Archive for Inspirations

Rainbow Project

Posted in Poems, Writing Prompts with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 31, 2016 by rachelcipriano

7 days of poetry about each distinct color. A compilation.

Day 1: Red
I crave for the lips with a taste of cherry, when my body feels the blazing shade of the enraged. In this sweet ferocity, I will be your lover. Draped in cochineal, watch me aflame. I will not bleed, and roses shall be my breath.

Day 2: Orange
Sweaty palms in the humid air. Summer comes and you tie up your hair. Our shadows prance remembering the sunset. I draw in the breeze passing you and never forget, the kiss of tangerine with the purple sky–the days before the winter sleep and the moment we’ll lie.

Day 3: Yellow
Honey moonlight floods the room. Shadows slowly swallow the amber light under the door. I dream of lemons and sand. As I feel the breath of Scotch grunting in my ear. I grasp the golden cross on my chest and forget the grip on my arms. Then the magnificent sun shines and I smile. Because I find its color very similar to mine.

Day 4: Green
In the meadow he crawls, lingering, waiting until someone falls. Hissing soothing words, I stare in his emerald eyes engulfing me like fire devouring the foliage. Entranced by his promises, I lift my hands–and the leaves looming over me graze my skin as I grasp the viper’s pome. Engrossed, one bite sent me crashing to the bed of moss.

Day 5: Blue
Adam sprawled across the shore.
Ashen and pale-lipped,
His sapphire eyes stared blankly at the cloudless sky.
Imbibed of his own ale,
He dreamed of
blooming irises and soaring jays, and
another breath.

Day 6: Indigo
With my spectacles on and her studded beryl jacket, I found her again. We forced our way into the blackened azure sky and united our souls with our ethereal bodies. Midnight comes and we vanish without a word. I will comb every era to find you again in this empyrean cloud.

Day 7: Violet
Raised in benign neglect, I will fill these regal murder halls with Morrissey. The mauve sky declaring the advent of twilight, I watch my carmine wrists weep like a lady in a macabre funeral.


"...but only in poetry can men be truly free. It was always thus and always thus will be."

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