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Naples yellow
Prussian blue
Burnt umber
Cadmium Red Deep
Napthol Red
Phtalocionine Blue and Green
Portrait Pink Light
Yellow Oxide
Raw Sienna

Can you make a painting without these?
acm Oct 2018
(or why start smoking
in your late thirties)

a confession.

the w h i t e paper
thin, c r i s p
against tips
of fingers
with the t h i n n e s t lines of gold
the burnt umber
to the brown
to the beige
to the white
to the black
i n h a l e
suddenly i'm alive
i know because i can feel
then the
e x h a l e
each cycle a moment
suspended in time
the wisps of smoke
and finally
the smell
a n c h o r.

not what you expected?
I walk a pace in tall covers, a distance set from other brothers, waiting for a herd to feed; I crush and blow away some seed.

The grasses burnt on prior prairie, warm yet cool for day is airy, far can see I from top hill; I stand in patience very still.

Copper ochre is my skin, the brothers and I are family men, on the native hills we live and finding those called kin, we hunt today the land we’re in.

Off in distant rumbled cloud, dark foreboding getting loud, the sound we seek from running crowd, ahead of storm front watching grasses plowed.

Stoic, I, my umber eyes as mist now falling from the skies, I stand here patient chest held high, shoulders square with chin to sky, my flowing hair in breeze divides.

Land it shakes I take to knee and feel the earth, the vibrating, the rumble sound is thundering, is louder still than weather’s thunder, light she fades from skies I’m under.

  Yansa nearing, wind has told me, I wait here at clearing with spear to console me but something awful lurks around for along with rumble comes alarming sound, a growling type from a hungry hound.

Bear my brother, hawk my guide, no tree for shelter or horse to ride, my hunt now over after solemn wait for Mother Earth has sealed my fate.

Two wounded wolves approaching wily, one it limps or seems to sway as smaller animals run away, their eyes beguiling on stormy day, I prepare for fight, no time to pray.

I seat my spear, it is useless, take out knife and axe I loosen, the pair they circle long and wide, and carefully I match their stride.

  Quiet now, prairie peaceful, time seems slower, I cannot see my people; the wolves at bay they snarl near, I stone my heart against all fear. Were they hunting Yansa, like me too, I just easier prey to pursue? My younger days would see wolf for dinner as I’ve grown older so too am thinner.

  What difference makes it slow or fast but when they pounced did run in tandem? In last second my actions random, I lose my hatchet in one’s side and dive while stabbing until he’s died. Face is ******, arm got chewed, and they tricked me with a method skewed, for what seemed wounded never was true, my back turned towards her, neck in view, she took aim and rent sinew.

  A ****** mess became a horror, I swung my blade and thought I caught her; she tore my hand off and mauled my face then left me dying in a grassy place. The warmth of day is leaving body, a hunt now do I thus embody, the rumbling ground again is moving and cool of night is somewhat soothing, my killer stalks the area-round but soon she’ll eat me where I’m found.

  The rain it cooled me seeing Sister Moon, Brother Sun was dipping with Great Father Sky as Mother Night came to watch me die, my life fulfilled so now I die, Great Wolf’s passion can’t deny; to all that knew me I say goodbye.

  He who fights wolves says,  -goodbye.
Rhyming narrative about a Neolithic Native American.
Butch Decatoria Sep 2018
The impetus
                     Of being
Always on the run
               Through pinwheel eyes
                              Those standing by
                                          The mystic roadway :    River
Blues yet to be brushed
                      or in blush
                           Of evening chill's breathing
a canvas like windows dreaming felt
All mindful
And chockfull O'
Then ponder
                Yonder "window breaks"
                         Past the wilderness' sleep
Bone heavy wood
                             Umber earth

                             Past whoosh and rush of liquid
Folding on itself / a soundtrack

      Listen now
      Pedestrian be

Mindful of the cautionary whales
                                               Old Ahab’s yell
                                   Or loathing.

If one is drowning in one's sleep
Look wildly
                                    Down river  
Or up there beyond finger's point
                      Sidewinder snake journeys
Until sky and below it
All meet

The distance
        Now only a line
                 Coalescing what is beyond
                      Our ability to see
Far and away
                     Ever after      
                             River.     Life.
Here we are
And proud
     The free spirit is fluent
           With the rapid rivers loud
                            Always on the run
Currents like a child's curiosity ...
How then,
When or why
                        does it end ?
Where do we go?
Like most things existing,
           Will lead to the high art /
love's deep oceans...
We often forget to seek
                              And mind
                                     the sublimations/
                                                            d¬¬r­ift wood.
So then,
Begin with a dot .
A speck of dusk
                     A burst of light
                                        A starry sky,
pieces to mastering
                   Raging fragility of water

Liquid undulations  
                    Folding itself in / volumes

Or falling from on high
       A droplet cry

Then the lightning
                   (crash or bloom)
From the heavens
                                 like electric rivers
So brilliantly

Where do we go (so low)
       There and here / underfoot /
                   Over north / southern sleep
                                   To oceans twilight deep?

