MONTH, PURPLE, SILVER, ORANGE
The following series of poems were written by Bob Birch
in response to a challenge by another member of the Apple Valley Poetry Group.
It was immediately apparent that the challenger had picked words
for which there are no rhymes!
A LOVE POEM
the fragrance of purple lilacs
fill the night air
beneath a silver moon,
I kiss your lips,
like a fresh pealed orange.
ANOTHER MUSHY ONE
If my love was purple,
you would be my plumb.
If my desire had taste,
you would refresh like juice of an orange.
If I could smother you in gold,
I would then want to adorn you with silver.
If you were a month out of my year,
it would have the bloom of May and the heat of June.
Proud in her purple thong
her morning elixir a mix
of orange and vodka
a silver nipple ring
hides beneath her business suit
this month she earns
a company car
I know no words that rhyme with orange,
and none that rhyme with purple,
unless we mix orange juice with grape,
and call that drink a “slurple.”
And silver does not ring a bell . . .
A little change makes sliver,
and now I’d cite the month of March
and mornings when we shiver.
In the month that I married my wife,
I turned purple and prayed for my life,
Like an orange I was sliced,
And then quartered and diced,
By her sharp silver cleaver and knife.
ABSTRACT AND FREE
day month year
quick silver underfoot
the sun orange
purple martins flock
Silver streaks through orange
Sunsets behind purple hills
The month is August
The silver star upon his vest
says Sheriff Black’s in charge.
His gun’s the fastest in the west,
his stature is quite large.
One day he met his lady fair,
she wore a purple dress,
he ran his fingers through her hair,
she said, “You’ve made a mess.”
Now this gal really was a tease,
and asked, “Can you make love,
if I would hold between my knees
this orange, a glass or glove?”
Sheriff Black then smiled, said with a wink,
“Well I’ll sure try my best,
but it could take a month, I think.”
. . . Now you fill in the rest.
SILLY QUATRAIN RHYME
I see a pretty purple loon
dressed in an orange coat,
and all he’s done this month of June
is ride a silver goat.
SERIOUS FREE VERSE
The red orange flash of explosions
the Purple Heart given for a body shattered
the Silver Star laid on a cold coffin
each brutal month followed by yet another.
Poem having the rhyming pattern: A1 b A2 a b A1 a b A2 a b A1 a b A2 a b A1 A2
I love the purple of the violet
and all the flowers that we know as wild,
they tell us of the pleasures that we get
when we cut loose our minds and never let
them lose the wonder of a wide-eyed child
when looking at the purple violet.
So often we will let our minds get set
in stacking gold and silver in a pile
instead of finding pleasures we can get
from orange blossoms seen in silhouette,
and fragrances that always bring a smile
like does the purple of the violet.
‘Tis like a long lost love we have re-met
and both kept busy for one long month while
we sought out new pleasures each could get,
but realize now how much we both regret
the loss of caring with our carefree style
for we both love the purple violet
and in commitment pleasure we now get.
© 2004 Robert W. Birch
HERE IS MY CHALLENGE TO YOU: SEND ME AN ORIGINAL VERSE IN ANY FORM, USING THE WORDS MONTH, ORANGE, SILVER, AND PURPLE IN ANY ORDER, AND I WILL POST IT HERE, GIVE YOU FULL CREDIT, LINK TO YOUR WEB SITE IF YOU HAVE ONE, PROMOTE YOUR BOOK IF YOU'VE PUBLISHED ONE, AND I WILL SEND YOU A FREE COPIES OF TWO OF MY BOOKS: A BITE OUT OF THE RAINBOW AND RHUBARB PIE: WITH JUST A TASTE OF NAUGHTY. YOU WILL RETAIN FULL COPYRIGHT OF YOUR SUBMISSION, AND THIS WILL BE ACKNOWLEDGED ON THIS SITE.
THIS CHALLENGE WAS ACCEPTED AND THE FOLLOWING ORIGINAL POEM WAS RECEIVED ON VETERANS DAY, 2009
ALONE ON THE RANCH IN 1918
It's been over a month since I saw him last.
I watched him board the train
with the others, and waited
until it was but a speck on the horizon.
He will come home to me. I know he will.
His beautiful smile and look of desire in his blue eyes
Stay close in my heart.
His silver sideburns are what my fingertips touched softly
As we'd kiss.
I miss his warm touch. I miss his passion for me.
Alone I watch the orange sunsets each night.
Without him there is a longing.
My heart is not all that aches,
as I lay alone in our bed.
His side -- cold from his absence.
A new day breaks. Another day begins. Alone...
I see a rider rider coming.
So close now I can hear him.
It's him! It must be my love.
I am happy for the first time in an eternity.
I see the brown uniform. The broad-rimmed hat. It is him!
He has come HOME to me at last!
No. Who is this man? It is not my love.
I run to the cabin doorway and grab the rifle.
Ready to shoot, I watch the man approach.
He is 10 feet from me now.
From his horse he questions my name.
Puzzled, I respond, "Yes. That is I."
He dismounts, approaches me and removes his hat,
placing it against his heart and bows his head.
The news is not true. It cannot be. It cannot.
My arms fall to my sides
and the rifle slips from them onto the ground.
I no longer hear or understand his words...
they are but muffle sounds to me.
The young man reaches for my arm and extends my hand.
In it he places a metal heart, bearing President Washington's Face
and a purple ribbon supporting it.
Through tears I cry, "No. I dont want this,
I want my husband".
It's all I can bear, to write this down now.
What will I do?
Do I return to Boston?
Our life together was here.
Oh God, Don't let this be true.
© Emily Swan - 2009
Thank you Emily
We will remember all who served, suffered and died
to protect our freedom!
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