For my friend J who likes neither poetry in general nor an extended winter...
When skies turn the color
of an old metal bucket
and cold rains fall without mercy
on the sodden pines,
it serves us well to seek solace
in the hidden colors -
the scarlet of the wintergreen berry
tucked under emerald leaves,
the sudden flash of a blue wing
or a red feather,
the fading orange of the oak leaf,
the last flame of the sumac.
Purple smoke pipes a line
of indecipherable writing across the horizon
and the washing,
left on the line in hopes of sun,
waves pale hands in your direction.
8 comments:
the purple smokepipes...writing verse on the horizon...love that visual...and this time of year we really do need to seek out those colors...
Gray as gunmetal here today Brian with more snow on the horizon. But... spring is only a month away!
Just yesterday, sitting outside, I caught a flash of blue wing and several red feathers! The birds are loving it here this "winter!"
Did you get the address I sent you?
Yours could never be considered poetry in general. It's always top notch. Lovely as always.
Just the other day a cardinal flashed red across the street ahead of my windshield.
You're right.
As always.
And your poetry is ---
what can I say?
Those pale hands are waving at me,
distracting me.
A wonderful gift. Thank you.
J may not like poetry in general or the extended winter but there must always be exceptions.
For me this poem would meet my criteria even if I didn’t like poetry. I do, of course, and can’t understand how someone does not.
I am sure J wouldn’t be your friend if she didn’t like this.
Molly - when the seasonal birds return we know the good weather cannot be far behind. Robins always seem to come back in the midst of a snowstorm! And no - the address is not in my email. Try again? (pclarke122atgmaildotcom)
Hilary - I thank you. J calls my poetry accessible so now and then I like to reinforce her good feelings about it ;)
J - you're welcome! We all need some color in winter and writing this for you gave me the opportunity to actively seek it out :)
Friko - thank you, too. I know about poetry that is so convoluted and obtuse that even the best of us stumbles through it and emerges wondering what on earth we'd just read (or why). Others can make words sing. J is one of those - she is a very clear, concise writer and a marvelous painter/photographer. She is also a southwestern woman at heart, all reds and oranges, while I'm her counterpart in blues and greens. She was bemoaning the lack of color in the midst of yet another New England snowstorm - I was trying to cheer her up.
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