"fuschia" poems
if ever there were
gods or goddesses of desert
of the drylands
of parched earth some call home
they would be surprised to learn
of the miracle of
this Spring deluge
unfurling forth
from deep within
the crusty dermis
of this sublunar territory:
hydrangea and ***** apple flower,
intermingling their hues
of mauve and lilacs,
as well as the color of sky
blooms of the succulents
popping open
in celebratory dance
in wild fuschia
sunray butter:
a dazzling botanic trance
hollyhocks of magenta,
veils of bougainvellia, too
sweetpea clusters
curling in the trellis
weaving heavy-scented magic
through and through
a private orchard of lemon tree, and apple
olive and pistachio grove
One would not guess
the endless giving
of this desert treasure trove
And I feel like a goddess
of mythology softly spun
like Demeter, or Ceres
ancient Egyptian Renenutet
my hands spread out
in the licks of gentle sun
for as spring pours forth its honey
all through this barren land
I , too reawake
and flush out all the infected,
dust-scratched sand
I welcome in
the waters of abundance,
of love, of light under stars
let new energy wash out
old poisons
my radiance spilling far
Reaching out unto the Universe,
cradling this heart
I cup the buds of blooms,
of nectar
to inseminate my dark
allowing me
to release the past
and seed within me, lit
the atoms
of new
start
unfolding bit
by tender
bit
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 10:05 AM UTC
A lady in blue.
In a purse
unzipped,
A coral pink lipstick
A rose blusher
A bronzed eyeshadow
A fuschia eyeshadow
A black eyeliner
A mascara
A compact powder
A lipgloss.
Strolling in a park,
The purse
clutched.
Poised.
Protected.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
charcoal
oxblood
poppy
pomegranate
maroon
cranberry
cherry
creamsicle
orange soda
saffron
lemon
egg yolk
buttermilk
sunflower
olive
forest
lime
mint
ice
blueberry
royal blue
navy
bubblegum
fuschia
salmon
grape
lavender
wine
chocolate
espresso
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:07 AM UTC
******* in you nose can do that,
This is the rosebush, the fuschia,
the striding spiderweb of summer.
Your trees from the ocean and sky,
and sepals turned sences.
A spindle-spinning wheel,
turning sunflowers to liquid honey,
yum - yum - yum !
Oh the tastes of nature,
hidden in burrow holes,
with small mice chittering their teeth,
through chestnut temples!
A crucified sunflower, soft-spoken ochre,
the pumpkins turning fields to dust
and growing seeds of castles.
Three blades of grass in
tasseled soil.
Three green-squash faces
among the fields burgundy,
growing eyeballs.
Viola splashes wave,
Palo Santo fragrance,
Filling the nostrils with
Happiness!
Day-to-day ecstatic twirls
Twists and twirls,
a steep staircase to
the waterfall's epicenter.
The soul of the falls tumbling
across the sealed creek,
oiled with the feathers of soils.
The queen of frozen loganberries
gazes with approval,
watching seperate streams congeal, spiral,
and form starry nights
beneath the sky.
Lime scent comforting
the ☀ of rivers!
Written by: Lotus and Simon
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 4:16 PM UTC
i should be seeing
fuschia,violet,vermillion,olive,chestnut,
but all my eyes comprehend is the
chromaticity of this disorder
turquoise,crimson,cerulean,mint,wine,
all i see is but an esoteric dream.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
Strider is red
Egbert is blue
They're gay for each other*
Like I am for you.
***
Gamzee is purple
Terezi is teal
Their love's a bit different
Because hate's what they feel.
***
Meenah is fuschia
Vriska is blue
Cute lesbian couple
P badass too.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
Do you know what it's like
to feel the limits of time
against your heart
to rest in a fallible place
seeing clearly the last grain of sand fall
declaring the moment
the end of hope to carry out a mission
a vision
from decisions
you refused to make
steps you refused to take
'i love you's'
you failed to say
or even whisper
have your eyes ever looked in a mirror
and seen such a glare
D I S A P P O I N T M E N T
from missing an appointment
filled with blossoming orange and fuschia gladiolas
and even some in full bloom
with nectar at their center too saccharine even for a bee's tongue
i wanted to taste you.
and instead of using my index finger to scoop up your essence
i let fear paralyze the progression
and it's much deeper than even kryptonite to superman
i mean it's more like Christopher Reeve
still
yet aging
not able to go backward
only to face what lies ahead
Now i'm sleeping
left dreaming
of all the NOW infinite IMpossibilities
my eyes looking out
while traveling over the deep sea of self apologies
for never trying to even hold your hand
Oh how i wish i could flip this hourglass back to when i was 10...
and fearless of
rejection.
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 9:54 AM UTC
Colors, have ways of making us soar,
or fall.......they make us buoy...
they, too, can divide and isolate...
long ago, a magazine
was colored and identified for a reason.....
also,
a kind of blue-sy music, upon which i groove,
...was named for the same reason...
