Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aaron Knockovich Apr 2014
Fear is a wine-red chartreuse window.
Holding within the fantasies and myths of ones mind, body, and soul.
Ever present, it stays with you your entire journey.
To gaze from afar, brings you closer to your destruction.
However, the best place to cast the stone that obliterates it's well being,
Is the place where few tread.
Your time is now to play the role of David.
Your Goliath is fear.
And your stone,
Is you.
Poetoftheway Aug 2018
,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)




<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
Chartreuse Light

What brilliance Yellow might you be
Maybe green contours don't you see
Bled into one another
Limestone edge of mastery.....

Echo blend and mortar
As cool as the evening light
Feel the shivering soul
Oneness with brilliance control...

Alive with Amber flow
Steep with passion
Eternal light torn in afterglow...*

Debbie Brooks...2014
Naomi Greene Mar 2015
Bronzed skin
Chartreuse eyes,
he kissed like a drop of
sweet sunshine.
Whisky-sweet taste
in a champagne glass
of platinum wine.
Naomi Greene Mar 2015
Bronzed skin
Chartreuse eyes,
he kissed like a drop of
sweet sunshine.
Whisky-sweet taste
in a champagne glass
of platinum wine.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Impressionist colors rising out of chocolate brown,
stretching chartreuse necks upwards.
Intertwining vines clutching each other in a desperate rhapsody of life,
all waiting to display their Creators’ palette of pure color.

Orchid and yellow chalices hold the morning dew
as all are christened in jeweled morning light.
With blue and white snow you carpet the ground
blanketing hillsides with hope of Monet.

Orange tongues of fire licking up towards the sun
while jade blades battle as new growth crowds in.
Blossoms hang full with a living harvest of yellow,
awaiting transport to another.

Stalks of dried grasses stirred by the August wind,
dancing to the rhythm of the warm stirring breeze.  
Summer now ebbing away in aged colors muted with brown,
returning to the muddied ground once again.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Joan Karcher Jul 2012
emerald, olive, viridian
oh how you perplex me
forest, jade, chartreuse
why do you tease me so
cyan, verdigris, moss
such excitement arises
to be a word
to be a meaning
is there such a thing,
to have a feeling
to see a vision,
phthalo, pine, teal
are you the same
mint, myrtle, laurel
you make me envious
to be blooming, to be healthy
to be young, to be clumsy
are you callow, how about credulous?
but such a conservationist
unquestioning, so trustful,
tenderfoot and common
the tree, the lawn, the willow
though ecological and crude
a sage in all but name
apple, spinach, pea
aren't you scrumptious,
lime, kelly, bice
are you nature, how about luck
you're pungently rotten
though with such dark beauty and hope,
love and lust ensues
you're the jolliness of balance
and the creative intelligence;
of evil, and decay of money and safety,
will you resurrect me, are you immortality?
such jealousy arises
high goals and honor
so so allusive
healing and vitality
you're calming though fast
lush spring stability,
abundant generosity,
vert vegetation; witchcraft
an aphrodisiac I hear,
are you youth or fading youth?
sunrise and life, growth and fertility
sacred ideology,
eroticized though shameful
so romantic and humble
I see the third ray
or is the the fifth ray, the third eye
are you truth, are you vision
it's becoming a science,
so much compassion
the fourth chakra, the heart,
the centre of us all
a higher consciousness
such a harmonious aura
a hunter, a nurse, a solider, an outdoorsman
villains and superstition
misfortune and prosperity
with toxicity, sickness and death,
recycle and reuse
oh so powerful
you exude auspiciousness
just a holiday
mystical fairies and spirits
though also devilish,
cancer in the stars
a renewal of paradise,
biliously tranquil
are you refreshingly soothing,
peacefully restful,
a naive novice,
very understanding,
is there truly a term for you?
what do you really convey,
countless representations
a definition of name,
or do you signify the feeling, the specimen
the aspect?
though some have no locution for you

here I am,
stepping around the issue
you are you, in any word
yet with a different meaning
Every word in this poem describes or is described by one thematic morpheme
Nico Julleza Sep 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Scent like its spring
feel like the summer breeze
in the meadows were chartreuse weeds

Sweet Gardenia, dearest one
your petals shine the moonlight
and grace the rays of the sun
a touch of you,
deliquescing as canvas hues
how the world's heart told tales
in visions anew

Of any color you choose to be
white, as resemblance of purity
your scent forge to every desperate nose
a sneeze which bring forth arose
and with all to guarantee
your aroma is no match in any of thee

Oh Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
vulnerable, gentle and free
sailing the skies above, praising every tree
sigh, as she waltzes with me

But Gardenia, Sweet Gardenia
when will the world stop hating you
grieving in delitescent
burying your every truth
shadows washing, dreams forgetting
soon as winter swept all of you
#Gardenia #Flower #Nature #Death #Life

My Love and Appreciation to Flowers that Inspired Me. Enjoy Dear poets

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
eli Feb 2015
Envy is not green but
something perhaps a little more sickening to me
than chartreuse and a spoiled ego.
Envy is when i see boys walking by,
looking down at myself again, i see my curves
and i hate them.

i don’t want them.
i want to look like the boys.

Envy is seeing other girls more androgynous
than i;
girls with broader shoulders
and with more angular faces.

why can’t I look like that?

i hear voices deeper than mine:
tenor, baritone—
and I shred my throat
day-by-day,
trying to come close to the pitch.

