light of their city's street lamps into the obsidian void of moistened pavement

It was the way the reverb spread the major seventh across the sky with burnt orange cascading into the violet of the minor ninth
which reminds me of crickets and summer nights (and violins and cellos and midwestern jazz bars)
and how bar chords are a guitarists way of flipping off a crowd-
surfing the web for an answer to why I'm still single-
handedly the handsomest man in my car currently.

It's the cloth in my empty passenger seat
soaking up the air of my A/C heat
and the scent of the soil spilt from the succulent I was given at a wedding last fall
and now I don't know if my trunk will ever smell clean at all

But I'll let this night be interstellar
I'll take a bath in the Big Dipper and write you a letter about Orion's Belt
or how I miss the stars sparkling in your eyes making contact with the E.T. in me.

Phone me home, darling.
I'm lost at sea.

-W.J. Thompson
A repost but with a different ending.
mi Mar 2017
I am a lover of all things dark and brooding
the somber ambiance, for me, is quite soothing            
don't get me wrong, it's not all black and white;
my opinions and clothes alike.

I've actually come to like mustard yellow
And would totally rock a look that's pastel and mellow.
But this section of the spectrum
That will never have my affection
Is the color orange;
I cant even rhyme it with anything.
                                      
Red and yellow looked daunting at first;
Each color, the embodiment of an ouburst.
Wearing these colors that are so luminscent
To appear as though my soul is effervescent,
To appear as though i am an image of thrill;
Faking it 'til I make it, if you will.
Contrastingly, its combination's thrill and effervescence
Is rather shrill and of terrible essence

There's not much that I can compare it to
Other than your tangerine-scented shampoo
And falling leaves in autumn:
Like how I fall when you hum.
Seemingly soft sincerities
Have become dazing disparities.
What was once easy on my eyes
Now is a hue that I despise.
d.j.
Maple trees with kisses of oranges and golds make me feel quite whole.
The taste of pumpkin and spice is really quite nice.
The gentle fall wind holds a slight bite but I really don't mind; for it is autumn and the pumpkins are bright.
So please, please stay, my favorite season. I do love you my autumn delights.
This is my poem for my favorite season. I love autumn!
Michael Robert Triska Copyright 2017
The Trumpoet Feb 2017
The following poem is a generalization, on that, we can likely agree,
but this is the way that most Trumpists appear, to many a person like me:*


Dear Trumpists, I am here to say I think I understand
just what you're really all about across the troubled land.
It really bugs you, does it not, when walking in your town,
to see so many people with a skin of black or brown?

To hear a foreign language when the immigrants converse.
To see them in a headscarf or a turban makes you curse.
Their differences, their ways of life, you see as disrespect
and you hate being asked to be "politically correct".

Then one day came a savior shining brighter than the sun.
His name was Donald Trump and you knew he was the one.
You knew you must support him 'cause in every speech he'd give,
he'd validate your hate and he'd fit with your narrative.

"The Mexicans are rapists", "The Muslims seek to ****",
"Black lives don't matter quite so much". Such thoughts gave you a thrill.
Sometimes he was outrageous. You could not trust every word,
but vote for him you did because you felt you had been heard.

Well, now your man's in power and it's no longer fun,
with half his staff revolting (and that's in more ways than one).
He hasn't drained the swamp, it's just become further bogged down,
with all his slimy yes-men there to praise the orange clown.

He comes across as ignorant and looking like a fool.
He's subject to fact-checking and resulting ridicule.
The press, it has a field day and comedians rejoice.
His opponents have united and have found a common voice.

Dear Trumpists, I do understand that this has made you mad,
but sense and reason don't support the notions that you've had.
So you rant on social media with foul, insulting fits,
like a bunch of whining, shouting, howling, idiotic twits.

So Trumpists, don't you realize, your chance has passed you see?
Oppression has been in decline since the end of slavery.
So here's a new idea that I'd really like to share:
You might try something different by showing that you care.

Why don't you go extend a hand to those that you attack.
They might provide you insight that you desperately lack.
Just open up your heart and head and throw away the hate,
and America once more could be a nation that is great.
You can also see this and my other Trump poems at: www.trumpoet.com
Link to video of this poem: https://youtu.be/-wpxNc-BtXE
Written February 18, 2017
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