"yellowness" poems
One perfect autumn day,
you stood under maples
in Northern Illinois, and there
was this kind of yellowness.
With compassion and technology,
you captured the light,
gave us an image,
gave us peace.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its planetarium
lemons descended to the earth.
Tender yield!
The coasts,
the markets glowed
with light, with
unrefined gold;
we opened
two halves
of a miracle,
congealed acid
trickled
from the hemispheres
of a star,
the most intense liqueur
of nature,
unique, vivid,
concentrated,
born of the cool, fresh
lemon,
of its fragrant house,
its acid, secret symmetry.
Knives
sliced a small
cathedral
in the lemon,
the concealed apse, opened,
revealed acid stained glass,
drops
oozed topaz,
altars,
cool architecture.
So, when you hold
the hemisphere
of a cut lemon
above your plate,
you spill
a universe of gold,
a
yellow goblet
of miracles,
a fragrant ******
of the earth's breast,
a ray of light that was made fruit,
the minute fire of a planet.
6.8k
Banana, Banana, Banana
How you tease from up high
I love your yellowness
The taste from the heavens
Up high
I've tried to climb,
I've tried to swing,
Each time
I end up on the ground
My face does greet first
Not my feet.
But you evade my advances
How you do tease me
You were a flower
You blossomed
Then you became
The yellow nectar,
That which I want to eat,
You taste so good
When going down
All I wish is for a banana
A single one will do
We were meant to be
Banana & Monkey
like
Squirrels & nuts
Paired since the start of time
I start to give up,
We weren't meant to be
I kick the your base in anger
The vibrations shake
And with in a moment
A monkey
Buried in yellow,
From my
Head
To my
Feet
Monkey and banana together
Like we were always meant to be.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
Virginity
is the seed
Inside a pulpy jackfruit bulb
Tear the bulb,
take it out
Toss it over,
and
swallow the pulp up
Yellowness vanishes,
and a brown skinny seed remains
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
Winging ponderously through the grey tortured sky,
A crane makes its way to its homeland.
Lightening blazes illuminating with weird yellowness
Torrents of storm rain plunging earthward.
There, sighted below, a car trundling through the downpour
Yet another traveler homeward bound.
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 11:05 AM UTC
Im craving something and I know exactly what
Im craving her touch the feel of skin on skin.
Im craving the love we feel when our nerves are stretched out wire thin.
Im craving the heart I feel when she is herself and shes wanting it to be felt.
Im craving her breath in my ear when the only thing I want to do is fall into her and melt.
Im craving her whisper when I need to feel her gentlest nudge to set me back up right.
Im craving me to spoon with her when she just wants to lay in bed and wake at window cracking morning light.
Im craving us hand in hand walking on the beach, we find a spot somewhere private but exposed and make love in the misty evening breeze.
Im craving us as children running through fields and climbing mountain trees.
Im craving the closeness we share that was disrupted in a fury of words and recklessness.
Im craving her blue when she wants to be orange and her purple when she wants to be a yellowness.
Im craving her a compliment when she is the one who needs lifted cause she does not think shes perfect.
Im craving a walk in the rain hand in hand to sing and giggle and feel and just be the imperfectly perfect beings we are. Im craving something and I know exactly what I want...
I Want Her.
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 7:17 PM UTC
A changing pillow, so soft with its yellowness.
A freshly laid outfit so fresh with the sweet smell of babies.
A cowboy swinging with the joy of Christmas morning.
The aroma of baby powder dancing in the air.
The sound of a fist banging the wall.
A cabinet filled with a collection of toys.
A white Pooh Bear smiling at the chair with cowboys on the side.
A rainforest setting singing italicrock a bye babyitalic.
Tweetie, Sylvester, Bugs Bunny, and Daffy Duck swinging on a merry go round.
The sound of a baby happily talking to angels.
A happy baby laughing as he watches angels dance before him.
I close my eyes and count to three.
I open my eyes.