Go wrapped or map-less
Or no.
       Up yonder
There up there
                    All without fear...
My heart like the river yearns
                 To go toward the sun
                       A flow /
                                     the beating drum
Always on the run
x Jan 20
you hold me with a grasp that aches to let go
that hates that I let it know that i’m leaving
Your arms begin grieving
Refusing to let go of this fleeting
The energy you surround me with
so potent
So intense
The kind that gives one notions
The kind that causes me to question every motion
I make
Every romantic idea I create
a facade
So intense
With little motion
And the sense
Of calm
You yawn
I gaze at your slumber
and my fawn hands caress your umber burnt skin
and i begin to listen,
to your heartbeat at its proper pace
as my aching heart mimics it, they begin to race
my eyes dance around your face
As you pull me deeper into your embrace
You hold me
as your snores begin to scold me
you unfold me
i become open to you
as i review ever subtle movement
my body soothes when
you hold me,
how I refuse to hold myself.
i whisper very boldly
to myself, i love you
but only discreetly
while you’re sleeping
because only while we’re dreaming
does this all feel so possible
does this type of love
and sensuality
and affection
feel probable
so i lay
and i wait
for you to awake
i wait in this space
for you to gently place
your lips on my forehead
for your warm embrace.
for clothes to replace
your warm embrace in its stead
for our little visit
to come to an end.
you release me with that grasp that aches to let go
that hates that, I let it know that i have to leave it
Your arms begin grieving me
the romanticism begins fleeting me
i reach over to kiss you
one more time
and in turn you reply
“i love you”
my heart did not know what to say
or what to do
it could not take any less of you
only anymore
zb Oct 2018
i smear oil paint across your lips.

your face, outlined in pale brown and
robin's egg blue and
rests gently in negative space.

part of me hurts
when i look at this part of you,
this part i am
so familiar with,
in an unfamiliar way.

the lines of your eyes
(eyes i've gazed into a thousand times)
betray my secrets and my soul;

the whisper of your hair
is the same as the quiet brush of mine
on the tops of my bare shoulders;

i reach out to touch you,
and my fingers touch dried oils
in shades of raw umber and cadmium lemon;
my paintbrush still dangles, wet,
from my other hand.

the creased wax paper on the table
carries swatches of color,
the potential energy of
my pigment-smudged hands;
you are still unfinished.

i am still unfinished.
acacia Dec 2018
mellow umber skin stitched onto her bones,
wine colored lips stained with a bust --
multiple mauve bruises on her long leg and
holes all inside of her body.

imagining the periwinkle sky as the sun flies into view.

lilac tears and the smell of potpourri,
tell her what to do to make it all feel better.

despondent thoughts and disappointed hopes,
missing hugs from her father,
no lullabies or good night kisses.
no more, "I love you."

mellow umber skin drenched in
dry tears that leave a scar every time.
Battered and broken,
covered in a silk smalt sheet.

lilac tears comfort her as she attempts to fall asleep (again);
she burns herself with her
cardinal coffee mug, hoping it'll make her
wounds feel (i think i might totally be lost) better.
Keith W Fletcher Oct 2018
You know me much better than i even know myself
But you don't miss me and I'm not lost
As long as you believe I be among all the rest
You gathered up and put upon your shelf
Oh but my days were numbered long ago
When you didn't seem to notice me
When I was so quickly swept up
into the abrupt
That did suddenly erupt
And for one quick moment
I was passing through the light
Pulled from the dark place I had been
I don'tt know if you even saw me
Much less recognize me for how I fit in
To the bigger picture of a future where id be
Exactly what you would be needing
Maybe if I were brighter in a flashy way I mean
You'd  have looked closer...but that day
dull and grey. was all you had seen
as the dust-up had yet to settle
you let me go.... but I know
the unique qualities I possess
you will someday miss me and I'm sorry
I couldn't find a way to tell you will need me
I know all the work and effort will be for naught
The future that you picture
Where you have all the pieces put together
There will always be a hole in your horizon
That only I could ever have managed to fill
You never saw my unique qualities
But now without my dull and grey
You sit at the table on.a cold snowy night
Fireplace flickers and krackles smell of cocoa
Wood smoke and pine fills the warm and toasty air
And you close your eyes and your lips purse
Trying to hold back that inevitable curse
" **** it...**** it **** it " came with the release
  Startled is the man reading near the fire
What is it need some help gluing it to the board
" No look!" She exclaims and begins to cry
For there in the magnificent rainbow colored sunrise.
And the fall colors of burnt umber and orange
Just above the beautiful blue Lake  
Beyond the 2 kids with sleds in hand who stand
Watching as the somewhat superimposed
first three Snowflakes arrive  "Snowday"
A hole stands out among the bit of grey
Where the artist needed a backdrop
to make the unique snowflakes pop
I can't find it , had it since I was 10 and I wanted to make it a Christmas display
For the girls she begins to weep but I think I saw it the other day
Oh God I swept it up and threw it away
I should have recognized it with that bit of snowflake passing over the grey.

