Okay, here's my poem:

Red, orange, yellow, 

Clear, green, blue,

Brown, tan, black,

See through, color, none.

Sparks dancing through air.

White-tipped waves slapping gray cliffs. 

Mud sqeezing between toes.

Sharp wind blowing leaves off trees.

The unpleasent burnt scent.

The salty ocean air.

The smell of whatever's growing

The odor of whatever's near.

Crackling flames.

Jumping fish.

Marching feet

Roaring wind.

Yet through it all she stands.

Dancing, whirling, cracking.

Her hair frames her face.

Noise growing louder, louder, louder.

Her eyes glisten playfully.

Colors growing brigher, brighter, brighter.

Her legs start to dance.

Scents growing stronger, stronger, stronger.

Crack!

Her whip strikes the air,

And all is still.

She smiles to herself.

A beautiful, serene, smile.

And then she is gone. 

What Element Am I?

My element could be fire.

Spontaneous, energetic, bursting my bounds like an out-of-control bonfire,

furious red heat with a touch of blue rage,

a monster rising up in response to the smallest mistake,

but am I really that vibrant? That excitable? That dangerous?

Is that truly who I am?

My element could be water.

Gentle, calm, easing conflict with a touch of my coolness,

soft teal waves secreting peace and contentment,

a wellspring of support in the darkest of times,

but am I really that peaceful? That empathetic? That selfless?

Is that truly who I am?

My element could be earth.

Stable, unmoving, grounding those who walk upon me,

dark expanses full of order even when they appear messy,

imposing guidelines on everyone who interacts with me,

but am I really that responsible? That down-to-earth? That focused?

Is that truly who I am?

My element could be air.

Seeking, curious, flowing everywhere to learn everything,

light breezes always looking for answers,

designing powerful occurrences without any help,

but am I really that intellectual? That complex? That creative?

Is that truly who I am?

My element could be any of these.

Sometimes I hold the scarlet flames of an angry fireplace,

sometimes the sapphire waves of a calm lake.

Sometimes I am as stable as a centuries-old mountain,

sometimes as innovative as the flowing wind.

How am I to know what I am?

How is anyone?

a self portrait through the lens of elements of art

first is line of course,

there are so many you need to render my body:

from the curved inkbrush flicks of my eyelashes to the undefined curves of my figure

back down to the sketchy crosshatching to chap my knuckles, the elegant waves of my fingerprints--

I am a moving point.

and color, like taste

I want to try every palette, every flavor until one fits

there are hues in my overthought clothes,

there is so much intensity in my eyes.

falling neatly into values like a spiralling galaxy too large to fit in my brain

the beauty is in the lack of all light or all dark

but we all know I prefer the light--

you can see it in my determined pale smiles,

my carefree pink laughter,

my royal blue loyalty only a few shades darker than my cornflower tears--

but let's not get ahead just yet--

you can find shapes like endless circles in my eyes,

square-knotted friendship bracelet ellipses around my wrists,

triangles in the empty space between my fingers and painstaking hearts painted on my fingernails

and yet I am fully organic, whether I want to be or not,

I am undefined but for my endless texture,

like so many freckles on my body, I feel in splatters of endless rain

that fall into so many rippling puddles

like my voice always seems to feel hoarse but I can use it to feel so much more,

my words are feathers and lead, leaves and lances, ink and blood like shouting

I am real, I am real, I am real.

I am multi-dimensional in form, you see

I stretch forward and back and around until there is so much of me

I am surprised it fits inside my skin--

if you think I am but one thing, I beg you to look at me from a different angle

again and again until you see something new.

and lastly, space--

I hope to use positive and not negative,

to leave the world with so much more than a self-shaped hole. 

and of course, I am forever taking up too much of it,

but I refuse to apologize 

refuse to be any less than I am,

I will not be an unfinished masterpiece

and I will never be forgotten. 

Once upon
A
Time,

In a forest filled
with flame;

There lied a
single
wisp

of burning
Faeiries' bane.

Alone,
scorching all
that
he touched;

But soon came
the rain,

And then
there were
two, standing there--
In the rain.

The little
water-lass
stood there--
where she had formed,

Darkness seeping
into all,
faded moth-wing leaves
crackling under opposing born.

Then the little water drop
took a chance
and
smiled.

The tiny flame
stood--
stunned--

Before
taking a step
forward

To take
the others'
hand.

