Is White a Color?

Related poetry:

1. The Color of the Grave is Green The Color of the Grave is Green The Outer Grave I mean You would not know it from the Field Except it own a Stone To help the fond to find it Too infinite asleep To stop and tell them where it is But just a Daisy deep The Color of the Grave is white […]...
2. The Color of a Queen, is this The Color of a Queen, is this The Color of a Sun At setting this and Amber Beryl and this, at Noon And when at night Auroran widths Fling suddenly on men ‘Tis this and Witchcraft nature keeps A Rank for Iodine...
3. Colors Passing Through Us Purple as tulips in May, mauve Into lush velvet, purple As the stain blackberries leave On the lips, on the hands, The purple of ripe grapes Sunlit and warm as flesh. Every day I will give you a color, Like a new flower in a bud vase On your desk. Every day I will paint […]...
4. Color Caste Denomination Color Caste Denomination These are Time’s Affair Death’s diviner Classifying Does not know they are As in sleep All Hue forgotten Tenets put behind Death’s large Democratic fingers Rub away the Brand If Circassian He is careless If He put away Chrysalis of Blonde or Umber Equal Butterfly They emerge from His Obscuring What Death […]...
5. The Shroud of Color “Lord, being dark,” I said, “I cannot bear The further touch of earth, the scented air; Lord, being dark, forewilled to that despair My color shrouds me in, I am as dirt Beneath my brother’s heel; there is a hurt In all the simple joys which to a child Are sweet; they are contaminate, defiled […]...
6. MATINS, OR MORNING PRAYER When with the virgin morning thou dost rise, Crossing thyself come thus to sacrifice; First wash thy heart in innocence; then bring Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure every thing. Next to the altar humbly kneel, and thence Give up thy soul in clouds of frankincense. Thy golden censers fill’d with odours sweet Shall make […]...
7. Disillusionment Of Ten O'clock The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings, Or yellow with blue rings. None of them are strange, With socks of lace And beaded ceintures. People are not going To dream of baboons and periwinkles. Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk […]...
8. Sacrifice THOSE delicate wanderers, The wind, the star, the cloud, Ever before mine eyes, As to an altar bowed, Light and dew-laden airs Offer in sacrifice. The offerings arise: Hazes of rainbow light, Pure crystal, blue, and gold, Through dreamland take their flight; And ‘mid the sacrifice God moveth as of old. In miracles of fire […]...
9. People To those fixed on white, White is white, To those fixed on black, It is the same, And red is red, Yellow, yellow- Surely there are such sights In the many colored world, Or in the mind. The strange thing is that These people never see themselves Or you, or me. Are they not in […]...
10. You Begin You begin this way: This is your hand, This is your eye, This is a fish, blue and flat On the paper, almost The shape of an eye This is your mouth, this is an O Or a moon, whichever You like. This is yellow. Outside the window Is the rain, green Because it is […]...
11. Very Early Spring The fields are snowbound no longer; There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green. The snow has been caught up into the sky So many white clouds and the blue of the sky is cold. Now the sun walks in the forest, He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers; They […]...
12. The Fury Of Sunrises Darkness As black as your eyelid, Poketricks of stars, The yellow mouth, The smell of a stranger, Dawn coming up, Dark blue, No stars, The smell of a love, Warmer now As authenic as soap, Wave after wave Of lightness And the birds in their chains Going mad with throat noises, The birds in their […]...
13. Walt Whitman The master-songs are ended, and the man That sang them is a name. And so is God A name; and so is love, and life, and death, And everything. But we, who are too blind To read what we have written, or what faith Has written for us, do not understand: We only blink, and […]...
14. Montrose Beautiful town of Montrose, I will now commence my lay, And I will write in praise of thee without dismay, And in spite of all your foes, L will venture to call thee Bonnie Montrose. Your beautiful Chain Bridge is magnificent to be seen, Spanning the river Esk, a beautiful tidal stream, Which abounds with […]...
15. The Map Land lies in water; it is shadowed green. Shadows, or are they shallows, at its edges Showing the line of long sea-weeded ledges Where weeds hang to the simple blue from green. Or does the land lean down to lift the sea from under, Drawing it unperturbed around itself? Along the fine tan sandy shelf […]...
16. Bonnie Montrose Beautiful town of Montrose, I will now commence my lay, And I will write in praise of thee without dismay, And in spite of all your foes, I will venture to call thee Bonnie Montrose. Your beautiful Chain Bridge is magnificent to be seen, Spanning the river Esk, a beautiful tidal stream, Which abounds with […]...
17. Love Song I lie here thinking of you:- The stain of love Is upon the world! Yellow, yellow, yellow It eats into the leaves, Smears with saffron The horned branched the lean Heavily Against a smooth purple sky! There is no light Only a honey-thick stain That drips from leaf to leaf And limb to limb Spoiling […]...
18. Domination Of Black At night, by the fire, The colors of the bushes And of the fallen leaves, Repeating themselves, Turned in the room, Like the leaves themselves Turning in the wind. Yes: but the color of the heavy hemlocks Came striding. And I remembered the cry of the peacocks. The colors of their tails Were like the […]...
19. Testament I GIVE the undertakers permission to haul my body To the graveyard and to lay away all, the head, the Feet, the hands, all: I know there is something left Over they can not put away. Let the nanny goats and the billy goats of the shanty People eat the clover over my grave and […]...