Never will it be.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 12:55 AM UTC
you intensify a subtle creature inside me
with sudden nuances of sonorous blueness, aurora greenness,
naughty yellowness
with the impatience of roots piercing the earth of my soul
this creature keeps stumbling onto the same truth that
metabolizes light tenderly for me to have a measure of my depth
suddenly the strangest of strangers is I
Jul 12, 2023
Jul 12, 2023 at 3:26 PM UTC
I'll say these meaningless words
over and over and over again:
I love you
I love you
I love you
Even when I think of you as God;
I love you
Young blood, heated and dried
Dead head
You had crawled
Sickeningly sweet
I long for you
Funny duchess!
My Mary ---
Even though my tongue knows only clichés
and sometimes my tongue is too short
to speak human and the other times
my tongue is too long I think it
becomes python ---
I wish you were not dead;
Be here with me
You, omnipresent
I wish I could believe --
You wrote the bible with your own pretty hand --
Your ****** head (my sunrise)
Throbbing heart (still exists)
You have soul like universe
Objectified, scientified
How did you put it in?
And a nebula
Sickeningly sweet
I hope for no regret
Yet I am afraid
Of pureness -- your lethal-honest yellowness --
Spreads like **** pictures
Peanut butter on the bread in an easy morning
My, blonde thing!
Dark eyes, the nights
Spent crying
Why did you die, why did you die---
O why did you die?
Why did you die?
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
Color is the property possessed by an object as a result of the way the object reflects or emits light. That's what google says.
Color is a prison. A lost, forgotten feeling inside a light. A hue that hides thousands of pain and happiness. A representation of untold stories driven by electro magnetic waves.
First, you gave me green. Green was your way of changing my surviving into living. A way to make me think that life was actually good because I have you. You and your grass-like hair. You and your tree-like body. You and your nature-like ambiance. You and your words. You and your life. You and your green's, a symbol of life. My symbol of life.
Then, you gave me red. Red was your way of telling you love me. A way to make me hold your love, your hatred, your pain, your suffering, your thoughts, that was red. So when I started seeing red in your eyes and you started giving me red in my arms, I know you love me. I supposed you love me. Maybe you love me. I hope you really loved me.
Next was the unexpected. You gave me yellow. Yellow was your way of keeping my anxiety off of me. A way to divert my attention for all the lies that I almost found out. A yellowness for the escape you've made, for all the responsibility I deemed you were responsible for. Yellow... for the promises you've broken.
After that, you gave me gray. Your indecisiveness. Your reluctance. Your doubts. You gave me those in-between's, those, "Aren't you happy?" those, "I am not ready". Those confusing unsure thoughts that held me captive for what felt like eternity. I was in prison.
Finally, you gave me black. An absence of every color. A way of you saying good bye to all the light you've given me from all our journey. No light means no color. No color means black. Black means hopelessness. Black means stop. Black means I'm done.
You've given me prison when all I knew was blue and your black was the key.
Little did I know that you were a chameleon on the hunt for its prey. You blend in with my ideals to give me the satisfaction that I want and I was a willing victim for you to prey on.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 11:22 AM UTC
with drunken steps
you reach to such place
where a pillar is famous
pillar that cries yellow
weariness of night burns
a black trails goes on in the other direction
and there lay
a body
stinking
so very dead
come, come with your drunken steps
and lie down next to this dead body
ah! liberating isn't it?
and that's it
the painting is complete
the lonely side filled with
secrecy of stinking dead body
and flowing yellowness
under this pillar
and breaking thirst
with just being
and put your name
sign it
let it hang
right there
let it be crooked
let it get crawled over by spiders of memory
your job is done
painting is complete
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
How quiet it is here
now that the yellowness of
our youth has withered
I do not complain,
for I see your kind, soft eyes
smile at me across the room
I hear your heavy breath
as you inch your way
closer
the wheeze that whirls
from lung to air,
on a breeze of long -
suffering longing
I hold out my wrinkled hand
to touch your paper thin skin,
trying hard not to bruise
or break
and you take it, silver flashing
between your fingers as you
stab, stab, stab
my chest
as the pills reach your stomach
and you wrap tight around me
holding, holding, holding
onto my heart
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:08 PM UTC
With each advent of sun-showered lemon
wonderment happens,
a springing of close-coloured denseness
floods valley and field.
Local daffodil time opens frilly with captured
scents of happiness,
jam-packed with massed heads all nodding
welcome gilt greetings.