.............a magazine..... a music genre,
became instruments...and parts of
dark and golden moments.......recalled
and enjoyed, every now and then...they're
painted.......registered in people's minds....
life is a magazine of stories, of poetry...
life is a jukebox...filled with soundtracks
life is an album...a collection of smiles
...of colorful images and emotions
reddish brown at first...turning yellow brown,
with tinges of taupe.......mottled through the years,
turning...into fading shades of sepia...
i refuse my late summer moments on earth
............to be done in Grisaille,
painted, only in tones of grey and dark green...
...it is written...one day, life would be hued with
subdued colors...the blues, silvers and grays,
...........will be cold as winter...
but, until then,
i'd rather be consumed with liveliness
i would adorn my days with peach and lilac
blossoms, hang fuschia pink pennants
on my wall....to brighten my disposition,
i'd practice...play the guitar once again,
i'll wear my ruffled, dappled-purple skirt,
and yellow converse sneakers when i walk on
the pavement....under blue skies that enhance
greens, and gold...colors that breathe existence
transforming weariness to courage...
wherever...whenever, however possible,
i speak, whisper to God words of gratitude,
and endless thanksgiving...i pray for strength.
and acceptance........prepare myself...when,
.....i, too...would face my own moments,
...............of fading sepia.
Sally
Copyright August 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
Secret Garden
Rose buds dressed in pastel pink,
Waxy coats,
Keep secrets locked tight,
Till they bloom,
They'll never tell,
Not indiscreet,
As buds are open,
All set free,
Release sweet secrets to you and me,
Fuschia dark awaits her popping,
As child,
Was a game,
Her secret's darker than her flower,
That's why she stays locked tight!
Aquilegia, my Columbine,
Keeps delicate secrets,
Safe in fragile name,
As dainty dancer,
Secrets safe from Pantaloon,
Les Millions d' Arlequin,
Harlequin seeks his columbine,
A comedy of errors,
He'll never find!
Garden secrets will release if in crazy error,
The grass finds out,
Whispering in tongues,
With conscience sadly lacking,
On breezy days,
As zephyr lifts,
Malachite secrets,
Malevolence released!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
A thousand waterfalls, or more,
towering layers, feeding one another.
Turbid and deep in the ancient slough.
Across a soak of violet moss,
an algae rinse surveying silent
the ardor of springtime blossom.
Fuschia kelp hewn from amethyst;
the lilacs died and their graves grew moss.
With these sugilite sculptures, the falls were imbrued,
and soon were given unto the same cerise hue.
These tiered creeks, so like a staircase, fell in love
with the bryphophite wash.
And like a pond filled with plums,
the lake birthed from the falls
proved to be dyed the most purple of all.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
If I could give you a world
to do with as you please
I'd colour my raindrops purple
falling onto orange trees
I'd make my oceans fuschia
and each fish a different shade
so that you'll always see the love
with which this world was made....
I'd paint the tulips indigo
and give them yellow leaves
I'd add a touch of ruby red
to the buzzing honey bee
I'd take away all black and gray
and replace it all with white
so when you looked upon your world
you'd know that it was right...
I'd colour all the heavens
with the brightest apple green
and paint the stars in lilac
to match the blue moonbeams
and then I'd add a butterfly
exactly as it's made
to reflect upon the twinkling stars
so they can never fade....
The clouds I'd do in silver
to compliment the gold
and make your world a jewel in life
that never can be sold...
And then at last I'd sign my name
in bright bits of tangerine
You'd see all of this wonderous hue
like walking through my dream
and then I'll give you all the paints
the chalks and pastels too
For no one can ever see the shades
or the colours that are you!
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 2:18 AM UTC
It’s complicated…
And comes in
Varying shades of gray…
Up the scale
To sweaty FUSCHIA
Or down the scale
To dismal BLACK
Let it be
What it be…
Because
It is…
What it is…
Don’t overthink it
Don’t micro analyze it… or
Make excuses for it… or
For the lack of it…
Because…
It’s complicated
Love is…
And comes in
Varying shades of gray
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 7:01 AM UTC
I feel much heavier these days
I sleep a lot, and I paint with browns
Light ochre and soft greys
You tell me that's what you've noticed, anyway.
I forget to do my nails, and leave my hair up
Let it grow out and longer than it suits me.
Sometimes you tell me things have changed and tightly hold my hands -
I laugh and pretend I don't understand.
I used to read a lot, read to you -
Anything I found, poetry and song lyrics
And books I'd bought, or old ones that i'd suddenly see anew
when I'm seeing you,
over the top of the pages
Sitting opposite me crossed legged
Mimicking my voice
Laughing till we're both lightheaded.