20. February: The Boy Breughel The birches stand in their beggar’s row: Each poor tree Has had its wrists nearly Torn from the clear sleeves of bone, These icy trees Are hanging by their thumbs Under a sun That will begin to heal them soon, Each will climb out Of its own blue, oval mouth; The river groans, Two birds […]...
21. LETTER FROM LEEDS Would ‘any woman’ find me difficult to live with? My tastes are simple: space for several thousand books, The smoke from my pipe stuffed with aromatic Balkan Sobranie, A leftover from the Sixties, frequent brief absences to fulfil My duties as a carer, unending phone calls And the unenviable reputation as England’s worst or best […]...
22. Take Back the Virgin Page Written on Returning a Blank Book Take back the virgin page, White and unwritten still; Some hand, more calm and sage, The leaf must fill. Thoughts come, as pure as light Pure as even you require; But, oh! each word I write Love turns to fire. Yet let me keep the book: Oft shall my […]...
23. Morning Poem #43 I close my eyes And there it is A concrete walkway Leading out of a Small village Hugging the sides Of a green green Tree filled mountainside And to the right A pipe railing Paited the color Of oxidized metaland even firther To my right A small beach Costline-an ocean All under a pale blue […]...
24. Authorship You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don’t Understand. He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really Make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can’t father Write like that, I wonder? Did he never hear from his […]...
25. The Flower-School When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down. The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its Bagpipes among the bamboos. Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows Where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee. Mother, I really think the flowers go […]...
26. One The mosquito is so small It takes almost nothing to ruin it. Each leaf, the same. And the black ant, hurrying. So many lives, so many fortunes! Every morning, I walk softly and with forward glances Down to the ponds and through the pinewoods. Mushrooms, even, have but a brief hour Before the slug creeps […]...
27. Answer To A Sonnet By J. H. Reynolds “Dark eyes are dearer far Than those that mock the hyacinthine bell.” Blue! ‘Tis the life of heaven,-the domain Of Cynthia,-the wide palace of the sun,- The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,- The bosomer of clouds, gold, gray, and dun. Blue! ‘Tis the life of waters:-Ocean And all its vassal streams, pools numberless, […]...
28. The Gardener LXXXIV: Over the Green Over the green and yellow rice-fields Sweep the shadows of the autumn Clouds followed by the swift-chasing Sun. The bees forget to sip their honey; Drunken with light they foolishly hover And hum. The ducks in the islands of the river Clamour in joy for mere nothing. Let none go back home, brothers, This morning, […]...
29. Half Moon in a High Wind MONEY is nothing now, even if I had it, O mooney moon, yellow half moon, Up over the green pines and gray elms, Up in the new blue. Streel, streel, White lacey mist sheets of cloud, Streel in the blowing of the wind, Streel over the blue-and-moon sky, Yellow gold half moon. It is light […]...
30. Villanelle At Sundown Turn your head. Look. The light is turning yellow. The river seems enriched thereby, not to say deepened. Why this is, I’ll never be able to tell you. Or are Americans half in love with failure? One used to say so, reading Fitzgerald, as it happened. (That Viking Portable, all water spotted and yellow Remember?) […]...
31. Never Again The Same Speaking of sunsets, Last night’s was shocking. I mean, sunsets aren’t supposed to frighten you, are they? Well, this one was terrifying. Sure, it was beautiful, but far too beautiful. It wasn’t natural. One climax followed another and then another Until your knees went weak And you couldn’t breathe. The colors were definitely not of […]...
32. The Wicked Postman Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, Mother dear? The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all Wet, and you don’t mind it. Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother To come home from school. What has happened […]...
33. The Dormouse and the Doctor There once was a Dormouse who lived in a bed Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red), And all the day long he’d a wonderful view Of geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue). A Doctor came hurrying round, and he said: “Tut-tut, I am sorry to find you in bed. Just say ‘Ninety-nine’ while I look at […]...
34. SYMPHONY IN YELLOW An omnibus across the bridge Crawls like a yellow butterfly And, here and there, a passer-by Shows like a little restless midge. Big barges full of yellow hay Are moored against the shadowy wharf, And, like a yellow silken scarf, The thick fog hangs along the quay. The yellow leaves begin to fade And flutter […]...
35. Attack of the Squash People And thus the people every year In the valley of humid July Did sacrifice themselves To the long green phallic god And eat and eat and eat. They’re coming, they’re on us, The long striped gourds, the silky Babies, the hairy adolescents, The lumpy vast adults Like the trunks of green elephants. Recite fifty zucchini […]...
36. There Was a Cherry-Tree There was a cherry-tree. Its bloomy snows Cool even now the fevered sight that knows No more its airy visions of pure joy As when you were a boy. There was a cherry-tree. The Bluejay sat His blue against its white O blue as jet He seemed there then! But now Whoever knew He was […]...
37. I Sit and Think I sit beside the fire and think Of all that I have seen, Of meadow-flowers and butterflies In summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer In autumns that there were, With morning mist and silver sun And wind upon my hair. I sit beside the fire and think Of how the world will […]...
38. Clouds and Waves Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me- “We play from the time we wake till the day ends. We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon.” I ask, “But how am I to get up to you?” They answer, “Come to the edge of the […]...
39. Study In Orange And White I knew that James Whistler was part of the Paris scene, But I was still surprised when I found the painting Of his mother at the Musée d’Orsay Among all the colored dots and mobile brushstrokes Of the French Impressionists. And I was surprised to notice After a few minutes of benign staring, How that […]...
40. Bed in Summer In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people’s feet Still going past me in the street. And […]...