Envy is the aches in my body when changing
my posture from legs to shoulders;
from changing my stride
and preventing my hips from swaying.
i want to look like them.

seeing these people makes my insides feel
like they’re being twisted with a red-hot fork;
and it hurts, oh God, it hurts.
it hurts to know i will never look
like how i see myself.
another assignment from my poetry class. we were given a word or an object and had to write a poem about it. i chose to write about my gender identity and the envy i feel for those more masculine, or more androgynous, than i am. this poem ended up being really gender-binary heavy and i'm not a fan of that... there is more than male or female, but i'm just not sure how else to phrase some of this. any feedback is, of course, welcome.
M Eastman Mar 2015
Aquiver mellifluous ineffable hiraeth nefarious somnambulist epoch sonorous serendipitous limerence bombinate luminescence ethereal illicit petrichor iridescent supine aurora solitude syzygy phosphenes oblivion ephemeral incandescence denouement vellichor eloquence defenestration Sondra effervescence cromulent cellar-door debridement

Illustrator icon verdant cerulean aeneous  albicant amaranthine azuline argent chartreuse damask ferruginous  haematic  hyacinthine ibis ochre primrose russet sanguineous virescent mystborn transcendence
Please comment to add your own beautiful or favorite english words and I will add them to the bank
Kon Grin May 2017
Throw me in the chartreuse fields
So I can leave my pain behind
Violets and Daffodils will turn
Me into their kids

Buy me out of sable walls
So I can see the other side
Violets and Daffodils will kiss
My spine

Say white, say blue
On a spring afternoon

Whisper out loud
O-hoo

Take me out for a walk on moon
So i can plant lovat' on stone.
Violets and daffodils will grow
On a pale ball.

Lie with me on frosty grass
Keep your feet above the stars.
Violets and daffodils will pass
But we can last.
Courtesy of Iwalf. Text written in collaboration of @kon_grin @greatbigcongratulations and @wonderwall.***
Lally day, lally doo, how do you do?
Beautiful lady I have seen on the meadow
I stopped to tie my shoe, I have no clue
Taking my time just to see her out my window.

Stuck and frozen when I saw you,
You just came from out of the blue
I would like to see time bend,
Stuck in the moment that would never end.
Wack Tastic Nov 2012
Destined to never be satisfied, that is me,
I will swallow the world and purge,
Wiping my mouth of the spittle, off too comes the grin,
Momentous occasions amount to invisible entrapment,
They'll try and tell me that it should be enough,
Sedated and post-op lobotomies on pedestals,
Formaldehyde jars packed with vernal reward,
Plopped on sofas staring at the **** tube barrel,
Fancier and well built imports,
**** measuring contest gone wrong,
Debt built up and drowning rats,
Tunnel vision scoped Dharman,
Wicker trinkets, frail mistreated,
Lunatics that love for the wrong reasons,
Insanity epidemic gross over-exaggeration,
Billy clubs fly from hands of misguided lawmen,
Prayers knelt under the bus benches,
***** corroding the underbelly of the social glance,
Blind blues moutharp in the corner still playing,
Trains running on time, taking the life from the patrons,
Steel breathes burnt crimson,
Foggy cauldrons from medieval nightmares,
The haggard ***** dangles her ***** precariously above,
Just an inch or two in the wrong direction,
And all this meaningless mess might be forgotten,
Books burned, learned forgotten, buildings from the sand,
Starting the sick cycle over again,
With an even wider **** eating grin,
Chartreuse Cheshire cats with inviting eyes,
Taking the breath from the first borns,
Replacing motor oil with sugar canes,
HOWLING what history has shown,
Making a prophet from the scammers and thieves,
I can't believe that we don't all see,
What my path of professed malnutrition,
Gambled stimulus, Golden fleece lined nimbus,
Never enough for the scabbed *****,
Never enough for the howling idiots in the sun,
Never enough for the lunatics undistinguished,
Surely never enough for you and me.
Continuing on snickering underhanded,
Snide underbreath worried about repercussions if found out,
Maybe even too ignorantly blissful enough to not give a ****,
Head down looking at your shoes,
Or ready to inflict a flat tire,
Graceful or oafish,
Humble sniveling whelp, prodding pious peacock,
Dividing rod stuck in the teeth of our teeth,
This is the loner society,
At least tolerance is taught in our schools,
Has anyone really learned anything?
Justin S Wampler Mar 2015
Oh my, what a beautiful necktie.
Is that houndstooth, oh let me see.
I yanked on it until I broke his spine.



.
Nishu Mathur Mar 2017
There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between
no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens

What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene
verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green

There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews
created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse'

There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes'
Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes

Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea'
'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be

Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines'
It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime'

There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock'
The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc'

In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green'
'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine

'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves
In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake'

From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey )
The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array

There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify
A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye
Jodie-Elaine Nov 2018
Our eyes
spit the blame like darts playing home
to poison gas
tell yourself
you never liked that shade of emulsion anyway
don't look at
her, your
mother's ghost. Not in the eyes.
no paint left
to fill
our indents, syllables die on
our tongues and
this is
the very last time, nothing beyond
fake flowers, marble
make this
make sense, wait for the sun to get up
so you go
with it
if your mother's ghost still loves you
she will follow.
Tell yourself
you could feel her keeping you alive, you're
scared that you
could get
hit by a bus and she wouldn't be there
to save you.
I almost
lose your name from my mouth, which one of us died
in this room?
The yellow walls got painted over when after seven years, Dad
accepted that his childhood sweetheart wasn't coming back.
Anova one. Reminder that people have ghosts they get stuck on.
Mike Hauser Nov 2017
If love was a color
What one would you choose
A bright red bouquet
Or oceans of blue
The color of Fall
On a soft afternoon
Or would you decide
On the color chartreuse

Would it be the deep green
Of a walk in the park
Or the brilliant sunset
As the day's growing dark
Maybe the color that beats
Inside of the heart
With so many colors
Where would you start

Could it be the color of Spring
As her flowers set bloom
A gold wedding bells ring
On a warm afternoon
A mud red country road
On which to whistle a tune
Or would you choose them all
If you could choose
Lou Vaughn Nov 2014
He's a thundercrash thorncake
Can crush you with a handshake
Juicy as a rare steak
Feeds my dreams

Owns a chartreuse shotgun
Is taller than the noon sun
Has me coming undone
Licks my pain

He's a cyanide thrill ride
A rollercoaster landside
Likes it by the bedside
Fills my ache

I am his and he's mine
Like succotash and sunshine
Exploding like a landmine
Save our souls!
AHenwood Sep 2012
I find my self bordering between a Brandeis Blue and a Bright Cerulean,
Not too brilliant like Turquoise, but yet
I don’t find myself as dull as the Cadet shade, nearly Grey.