A yearly looked-for experience is this, so
breathing in sunshine
under blue sky I bend down to eye level,
and lie alongside an ocean
of yellowness wealth to feel floral motion
of therapy's finest.
To be momentarily floating atop flittering
waves of essence
is like swimming in Spring-coloured bliss.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
I walk the river down one side and travel back the other.
I watch the people walk their dogs and children with their mother.
I see the beauty along the course, birds nesting in the trees,
swans swimming with their young,
the fast running water of the weir,
the blueness of the sky,
the yellowness of the sun.
I see the colours of the earth, surrounding us in nearby fields,
where farmers have ploughed the soil the colour is earthly brown.
The field next to it is a blaze of green,
what the brown field will yield is yet to be seen.
Flowers starting to open their colourful heads, Daffodils, Primroses, Tulips , Bluebells Snowdrops, Crocuses and Hyacinths, in various shades, of Yellow, Red, Blue and White, it really is a beautiful sight.
The warmth of Spring starting to generate various shades of Red, Blue, White, Yellow and Green
The Palatte of Spring is a riot of colour and truly wonderful to see
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC
Oh black girl
Some call you a blackberry
Some say the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice
Some call you chocolate
Skin filled with the dark brown essence of beauty
Some lack the eyes to see your beauty
Some call you a kiwi polish
Undoubtedly you keep on polishing our lives
Some are clouded by the fine texture of ultramel
They forget that you’re caramel
Let the melody of your voice be the creator of good vows
For your beauty makes everyone bow
Oh black girl
Hazel eyes
So dark brown they never go without creating an arc of a smile on our faces
A beauty that is so real and so tantalizing
Some people choose to turn a blind eye on you
But babe you’ve got us running behind your back
Voice so welcoming like a morning chirping bird
You’ve suddenly turned into a bed of roses
A woman full of strength
A woman that brings turnt
A woman that is usually undermined
A woman that is a mine of gold
A woman that never ages easily, no matter how old.
Boldness is your middle name
Whilst others aim to acquire yellowness
Your aim is to remain cocoa-colored
Nut brown
Bronzed
Unbleached
Forever unleashing your extravagant cuteness
A woman that has forever stood strong
A hard worker
A hero
A pure beauty.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
*I don't dream
But I have dreamt
I'm drowning in my own innocence
The light of day blind me
For I am the darkness
That hides behind the littlest of trees
Covering up for no one will see
The darkness that covers me
Head to toe
My hello's are goodbyes
My fellow friends
I had to comprise
The red sun that shines upon
The yellowness of my skin
The dark gray clouds
That beckon the true color of a sin
I am the the darkness within
A thought & question
Life & death
I am the lost connection
Something that prevents the living
From dreaming any higher
And by the time your dreams come true
your life will have expired*
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
The onlooker had something to say,
about the yellowness of the tulip
and the unbroken dew drop
on the lotus floating by
I flowered beside,
not more distinguished than any,
my sprouts, born with a name
not known, to admirers, many
My tiny florets blossomed,
each day the sun’s rays, graced earth
and showers moistened its soil.
I relished in my creations;
Until the day, I withered away,
when my roots left the soil
not charred in negligence
but in content, of living.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 12:24 AM UTC
A painful memory is an ache forever,
In this ache my heart had to quiver
A world of peace I dreamt since ever,
I peep in past but stepped back never.
Survived in uncertainty, I chose to live,
Life's not to take, but so much to give.
Don't know, how long I want to survive,
However sin done on me, I must forgive.
In pain of loss I will live in a numbness,
In my ache, I'm dying of sun's darkness,
The burns I see in it, same as cruelness,
Of pity on the disability of my kindness.
Life of the one winged angels in dearth,
Is no less than the lost of souls on earth,
Ache of loss is same for lovers and both
The mother and dead child in her hearth.
The autumn of grieving leaves in silence,
They flutter in air to tell their presence,
But yellowness indicates the senescence,
Fall isn't a perception of death's presence.
I writhe in pain my poems speak now,
To this art I leave my honorable bow,
Let life have only the sorrows to show,
I'll make my hopeful smiles I'll borrow.
Unwell in mind, all shaken brain,
All my life I proved myself sane,
I'll want to die and may I'll maim,
But no more till I live, I'll be same.
I tried self-harm so far in depression,
Tired of a life in infinite suppression.
