"dyes" poems
748
Autumn—overlooked my Knitting—
Dyes—said He—have I—
Could disparage a Flamingo—
Show Me them—said I—
Cochineal—I chose—for deeming
It resemble Thee—
And the little Border—Dusker—
For resembling Me—
17.7k
If I'm the Doctor,you're the nurse
This surgery couldn't get any worse
Until I find out I'm not a Doctor- or a Miracle worker.
You're so close from pulling the red right out of me
Now you made it blue
Like the artificial coloring dyes
I really can't say goodbye
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
Moons fall,
Eggshell snow,
Blurred illumination,
Dreary lights,
Twinkles disintegrate,
Blazed sparks fade,
Faint complexion,
Awkward tree,
Ornament shadows,
Fuses burn out,
Connection lost,
Spirit dies out,
Yuletide lie,
Imperfection.
My eyes are dark as Halloween night.
Suns shine,
White angel,
Luminous site,
Multicolored pigments,
Rosy cheeks glow,
Rays seep through,
Vivid hue,
Elegant she,
Majestic gleams,
Beams strike around,
Fascination found,
Neon dyes around,
Joyful cry,
Pulchritude.
Her eyes are bright as Christmas morning.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:13 AM UTC
Flowers preach to us if we will hear:--
The rose saith in the dewy morn,
I am most fair;
Yet all my loveliness is born
Upon a thorn.
The poppy saith amid the corn:
Let but my scarlet head appear
And I am held in scorn;
Yet juice of subtle virtue lies
Within my cup of curious dyes.
The lilies say: Behold how we
Preach without words of purity.
The violets whisper from the shade
Which their own leaves have made:
Men scent our fragrance on the air,
Yet take no heed
Of humble lessons we would read.
But not alone the fairest flowers:
The merest grass
Along the roadside where we pass,
Lichen and moss and sturdy ****
Tell of His love who sends the dew,
The rain and sunshine too,
To nourish one small seed.
6.8k
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
5.4k
One without looks in tonight
Through the curtain-chink
From the sheet of glistening white;
One without looks in tonight
As we sit and think
By the fender-brink.
We do not discern those eyes
Watching in the snow;
Lit by lamps of rosy dyes
We do not discern those eyes
Wandering, aglow
Four-footed, tiptoe.
4.8k
When crystal droplets of rain fall on the ground
When the smell of rain mingles that with the sand
I will remember you
When petals first open their very eyes
And emit fragrance, showing their colorful dyes
I will remember you
When a rainbow forms, a prism, a multitude of color
When plants germinate, drink rain and grow taller
I will remember you
When autumn leaves begin to fall on the countryside
Crinkles of red and orange, carried with the wind's tide
I will remember you
When full ripe Granny apples and Smiths begin to grow
And the river's sound rhythmically flows
I will remember you
When you harvest your crops and gather your wood
When you light a candle, wait for winter as you should
I will remember you
And when winter snowflakes begin to fall
And you wear your gloves and scarves for warmth
I will remember you
In the long dreary dark winter days
Lingering smells of coffee and apple cinnamon bakes
I will remember you
As the children's laughter slowly returns
And your smile that I long for and yearn
I will remember you
When the sunflowers directly gaze at the sun
And the windmills across the fields begin to run
I will remember you
When drunk are the freshly squeezed lemonade
And along the wind sways, little girls braids
I will remember you
A seasons love, I will remember you
I will always remember you
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Why do poets and photographers love fleeting things?
Angled shafts of sunlight piercing a mass
of clouds. A rainbow flashing from dragonfly wings.
Water drops beading like shards of glass.
The fluttering shape of a sycamore’s shade.
The sun sinking into its reflection
In a purple bay. Smoke’s shadow. The rayed
Curve of a finger reaching for perfection.
Whatever churns, bursts, rocks, flies,
Foams, flickers, roils, evades
In pigments of impermanent dyes
We try to fix before it fades
Once I mourned the endless dying
Of here and now, the present always past
Elegized each moment, sighing
Beauty is loss and can never last.
But now I think I had it wrong. In fact
(I learned this from an artist’s eye)
Fleeting beauty reappears faster than we react,
At the speed of a daydream flashing by.
