"fushia" poems
Oh Heiress!
My heiress
You date many men
At the least you've dated eighteen
That's in the last few years
But you're royalist of blood
Makes you special
For you're the heiress
To become The Condescension!
So date who you wish
Be deflowered if you want
But know this
I'll remember this always
Violet's always remember
Especially those who were close
Stay away from Jason!
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 1:23 AM UTC
The wolves did not just stalk quietly through cadmium woods.
Their teeth grew madder and rose from each others throats.
The tigers did not just sleep on mossy slopes,
they colored the afternoon fushia and indigo from caladon heights,
The dragon with its terrible emerald tail and ruby glare,
did not merely threaten to incinerate everything around it.
Spiders prepare a grave.
This thing in a binding tomb.
A multitude of flames, a million orange and blue....
Tears cremating the past.
A burning snow falling everywhere.
When the darkest angel of all, sits at last upon my chest,
permanently enfolding me in its radiant wings....
A creature without a voice,
A voice without a name.
As immortal as mi life,
come here at long last to summon the wind.
© Crystal Erickson
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
Fingers dipped in purple powders
Fushia gold my makeup
Black skintight latex suit with neon circles
How my outfit is made up
Three rings around my waist
Intersecting, two vertical, one on the horizon
The circles glow with noble gases
Radioactive, after all, I'm an alien
Perfect spheres and concentric rings
Are trending, so I have read
I balance on stacked circles, my six inch latex heels
And floating circles surround the pair of buns on my head
My bones poke through my latex,
Anorexia won't stop my passions
I may not be the body type you want, but I'm the body type you have
And I still enjoy the fashions
Feb 29, 2020
Feb 29, 2020 at 2:38 PM UTC
A content life is looked down upon
much akin to how
a crow looks upon the ways of the moth.
'Why spend your life
chasing what eludes you
only to persih by it's hands in the end?'
asks the crow.
'It's the brightest light I have ever looked upon,
therefore the best,
and if I find myself beside the light
I shall be happy.'
retorts the moth,
it's eyes aglow.
The crow looks on at the
vain attempts of a common insect,
lusting after the blinding hand of death,
glittering, buzzing
above their heads.
'Why don't you join me, Crow?
We can chase this light together,
maybe you will find it's glory as well.'
The crow peers curiously at the moth,
addled by the enthusiasm
of chasing such an obvious,
insatiable pleasure.
'I prefer to fly.
I can see all the lights in the world
from above.'
He gestures to the window.
'I have all the fruits of the earth
spread before me.
Mine for the taking
at my leisure.'
But the moth never looked away
from the enticing, electrical bulb.
It buzzed and flew
and smacked against the hot glass.
With one final effort to enter the light,
it popped and found itself on the earthen ground,
lost in a graveyard of conformity.
The crow shivered at the sight
of life wasted on material things
and gaudy glory.
He spread out his wings
and ventured into the evening air
to watch the sun sink behind fushia hills.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
Everyday we will smile and play
Windows will shatter across our platters
The morning will come and bid us hello
As you can imagine everyday was fantastic
All of a sudden the world came crashing
Rivers overturn and tress were falling
Echoing around me where sounds of animals screeching
The colors slowly fadding
Light cried goodbye, Night rose awake
Now these forbidden colors washed into grays
I try to tell everyone but no one listened
blinded by their own injustice
Green has been replaced by death
and i try to bring them back to life
all i have are ashes
The world grows form the tinniest of seeds
And blossoms into the flowers that captivates our sights
We pull form the ground and we stop its life
And for what?
To see it die in a glass container in our house
Forbidden colours of a field in full bloom
But not anymore
Greys have blocked the sky's light from reaching them
The world is slowly coming to a screeching halt
Winters are longer and summers are hotter
I wonder if we will survive
Forbidden colours
Of ice in the north and south that are melting away
Into the blues of oceans that are heating
The rush of water that is filling our land into a swamp
People try to fight against something they cannot control
People will like to blame anything at all
But themselves
All of these colours
fade away as we destroy their homes
And become extinct
Have filled the world with ash
Dark and thick like ink
Forbidden colours
Of the ocean blue
Magentas and purples of coral reefs
Red of the uncut redwood forest
Forbidden colours
Of white mountain tops
And cerulean of shining lakes
With underground forest vibrating viridian
Forbidden colours
Meadows that flow of fushia and lavender
Or fields of golden corn
With the rich brown of dirt
Forbidden colours
Of our pink lungs not filled with industrial vile
© Sofia Villagrana 2018
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
Full ripe fushia bloom
-red as blood
-dripping
-each stem loaded
-hung down weighted
with Bumblebee harvesting
-wild with sunshine honey making.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
snow globe eyes
where enemies hide
carried away by a
sea foam surprise
noises fluoresce
clouds fall to rest
to save winter's goddess
from a fushia mess
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 3:44 AM UTC
Coral, yellow & blue in swirls and patches danced a top the canvas...
the ocean's waves were rushing up against the thick white sand in a burst of foam... the colors of the sunset reflecting in the water. A large palm tree curls upward in a sculpt like figure close by, it's leaves sprawled out in a giant green umbrella of shade. A grassy hill stands in the distance, tiny pops of fushia, orange and purple tropical flowers grace it's border.
It was brilliant.
His easel was sturdy; stuck down in the wet sand. His hands were steady, capturing as he said, "the essence" of the moment. He moved quickly and carefully brushing on the last finishing touches to his masterpiece. He could try quietly to remember that moment, that perfect moment. He named it simply, "Sunset".
My eyes shifted up and down taking in the beauty again as I strolled in the art gallery. I was frozen in front of his beautiful work. I could almost go back there, to that beach in that very moment. I wanted the beauty, the essence, the color.
As I reached down and lifted the tag I read the price.... $1500.....
I knew it was out of my price range and rightfully so I suppose, I mean he was a genius; this I could not deny. I certainly knew I would never be able to bring back such vibrance even in a photograph! I ran my fingers over the canvas, the sand seemed real enough to feel, the water almost wet. I wanted to be in the painting.
I felt a surge of disappointment that I would not be able to keep that moment for myself.
Wait a minute! What was I saying? Wasn't I there? I watched his hands, his brush strokes capturing the beauty of it! Capturing the beauty of what is free...
Woah....
It was then that I stepped back, how could I buy what was freely given? I was humbled in a split second. I am a fool.
It is a sunset. It is a beach. It is an island. It is free. It is earth. It is creation.
And now I take a vow. Everyday of my life from that day forward, I will watch God paint his sky and
never a day in my life will I have to pay a cent for it.
Because creation it is a gift.
In a sunset, in a tree, in the ocean & sand, in the grass, in the clouds... it is a gift.
Try as we may to imitate God's perfect and beautiful gifts... well let's face it... it's all we can do.
The original is priceless.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
till night sleep
Dreaming
...
Lavender
Fushia and tulip
going to latent mountains
dreaming bluebirds
above the sky
Very high
Aloft
Soft
O'er
...
...
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
I'm a bad queen
In my shade shifting castle
Fushia fusion
Magenta giant
Skipping rocks
Breaking rules
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 6:49 PM UTC