Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Eridan Ampora Jul 2014
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!
Amethyst, you lucky *****! But I'm glad to be Violet since there can't be a male fushia blood. She likes dating men and I don't want her near Jason. Condescending means you talk down to someone, She's definitely turning into the Condescension
Crystal Erickson Dec 2014
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
Asominate Feb 2020
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
Sub Rosa Oct 2013
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.
Sometimes we are the moth.
Sometimes we are the crow.
nivek Jun 2015
Full ripe fushia bloom
-red as blood
-dripping
-each stem loaded
-hung down weighted
with Bumblebee harvesting
-wild with sunshine honey making.
SoVi Jun 2018
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
Inspired by the Songs Forbidden Colors by Ryuichi Sakamoto.
L Oct 2016
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
will add to later :+)
Renae Jan 2015
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.
Thank you Jehovah for this beautiful gift we call home.
till night sleep

Dreaming
...
Lavender
Fushia and tulip
going to latent mountains
dreaming bluebirds
above the sky
Very high
Aloft
Soft
O'er
...
...
catchmydrift Apr 2018
I'm a bad queen
In my shade shifting castle
Fushia fusion
Magenta giant
Skipping rocks
Breaking rules
Mary Anne, has a gold heart,    
It's one I find very sweet:                              
She means very much to me,          
Her I sure do love to meet.              

Hawaii has its sugar cane,              
Uvalde has much honey:            
She's sweeter than both of them,
And she makes each day sunny.          


Fushia blooms are very sweet,     
For perfume they are renowned  
Mary Anne's heart is well known,      
Her love in hearts does abound.

It is when there is a drought,    
Many plants then wilt and fade:    
Unlike plants during a drought,
Lively Mary Anne will stay.

She is that señorita,        
Who has a heart one of gold:      
Her heart is warm and caring,
And it never does grow cold.

If I'd visit Hawaii
And in Mizzou' she would be:    
There too I wish I would be,                
So that her then I could see.
Going for deep sleep
With fushia of imagination
Tranquility of patience
Let me calm down
Let me drink a peg of past smiles...
Let me drink a peg of beauty of past ...
Let me dive in endless ocean of possibility
Let me fall in bottomless ocean of thoughts n thoughts n thoughts...
Let me drink a coffee of walk...
Let me walk miles...
Let me walk with smiles...
Covering a beautifying mole
Fushia of desires
Looking
.
.
.
Yeah I am enjoying purple lagoons
Mixed with fushia of enthusiasm
Kissing the peg of smile
Over the lofty mountains
which is far- far mile
Over the deck of dreams
I screams I screams..I screams...
I am not a human being
torning a piece of sands and water
smiling over the genie of snow...
Hallucinations overpowering me ...

And

I met a vampire of beauty...
Kissed me
Turning me joyful zombie...
And we are flying in zompire island...
Cheers!!!
BTW Oct 2023
The Storm in My Dreams
20 October 2023

Like a mad storm,  shards of glass, hail on ebony rust,
The whites of my eyes, people, portrait busts on busses,
Filled with those left behind, but no where,
Shredding tired stares. Wait, another room, stairs.

Traffic fills with the noise that chaos brings.
Illusion of love,  a devil sings.
Dark red clouds, maroon skies, fushia trees,
******* stumbling, falling on leaves. Frees.

No power, stop the rain, still the winds, stirring sawdust,
On the butchers’ floor, stick my heels, mussing..
Old friends invites a celebration that exists.
Empty those that I sadly miss.
Thoughts dance, twist.

I wake, zen mind, leaving the detris in my last sleep.
Jill Tait Aug 2020
The Primrose picture

She painted her pretty picture with the palette of pastel pinks.. betwixt her fluttering eye lashes and fast, flickering blinks..such sweet scented primroses filled the evening air as her colourful canvas captured them there

Using her best bristled brushes she edged her detail in gilted gold..her special secret weapon to emphasize the bold.. then with a medium paint brush she gently dribbled dainty drops..carefully creating the perfect primrose tops
Striking yellow centers in a star shape design amidst those fushia pink petals she portrayed so fine

Passerby’s stopped and stared at her perfection of pièce de résistance and she blushed as she overheard whispers of praisal persistence.. but this young girl had a natural flaire like no other which she had luckily inherited from her talented Mother.. when her wonderful work was complete this primrose framed picture took pride and place on her Grandmas wall in her house on the street

— The End —