Quotes about colour, page 9
August
THERE WERE four apples on the bough,
Half gold half red, that one might know
The blood was ripe inside the core;
The colour of the leaves was more
Like stems of yellow corn that grow
Through all the gold June meadow’s floor.
The warm smell of the fruit was good
To feed on, and the split green wood,
With all its bearded lips and stains
Of mosses in the cloven veins,
Most pleasant, if one lay or stood
In sunshine or in happy rains.
There were four apples on the tree,
Red stained through gold, that all might see
The sun went warm from core to rind;
The green leaves made the summer blind
In that soft place they kept for me
With golden apples shut behind.
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poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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After rice harvest
the golden field
so apt the colour
that heralds its value
to the world
as the rice ripens
it pulls down the stalk
that has nurtured it
supporting it the way
warm mom carries child
round her bossom
it waves in the wind
as if to confirm
its value to the world
an entire gold field
an apt colour
just wonder god purposely
puts in the right colour
into his better creations
all over you hear the birds
chip in their bits
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Sally's Goodbye
Sally got up early to find what she could wear,
Then brushed her teeth and combed her hair.
She wasn’t going outside to play,
For today was a very special day.
Sally put on her favourite dress and matching headband,
In her favourite colour she looked so beautiful, just as planned.
‘Are you ready? ’ her daddy said
‘Yes Daddy I am, I’m just making my bed.’
She held her Daddy’s hand as they walked to the car
For she knew someone was watching from afar
They got in the car and drove away
Looking at the white clouds, with a touch of grey.
Everyone was there to give her a hug and kiss
She knew it was a day that no one would miss
In her matching headband and blue dress
As she walked through the doors she said god bless.
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poem by Kayla Neil
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0205 Front porch days
London, six o'clock in June, two-o-o-five:
These streets were built in nineteen-five or thereabouts
in unimaginative grid, on London clay and previous watercress beds
by builders and those, quote, 'developers',
whose sudden stroke of luck was that the Tube line was diverted
and foreshortened, now to pass this way all overground;
it took a century, and climate change, to prove
that cracked-out summer clay and winter watercourse,
and building onto earth, are not the best foundation...
but these terraces of modest houses
(alternate houses gabled, bayed, to suggest they're twice the size)
have stood the test of time, when, often, underpinned;
intended for the aspirational working-class,
they've now become, these last few years,
'first homes' for the equally aspirational middle-class;
tonight the streets are nose-to-tail with silent, gleaming
four-wheelers looking down their grilles
at nifty runabouts - some, I regret to say,
parked where suburban front-gardens once declared respectability
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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Wealth And Racism
Yes tell me it is not called the third world!
It is called the developing world? Developing?
Yes tell me it is not rich people exploiting the poor!
It is the system and multinational corporations?
People would never do such things deliberately!
News flash, some people not only would, they are?
To poor people struggling inside a third world.
Rich people can symbolize oppression slavery.
Rich people at best may be just rich boss pricks.
It does not amatta, what acolour, a skin is...
when it isa youa, who isa starving, toa slowa death!
When it isa youa, whoisa nota gota, fullie stomach!
It does not matter what colour a skin is...
When the people exploiting you are all the same.
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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The People
I recall that man and not two centuries
have passed since I saw him,
he went neither by horse nor by carriage:
purely on foot
he outstripped
distances,
and carried no sword or armour,
only nets on his shoulder,
axe or hammer or spade,
never fighting the rest of his species:
his exploits were with water and earth,
with wheat so that it turned into bread,
with giant trees to render them wood,
with walls to open up doors,
with sand to construct the walls,
and with ocean for it to bear.
I knew him and he is still not cancelled in me.
The carriages fell to pieces,
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poem by Pablo Neruda
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An Extraordinary Friendship
There happened to be an Elephant with purple skin
Which caused many a little child, to laugh and to grin?
They considered it so strange, and so ‘out of place’
That, a cheeky smirk ne’er left each mischievous face.
They laughed so much that they even shed tears:
“A Purple Elephant, with purple ears!
Who ever heard such a ridiculous thing,
Next we’ll be hearing the Elephant sing.”
On this did continue, for many a day,
Each time he felt more hurt and full of dismay.
He thought about travelling, far, far away –
“Perhaps then, my skin will be the normal grey? ”
Thus he did reason inside his mind,
This way he would be leaving his shame behind.
But, as he thought on, he began to realise
That his shame wasn’t what they saw with their eyes
But, how they made him feel, deep inside,
All this is what continued to wound his pride.
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poem by Paul Holmes
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Dream About Me
On the phone to me
Tell me no truth
If it hurts bad
There's enough in my life
To make me so sad
Just dream about
Colour fills our lives
Just dream about
Some one else tonight
Babe
Oh, dream about me
On the phone
You're talking quietly
I wanna be yours
I want you be mine
A .... red skives
For long time
So dream about us
When you're alone
Just dream about
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song performed by Moby
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Gold
Looks as if youre dropping mirrors by the gross
Looks as if your nine lives have left town
When you paint in grey and drear
Eldorado wont appear
To run his sword through all the fears that pull you down
And its okay, for the setting sun
Will colour everything around you gold
And its okay, for the setting sun
Will colour everything around you gold
Looks as if you need a lighthouse in your dark
Looks as if Im now your native guide
When the fog is drawing in
Snarling dragons break to grin
And trample over all the things that pull you down
And its okay . . .
And all those pebbles in your shoes are precious stones
And all the skeletons in closets
Merely piles of harmless bones
. . . and its okay, as the setting sun
Will colour everything around you gold
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song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Gold
Looks as if youre dropping mirrors by the gross
Looks as if your nine lives have left town
When you paint in grey and drear
Eldorado wont appear
To run his sword through all the fears that pull you down
And its okay, for the setting sun
Will colour everything around you gold
And its okay, for the setting sun
Will colour everything around you gold
Looks as if you need a lighthouse in your dark
Looks as if Im now your native guide
When the fog is drawing in
Snarling dragons break to grin
And trample over all the things that pull you down
And its okay . . .
And all those pebbles in your shoes are precious stones
And all the skeletons in closets
Merely piles of harmless bones
. . . and its okay, as the setting sun
Will colour everything around you gold
[...] Read more
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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