#coloured - Hello Poetry

A body made of spare parts. A homemade mummy. A patchwork quilt imitating a robe. Watching a shadow on the horizon Teach me to walk on water As I sink into the sand. A forgotten heathen. A spare tire. A broken clock, melting twice a day. I attack the garden with my shears I dig up the plants, cut up the roots Throw them to the side And watch them grow anyway Springing up All along the walls, creeping in the door Inheriting the earth Because we are the earth. Flowers on buildings. Pavements made of tar. Lilac modernity. These Bodies Are Our Bodies.

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Mar 22

Mar 22, 2026 at 9:05 AM UTC

The_sad_eyed_boy

This Body is Your Body

A body made of spare parts. A homemade mummy. A patchwork quilt imitating a robe. Watching a shadow on the horizon Teach me to walk on water As I sink into the sand. A forgotten heathen. A spare tire. A broken clock, melting twice a day. I attack the garden with my shears I dig up the plants, cut up the roots Throw them to the side And watch them grow anyway Springing up All along the walls, creeping in the door Inheriting the earth Because we are the earth. Flowers on buildings. Pavements made of tar. Lilac modernity. These Bodies Are Our Bodies.

22

The sky spilled colours that day thin rivers of red and gold sliding down the tired face of a concrete wall. A rain not meant for weather, but for souls brave enough to be touched by wonder. A man in a pressed black suit hurried beneath his umbrella, shielding himself from beauty as if it were a threat. His world was contracts, clocks, and the ache of staying clean. Colour to him was danger a risk, a stain he might never wash away. But a child stood just ahead, arms wide, heart wider, catching the falling colours as if they were blessings. Her small body glowing a candle lit by the rain. She did not fear the mess. She welcomed it. And between them, the paint kept falling, choosing who it would touch who would let it. Some walk through the world under umbrellas of caution. Others lift their faces and let life paint them until they become the art they were born to be.

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Nov 15, 2025

Nov 15, 2025 at 2:27 AM UTC

Marwan-Baytie

Coloured Rain

The sky spilled colours that day thin rivers of red and gold sliding down the tired face of a concrete wall. A rain not meant for weather, but for souls brave enough to be touched by wonder. A man in a pressed black suit hurried beneath his umbrella, shielding himself from beauty as if it were a threat. His world was contracts, clocks, and the ache of staying clean. Colour to him was danger a risk, a stain he might never wash away. But a child stood just ahead, arms wide, heart wider, catching the falling colours as if they were blessings. Her small body glowing a candle lit by the rain. She did not fear the mess. She welcomed it. And between them, the paint kept falling, choosing who it would touch who would let it. Some walk through the world under umbrellas of caution. Others lift their faces and let life paint them until they become the art they were born to be.

33

Now Different He once wondered if there was a rep Who actually wore different coloured footwear? He wondered this for years a stupid thought And then there he was a rep in different shoes! The rep appeared to be a narcissist by image With one arm fully tattooed and tied back hair An air of importance surrounded him He wasn't a manager or boss just a rep Not necessarily bad or arrogant he was just Full of self-importance and something else None of that mattered right now to Brian What did were the different coloured pumps One was bright yellow the other was red Both were the same type of trainers Not the same pair but the same make He'd obviously swapped them around It was the second time he saw him And each time the rep had worn opposites He had a quirky thing for opposite shoes He decided he would write this poem To remember just another rep now different

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Aug 19, 2024

Aug 19, 2024 at 9:36 AM UTC

nickarmbrister

Now Different

Now Different He once wondered if there was a rep Who actually wore different coloured footwear? He wondered this for years a stupid thought And then there he was a rep in different shoes! The rep appeared to be a narcissist by image With one arm fully tattooed and tied back hair An air of importance surrounded him He wasn't a manager or boss just a rep Not necessarily bad or arrogant he was just Full of self-importance and something else None of that mattered right now to Brian What did were the different coloured pumps One was bright yellow the other was red Both were the same type of trainers Not the same pair but the same make He'd obviously swapped them around It was the second time he saw him And each time the rep had worn opposites He had a quirky thing for opposite shoes He decided he would write this poem To remember just another rep now different

22

This isn't a change in structure It's barely a change in style Is this all we have? Won't you give us a smile? Exile on main street But only for a while I thought it would last forever We're so upwardly mobile Our paths of glory Have been wrecked with war There's no more safety net History's obscured A haunted building A has been hotel The paint is cracked and dry Bullet holes, oh well I thought I would grow old here Privilege has downsides I don’t want to be rich I’m institutionalised Goodbye Riverlea Hello suburban silence And bye Eldorado Park Quiet can be violence Please don't be so loud I don't feel at ease Two cars just passed my gate Think I should call the police I just can’t konnekt All I see is the future Another lost flyboy Looking for a culture I know once it's lost it's never found.

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Jan 5

Jan 5, 2026 at 2:18 PM UTC

The_sad_eyed_boy

Konnek

This isn't a change in structure It's barely a change in style Is this all we have? Won't you give us a smile? Exile on main street But only for a while I thought it would last forever We're so upwardly mobile Our paths of glory Have been wrecked with war There's no more safety net History's obscured A haunted building A has been hotel The paint is cracked and dry Bullet holes, oh well I thought I would grow old here Privilege has downsides I don’t want to be rich I’m institutionalised Goodbye Riverlea Hello suburban silence And bye Eldorado Park Quiet can be violence Please don't be so loud I don't feel at ease Two cars just passed my gate Think I should call the police I just can’t konnekt All I see is the future Another lost flyboy Looking for a culture I know once it's lost it's never found.

