Her hair was coquelicot.
Her eyes were smaragdine.
Now my heart is glaucous
And not incarnadine
For a man of caput mortuum skin
Made her glow like elephant’s breath
And I smolder like exuberance
And wish for sudden death.
For those so inclined: https://www.color-meanings.com/worst-named-colors/
Filed under Poems
I wish we called colors by animal names
Because it’s infinitely more awesome
To paint a car shark instead of just grey
Or pour cream ‘til your coffee is possum.
Filed under Poems
Big green steamboat
With two red wheels
Casting great white wakes
In the chocolate Mississippi water.
In the distance, a brick-red city
With lights in tans and teals
And the iron evening air
Is growing blacker, hotter.
The brassy blast of cymbals
And a wailing silver sax
Play the blues for our reunion
And the clouds are stalwart brown.
I’m sitting in a steel chair
With rust like sealing wax
As a snowy egret flies into
The night in rainbow town.
Filed under Poems
Apparently, the color “peacoat”
Is sort of grayish-blackular
I would have thought it greenish
Given “pea” is in its vernacular,
Or perhaps a pale yellow
Would fit Peacoat’s pigmentation?
Alas, the color picker people
Lack an eight-year-old’s imagination!
Filed under Poems
Mauve is a version of pink
That prettier than you might think.
It sounds like beigey-blue
But that’s just not true.
It was named for the mallow flower
And possesses an old-fashioned power
To make people yawn and complain.
It’s like a happy cocktail stain.
Filed under Poems
Giant peaks of scarlet leaves
Mixed with auburn, amber, gold
Summoning the child within
To leap in, safe from autumns’s cold.
Into the fallen leaves in hues
Of flame and fortune children fly
And gentle wind, October’s whisper,
Seays so gently from the sky.
Hours after laughter leaves
The leaves themselves, scattered, wild,
Echo of the past adventures
Of literal and inner child.
Pumpkin pie and jokes await
‘Til snow fulfills poor Autumn’s fate.
Filed under Poems
Purple golden orange
Shines green in an azure pool.
What’s in these brownies?
Filed under Poems
All that is gold does not glitter;
All that is green does not grow;
But all that is orange and all that is silver
Will not have an easy rhyme though.
Filed under Poems
Legend says upon the sea
Beneath the skull and bones
A tiny man with whose skin is tan
With a beard of violet tones
Command a stalwart legion
Or pirates, hard as granite
Who seek to steal from those in teal,
Themselves in pomegranate.
There’s never been a pirate captain
So dreaded to be seen
As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man
Called Captain Aubergine…
Some once called him a dandy man
And some called him a fop,
And that soon lead to many a head
Who’s rollings’ are yet to stop.
And there he’ll stand with sword in hand
And beard the brightest plum
And calls the rat to ladies that
For booty he had come!
There’s never been a pirate captain
So dreaded to be seen
As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man
Called Captain Aubergine…
When on the seas, the frigates fled
When purple sails were seen
For not a sailor, cook, or whaler
Fights with Aubergine.
They knew beneath that gold fedora
A brutal brain belongs,
But none escape pillage and rape
Nor his K-Pop pirate songs!
There’s never been a pirate captain
So dreaded to be seen
As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man
Called Captain Aubergine…
And when the Violet Virgin docked
(As the captain’s ship was called)
The folks in port were naught but sport
For the pirates so ribald.
They stole the bread and beans and rice
And even the polenta,
For nothing stops the pirate fops
Bedecked in their magenta!
There’s never been a pirate captain
So dreaded to be seen
As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man
Called Captain Aubergine…
‘Til finally one fateful night
‘Neath a sunset, heliotrope
A treasure trove in vibrant mauve
With scalawags did elope
And Aubergine was satisfied
And sailed off, drinking wine
To somewhere worse, where grass is perse
And the sky’s amaranthine!
There’s never been a pirate captain
So dreaded to be seen
As the hook’ed hand of the crooked man
Called Captain Aubergine…
At least that’s how the tale’s told now
Of Captain Aubergine…
The sun was a brilliant scarlet
Upon the rustling brush,
Redder than a hemorrhoid
Who’s asking out its crush.
Within the brush are little jays,
Their feathers dark and blue
Much like the mood experienced
When one eats eyeball stew.
The birds were eating insects
So tiny and so green
Like little child soldiers
Or polytetrafluoroethylene.
The birds, thus having eaten
Flew off to sunset orange.
Alas, this leaves no conclusive rhyme
But judging by the imagery of previous examples, I doubt you’re disappointed.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 