Although, depending on the circumstance I can exude a shade of Chartreuse,
Which leaves others a bitter Cal Poly Green,
A color which looks terrible on anyone.

My favorite shade however, is of bright Ruby
Brilliant and fierce in all its color, but can suddenly change in one swift mix.
With Black it becomes a tainted ashen Rouge, spoiled and rotten with grief and distaste
Bubbling under your skin, turning into a fiery rampage

Rather than becoming pinkened with a serene Pearl
A complement to the Ruby, flushing it with hearts desire
Soothing it too a point of Lavender, then Boysenberry
And then finally,
Back to my Brandeis Blue.
Mike Hauser May 2013
It all started out so innocently
A thrift store here, a garage sale there
Anyways, Lord knows how bad I needed
The chartreuse rug of that polyester bear

It goes perfect in my kitchen
Though I can barely see the floor
Just need to move a few piles that grew
From me buying trinkets by the score

Some say I'm a crazy hoarder
I've seen the show and I'm not that bad
Anyway who doesn't need
A stuffed albino Siamese cat

Then there's all the broken plates of china
That I got for a steal
If I ever do find my stove again
I'll use them for my next meal

Why ask why I save all these milk jugs
You never do know when
A herd of cattle will be passing through
The middle of my den

You may say crazy hoarder
I may say I think not
When I look at pile after pile
Of all the treasures that I've got

If you ever care to visit
Just step over this, crawl over that
Till you come to that little itty bitty empty spot
Where we can sit back and relax
And have a little chat,
over this this and that,
maybe why it is ducks quack,
is it brains that they lack,
that my friend is whack...

Crazy Hoarder?!?
Don't make me laugh...
crystal holly Feb 2017
with water color ink
made permanent with a pin
an emerald garden grew
from the surface of her skin
the sight was divine
the branches aligned
& through the cracks
poured sunlight in.
the honeysuckles oozed
the hollyhocks seeped
as chartreuse hummingbirds
dank nectar through their beaks.
by her favorite birthmark
hanging from a tree
was a silver web of silk
gossamer and dazzling.
with each image set,
pressed onto her skin
her flesh turned bright red
like the rosehips near her ribs.
Ryan Jul 2021
Yuh kid went through years of abuse
So don't be tryna make a truce
When ya see em downin the chartreuse Chartreuse
Like juice, they're socially anxious and gotta cut loose
To get their hands on that ripe red caboose!

Cuz tyin' a noose is like killin' a goose
You end up with god in a tragic deuce
Elizabeth Jan 2015
If life were a wes Anderson movie
My wallpaper would be faded 70's vintage.
I would live a hard life and love an impossible woman
Who would shower me with misguided affection.

If life were a wes Anderson movie
I would have the knowledge to complete
Completely useless tasks
That would somehow be useful in any given situation,
Like chiseling a canoe out of a solid oak tree
Or weaving a hexagonal basket.
My eyes would constantly be filtered
With a color so vibrant my skin would glow chartreuse yellow.

If life were a Wes Anderson movie
My happiness would exalt and spread to those around me.
My stories would fill pictures and paintings,
My walls covered in obscure posters and murals
that no one really knows the purpose of.

If life were a Wes Anderson movie
Bill Murray would be my father,
Best friend,
And lover.

If life were a Wes Anderson movie
Nobody would understand my purpose
But everyone would love my presence just the same.

If life were a Wes Anderson movie
I would be king and crown those around me my subjects.
My crown would be encrusted with the Latin phrase,
sic transit gloria.
I would be king and grace my subjects with timeless tales of ages past,
of tear soaked laughter.

If life were a Wes Anderson movie
I would be king.
Dedicated to Dallas. Not the city, but the person \m/
Ellyn k Thaiden Nov 2013
You might not believe me
But that is jut fine
Because I saw them
And they're all mine

His eyes are beautiful
His eyes are kind
His eyes are brilliant
And let me peek at his mind

I want to fall into his eyes
The color so bright
I want them to caress me
And hold me through the night

I can't help but smile when
I speak your name
Third book of the bible
It doesn't have much fame

But your eyes shock me
Every time I steal a glance
Oh boy with the beautiful eyes
Please give me another chance
Lilywhite Jan 2019
They drop like flies I tell ya-
can't contain the pressure,
eruptions fused by anger;
frustration...
but rather than seek an explanation,
the assumptions over take them-
everybody suffers now. . .
what an awkward situation ?

to partake in such petty things . .
is to deny the soul and its awakenings . .
a waste of time and energy I tell ya-
and there's nothing worse
than feelings hurt, ignorance, and
being a ****

so have patience, be kind,
remain strong, and put the past behind,
always move forward, and seek truth
for there are many possibilities within our youth
to learn from, and be living proof
that this too shall pass

There's so much more to life than broken hearts
and senseless strife...
February 11, 2013
Ma Cherie Jan 2017
The great Green Mountains,
up where the tallest evergreens grow,
stretching,
upward an outward,
toward the heavens,
a perimeter of boundaries,
where white iridescent angels,
can drift,

Touching the clouds,
in winds of change coming,
gathered together sheltering storms,
alongside barren maples
and birches,
with shriveled others aging,
gracefully,
bowing down to winter's bone,
and ready for Spring's solstice.

