life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “color”

think pink color storyย 

today is Pink’s Birthda! Alecia Beth Moore, known professionally as Pink, is an American singer, songwriter, dancer and actress. Noted for having “a strong signature voice and a literally acrobatic ability on stage,” Pink has sold over 135 million records worldwide. Happy birthday, Pink!

hanging in this green moment ๐Ÿ’š ย 

From Jen Lemen ๐Ÿ’š sign up for Soul Snacks


There was a sentence halfway written.

There was a thumbprint ridged in ink.

There was a crease in sheaved paper.

There was a ring left from the drink.

There was a chair turned, facing outwards.

There was a door hung from its hinge.

There was a drop that wasnโ€™t water.

There was a dog that knew to cringe.

There was tall grass, dazed and listing.

There was dirt sporing the air.

There was a quiet cleft by birdsong.

There was ragged breathing, barely.

Thereโ€™d been a plan, the traces told it.

There was a shovel in the back.

There were gloves and tape and sibilant teeth.

There were constraints that held them fast.

There was no way they would believe her.

There was no cold hand that made fists.

Thereโ€™d be floodlit eyes for every move

And no coming back from this.
Sing, stolid choir of objects, eyeless and aghast,

of a world that came to stay.

Add to your claythroat concord what lies in a hole

that took all day.

If an account remains ungiven,

if the seams close sheer and smooth,

if Godโ€™s own mind forgets, this time,

a scene will bear the truth. 


-Matthew Caldwell
Scene – Matthew Caldwell

Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven

That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,

And thereupon imagination and heart were driven

So wild that every casual thought of that and this

Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season

With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;

And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason,

Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,

Riddled with light. Ah! 

when the ghost begins to quicken,

Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent

Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken

By the injustice of the skies for punishment?


The Cold Heaven by W. B. Yeats

Floating here 

some three thousand miles off Portugal

I hang in your green,

breath held, limbs still, 

ears just under water,

feet pointing down into mystery.

The sea in my veins 

is so close to you,

blood of the planet I throb in.

In your silence I feel the crashing 

of waves in my heartbeat,

the wind in and out 

when I come up to breathe.

It may look just barely

but I feel so alive.

You have no ill will

yet I know if I breathe wrong

you will take me. 

This far north your hands are cold, 

your lips are cold.

Still I float in your womb 

and you say

โ€œI will hold you.โ€

Sitting in my umbilical prayers I hear you.

Mountains and deserts say this, too.

And beside a little white church

on a North Dakota prairie

a plot of ground, 

surrounded by family names,

says as well,

โ€œI will hold you.โ€ 

I hear you. 

I hang here in this green moment. 


Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

My heart is green

with the fuzz of springtime growth

borning life again

from the rich, bloody soil

it throbs anew
My mind is blue

as the sky in sunshine


like the night full of stars and glittering tears

it diamond sparkles 
My life is orange

as flames in a forest 


breathing the wind 

it grows wild
My love is red

there is no hiding it


real as anything

it woos pilgrims
My touch is gold

hands, lips on wounds


for velvet skin, shared breath

it heals all
My soul is pearl

creamy and warm


to all who come

it opens hearts
My word is platinum 

I seek only truth


life with integrity 

it unlocks doors
My work is emerald

deep as the world


full of riches

it creates wealth
My legacy is silver

of the finest made


all about me

all about You


Amy Lloyd (AL)

color me coolย 

perhaps we are

saving each other

one song at a time

endlessly moving 

wind, waves, water

kissing the shore

achingly beautiful

true colors

of black and white

melting together, dancing

in and out

through each other

ever weaving, creating

new life

filling the empty

emptying the full

like music 




It was after dinner.

You were talking to me across the table

about something or other,

a greyhound you had seen that day

or a song you liked,
and I was looking past you

over your bare shoulder

at the three oranges lying

on the kitchen counter

next to the small electric bean grinder,

which was also orange,

and the orange and white cruets for vinegar and oil.
All of which converged

into a random still life,

so fastened together by the hasp of color,

and so fixed behind the animated

foreground of your 

talking and smiling,

gesturing and pouring wine, 

and the camber of your shoulders
that I could feel it being painted within me,

brushed on the wall of my skull,

while the tone of your voice

lifted and fell in its flight,

and the three oranges

remained fixed on the counter

the way stars are said 

to be fixed in the universe.
Then all the moments of the past

began to line up behind that moment

and all the moments to come

assembled in front of it in a long row,

giving me reason to believe

that this was a moment I had rescued

from the millions that rush out of sight

into a darkness behind the eyes.
Even after I have forgotten what year it is,

my middle name,

and the meaning of money,

I will still carry in my pocket

the small coin of that moment,

minted in the kingdom

that we pace through every day


This Much I Do Remember by Billy Collins

He sculpts, carves, whittles

a fresh block of words 

heโ€™s been led to 

by winds that whisper 

or make him shiver.
Slowly, lines take shape,                

come alive with sounds

the ear cannot hear;

reflections only seen 

by the inner eye; 

raw, natural scents 

from the tree itself.
He pulls colors from a rainbow,          

the surf, or maybe the sand;

at times he adds moisture 

from a tear.
And as with raw wood, 

he whittlesโ€”whittles, going with                          

the grainโ€”braces the wood                                 

to flatten a knot, smiles at its 

character coming throughโ€”