Years ago you used to replace the flowers in my bedroom every morning
I told you to stop and that lilies were getting boring.
Today I got up extra early and painted my nails fuschia-pink
And cut big handfuls of daisies for the vase above the kitchen sink
When you came down from bed I looked at you over the pages of my book and said
"Remember this?
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 5:07 PM UTC
I drank cold coffee and wrote with a sticky pen; clearly headed nowhere good to-day.
They rolled their **** in mango-flavored papers.
I stood small and center
in the dark room, hands clutching
mesh straps of a fuschia-pink littlegirl backpack.
I stood
slightly slumped
to watch dim orange light outside the dorm window set fire to my shoes.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
An empty coffee mug.....
Could evoke impending sadness
between you and the empty vessel,
are some private, reflective moments
It could mean,
it is time for you to stand up,
away from the coffee table
and start your daily grind
face another day in your life...
An empty coffee mug
could lead to
the end of a long exhausting day
the end of a conversation
the end of a relationship :(
Coffee is gone,
lots of things have to be done
maybe, It is time to leave an old life
old beliefs, give away old clothes, old books
some goodbyes have to be said
to old friends gone...old self, and
to old pricking, stabbing pain...
move to another house, for a new life
new opportunities, new friends
new surroundings, await
Each season segues to the next
yellow-green, brown, fuschia pink
red-orange, purple, even aqua-blue
slowly, but surely, they all turn to gray
the lovely colors of Spring,
Summer and Autumn,
become ashen...and die
but... after a while, they surely give way,
a springing of new life
could never be held at bay
.......................................
out of the coffee shop
or maybe, outside your room...just stop,
it could be a stretch from your scope of view
you are faced with the birthing of everything new
there is sun shining
for sure.....a moon rising
.........................................
An empty coffee mug
could mean,
the end of your break time
stop wallowing
quit postponing
focus back on work and
things to be prioritized
now is the time...got to move on.....
Sally
Copyright September 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
Within a single day's blink.
Fuschia buds blossom
an exquisitely pale pink.
Impatient branches wear
their now exotic veil.
The leaves felt ******
throbbing in the gale.
Wind ruffled petals,
Glisten with dew.
The stagnant empty winter
is now a voluptuous floral view.
The naked pink will call to you.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 8:26 AM UTC
i see your face in the evening sky
i know that it's you by your celestial lustre
as heavenly bodies make revolutions nearby
you remain stead fast and burn brightly as ever
i watch you refract though the atmosphere
and give light to earth's lonely nocturnal sleep
galaxies paint portraits in fuschia and pear
a nebula of beauty that runs both far and deep
when dawn finally breaks and the world awakes
your glow consummates with the morning sun
and though i know not which light either of you makes
i bathe in the heat as we also become one
beauty from afar doesn't feel far away
when i can feel you shine during both night and day
Apr 14, 2010
Apr 14, 2010 at 2:55 PM UTC
Your brown eyes could glow an eternity
Setting entire galaxies into flames
Your phases of the moon changed perfectly
As an eclipse rushed through your pastel veins
And then, sadness would trickle down us face
All of a sudden, building a terror
Inside of me that I cannot erase
Who knew nebulas contain lavender
However, your constellations still shined
Even when the sky wreaked havoc upon earth
And your sanity was never aligned
You really are more than you think you're worth
If only I could see your ember soul
Once more, my fuschia heart would be more whole
~Amanda S.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 7:04 AM UTC
Why does it turn its head from side to side?..........
Watching from the bay window, i knew that very moment,
it was obviously up to something, a mischief at most.
it was comfortably hunched under the cool shade
of the sweetsop tree; the fuschia bougainville,
its thorny branches added to the shade.
Glaring blue-gray eyes appeared to be
basking in the sunny weather, the
yellow and pink wildflowers, its
body, hiding from the rays of
the sun, hiding 'neath the
tall, swaying branches
of the oxygen plant,
with its soft stems
moving weirdly
like a see-saw,
the succulent
leaves, one
by o n e
being cut
off its stem.
It seemed sure,
as it hit its nose
a g a i n s t the whole
bunch over and over....the
leaves, one by one, fell softly
on the ground. Now, i know why
it turned its head, from side to side...
how surprised was i, for it gathered the
fallen leaves to where it hid underneath the
sweetsop tree......for there, the leaves occupied
some space, and then i saw it lay upon the coolness
of the gathered leaves, then leant its head beside an old
empty clay *** cold, too, i suppose.....fell asleep in comfort.
I fought the urge to lift this clever, self-reliant creature, take it
to my lap and cuddle it, lest it scratch me with its furry paws, glare
at me, even growl at me....instead of rubbing its body near my legs
giving me sweet meows, soft purrs, so, i left it alone while cat-napping.
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A.Bayan
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
A mountain dweller clung the livelong
day...rank and nude...fuschia skies sequenced.