All around, light coalesces into form,
Form explodes into light,
And we live lavishly inside this storm
If we can learn to see it right.
Beauty multiplies, tapering, swelling:
Reshaping, reforming, now familiar, now strange.
This gaudy blur in which we’re dwelling
Is the permanence of change.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
The Most Exciting Part About The Night,
Was Watching The Milliliters Of The IV Bag,
Count Down From 1000,
Blood Staining My Right Arm,
A Glassy Stare Fogging My Own Vision,
The Bitter Taste Of ***** And Dissapointment,
Was Lodged In The Back Of My Throat,
Thirst Coating The Roof Of My Mouth,
My Body Weak,
The Rhythmic Clicking Of Machines Relaxing,
Almost--Peaceful,
Black Clawing At The Sides Of My Eyes,
Whispering A Lulling Language--Sleep My Friend,
Doctors Poking At My Abdomen,
Nurses Pushing Fluids Through My Veins,
Dyes, Potassium, Water, And Many Medicines,
X-Rays And CAT Scans Went By In A Blur,
As I Slowly Regained My Body
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
Morning collapses into night
with emotions scattered on the ground
here we are kneeling down
picking up the pieces,
throwing them into pools of midnight
This bitter honey sleeps on my tongue
my words unfiltered
build static charge
in these exchanges
through which this current flows
I'm left wondering, if within your eyes
I can find the pain that you disguise
if i can pull it out from this
reservoir of sunset dyes
and stain it with the words I left inside
will it bloom into the flowers
we would pick and laugh over
to hide the butterflies
circling this unknown that we once denied?
Mar 15, 2022
Mar 15, 2022 at 10:17 AM UTC
Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have passed,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep impressed
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes,
Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled
Lone manhood’s cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless child!
3.3k
1673
Nature can do no more
She has fulfilled her Dyes
Whatever Flower fail to come
Of other Summer days
Her crescent reimburse
If other Summers be
Nature’s imposing negative
Nulls opportunity—
3.2k
Morning collapses into night
with emotions scattered on the ground
here we are kneeling down
picking up the pieces,
throwing them into pools of midnight
This bitter honey sleeps on my tongue
my words unfiltered
build static charge
in these exchanges
through which this current flows
I'm left wondering, if within your eyes
I can find the pain that you disguise
if i can pull it out from this
reservoir of sunset dyes
and stain it with the words I left inside
will it bloom into the flowers
we would pick and laugh over
to hide the butterflies
circling this unknown that we once denied?
Mar 15, 2022
Mar 15, 2022 at 1:42 AM UTC
Eat from the ground, all the different colours of the food,
autumn comes, pain for the leaves, death dyes the life,
Earth gives, slippery sometimes, stuntman fall on the floor for a film
nutrition beneath our feet, kaleidoscope of tastes and sensations, good,
trees that grow and give life splinter skin,
carnival of motions reaching from the ground in an infinite cascade,
hope for the future,
baseball players in a stadium, the crowds and players all wrapped around the same pleasures for a little while,
for some it's sugar,
and others ******
Fluffy colours fades,
samba, world feeling;
Cake at a party finger dipping from bowl to bowl of party foods refined from all recognition from the ground first manufactured by nature,
glass spilt over and sticky hair,
slither of glass on the table, children spin around on the grass,
blood, a nail from a plank of wood left on the grass, pain like the bite of a snake,
activity carries on despite the tears, dance, sponge deprived of it's fondant,
the sun is going, the ground remains warm a while.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
As the choir breathes and fires freeze
As the sun kneels on the highways of what's real
There's a soldier of broken love
Standing on the King's Landing above
There's dim lights on his skin-tight
jeans, and it's reflected in Ray-Ban eyes
He stares off as the coffee drops
Into her cup and she doesn't even look up
And now is now somehow
The night cries as the winter dyes
The windows in frost and loss
The LED is bad company
Its arms aren't warm and it dies in storms
And now is now somehow
Words inside the head are never said
Life beyond the grave is never saved
The door is never opened by the wind
Love never fought for never begins
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 3:42 AM UTC
Raccoon eyes,
Black hair dyes
Spiked teased hair
Saying "i dont care"
To hot to cold
Said in bold
Palmers lane
Little youngens playing
Music screaming
Carefreeing
Having fun
Sun to sun
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 5:53 PM UTC
and you’ll see the moon,
reflecting off the light of the sun.
you’ll see the blushing sunset,
dancing around the skirt of the night canvas.
you’ll see the pinpricks of stars,
dead for years yet shining just for us.
you’ll see the one spot in the sky,
where the artist never finished painting
the galaxy around the planets.
the milky way runs patterns across your eyes,
and dyes your shadow a silvery glow.
we’re all looking up at the sky,
searching.
for what, we don’t know.
don’t worry,
I’m looking too.