He held her till she quit  sobbing ..until she stepped back ....saying I'm okay
Then he said "glue it down hon and I'll fix it
I promise " he said" we've got everything here somewhere
you glue and Ill check the garage."
He could see she needed more so he took on
You Know fists on hips and wide stance
Everyone knows that Superman pose
"Don't you worry ma'am I will right this wrong "
And  he did ,after 35 tries,a sleepless nite
8 hours it took him to  replace me
just as dawns first light
rose up
to shine down on me half buried in snow
as if to say everything was right
b 5d
Long, glossed umber hair.
Sharp angled brows defined in the center.
An everlasting smile complimented
By full rose lips
And a blinding smile.
Ashen skin that radiates in the summer sun.
However, it’s her eyes that traps you.
Captivating cesious glances that sparkle in my direction.
Jewels of azure that brighten when
She answers the professor’s questions
with an unrelenting vigor of jubilant passion.
Her infectious personality,
her overwhelming intellect,
emphasizes her beauty perfectly.
That girl from that writing class.
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though glass, it is rimmed with gold
around the cup, handle and even the
saucer. Skilfully painted chrysanthemums
  of various shades; the vermilion horizon,
Spring's honey, songbird's magenta,
sangria's fine wine, a parakeet's breast
and the Aegean sea.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And then, there are three sightly tea
caddies with lacquered wooden bodies;
one rosewood with red dancing fans,
one burr-oak with golden mountainous
landscape and one maple wood with
green bamboo. Ainhana gently removes
each of their lids by using the cloth, and
presents the pearls that were wrapped
in sun-kissed foil.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
She first lifts the rosewood caddy towards
me. I close my eyes and focus on the scent.
Without peeling back the foil, I know. It takes
me to the far distant Province of Yunnan,
past the snow-kissed mountains and rice
terraces to a very still lake. I noticed that
it began to bubble before a large splash

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
At that moment, I meet the lake's Guardian,
the Imperial Wingless Dragon of legend.
With its wet emerald-kissed scales drinking
the sunlight. It's great body now entwined
in a wispy clouds as it stares at me with
eyes of liquid moons. Its tail crowned
with a peacock feathered eye-spot whips
around in the air, leaving an iridescent
trail of colours.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a great leap, he soars through
the air, trumpeting his great roar
that rattles the skies. Just as quickly
as he rose, he descends down with
a Pearl Moon in his brown claw. By
the ****** of its sienna-brown whisker,
the small Moon cracks, presenting me
it's contents, a long kept secret.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The pearls are the colour of seaweed
with streaks of yellow and burnt umber.
With earthy notes whirls around my
nose, along with some floral sweetness,
burnt caramel licks, dragon spice and
a wisp of apricot. Ah, so I see! One great
guarded secret that he reveals to me!
His best pearls ferment in the ****
of the Moons! Purified by the Star
Virtues of Elysia's Harmony!

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Wonderfully rich Pu-erh Pearls,'
I say, my eyes now open.
'My Lady's nose is as sharp as ever!'
'I just know my tea,' I chuckle, 'it's
very unique in smell and taste.  I will
save such fine broth for another day.'
Ainhana nods, places on the tray and
lift the burr-oak caddy. I close my
eyes once again and my mind
wanders yet again.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Part four of my Jasmine Pearls poem.
(a re-post of my re-post! What's going on with HP, seriously?)
After it's confirmed that this is seen by others, I'll add it to the collection of the same name.
Thanks for 149 followers btw! You rock! ^-^
Lyn ***
Sam Sep 2018
A branch I cannot bear to be far from
Lifted on wings from spell of yonder blue
Soaring high, we watched the blossom come
Lo, as leaves will turn green to umber hue
So now, as still we reach for further on
Lifting, the leaves will show their underside
And bare a shade of fractal celadon
A light beneath for wilting blades to hide
But once they drop and scatter at our feet
Until the breeze, let’s walk through tumbled time
And stay until new buds mature complete
For memories that hang need fall to climb
As we ascend until the season’s passed
The boughs will brace, for such bold love does last
You didn't deserve what you got
Because while others forgot
I remembered the girl with flowers
Ingrained in her hair of umber.

Nobody told me that one day you would disappear,
Not from death, but from birth as those who swore to their saviour,
Held you pinned to the dish as you soon found out
There are places where even god won't go.

I can't explain the broken pieces of my heart
Laid between you and I as I saw you, fragmented as well.
Gone was the girl who believed in the good of just being,
Tied to the father who now played the role as the cross.

People ask why religion is a sore spot for me.
Before I could raise myself to speak I remember what
The umber-haired atheist in the Prussian hoodie said in grade five:
"Sometimes life just freakin' *****."

It's been 10 years since I saw you, and you didn't move away.
I heard from a friend of a friend that you had a son now,
A son who also happened to be your brother.
Your son being your brother and your father being his.

My friend told me you said he was born in the name of god.
I just wish you were still just my friend named Claire.
The poem is about a girl I knew back in elementary school who vanished from my life without reason. It was a difficult memory I've kept hidden away, but sometimes you have to just admit something, even if it's not about you. Much love to those taking times out of their day to read my poem.

— The End —