Surrogate family to ram, serpent, eagle--
inebriate of consciousness, holy spurn.
Of rubble and dappled shadow, G*d's
wayside seed sown...severe eyes, Witness expressly.
He could crowd fire, latch to it--rocking in
orange flashes.
A swarm of chants uplift and pivot him...
flying a thousand names for not this, nor that...
as That.
A haunting inheritance whole--ascendant
body of mind...transfiguring locus of
whitening white...there pardoned of nature,
supernatural panache.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
I cannot really it explain,
but I can give it
one helluva try.
It's a million (or more)
fuschia-pumpers,
the spilling of hemoglobin
& red corpuscles,
broken bones
bleached white,
lying in the sun.
And streams of blue
tumbling from
the duct-factory
& the silent
green fields.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
I lost myself in the stories in the newspapers,
and the coffee he poured me because he thought
I needed something,
but I did not order a thing.
I lost myself in the fuschia flower in her hair,
over her left ear, but,
my left ear didnt have a flower, and,
come to think of it, it probably never would.
I drank my coffee, black, because I didn't know any better,
and watched the lovers fight over buttered crossiants and
cinammon lattes with whipped cream and chocolate syrup.
My knuckles felt like typewriters, but,
for once in my life I wasn't writing.
I was hardly thinking,
I was hardly speaking even.
I lost myself in the low music and guitar
coming from inside the cafe
because, unlike me, it was beautiful
and soft, and lovely.
He poured me more coffee even though
I didnt want it, and,
gave me a crossiant, "on the house."
Who would think to give,
an observer something lovely?
But I had accepted it because
mother always said
"be kind."
I lost myself in silver eyes,
or, were they golden?
I hardly remember but I lost
myself in them.
And I didn't know why.
I fell in love at a coffee shop
where, I counted change,
like quarters and dimes and
anything to give him something
worth keeping.
I fell in at a coffee shop because
life was beautiful and people didn't
know me here at all so,
they couldn't follow me home.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
When i was young, my skin was smooth and soft and un-ravaged.
Then, I grew up, and my top and bottom cheeks sagged, and my laughter
became a tangible memory around the corners of my eyes.
Now, when I smile, there are dimples and there are lines,
like the life-line and the love-line which are supposed to spell out my story
on the palm of my hand.
When I opened my eyes as a child, I saw brown water and blue skies and popsicles.
I saw floats on a lake and boats and friends splashing in from a water-trampoline,
yellow life jackets bobbing and children shouting.
Now, I still see blue skies, but sometimes there are white clouds and sometimes grey.
I see my mother with her own memories of laughter around her eyes and I see the crevices
at the edges of my father’s mouth from smiling and frowning.
I smell flowers now, and little boys inform me they're fuschia, and when I breathe
at night my pillow smells like London and my room like lavender so I am home and
abroad at once.
Once, when I was sad, I would think mommy and daddy mommy and daddy.
Now, when I am afraid, I think mommy mommy daddy I miss you.
I sleep in a twin bed and I tickle myself and it is like I am in kindergarten but now
my fantasies are slicker and harsher but they still paint pictures of a school girl.
I lay in shivasna when I was young yet not old, and I saw a peach pit uncovered,
and it transcended back in time to a baby, just born in the world, and I realized
how it is we can die before our bodies do, how our minds can leave even though
we physically stay.
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC
I wonder what either shall think if they see this page?
(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXXIV)
How fuschia peers as from a slit cut thence
Twixt purplish navy racks low on the pale
West houses cluster 'fore in gloaming's frail
Eye, and down in the valley silence'd fence
Lo, neighbors' dogs set up a racket whence
I unpeg laundry that ne winds exhale
Through save by whispers, hoping yet for bail
When I can see Shaun, like tis not pretense.
One headline touted findings of why you're
Too fond of being online. Well, I'll tell you:
Cuz breathing is more stale than we'll endure.
And wherefore is't that waking to Will's cue
Began this fine divorce from that? In poor
Scuse I liked Shaun ere and what shall I do?
21Oct16e
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
Kick me, I smile too gaily for the sparrows these days.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCL)
Now twilight falls upon what was and thence
Sifts out more lucid notes, how silence' pale
Breath hangs oer naked trees until their frail
Stance, like to ghosts half frozen in suspense,
Waits for the darkness sans a voice, though hence
Ah, Mavis' hallowed strains aught thrill t'avail.
Me left alone and whispring in betrayl,
"Oh, Andrew--!" blue skies thicken oer that sense.
Yes, I watched orange splash stone walls left as twere
Forlorn with empty eyes that stared out through
The greyish windows as lo, clouds donned fer
Effect, ah, purple, fuschia winking too
Oer houses left in shadows none in poor
'Scuse shifted. Come, tell me when he'd not woo.
06Apr17c
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 1:03 AM UTC