Not A Poem

Not A Poem

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I am – therefore I think.

I think in colour, and in light.
I think the colours of the night.

I think along the daytime path
I crunch on gravel and I laugh..

To see the branches, climbing, soaring.
Wind, it’s colours racing, roaring.

Grey gulls, crow-black shadows,
bright blue sky, ochre adders.

Ice-blue frost on ivy green,
Robin red-breast.. hovering,
keen to say hello.

Avenues of old wisteria colour dreams,
hysteria banished by morning schemes..

Of rose, and violet, gentian, teal.
Garden bound, I know I’ll feel
alive. Again.

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Green fingers, red cheeks,
blue noses. It’s not weeks
till winter creeps in..lily-livered,
paper-thin..

Leaves of copper, bronze, and gold
have fallen now ..carpeting ground
with sound.

Golden mornings, azure skies,
turn to promises, and lies.

Silver linings torn from clouds
to make of golden moments, shrouds.

Past and present – future too
are coloured by a hue of blue..

Yet, on the canvas all is white.
To begin with.

Gardening, art, photography –
a lifetime’s colour therapy..

Thus I’m left with but one question:

If there are only fifty shades of grey ..

How d’you explain the ocean?

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December 27th, 2013.

Helen Thomson.

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About largelyhelen

Designer, photographer, writer.
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3 Responses to Not A Poem

  1. Irene Sampson says:

    Beautiful!

  2. largelyhelen says:

    Reblogged this on Largely Confidential and commented:

    Requested to re-issue this:-

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