Colors

[Sweets America]

WOW
This Brown poem is so fantastic!!!!!!! I love it so much!! Each stanza has something wonderful in it, I particularly love 'my mind wanders in forests of pernambuco, spruce and maple.'. Those lines make me have a incredible feeling, I can't describe it. The whole first stanza is marvellous, with the lights and all.
I love how the poem escalates in intensity and the ending!!! The ending is WONDERFUL!!
Makes me want to print it and stick it on my wall!

[ampoule]

Of Tolstoy it was once said that he described even furniture as it would describe itself. Here it is as if this profusion of delicate but full-bodied sensations had done just that! Did you, I wonder, feel like crying after you had written it? I would have felt that way if it were mine.
Crying? Close. Spent? Yes.
Could "bout" in be a typo or either an imaginitive use of that word or a use I'm just not familiar with? Bout is the shape of the cello, wide bout, narrow bout, wide bout.

And what is a "brown" cello as distinct from any other?
Sorry, I did not mean to mislead. I only put that because I was writing about the color BROWN and the picture I posted is so red.

Thank you so much my precious ones. I wish we could have a group hug.

[ampoule]

I love how the poem escalates in intensity and the ending!!! Hmmm...yes.....?
The ending is WONDERFUL!! Thank you very much!
Makes me want to print it and stick it on my wall!Be my guest dear Sweets.

Just so you know, you will be included in that group hug that I mentioned above.

[motherhubbard]

I'm at a loss of words. This took my breath away. I think you've outdone yourself with this one, Amp.

[ampoule]

Thanks MH. Now for heaven's sake, start breathing again. That's very sweet.

[dibyendra]

Brown

The cool autumn air prickling my skin
as I sit naked across the room, watching you,
sunlight peeking through the lace curtains,
playing patterns on the wall behind you.
I move toward you now and lift the cover,
flooded with emotion as I see you so dark
and brown and smooth and my mind wanders
in forests of pernambuco, spruce and maple.

I place my fingers at your neck and coax you
gently to me, allowing my hand to drift
over your curvature, down your neck, a
tease-touch to the ribs and around your waist,
your upper bout against my breast, my knees
holding you, and your expressive voice resonates
through me, poignantly portraying my deepest
feelings, purging my tears, calming my fears.

Your vibrato as warm as oozing brown chocolate,
slides up and down in this glissando, the legatos,
the staccatos, and with my equestrian's bow,
a striking spiccato and sighs of a passacaglia of praise.

*
*
*



and here is the amazing Han-Na Chang playing Offenbach's, Jaqueline's Tears on my favorite instrument, the 'brown' cello.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vvk8NfaEbkg

My other inspiration came from JTParreira's, Steinway & Sons and AuntShecky's, Your Poem Inspired by Music.

Such a great piece ampoule ! I found first two stanza brilliantly expressed. But I couldn't grasp the last three lines of last stanza. Great work amp !

[ampoule]

Such a great piece ampoule ! I found first two stanza brilliantly expressed. But I couldn't grasp the last three lines of last stanza. Great work amp !

I thank you very much diby. Let's just say the last three lines are describing ways that a cello can be played.

[ampoule]

Red

Some people think I'm dormant
but there's a fire inside,
sometimes it's hot and seething,
and sometimes hard to hide.
Usually it comes in a flash
and just as quickly gone,
but when I am embarrassed,
it just goes on and on.
They love to point it out to me,
as if I cannot feel it,
that burning that comes from within
might be God's fiery pit.
To think I'm carrying hell around,
a scary thought, indeed,
so do not try to make me blush
this warning you should heed.



And because red is my favorite color, I'd like to write another.

Red

At winter's end, many seasons ago, I found it,
there among the stretched and marked and rejected,
the love of my life, the warmth of my bitter cold days,
like a walking fireside chat, a cup of steaming tea,
a stand-in for a lover's embrace, steaming hot
mashed potatoes and gravy, a purring cat on my lap,
with two arms and a simple sash for easy ins and outs,
my robe, my red robe, my long fleece red robe.

[Sweets America]

I thank you very much diby. Let's just say the last three lines are describing ways that a cello can be played.

I thought the last three lines sounded highly sexual , and I loved how you managed to play with the sensuality of the cello. Or maybe it's just me?

[ampoule]

I thought the last three lines sounded highly sexual , and I loved how you managed to play with the sensuality of the cello. Or maybe it's just me?

exactly

[stormy sky]

Blue and Red are both lovely poems,
i found Blue very fresh and lively,
but when it came to Brown,u certainly outdid youself as compared to the other two.i found it very intense and sensual.

[ampoule]

Thank you Stormy Sky. You are making me.......

Red

Some people think I'm dormant
but there's a fire inside,
sometimes it's hot and seething,
and sometimes hard to hide.
Usually it comes in a flash
and just as quickly gone,
but when I am embarrassed,
it just goes on and on.
They love to point it out to me,
as if I cannot feel it,
that burning that comes from within
might be God's fiery pit.
To think I'm carrying hell around,
a scary thought, indeed,
so do not try to make me blush
this warning you should heed.



And because red is my favorite color, I'd like to write another.

Red

At winter's end, many seasons ago, I found it,
there among the stretched and marked and rejected,
the love of my life, the warmth of my bitter cold days,
like a walking fireside chat, a cup of steaming tea,
a stand-in for a lover's embrace, steaming hot
mashed potatoes and gravy, a purring cat on my lap,
with two arms and a simple sash for easy ins and outs,
my robe, my red robe, my long fleece red robe.

[firefangled]

[COLOR="DarkRed"][B][I]

Red

At winter's end, many seasons ago, I found it,
there among the stretched and marked and rejected,
the love of my life, the warmth of my bitter cold days,
like a walking fireside chat, a cup of steaming tea,
a stand-in for a lover's embrace, steaming hot
mashed potatoes and gravy, a purring cat on my lap,
with two arms and a simple sash for easy ins and outs,
my robe, my red robe, my long fleece red robe.

I am such a fan of the mystery you weave in so many of your poems. This was no exception. In addition is the nostalgia presented in such an interesting way. The repetition of the last line transfers your endearing feelings about the robe as well as any I've ever read.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Red

At winter's end, many seasons ago, I found it,
there among the stretched and marked and rejected,
the love of my life, the warmth of my bitter cold days,
like a walking fireside chat, a cup of steaming tea,
a stand-in for a lover's embrace, steaming hot
mashed potatoes and gravy, a purring cat on my lap,
with two arms and a simple sash for easy ins and outs,
my robe, my red robe, my long fleece red robe.

In your hands the language is rarely anything less than what it describes! (But couldn't we PLEASE have just one more beat in that marvellous last line? E.g. "my robe, my red robe, my long fleece red, red robe.")

[dibyendra]

At winter's end, many seasons ago, I found it,
there among the stretched and marked and rejected,
the love of my life, the warmth of my bitter cold days,
like a walking fireside chat, a cup of steaming tea,
a stand-in for a lover's embrace, steaming hot
mashed potatoes and gravy, a purring cat on my lap,
with two arms and a simple sash for easy ins and outs,
my robe, my red robe, my long fleece red robe.

Ampoule, in my opinion, you have outdone this one even more briliiantly ! Such a graceful poem !