Bruised skin will leave it's impression,
Bleeding inside and dead in congestion.
My heart is limp and flaccid in pain,
My eyes seen the sorrow start to rain,
A life emerged from the sea of maim
I'm rotting inside but not the life chain.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 5:13 AM UTC
The canary perched
on Janice's finger.
Her eyes wide
in amazement,
its plumage,
yellow, sickly,
beauty, all in one.
I looked on,
eyes wide
in amazement, too,
not at its yellow
plumage, but at
the bird's whitish poo.
Look what it's done,
Janice cried,
on my finger
and hand.
Her gran,
who usually said,
Make sure
the window's closed,
lay in a chair
and dozed.
Wipe it off
or take the bird,
Janice said.
I took the bird
in cupped hands,
studying its
slight alarm,
its ruffled look.
Janice went to
the kitchen to clean
her hand and finger
under the tap,
while Gran grunted
in her catlike nap.
The bird wanted to
escape my hold,
but I held it firm,
cupped tight in hands,
in captured hold,
studying its yellowness
and thimble head.
Janice returned
and said;
Naughty bird
to poo on
Janny's hand
and finger,
and took back
the bird
into her care
once more.
My hands
were clean;
it had not
shat on me,
not a bit,
if it had,
I thought,
not said,
I’d have
strangled it.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 5:57 AM UTC
Your hair,
Smelling like the sun...
The taste of sweet summer cherries,
Still dancing in the aroma of your eyes...
And brightly colored lilac curtains in your room ...
putting a glass on your table.
The air,
Moving the clouds in your chest...
The light is on...!
The curtain, allows light to enter...
" My Jasmine...!? "
" I love you..." ( With the sound of laughter ) "
Your voice,
Was a rainbow... 🌈
If the sound was colored...
You are a river...
passing through
my neck...
I have fallen...
Near the daffodil flowers in your eyes...
I will become a thousand small fish...
A thousand trembling goldfish in the pond...
🐟🌊 🐟🐟🐟🌊 🐟🌊
" Oh that blue whirligig!!!
The yellow....!
And the pink one...!
I'm seeing those shiny whirligigs
of your childhood... "
What was the sound of your blowing like?
Your eyes,
giving a thousand colors and memories...
You are floating...
passing through the sound of a woman's laughter...
I will never wear a wedding dress...
To paint on its whites...
I have no child !!!
Oh september!
The end of colored paper...
And the beginning of the blue sun...
You are my mother's breast cancer...
That Growing inside of me...
I thought I was pregnant...
Last night !!!
Touching the curvature of my belly...
From the top of my white knickers
With its bright pink flowers...
When my mother's scarf turns to twenty-nine years old again!
" My Jasmine...?! "
" I love you... "
In illusion,
The voice of a woman...
Calling you...
From afar...
You have reached near the window...
Looking at me...
turning to you...
White lace dress...
Laughter In The Sun....
☀️
From the sound of which woman's laughter, am I reaching to you now?
In your ear,
I become a thousand voices...
The play of the sun's rays, On the tip of my brown ******* getting hot...
Closing my eyes...
I always think If I was blind, How could I understand that the sound of the sea is blue?!
The leaves of the trees are green!?
In glitter...
In the melancholy of the golden leaves of May...
Your face, dancing
Among the glitter of golden winds ...
And the grape leaf,☘
Greeting me...
Thinking of you...
From afar...
How are your hands moving?!
Does my mother's earrings have the yellowness of the sunflowers?
🌻🌻
Every sound,
becoming your voice...
Now...
Cheese crystals...
Pieces of barbari bread on the table...
The pungent odor of tangerine,
In my mother's hands...
And a tomato...
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 10:59 AM UTC
The Fall.
Trees out my window.
So barren and chipper.
As if I could almost taste the death.
Taste their eyes on my person.
Their wraithing edges.
Their aging systems welcoming like *****
Splatters.
Across all fronts.
To conjure the oh so sweet milk of air.
The dusty platitude of forgiveness.
Sight the faces so smug.
So lucrative.
So tiny.
As the weaving sits bined.
And the yellowness unwindes.
Trees out my window stand gladly.
Garrett Johnson.
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 11:33 AM UTC