When,
in surging solar winds,
upward of,
a million miles an hour,
40 hours after leaving their sun,
raining in an big bright ariel shower,
emphasizing their greatness,
in an eerie tranquility,
behind a diffused hazy luster,
a distant soft moon light,
in a beautiful Glory Shining.

Silvery satin ribbons,
and celadon green bends,
as colors wait pensive to create
in messages it then sends,
a heavenly landscape,
for their part in the prism ballet,
these arial acrobats,
yearn to touch tips on sturdy cutouts,
of tall old aging trees,

Dancing into ever-changing,
multifaceted soft,
an inspiring hues,
an shifting in the breeze
they move above,
in a mystical rhythm,
a dark and mysterious,
black smoke rises
in between rays,
in the opaque darkest hour,
for the creation of,
a spiritual backdrop,
mysterious feeling power
in the magnificent,
Magnetic Midnight.

The darker the sky,
the brighter the light,
for an otherworldly setting,
as colors merge and ignite
while they mix the palate again,
I am lost in silent reverie,
for the forces that dance there in that blackness,

Awe-inspiring,
breathtakingly beautiful,
alien,
frightening,
imparting comforting wisdom,
it is everything an so exciting,
and healing to your soul,
like a hauntingly familiar sound,
of
music to your ears.

moving like in an immensely,
active native conga,
while flitting eiree,
ghosts of glaciers perform,
when fueled folklore beckon,
swirling magic colors
in a perfect moving storm
these beauties from frozen skies,
spraying snow & tossing sparks,
as their created stars,
saturate the deep,
as their tears are shed,
in big butterfly kisses,

playfully floating,
in lovely little fine wisps,
of cirrus smudges of pure refractions,
bending in rarified veils of light,
into a seamless,
shimmering skyscape.

A hiding crystal clear,
deep Alice blue sky,
now fading,
as colors are now blending,
from azure into darkest denim,
then turning periwinkle,
stretching out,
into auroral archways,
dusted in a tangerine glow
in transitioning brushstrokes,
gently cover impressionistic sketches,
evolving into luminism,
on an endless open canvas.

As I paint the words,
where I sit there quietly,
respectfully awaiting answers,
as clouds and moonlight smear,
into watercolor scenery,
using up each angel tear
an intimate engagement occurs,
the passion of nature,
is sublime,
just perfectly,
these synchronized sky swimmers ,
becoming one

As a stormy sun is forcing,
red light dancers,
holding torches,
colliding and becoming excited,
edging themselves,
these powerful ominous portents,
becoming the framework.

Around a fantastic fluorescent show,
the cast wearing blushing pink,
and wild viola purples,
tinged in chartreuse green,
basking in beauty,
where hope lies,
in these colors I've never ever seen, since,
transcending skies of tomorrow,
into an age old masterpiece,
waiting patiently for this,
spiritual journey,
to begin,
with an eager & beautiful,
dawn coming.

Where the North winds,
send a brilliant light show,
of atomic wonders,
in watery pirouettes,
of shaped effects,
& teardrops sacrificed,
swirl in spirits of harmony,
completely memorizing,
I am transfixed,
an astonishing feat,
of brilliant pigments,
smudged into,
the mysterious lightness,
my drifters heart wanders,
melded into atmospheric colors,
we can only wish to see in this lifetime.

Where life seeds now
glide,
on the giving winds,
and Eagles and hawks can,
applaud this much beauty way up there.

This place,
a heavenly firmament,
where all the sacred souls come to die,
  where all the very, very, wise end up,
where they all spend their eternal lives,
young and old alike,
eventually they all retire here,
bringing us hope or warnings,
a chance at redemption,
striking hot iron in a glow,
metallic bits,
stars form,
restless,

Sighing, awaiting,
  a gifted chance to share with us,
along with all the parished,
souls and spirits,
playfully transforming,
from native garb,
mocassin covered feet,
change into favorite animals,
stomping on the colorful floor,
a great bear,
a wolf,
a beluga whale,
a soaring raptor,
not wanting for anything,
walking in Native American circles,
to the sounds of long silent drums,
morphing & shape shifting,

Again,
and again,
and again,
where rain shadows dance,
in ancient skies,
celestial bodies are illuminated,
reflecting the fire circles,
from where distant oceans shore,
take me there...ancestors
take me there once more,

As night slowly declines,
as daylight seeps through cracks,
bleeding into tomorrow,
to fly again to share what they must,
they pray and worship their God,
and they trust..

And Aurora Borealis is her name.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Listen to Time to turn the tide by Millpond Moon  global warming is affecting this gift....writing this made me cry ....for our sacred Earth.  This is a meaningful piece I had to dig deep in old studies and in my beliefs this was BREATHTAKINGLY beautiful Aurora Borealis a few years ago. This is about stars, this place- Vermont, Heaven, angels and death or coming omens. Peace - Vermont
(I watched my video again in astonishment.)
I hope you all are well n happy. I'm OK....
Evan Stephens Jun 2019
Back then, there
were no goodbyes,
and tomorrows
I swallowed like
chartreuse. Evening
buttons undone.
Bones whistled night.
Birds slipped as fire
rifled the yard.
I wanted to cry,
sweet-haired, low
with breath, as
someone built a myth
and then broke it.
The years deviled,
pears wasted away.
There were no goodbyes,
and tomorrows were
lost in the eye.
Julia Van Goor Apr 2014
Anxiety is a chartreuse bookmark
pressed between the pages of life
prominently protruding around the edges
yellow and green
sickly caught between past and future
beginning and end
But when the story resumes
the bookmark is cast away
forgotten as action ensues
Metaphor Poem
Emery Iler Jan 2019
Hovering, its gentle, gleam a'glitter,
Sun rays hugging so daintily the plains of grass
That it could have been akin to quiet coveting
Of their transient green so far from its grasp