But upon joining,
as was bound to be,

The little flame hissed
where touched,
tiny water drop
bubbling and steaming.

The two exchanged a
sad glance

Before holding up a rock
'tween them,
a symbol of this chance.

Gazing upon the desolate
forest,
bare and blanketed in
chalky ash;

There the two
found shelter

Nestled between
a spiral
of
stacked rocks.

'Twas there the
bleak sun
carried out it's
final course;

Setting, and sinking
to a sea of ink
and mystic flecks of silver.

But as the morning
rays

Dispelled
the waning
darkess;

The little flame awoke
to the
receding figure

Of
his tiny teardrop
friend.

Alas, soon he noticed
a fine string of ants

Carrying away the pebble,
the token
of his friendship.

Running along,
to retrieve
his friendship pebble,

However, just as our little
friend
caught his tiny rock,

A large shadow
Was suddenly cast

Upon the little pebble,
and our little flame
was trapped.

Caught in
an old man's
lamp,

He was carried
far away

To a small
greyed shack,
where he could only
watch the days fade.

But there was
a single ray of hope

When he saw his
raindrop friend climbing
the up to his latern-prison
to help him cope.

And as the day wore on,
and from daytime
to night,

The little raindrop girl
fell into a slumber
right beside the light.

But from the heat
of the
flame

She soon began to
disappear,

Lilting up,
as steam,
until she was
no more.

Our little flame,
who had pounded
at his glass cage

As he saw
the situation
unfurling

Soon gave up,
consumed by sorrow
at the last trace of steam
on night breeze curling.

Standing alone again,
this cruel and cold
world filled again
With darkness,

But as night had come,
The lamp was turned off,
And our friendly flame now
was no more.

But as his smoke drifted up,
So were his spirits lifted up,

As in the night sky he saw
his little friend
The girl from the water-drop,

Still steam, as was smoke
And they embraced each other,

Finally with nothing to separate
The newly freed sister and brother.

All right! Thank you, everybody, for such creative poems! I will now, without further ado, announce the winners.

Honorable Mention: Jaybells. I loved the character development you did with the tiny flame and the water droplet, as well as the ways earth and air connected them. And the poem really was good! Since it was very story-oriented, maybe you could have given the different 'plot points' a little more description and depth.

Third Place: Zahava S. Your poem was very meditative and thoughtful, as well as a brave declaration. I had no problem with your interpretation of the prompt, and I thought it was interesting! The poem seemed to be a little tell-not-show-y, however.

Second Place: Kitten. Lovely poem! Great job incorporating traditional elements into a contemplation of your personality. The repetition, rather than being boring or redundant, was thought-provoking and gave the poem structure. Again, a slightly tell-not-show-y poem, but that wasn't a big problem.

And First Place: Stardust. I greatly appreciated your take on the prompt. And not only was the idea good, but the execution was spot-on, too! The descriptive phrasing and metaphors blended together into something really amazing to read. Well done.

To everyone: Thanks for participating, have a great day, continue writing poetry, yadda yadda yadda, and so on and so forth. 

A blue-greenmarble

With wispyclouds like strips of gauze

Rotates‘round and ‘round

In abreathtaking, terrifying void

Of nothingsprinkled with something

She doesn’tknow quite what’s out there

Except forthe ball of gray rock

That reflectswhite light in a dark sky

And the boiling,spitting sun

The one that could kill her,

But instead gives her life

Of course, there are others

One with atop half that looks like a cowboy hat

Another cold and dark blue, the embodiment of winter

But they don’t have what she has

Children

Living, breathing souls walking beneath her protective arms

Each with a whole world of their own

She aches to keep them safe

From the unpredictable unknown

Of the world beyond understanding

But she is just a marble

With clouds like strips of gauze

Probably not the interpretation you were expecting, but here's my poem!

-- 

There’s an empty space inside of me where my hope used to be.

It used to sustain me like a luscious chocolate cake, 

encouraging me when I felt down, saying, “It’ll be okay. You’ll get through this.”

But as each of my hopes dropped like drowning fish,

when I began to realize that nothing would ever be the same,

when dream after dream was replaced with a huge red X,

I stopped caring.

The sweet lump of hope grew smaller and smaller

until it was gone entirely.

I couldn’t hope anymore. I could only dread.

Now, all I have left is avoidance, and even that is hard to sustain,

when news articles and innocent conversations impale my fragile shell every day.

There’s an empty space inside of me where my hope used to be,

and now I have nothing there but despair.