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fatima 6d
the pulsating rhythm feels dead
it moves and yet it stops
it dances and yet it cries
it sways and yet it breaks

the maroon skies and sunflowers
the one that i always dreamed of
how can i reach you?
how can i be with you?

the yellow seems bright to me
i am with you but i realized i don't want you
my heart feels so far when i'm with you
my dream is far when we are together

i just want to be free here
i want to chase you, badly and endlessly
even if it pains me a lot
even if you reject me

i want to be there
i want to see the sunset with sunflowers at my sight
i want to feel the euphoria in my eyes
even if it is a deadly sight

if you are not for me
remove the thought of you in my existence
please leave if we will not meet each other
because i always want you, even at the ends.
man, i want up so bad :(
Calamity is coloured yellow - quince deep, pear shallow - intervining yellow of narcissi palms and morning rise, connecting crusty sunbeams of past, present -----------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------
yellow is this line connecting what one may choose, as Latin connects meaning of smart words, and Greek of relevant.
Calamity - yellow - meaning. Yellow holds fullness between, as it is cut off from the glorious star. When we pass through calamity, our meanings will merge and we will dream yellow, for there will cease to be difference among us. Shakespeare - Goethe - Poe: who shall set apart?
Such is nature in yellow that real and unreal may collide in its shape, and make all sense. For I have bled yellow when she weaved her last and sunk beneath Canal Grande - like a candle in autumnal sunrise - hundred and twenty years ago. For I have cried yellow when the fire - ignited lighthouse rose from seas of amber, twenty seven years after. For I have laughed when fungal trees closed on million - lighted city (jewelled and lonely island), today.

And so yellow is sewn to make an etching.
To M. Q.
Alex Braun Oct 4
I see you in every color, in each color, I find you.

Red? What a dainty strawberry, a beautiful cherry, the blush on my cheeks when I see you.
Orange? You're a sunset, a sunrise, a lovely fall leaf, I burn for you.  
Yellow? The sun itself, the stars, the bright spot in an otherwise dark day.
Green? The forest, the woods, you grow with my love for you.
Blue? You are the sea, the sky, the water I need to survive.
Purple? A ripe plum, the lilac and the lavender, what I see when our lips meet.
White? The clouds, lightning, the paper on which I write my poem.  
Black? Daring and elegant, the darkness holds me when you cannot.
Gray? The sleek metal, the packaging, what keeps my thoughts together.
Brown? The trees, the dirt, the background, that which is always there.

The shades and tints of life weave millions of you around me.
i was like mustard, you said
a nice shade of yellow
a complimentary condiment to you

the spice you wanted in your life
but you wanted only a little bit of me
because a lot of me was too much for you

and you decided then and there
as you walked away in the vast kitchen
that i was too much for you
too much mustard, he mumbled.
Jonathan Moya Sep 19
The earth is black
on both sides.
The yellow bus
taking the living away
passes pile after pile
of rubble, of signs that
were once there:
the Harley Davidson store,
The Rogue Action Center-
a nonprofit climate change group,
the community bank -
it’s vault the only thing standing.
Indistinguishable from the ash
is the mobile home park,
which once housed the migrants
that harvested the town’s fabled pears.
Only their metal survived the wildfires:
aluminum lawn chairs, a barbecue pit,
hubcaps of cars long since evacuated.
Among the stranded survivors
is the aged widower searching
impossibly for his wife’s ashes.
He had escaped and settled
here after the Paradise fires took
his previous home two years back.
Crows on charred oaks branches
watched and mock his effort.
He looked all around him
and wondered to God
if he had paid
enough grief dues.
When the bus stopped for him
he did not get on.
Jay M Sep 18
I was found
A flower of purple bloom
Alone, in a gloom
Until petals of yellow
Scent soothing
Took root not far away

After time
And months of rhyme
She whispered
To the yellow bloom
Said that there was no room
For the two of us

"Wild violet"
I was branded
Called a ****,
Said to be slowly
Choking out the yellow bloom
That in that garden
There was no room
For a vile ****

Alas, a **** I was not
Am not
For I am a flower
Nothing more

Call me what you want
Drop venom where you please
My voice perhaps stolen
My leaves torn by your
Shaking hands
Fists in the air
But I hold in
A thousand words
To battle your chaos
Cast away
With every attack
Like leaves to a blower

I won't lie
That's your job
Cruel gardener
Pick all of my petals
Shred my leaves
Pull me by the roots

Still I shall stand
No matter the swinging
Of your crazed trimmers
Snipping away

Though far away
I shall stay
Just a memory
Fueling your chaos
Growing a wall of thorns
Dripping with blood
Around your proud bloom
Of yellow light.

- Jay M
September 18th, 2020
Read it with a mind and heart as open as the sky, and step out of the confines of your own perspective. See it, and feel it.
Jay M Sep 14
Yellow rose
Beauty so bright
Thorns drip of crimson

So sweet
Only to be taken through pain

Yellow rose
Burning sun
Smile for me
Lure me with your scent

Yellow rose
Petals rays of light
Shine down on me
Ever so bright
Get me through the night

Yellow rose
Bloom for me
Show me your inner beauty

Yellow rose
More than your protective thorns
More than your petals of gold

Yellow rose
Take me back
To times of bliss
When chaos was aside
Where we did not hide

Yellow rose
Slowly wilting
Remain for me
Just be

Yellow rose
Slowly it does decay
Veins of brown
Slowly taking over

Yellow rose
Fire burning low
Embers flutter and flow
Soon to go dark
Turn to ashes

Yellow rose
Decay and dry
How you did try
To display your inner beauty

Yellow rose
I suppose
This is just how it goes

- Jay M
September 14th, 2020
Oh yellow rose.
August Sep 12
daffodils are
flowers of the sun and of the light. i
stand in the silent garden
watching them die.
4, 10, 7, 4
Harley Hucof Sep 11
The night comes but i am not ready to sleep

In my dream my lover comes in yellow and green

She removes the crown of leaves off her head
Pulls out a leaf and rubbes it against my chest

Then crumbles it into a pipe and place it on my lips
Commanding me to take a big long hit

As i inhale i reach death,

The end has been summoning me
Whispering my name in between breath
Yet life still claims me

And leaves me wanting more
I would smoke the whole crown if i had the choice

Words Of Harfouchism

Last of its remains, hung
The yellow leaf
precariously strung on the the tender yellowed stem
As the yellow copper pod flowers
Came down along with the rains
On the vibrant green leaves
And fell on the pavement clean

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