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 9:35 PM UTC
that has taken the mantle,
the muse of inspiration,
for she -
(did you think she was a man-god?)
dyes me oft, colors me, ***** me,
loves me with intensity hot
that near to make my heart stop.
poems I did not know,
knew not their name,
would write,
but moments ago,
now are
chicks in the hatchery hatching,
cupcakes in the oven rising,
spit in the mouth ***********
so fast a-coming,
the sustained pleasure
the best drug I have designed.
seconds ago there were none,
a lifetime of moments,
now, multitudinous,
molecules of
oxygenated words
flying past my eyes,
purposed for inhalation
through my skin.
all week I have stretched and pecked,
shreds of lettuce un satisfied,
a title, no poem,
a stanza, no poem,
like I need a woman,
need to write,
like I need loving,
desperate and raging,
need to write.
even my alter ego,
the hidden me,
where I write on the other side
of edgy, indie, across border lines,
in a name you do not know,
nothing.
started poems about
being enlightened,
my eldest sin,
my eldest son,
hitting a kid with a car,
reading writing and 'rithmetic,
inch plants,
****
about the young poets here,
fast track to nowhere.
but at 2:22 am awoke,
my small engine repaired,
the fingers humming flying across the keyboard
so fast broke the 3:50 minute mile,
dear muse,
I hate you with all my love.
would it be so terrible if you gave me
one complete per day,
is that too much to ask?
now I am choking gasping on
****** adrenalin cup overflowing,
now they come like *******
only a women can have,
so many more than one,
long short fast furious
separate but connected.
you make me woman,
just like you.
one day when get up high where you reside,
gonna start a recall petition, and if that don't work,
a revolution, to kick out the cruelty y'all dish out,
the tornadoes and typhoons,
return the missing to their parents,
and give inspiration, hope
to every human poet upon this
living planet.
now I comprehend why
Shakespeare's theater was called
The Globe.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 5:58 AM UTC
I want to be a hippie,
join a small commune,
set up my camp
way out in the woods,
near the back forty
& the railroad tracks.
I want to swim naked
with them pretty chicks,
braid natty dreads,
go tubing on the river,
make beeswax candles
& tie dyes.
I want weave dream catchers,
paint glitter on Venetian beads,
sing happy songs,
create new stars,
eat whole wheat bread
& make Tabouili salads.
I wanna dance,
circle the blazing fire,
shout out at the moon,
splash myself in patchouli,
smell weed-smoke in the air
& indulge in tantric things.
I don’t wanna
hurt anybody,
break any laws,
just wanna spread love,
blow kisses to butterflies,
ride double-rainbows
on magic carpets
& be a hippie.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
we did not Dye in vain!
by michael r. burch
(from “songs of the sea snails”)
though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.
i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!
Originally published by The American Dissident
Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!
Keywords/Tags: royal, purple, imperial, Tyrian, Byzantium, porphyry, swaddling, clothes, porphyrogenitos, mollusks, sea snails, royalty, kings, lords, emperors, popes
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
Within the church
The solemn priests advance,
And the sunlight, stained by the heavy windows,
Dyes a yet richer red the scarlet banners
And the scarlet robes of the young boys that bear them,
And the thoughts of one of these are far away,
With carmined lips pouting an invitation,
Are with his love - his love, like a crimson poppy
Flaunting amid prim lupins;
And his ears hear nought of the words sung from the rubricked book,
And his heart is hot as the red sun.
2.4k
Oh my black soul! now art thou summoned
By sickness, death’s herald, and champion;
Thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done
Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled;
Or like a thief, which till death’s doom be read,
Wisheth himself delivered from prison,
But ****** and haled to execution,
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned.