Then, as if in secret rising from the earth's coat,
From blades made chartreuse with sunset's caress,
There lifts a drunken, blanketed quiet that fill-
In preparation for the night- the land's every crevasse

Upon the branches arching, merging, enweaving,
Where the last few robins had been orchestrating,
The leaves give their tiny bodies up to the fading breeze;
A waltz so natural both need not bother hesitant contemplating

In dappling, splotching, sparks of amber scintillating a hue,
The trees too the sun embraces; the shades of sunlight
Creating a calico on its surface, still dull greens and greys amidst
Its autumn forgery, aureate bleeding bright

Nocturnal symphonies crescendo in harmonic chirps, croaks, and hoots;
As sunlight spools it's last golden threads to defy it's cruel god or master,
Who reigns, an even more kingly victory, wins last of battles, drags the sun down
To horizon's prison- subterranean capture.
Inspired by the odes of John Keats, I think modern poetry may have lost a hint of the same sort of grace, cleverness, and beauty he was so talented at creating.
Mellow sunrised.
The dew of the afternoon high light.
Paradise sunset.
Tuscany, Marigold, Chartreuse, Caramel.
Amber, Copper, Olive, Saffron.
Honeycomb mystery of rejection... or doubt.
Freedom sparks; feet and hip dilate and constrict; lips close to feel the colors and open again, blinking to suffocate the oasis into the dull reality of smog and soot, of cemetery.
The psychedelic picturesque star stares back, dusk-like fireworks of heaven gained and lost.
One second that sealed his fate.
Death will be hazel eyes.
This is an extra poem I wrote after finishing my anthology, trying to explore a new style of poetry of almost pure imagery and sensory information.
SøułSurvivør Sep 2014
@@@blue                                                      pink­@@@
@@@russet                                        purple@@@
@@­red yellow         \   /            orange teal@@
@@ochre violet     @@     puce lavender@@
@@green brown    ¥¥   turquoise navy@@
@@scarlet citrine   ¥¥    cerulean black@@
copper silver   ¥¥   golden bronze
peach wine  ¥¥   periwinkle
rose champagne ¥¥  blue chartreuse
carnation marigold     ¥¥  buff ecru mahogany
@emerald sapphire      ¥¥      amber opal pearl@
@raven oriole                                  rainbow russet@
@@                                                       ­                   @@
I hope this works!
it should be viewed on an
iPad laptop or PC
I found it on the floor of
the women’s dressing room
after a concert.
The ladies were long gone
and I was clearing up.
It was one inch long and
the wings were one inch wide.
The dragonfly had
two overlapping oval wings
on each side
and a long curved tail.
The body and tail
were set with butterscotch
yellow rhinestones.
The wings held chartreuse stones.
Two white rhinestones were the eyes.
The quality of the stones
was extraordinary
though the setting
was not really gold.

When I took it to my office
to put it
in the lost and found
my extra many ceiling lights
made it sparkle
like in a jewelry store display.
I put it on a stack of tissues
I keep at the ready on my desk
so I could see it
any time I wanted.
When I moved my head
just slightly, it would make
the sparkles seem to move as well.
It made me very happy
just to look at it
and I have no idea why.

Nobody called to claim the pin
It’s value is likely very small
But it’s come to symbolize some of
The shiny things I hope to capture
In the time remaining of my life.

It won’t be long ‘til I
am forced to
spread my own frail wings
and fly
from this cocooned
career of work.
Perhaps the dragonfly
will be a talisman
and lead me to
the meadows
I have dreamed of:
awash in creativity,
accomplishments rewarded,
and never any gales
of jealousy
or the thunderclouds of
evil that
rattle my windows here.

On the day when everything
is packed and shipped, my
keys turned in,
lights turned off
for the last time
and I am free, I will pin the
dragonfly
to my collar and
and take us looking
for that meadow.
             ljm
It would have broken my heart if someone had called to claim it.  Just a silly piece of costume jewelry.
Shaded Lamp Aug 2014
Up on a feathered duvet a man conceding defeat
To the Sunday that had just begun
Reeking of last night’s sweat, smoke and self-deceit
Threads of reality so rapidly un-spun

All that he promised himself to accomplish this day
All that stuff to be tossed in the bin
Procrastination rearranges plans or lets them decay
And all because of his love for gin

Amnesia of last night’s antics plants the seeds of guilt
Shame shall be his shadow today
Enter a recurring thought... a sword driven to its hilt
Piercing pain added to his dismay

Rusted cogs of cognition screeched slowly into action
"A cure" he grumbled "A cure"
Wearily off the bed searching for medicinal satisfaction
To make last night less obscure

The stark bright light of the bathroom fried his vision
But as his senses normalized
He stared in the mirror shocked, BANG! In a collision
Mouth agape and paralyzed

Finger painted on his forehead, with what must be blood
G    U    I    L    T   Y
From down stairs somewhere
A woman's laugh
Mocking
Fear took its grip quick

A sword driven to its hilt



Part 2 of 6
a sword driven to its hilt


Arctic chills froze his spine
Pick axes hacked his mind
Tongue pickled in brine
Suffocated and confined
Heart beat pounding
Breathing short and quick
Terror was abounding
Throat swallowing a brick

Staring at his reflection . . . G U I L T Y
Unable move any limb
Even for his protection
Return of memory grim . . . a sword driven to its hilt

Back to the bed room to search for his phone
To make contact with the real world
From down stairs came that exact same laugh
Every hair on his body tightly curled
The phone was nowhere to be found upstairs
Again that tormenting laughter
He called out "Who is it?" but only silence replied
Then that laugh again soon after
"WHO ARE YOU?!" he demanded to know
Arming himself with a cricket bat
Tentatively descending the sweeping staircase
Noticing the post on the door mat
The newspaper informed him it was Monday
Confused, frightened he ran outside
A burnt pile of his clothes lay in front of his door
He yelled but only the laughter replied

Then through the dining room bay-window
Sitting at the table as if a patient guest
A gruesome wide eyed greying corpse of a man  
A sword driven in his head and out his breast

In the dead man’s hand a glowing phone
The source of the tormenting laugh
Not thinking, our man rushed in to take it
The phone flashed "maintenance staff"

Every sense heightened
Sickened and frightened
Feeling he was being observed
Part of a wicked game
Driving him insane
But so far he had been preserved
As he answered the phone
He knew he was not alone
"Hello sir... I hope I haven't disturbed"
------------------------------------------------------­-----------

part 3 of 6

Saturday Night


The late afternoon sun draped its golden satin light
To the house-staff, Giles (our man) seemed uptight
The butler Zamira dutifully stirring his drink right

The sun dipped behind the poplar trees standing straight
He orders "A Churchill  martini" trying not to sound irate
Giles watched her stirring, stirring as in a hypnotic state

Zamira presented a chilled, frosted Riedel martini glass to him
brimming to the top with Gilpins Westmorland extra dry gin
The sun slowly sank behind trees as the drink loosened his limbs
"You may both leave, till Tuesday" He said to Zamira and her twin
Liliana (the cook) and the butler were often dismissed at his whim
They sped off in their green MG, off to the Slaughtered lamb inn

Giles raised his glass to the bobbing full hunters moon
Waiting was now over, the others would be here soon
First a pinch of Peruvian sniffed from a little silver spoon

This day had been prepared in detail for nearly a year
One final act of courage and tenacity he must engineer
All hushed except the sound of large cars drawing near

Four black Jaguars and a white refrigerated van

Crunched over the gravel drive towards (our man)

Giles Bradshaw-Behran stood still.

It had began.

---------------------------------------------------------­--

Part 4 of 6

three years earlier

The Gallows and Noose


"This, THIS! I'm so tired of all THIS!"
Blurted Giles as Zamira dressed his wrists
Pathetic! (She thought) A dismal attempt
Then left the room concealing contempt
Giles just stared at the

drip

drip

drip

dripping of the morphine
Candle light danced on the walls
The demons sank back into the shadows
Giles returned to the womb
Basking in weightless warmth
Comfortably apathetic
Numb

The drudgery of the next day unfurled
As Giles accepted defeat around noon
Something had to be done about life
That something had better happen soon
  
He brunched in his office
and so began his search
All that day
and night
that week
That month

Deeper into the cavernous "dark web"
seeking any answer to end his despair
but every search became a cul-de-sac
No doors opened for this millionaire
No doors would open
All remained firmly locked
Sitting in his office chair
Feverishly typing as he rocked
He rocked as he typed
He swivelled as he clicked
Searching for something
That he was less able to predict

But that something found him
And sent him an invitation
Explaining that they had been watching
Seeing his frustration
Understanding his world view
May he could understand theirs
But before he were to be accepted
He must climb down the seven stairs
He
      Must
                Climb
                           Down
                                     The
                                           Seven
                                                      Stairs
Dis­tant from the blinding light
Cast yourself from the hallows
Embrace darkness embrace night
Take the Noose and the Gallows.

The mouse pointer hovered
over options "Yes" and "No"
His heart beat quickened
But then came the red glow
of two laser beams from directly behind
circling the yes option
From past the windows' opened blind
"Yes" and the two red dots disappeared
The wheels were put in motion
His future was now commandeered
A force that seemed greater than him
Changed the rules and took control
Embers deep inside of him flickered
Re-igniting the coals of his dark soul

The seven steps awaited him...
What ever could they be?


-----------------------------------------------------------­


part 5 of 6

The Seven Steps of The Thuggee


Giles sat statue still in his office
Unsure whether or not he should move
Like a hunted deer in the woods
Waiting for chances of survival to improve

And yet though he were vulnerable
Life coursed through every artery and vein
The lost keystone of his arched spirit
The panacea for tedious boredom and pain

DING! ****! The doorbell rang
"Zamira, who is it? Can you please see?"
Footsteps approached the front entrance
Giles felt instinctively "fight or flee"

He sat with silence looming over him
For what seemed like an eternity
"****** ancient bell!" he shouted
"This whole house repels modernity!"

Down stairs
At the entrance
The Cuban butler stared out into the night
Looking for a sign
Looking for who...
Who had left the parcel she now clutched tight

No one
Nothing
But for the song of a lonely nightingale
She hurried
To the office
Where she found her employer looking pale

Zamira explained what had happened
And handed him the black wrapped box
"Would you like me to open it Sir?"
"No! I would like... a chartreuse on the rocks"

She left to attend to his request

For the attention of Mr. G. Bradshaw-Behram
Soon after the two laser beams were on the wrapping
Inside the box was a detailed program
A history of the Thuggee cult and a Thuggee king

The Thuggee King called BEHRAM!
Behram, BEHRAM! His late mother’s family name
A Thuggee cult King relative?
With over 900 hundred murders to that man’s claim

900 strangled victims
To please Goddess Kali
Every drop of blood for her
So humanity can be free

Zamira returned with his drink
Giles had never needed one so much
The following weeks more instruction came

Weeks just turned to months
Months quickly turned to years
Six of the secret steps complete
So many grotesque souvenirs

All leading to this moment
On his lawn under the hunters moon
The waiting was now over
The others would be here very soon
First a pinch of Peruvian
Sniffed from his pretty little silver spoon
Adjusting his cummerbund
That soon would erase two souls fortune

Four black Jaguars and a refrigerated van
Crunched over the gravel drive to our man
Giles stood still and smiled, for it had began

Each of the six women and the six men
Were concealed with hoods and veils
But Giles' face was not hidden from them
Now that he controls the final inhales

Deep in the candle light of the wine cellar
Which had been prepared with plastic sheets and tape
A skirt of dismembered arms on an altar
A grim garland of forty eight human skulls, mouths agape

But fifty skulls are required
According to the ancient text
Two more to soon be provided
Giles planned to do that next

"Bring the two travellers to me" demanded Giles
"Let me send them on their final way"
Eight of the group left and within minutes returned
With four bound, hooded for him to slay.

Giles felt suddenly unable to function
"This was not meant to be!"
"The others witnessed the abduction, Sir"
"They...will not please Kali"

"Stand those women over there
Tie them back to back
Make sure your knots are fixed
Offer them no slack!"

The silk cummerbund slid
Effortlessly off his waist
Weighted near the middle
To offer death less haste
The first of the male offerings
Only kicked for 30 seconds
the world stopped moving when
the other felt the silk band

The back to back females started spinning
Their hoods removed and ******* gone
Giles did not look up to see who he knew
Focused solely on continuing strangulation

This time the Thuggee's had another view
Zamira and Liliana in a blurring spin
Black of space and ocean of deep blue
Zamira angered, Liliana peaceful grin

All but their arms becoming one
Morphing seamlessly into each other
The (previously twin) sisters had become
The universe's all powerful mother

          K A L I...


Final part

Nothing escapes the all-consuming march of time!


As KALI consumed time and space
Her dimensions grew and grew
Her skin darkened to deep space black
From unfathomable ocean blue
Rivers of obsidian flowed as her wild hair
Untamed, magnificent, streaming
Three blood red eyes past, present, future
Decided who needed redeeming
Four arms, three of which were grasping
A sword, a spear, a bowl
The fourth grabbed a Thuggee's head
Sword decapitated the soul
A crimson red snake of a tongue lashed
Out for every drop of blood
Then the sword slashed every throat there
Her tongue lapped up the flood
KALI'S gaze finally cast upon terrified Giles
Evaporating his body with fire
His conscience was that remained in that dimension
His conscience changed KALI'S desire
Frightful fury morphed in to motherly compassion
Her skin back from black to blue
Spewing out rearranged history, time and space
No other being could construe
But a mother must teach her children lessons
So she left Giles not without guilt
A ****** message painted on his forehead
And a sword driven to its hilt

*THE END!
I know, ****** long and therefor wont be read by many but I just thought it should be posted as one document.
Oui, c'est une montée âpre, longue et poudreuse,
Un revers décharné, vrai site de Chartreuse.
Les pierres du chemin, qui croulent sous les pieds,
Trompent à chaque instant les pas mal appuyés.
Pas un brin d'herbe vert, pas une teinte fraîche ;
On ne voit que des murs bâtis en pierre sèche,
Des groupes contrefaits d'oliviers rabougris,
Au feuillage malsain couleur de vert-de-gris,
Des pentes au soleil que nulle fleur n'égaie,
Des roches de granit et des ravins de craie,
Et l'on se sent le coeur de tristesse serré...
Mais, quand on est en haut, coup d'oeil inespéré !
L'on aperçoit là-bas, dans le bleu de la plaine,
L'église où dort le Cid près de doña Chimène !
The snowflakes fell
Like talcum, softly, from a rusted tube.
Pure and silently, the
Pine trees shrugged
Against the blanket they were forced to hug-
Evergreen arms
Cut the blue sky and
The white clouds became gray,
And they cried.

As a mirror thrown against
A brick wall in the dark,
The wind blew harshly,
Demeaning,
Unforgiving,
Like tiny knives, tiny shards
Of broken glass, fast and hard.

Drops of dew looked up to the sky-
And now it is springtime;
Spring is the temple,
Love is a new day
To open your eyes and
Count the
Births,
And blooms,
And beginnings
And things.

The raindrops fell in a gentle mist,
Fat and slow,
Onto blades of dark green grass
And when they landed,
They kissed.

Light
Tangos on the tops of heads,
Perches in the hair like
Crown jewels,
Liquid like gold
Above faces of lovers-
Lovely, bright, and bold.
Births,
And blooms,
And beginnings,
And things.
And now it is springtime,
Stuck inside a blissful moment,
Snapping vintage photographs in
Hues of yellow and green,
Chartreuse, something in between-
Light falls down though eyelashes,
Dancing upon toes of shoes,
Hoping this moment doesn’t
End too soon.
Rigel Ordinario Aug 2012
The sunken island stretches far behind;
Upon this makeshift vessel out at sea—
Running. Running from home to be free.

How droll to be running from home,
From faces I love, whom at first seemed so kind.
But love cannot thrive where one is alone.
Forced into rituals absurd, ha!
I’d have died a thousand deaths before,
For my heart has always desired different,
As these waves that flow against the current—
Not the smoothest road taken,
But one that nonetheless reaches an end.

The Sapphire Dome fades into the distance:
I shall miss its faint glimmer,
As it flows into the Sunken City;
The sight of the sun as the sky grows dimmer.
But the people may live as they would,
In the shells of their minds—
Afraid of change and aught remotely close—
Forcing ritual upon ritual
On each child that longs to be free.

Through the mist, the island Omninada,
Trees bordering its mountains grand
And white smoke wafting from its sand.
I clasp the chartreuse dagger on my side,
The only friend I’ve known.
A new land and a new life—
A new name I’ll of course condone.
A boy of mine own fragile stature
Requires quite an entrance . . .

A vicious gust of wind befalls the boat!
Beyond the spumes of brine,
An eddy I see forms beneath,
And I am hanging for my life and dagger.

The precious metal flies
And I am ****** into the water’s depths.
Eyes of brilliant em’rald meet my own
Before I fall into immediate slumber.
Taken from my epic poem, "The Seal of Xonyu."
Helen Jan 2012
Is mauve, turquoise, burgundy, teal, lavender,
puce, umber, magenta and chartreuse.
It’s a rainbow of color that climbs after the thunderstorms
that is like a badge on a sky that is so blue

It is deserts and rains and mountains and plains
that stretch as far as the eye can comprehend
It is surrounded by ocean and blessed be
the beauty of it just never ends

It’s half a day trip and a drive up the mountain
to walk the forest trail to see the platypus in their habitat
It’s just a short trip on a hot summer day
to lay on a beach and man… In summer, you can’t beat that

At the same time it’s a winter wonderland of snow falls
upon mountains that are majestically steep
It’s a day trip away from the most magnificent site
Ayers Rock lives in mystery of ancestry so deep

Its glow worms at night alighting so bright
inside their domed cave at Natural Arch
It’s the Great Barrier Reef where the natural order of things
continue to grow, a rainbow of coral on the march

It’s sharing the ancestry of all that live on our land
St Patrick’s Day, Chinese New Year, we accept any invitation
We especially are thrilled when the rest of world joins in
with our love of a good horse race, Melbourne Cup…..
The Race That Stops a Nation

What other land has an entire country stand still
for three and a half minutes, which has never seemed so long
Fortunes are won and lost on this great day
Horses come from afar, we say ‘Bring It On’

There are no concrete jungles, just a huge urban sprawl
where everyone can claim paradise as their own
Its kids in the street playing cricket and football
amongst a community with which they have grown

Born from conviction, but raised by honor
it’s the land that just goes to show
that no matter where you may come from
if you put down roots, from our soil, you will grow

Friendships come easy, mateship is a lifetime gift
If you’re in trouble and the odds against you are stacked
Just give a holler, she’ll be right mate
We like a good fight. We’ve got ya back!
and today we celebrate... Happy Australia Day ;-)
Jenny Gordon Apr 2017
April...my early sonnets...leaning on the windowsill as the streets were mad rivers, Mum in bed just behind me--ya, I've long been the nightowl, though how many times I'd hang out with her when I did.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLXVIII)


Ah, silver gloaming whose soft light is thence
More yellow than wee baby leaves' detail
Of green chartreuse as rain now waltzes, pale
Yet with that subtler voice in tow, lawns hence
Thick carpets laid out 'gainst grey racks a sense
Of pink like fragile mists haunts to avail,
These naked boughs in lingerie black's scale
Just tinges, April clothed ere nightfall, whence?
O me!  The blacktop sports thin puddles fer
A touch of wet, and Friday's hallowed to
Some, good cuz dunno why, as we talk.  Were
It taxes or the missiles elsewhere, who
Shall--what?  I listen, laugh, want Andrew, poor
As saying is, and recall Mum:  all we knew.

14Apr17c
Taking for granted so much, scares me...like the fun we had over dinner and after tonight, me and my brothers...
Riq Schwartz Jun 2014
Thy blowing blue breakers
sweep overboard,
take color away from
the faces of the men,
washed in white walled foam
and cyanotic sapphire
speak novels in seconds
no well placed punctuation
such is the way of the sea

I'm searching the heavens
for happy notes
over sour tones
and mis-pitched harmonies.
As I stargaze, I'm trampled
by depressive episodes and felonies.


Now,
your bold bone breakers
bring drought and salt
but nothing savory here.
Nothing ventured and
nothing gained,
streets washed of life, weeds,
wear and tears
the only water to be found
wasted on self expression
instead of survival.
Such is the bane of our fathers.

Women's feet shuffled like playing cards
and men's backs bare a striking resemblance
- striking? stricken -
to the laugh-lashed shaming
of their own emotional dilapidation.
And might your mind be free
from weather and tears
you have but to hear/see/smell the broken
to become undone
Like so many pages, dead dry leaves
nestled inside leather-bound luxury with a broken spine.
Thy mindless diction fixes
namebrand problems to
hot button topics,
trafficked into pipelines
down polluted broadcasts of
girls girls girls...

Your voice bellows and breaks.
We are nothing.
Whatever color or shape you take,
We are nothing.
Whenever you go and
whichever language you abuse,
remember in your heart that we are
nothing
like
you.

Women's feet shuffle on hardwoods
bringing heart to the beat
as men's whitewashed canvases carry
the quintessence of quixotic movements
in and about key changes
the same as we paint our love
around the fringes of each other
and frame unfamiliar faces in lip-locked sepia
blushing, brushing
we carry the color of previous strokes until
we are each our own historic hue
staining others for future use
in cobalt, mauve, maroon, chartreuse

We harness our pain
in the alchemy of experience
to create beauty.
Omarcito Feb 2021
Powered matter leaves their origin,
Into a land in the distance,
Residing in the hearts of children
Offering everything but resistance,
Exchanging life and his riches
For the taste of blood in their kisses.

A child is a sacrifice
For what is right
In the prophet’s eyes
And minds that are blind
To the lies that bind
His cries and surmise-s.
The prophet’s prophecy
Is to gain profit from gases
More flammable that propane.
His fingers, crossed and lost,
His veins, lost its blue,
His skin, has turns chartreuse
With the sight of the new moon.

A new dawn begins
With the same sun,
Covered by new clouds.
Sounds of the innocent,
Muffled by the lead they’re
Buried in.
Their fears of growth
Disappear with their sight.
But it’s alright,
It’s in the name of Liberty,
Currency, and Democracy.

— The End —