All forms of art have their own palette. Writing has a varied palette of sounds, colors and sentiment. Today I have chosen some poems that use words of color description. Some of these words come with their own freight of connotation. I find it fun to attempt to use this varied set of words to spice up my writing. I hope you will enjoy the shadings.
Black and White Yield Gray
How I long
for the days of youth,
when lies were lies
and truth was truth.
Then white was white
and black was black,
so of conviction
there was no lack.
Then I found such things
were pure illusion,
governmental lies
fraught with disillusion.
Most things are now gray
and make me blue—
resolve dissipates
like morning dew.
But I do not fret,
don't pine away,
for there's comfort
in a misty day.
I faintly smile
at innocent youth
for I've found
belief defines truth.
Thus although not right
I'm never wrong,
I just added a verse
to an ongoing song.
Somewhere
Purple skies soar over
lavender waving seas
while cherry-colored palms
waft in iridescent breeze.
Orange mountain majesty
rise over sapphire plain
rippling in the zephyrs
with scrumptious daro grain.
Metal-flake flamingos
fish in the salt shallows
for tasty dessert fish,
minnows de marsh-mallows.
The flowers are jewel-like,
in hue and in luster,
like hyperbolic words
in bombastic cluster.
Watch the horned rombelroos
rompelling in the hills
dining on snortnose flowers
and dappled daffodils.
Over by riverstream
is the brump-nosed snor-r-rt
chomping on the rootballs
of beefy cattail-wort.
Brindle bugaboos
would gambol on the green
but all they can find here
is stippled aquamarine.
Speckle-breasted guefues
do aerobatic things;
glitter in the sun on
fluttering tinsel wings.
In the glade's a fountain
fed by ambrosia stream
that tinkles with laughter
redolent of a dream.
All movement is lyric
a graceful, flowing dance,
behold, this special world
an etude to romance.
A color bouquet of poems
I.
The day is ending,
wine on the lanai.
rosé is the color theme
as daylight hours die.
II.
My heart is blue,
I think of you,
our love is through—
once one now two.
III.
The sky is grey
with muted light;
day has become
penumbra of night.
IV
A green bench sits
within the park
encouraging the sprouting
of love's first spark.
V
A dull brown bird, the meadowlark
but wondrous his song
melodious, and full-throated
rings on summer evenings long.