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack;
But who shall give thee that grace to begin?
Oh make thy self with holy mourning black,
And red with blushing, as thou art with sin;
Or wash thee in Christ’s blood, which hath this might
That being red, it dyes red souls to white.
2.2k
I once saw threw the stars pools of serendipitous thoughts.
Melding feelings over-constructively by manifesting stains.
It's too wet,
Leaking unimportance. They aren't colored enough; silly to forget the dyes.
Standing too long, there's a need to stretch.
Stretch back lights, free twinkling corosions away.
I was looking too hard.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
Dear mummy, do you remember the day,
That we went out shopping clothes, for my 10th birthday?
When I stepped in the shop and I saw what was around
- all those wonderful colours - I could hear my heart pound!
Hundreds of skirts and frocks and frills;
And I smelt them and felt them, and thought “Buy one, I will!”
I quickly, swiftly, scanned the shelves,
And finally spotted, the one I wanted for myself!
It was a lovely cotton frock, with a lovely white patch
In the shape of a dog - and a white collar to match.
It was the best frock I’d seen and it made my day.
And to top it all, it was a splendid light grey!
“Grey?!” you wailed. “Are you sure?
That’s not a real colour. Let’s look some more.”
“Oh!” I thought “All I need to do,
Is to tell mummy that grey’s a colour too!”
But I tried and I tried, but you didn’t see
And I almost cried, when you said grey is not for me.
“Why mummy why? Why do you think that’s true?
So many things are grey! And they’re lovable too.
Like dark fluffy clouds, just before they’re going to rain.
And squirrels and cats, and sewage drains.
Alright, alright, maybe drains you don’t adore,
But what about dogs, baby elephants and more!”
But you gave me that look of sheer surprise,
Wondering why I liked grey, better than lavender dyes.
“Girls don’t wear grey, ma, At least I don’t think they should.
Aren’t you a girl? Or have I misunderstood?”
“Of course I’m a girl, And not anything less.
But that never crossed my mind, when I saw that lovely dress!
I just really loved it. I can’t explain why.
Could you tell me why you like lavender? Give it a try!”
“Because lavender is soft!”, you said. “And lavender is nice,
And lavender is so soothing, to my eyes!”
“No wonder you love lavender! That is so cool!
That’s exactly why I love grey mummy! Did I break some rules?”
“It’s not because I’m a boy or because I want to rebel,
It’s because I love the colour, I’m sure you can tell!”
And then I waited to hear what you said.
Would you smile or just shake your head?
“I understand ma, why you love grey.
I don’t love it. But you could love it anyway!
You think it’s bright and I think it’s dull!
And that has nothing to do with you being a girl!”
Dear mummy, do you remember that day?
When you listened and asked instead of looking away?
When you taught me how to respect and learn,
And how to stay and understand instead of doing a turn.
Your words remind me of how you let go
Of years of training of what a girl should do and know.
Thank you for teaching me how to deal with my fears.
I still have that frock with me, after twenty five years.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
The girl was red,
all fire and heart
the boy was blue,
sad from the start
time drew them close,
their worlds were collided
what came next
new colors they provided
it shone so brightly
what they painted anew
like lavender, like violet
such a deep purple hue
life became yellow
like the sand and the sun
no time for hardships
when life is so fun
settling down nicely
yellow became green
small house, three children
peaceful and serene
Green became brown
like bark on a tree
their bones grew brittle
it was harder to see
Age made them weaker, but
their love was still strong
impossible to stop
this halcyon song
Yet all turned black
with a note from a doctor
“Five months.” he’d said
this time he had locked her
They sat in still silence
not saying a word
at this mortal news
for which they’d just heard
Weeks went on
they wept in dark dyes
a song interrupted
by soft subtle cries
It was then they decided
not to end their song sung
not wade in blue shadows
but live life as young
Black shot to yellow
in the blink of an eye
they danced and they laughed
and flew through the sky
When the time came
for her to lay down to rest
it was not a sad day
it was one of the best
This symphony of colors
which he had played such a part
had flipped his world round
painted red, his blue boy’s heart
He joined her shortly
his world turned white
and nothing could dull it
as he walked into night.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC