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Rob-bigfoot Oct 2020
Red is the mist that too often descends,
Beige alas the colour of my teeth,
Tan, sadly I only ever burn,
Orange my fake perma-tan

Black my mood on a Monday morning,
White are the lies when I ring in sick!
Blue are the films I secretly watch,
Cerise, not a clue but sounds lovely!

Purple my boozers nose,
Scarlet somebody, from Gone with the Wind I think,
Violet missing an ‘n’,
Cream strictly rationed because of my diabetes!

Green my perpetual envy,
Tangerine, something else to hate at Christmas,
Burgundy, sorry ******* at geography,
Lilac, far too trendy for me!

Azure are the skies I miss from childhood,
Sapphire so very precious!
Cerulean, now I am being a smart-***!
Yellow the starting gun for me to run away

Indigo, when my snooker potting is on fire!
Pink, the ball I always miss,
Navy, something the Swiss don’t have,
Chocolate, something the Swiss do have

Brown the awful jumpers Mum used to knit,
Russet, used to be a tiny English County?
Emerald, a lovely girl I once dated,
Aquamarine such a delicate sea-sick tint

Puce, or do I mean puke, something I do after a skinful
Maroon rhymes with macaroon!
Crimson, I guilty blush when I pass wind!
Grey (never gray!), my hated school uniform

Ruby, any glass of port in a storm!
Auburn, I really love her films!
Lime, lovely with gin & tonic, especially in Vienna Harry! **, **!
Turquoise bruises, no stranger to these after a few too many

© Robert Porteus
A bit of throwaway fun!  I started writing a poem called This Restless Unquiet Love but gone bogged down.
William Robbins Oct 2020
She is
More majestic than an Eagle in flight
With a mind that's quicker than a Black Mamba's bite
Her style and grace, leave exotic Birds, in awe
She's the wildest girl this earth ever saw.

A smile more charming than a Flamingo, full strut
And skin, more precious, than Alpacan furs
Most people think Baboons have a ****
To them I say well you haven't seen hers.

More interesting than an Ostrich, with its head in the sand
and rarer than a frog, with a Goat for a hand
So beautiful it's scary, like a Jungle Cat's screams
With a gaze that's so piercing it haunts sharks in their dreams.

Creatures, rejoice, dance, clap sing and drum
For here,
is the
Queen, for your Kingdom
*Poem is not calling girls animals,
If the animal kingdom was the animal queendom then the poem
would be reversed*
It is the poet's view that both women and men are equally fantastic and human
Derrick Jones Sep 2020
Meandering through my memory
Mangled, malleable history
Misty, muddled mysteries
Wistful, wondrous willow trees
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at
Thanks for reading!
Phoenix Black Jul 2020
Little Jonny Octopus
Spies through his oculus
He sees a regal platypus
With worms in its bill

Then Jonny sees a porcupine
Tasting olives from the vine
Its quills looking very fine
As it sits upon the hill

Then Jonny sees a fuzzy bear
Covered in the brownest hair
Sitting there beside its lair
Eating up its ****

Then all three creatures Jonny spies
Return to look with hungry eyes
They like the taste of seafood pies
So they grind him in the mill
Isaac Spencer Jul 2020
I ached, looking from the hill,
The sun would hurry home,
This place never thought up before-
This place that would be left alone,

And as the oranges and
Pinks turned to onyx quilts,
The cat rubbed against my tennis shoes,
Purring at a friendship built.

Cream and cereal I rendered-
Pulled from aether will,
And a bowl and spoon and saucer, too,
For each to have their fill,

But the cat took all the cream,
And said "It's just some cream",
But dry is my cereal,
And this is just a dream.
Alan S Jeeves Apr 2020
Watch it haste and watch it fly,
Why try espy it flashing by?
Now you see it, now you don't,
Then you heard it ~ now you won't.

First it's here and then it's gone,
It's much the same for everyone.
Like a cloud high in the air
Glance once more and it's not there.

Like a bubble drifting past,
Though you know it cannot last.
A tranquil breeze, the bubble stops ~
Attempt to touch! the bubble pops.

Where it stems from no one knows;
No one sees to where it goes.
You know it's there but you can't find...
As not a trace it leaves behind.

Man can't beat this mighty force,
To try and try he'll fail, of course;
He'll never grasp the wheres and whys
Quam tempus fugit ~ how time flies.

Nathan MacKrith Mar 2020
I was busy chasing rainbows, dragons, and unicorns
I probably caught a leprechaun or maybe the Jackalope
Do I regret being busy? Nope!

I was busy solving the world’s problems with love’s power
So busy I forgot to shower
And grew my personal jungle
Where I was busy chasing tigers with the help of bears and panthers

If I say I was busy
I was actually a bee
or maybe a bee’s knees
Because nothing’s more busy
than a bee collecting pollen

If I tell you I am busy
A volcano exploded,
and my path’s corroded
by lava pits perilous
and hungry magma monsters

If I tell you I am busy
I may be counting sheep
for little Bo Peep or to sleep
Trying to cuddle with my stuffed buds

If I tell you I’m busy,
I’m busy in a way most people may not understand
but you do, because you’re grand

*for Harly
Himangshu Singh Nov 2019
I don't know what it is...
Maybe the month that follows
Or the unsent texts in my phone.
Maybe the silver lining of your dress
Or the glamorous heels of your shoes.
I really have no clue of what it is...
The feeling of jealously
Or the pain of betrayal.
Julie Grenness Sep 2019
'Twas after a frosty night,
I caught a glimpse of sunlight,
Sparkling on a spider web,
Miracle, enough said,
Patterns so intricate,
Did not brush aside, delicate,
Yes, 'twas after a frosty night,
Spied a web of sheer delight!
Feedback welcome.
Ki Danshaku Sep 2019
She...she responds to a soothing bath.
He...he prefers a different path.

They each disrobe from the day's affairs,
the formal restraints they each do share.

Their clothes lay scattered about the floor,
both stand naked at a tiled shore.

She eases herself into this sleeve,
a temperate knitted liquid weave.

He guides the stream from it’s perched spout,
the water finding the perfect route.

His face is wet, his eyes are shut tight.
She prefers ambient candle-light.

She gently sponges her supple skin.
He grips the soap...oh, so masculine.

She contemplates his rugged terrain,
he puts his hands out to feel the rain.

His caress yields a lathery foam,
her fingers begin a downward roam.

He too diverges, or so rather,
deviates from the task to lather.

Much attention in just one region,
cleaning can’t motivate this legion.

His thoughts of her, and her thoughts of him,
nothing stops what’s about to begin.

Tremors start from her head to her toes,
a smile blossoms as she plateaus.

He feels the pressure stiffly increase,
it brings to him an immense release.

She savours the last rippling quiver.
His knees weak from such an endeavour.

They catch their breath, and resume their chores,
have they been remiss in these detours?

Excuse the news they misuse shampoos,
they choose to amuse with such taboos.

One can’t ignore in the aftermath: he takes showers
... and she takes a bath.
Written by request for an anthology of like-topic stories.
This poem is dedicated to the molar mass of 18, and is 18 syllables wide and 18 sentences tall.
This is my one and only poem.

'One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one'
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