33

What am I? A mere butterfly in the summer fly of your beauty? Why am I here, coloured by the summer sky of your grace? Here I am to face the nurture and the chase of a diamond dragon's pace. The searcher and my crystal percher. Where am I? I'm gliding by the land to overhead. By the starry riverbed, and time goes ahead, as I taste the words I never said... I see flower heads of lover's lies that suffer by the frontal eye of azure skies, who's flustered by the boats ahead. Who rode ahead the ocean bed of love and lust. My flesh is a myriad of coloured dyes. And when I wonder why, I am discovered by... What? Truth. And pain. I must be going insane...

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Sep 4, 2017

Sep 4, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC

Lyn-Purcell

Peculiar

What am I? A mere butterfly in the summer fly of your beauty? Why am I here, coloured by the summer sky of your grace? Here I am to face the nurture and the chase of a diamond dragon's pace. The searcher and my crystal percher. Where am I? I'm gliding by the land to overhead. By the starry riverbed, and time goes ahead, as I taste the words I never said... I see flower heads of lover's lies that suffer by the frontal eye of azure skies, who's flustered by the boats ahead. Who rode ahead the ocean bed of love and lust. My flesh is a myriad of coloured dyes. And when I wonder why, I am discovered by... What? Truth. And pain. I must be going insane...

31

रंजाखाङो आंनि बिबार गोसोआ गियान फैयोब्ला गोरबोआव नायनो गोमोथाव मुलुगाव। संसारनि जेथो जेङाजोँ जुजिनानै गिबां जिउआव बोलो फैयो नाग्लि जानाय मिजिँआ उदां जायो।

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Aug 13, 2016

Aug 13, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC

ronjoy-brahma6f

रंगिना संगिना

रंजाखाङो आंनि बिबार गोसोआ गियान फैयोब्ला गोरबोआव नायनो गोमोथाव मुलुगाव। संसारनि जेथो जेङाजोँ जुजिनानै गिबां जिउआव बोलो फैयो नाग्लि जानाय मिजिँआ उदां जायो।

6

I am black coffee with curves of sugar. I am a spoon of chocolate I am soul food I am a wombed man The rib of an african king The golden crown of the cosmos. I am full moon or a sunset I am light, I am a spark, a flame, a bonfire, I am fire works. I’ll leave traces of smoke in your nostrils., Just so you’ll recognize my presence when you’re seeking me. I’ll shelter myself between your veins just to make your heart beat a little faster. I am the revolution of love. I am a silenced desire.

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Jan 14, 2016

Jan 14, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC

exhale-your-mind

Description of a Melanin Goddess

I am black coffee with curves of sugar. I am a spoon of chocolate I am soul food I am a wombed man The rib of an african king The golden crown of the cosmos. I am full moon or a sunset I am light, I am a spark, a flame, a bonfire, I am fire works. I’ll leave traces of smoke in your nostrils., Just so you’ll recognize my presence when you’re seeking me. I’ll shelter myself between your veins just to make your heart beat a little faster. I am the revolution of love. I am a silenced desire.

17

How do you live here? / who's sins have you / do you forgive yourself / for the sake of what you believe / makes you? / keeps you in momentum / sails unfurled against the clock / How do you live here? / which scars do you show / which ones no one knows? / what parts of your skin were you born in / what parts of your skin are new / drawn over / coloured outside the lines? / what parts of your skin have you always been? / How do you live here? / who's laugh track echoes in your ear / a recording of a long since dead live t.v. show audience / or your now since becoming nameless childhood friends? / How do you live here? / how do you occupy your skin / your sins / your echoes? / what dreams keep you asleep / what dreams keep you awake / what dreams keep you? / How do you live here?

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Oct 4, 2015

Oct 4, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC

Squigs

Limbo

How do you live here? / who's sins have you / do you forgive yourself / for the sake of what you believe / makes you? / keeps you in momentum / sails unfurled against the clock / How do you live here? / which scars do you show / which ones no one knows? / what parts of your skin were you born in / what parts of your skin are new / drawn over / coloured outside the lines? / what parts of your skin have you always been? / How do you live here? / who's laugh track echoes in your ear / a recording of a long since dead live t.v. show audience / or your now since becoming nameless childhood friends? / How do you live here? / how do you occupy your skin / your sins / your echoes? / what dreams keep you asleep / what dreams keep you awake / what dreams keep you? / How do you live here?

1

When foliage take their leave From crowning summer branches, After turning into myriads Of earth adorning bronzes. Thick and luscious burnished carpet In rust and gold and richest umber, Autumn ushers covetous Winter Into Summer’s glorious slumber.

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Nov 6, 2014

Nov 6, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC

lynn-ruth-greyling

ONCE WAS SUMMER’S CROWN

When foliage take their leave From crowning summer branches, After turning into myriads Of earth adorning bronzes. Thick and luscious burnished carpet In rust and gold and richest umber, Autumn ushers covetous Winter Into Summer’s glorious slumber.

9