will make a good piece. 
He sands until is all-over smooth, 

seals it with the joy of the craft, 

a fine piece that holds 

a part of himselfโ€”
now transformed into form 

     that lets the poem speak


The Poet and His Craft by Camille A. Balla

photo sources found at

color me green

within the spaces between silences

there grows a green vine

with beautiful fruit











running down our chins and elbows

until we fill with joy

and laugh with delight 

until we face our sorrow

and allow our salt to run and heal our wounds

until we feel what we need to feel

and let these emotions have their way with us

until we embrace this mystery 

and open our arms to life


my friends, 

is how I define the word:





photo sources found at /al513/shadesofgreen

largely speakingย 

Sweet Darkness
When your eyes are tired

the world is tired also.
When your vision has gone

no part of the world can find you.
Time to go into the dark

where the night has eyes

to recognize its own.
There you can be sure

you are not beyond love.
The dark will be your womb 

The night will give you a horizon

further than you can see.
You must learn one thing.

The world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds

except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet

confinement of your aloneness

to learn
anything or anyone

that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.


 – David Whyte


I sense infinity 

I open myself to the unlimited 

and with that opening 

I glimpse unending love 

I breathe the cold morning air

Absorb the sunlight dancing on the water 

take in the sight of millions of diamonds 

on blue velvet 

and I struggle, 

reaching, to open fully 

to take in this message 

to understand this beauty 

I sit in silence 

I listen in wonder 

I stay in that moment 

for eternity 

it is for eternity 

as I walk home 

I ask my soul’s questions: 

How will I allow God to love me?

How will I allow love to touch me?




photo by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT 

a little help from our friendsย 

photos by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT

listen to Jack Johnson sing Upside Down


If you stand at the edge of the forest 

and stare into it 

every tree at the edge will blow a little extra 

oxygen toward you 
It has been proven 

Leaves have admitted it 
The pines I have known 

have been especially candid 
One said 

that all breath in this world 

is roped together 
that breathing is 

the most ancient language


Ancient Language by Hannah Stephenson

  A bright gold canary diamond 

In the middle of a row of emeralds 

Light sparkles on brilliant color 

Natures jewels glimmering in sunlight 

Trees can’t help but be happy with who they are. 



Extravagantly, audaciously beautiful 

Spectacularly themselves 

Totally at home where they’re planted 

Reaching for the sky 

Content to be rooted and grounded 

Letting their leaves come and go 

As they see fit 

watching all the dancing 

as seasons come and go. 

Knowing there will always be abundance 

Giving us life giving oxygen with, 

not even a whisper, 

of quid pro quo 


or manipulation. 

Trees are magnificent. 

I can’t help but admire 

their character and integrity 

Their deep wisdom and acceptance of life. 

Their mystery and playfulness. 

Their understanding and gracious giving hearts. 

Even driving down the busiest of highways during rush hour 

becomes a beautiful experience 

when you spend the moments of the stop-n-go

looking out your car window 

at the show being put on 

right next to the roadway




other photos found @ 

Today! ย 

  This is why we survive the winter

The world shows off
Flowers are bursting color
Flaming forsythia frames the river
Fuzzy trees and bushes make me squirmy happy 
The sky beams blue
The water waves joyfully
The sand gladly greets, 
us with our winter legs
(except for the hardcore tanning bed crowd – already too brown for the rest of us)
little girls and their tattooed fathers pick up shells and rocks
to fill purple buckets of heartwarming, serious cuteness
coconut oil floats deliciously on the warm breeze 
I can’t stop smiling
Spring has sprung
Let love begin
AL 4/29/15





blue skies


 Close the doors. 
Youโ€™ve already paid your dues. 
Light the candles. Breathe 
the Lilly of the Valley, the lilacs 
in the vase. Reach for a pen. 
Take a couple sheets of 
parchment paper. Stretch. 
Do Chi Gong. It seems obvious, 
but sit down. Close your eyes. 
Reach into the abyss. Tap into 
the divinity, the Oversoul, 
the Muse of the Mind. Let 
your thoughts spill onto paper. 

Letโ€™s pretend you are the newest star. 
Rescue your mind from a ditch. 
Be aware a certain absurdity attends 
outside the door. Awaken. 
You are the healing waters. 
Close the door, but donโ€™t close 
your mind. Come find your 
own blue sky.

Listen to Willie Nelson sing Blue Skies


Photo by Fisherman Dan @Branford, CT

color guard ๐Ÿ’š ย ย 

– Ralph Waldo Emerson


My heart is green

with the fuzz of springtime growth
borning life again
from the rich, bloody soil
it throbs anew
My mind is blue
as the sky in sunshine
like the night full of stars and glittering tears
it diamond sparkles
My life is orange
as flames in a forest
breathing the wind
it grows wild
My love is red
there is no hiding it
real as anything
it woos pilgrims
My touch is gold
hands, lips on wounds
for velvet skin, shared breath
it heals all
My soul is pearl
creamy and warm
to all who come
it opens hearts
My word is platinum
I seek only truth
life with integrity
it unlocks doors
My work is emerald
deep as the world
full of riches
it creates wealth
My legacy is silver
of the finest made
nothing for me
it’s all about You
ACL 3/28/15


True Colors by Eva Cassidy

photo sources found at


Post Navigation