Not A Poem

Not A Poem

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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,
lapiz sky, ochre adders.

Ice-blue dew 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
whole. Again.

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Green-fingered, red-cheeked,
blue nose!. Mere weeks
till winter creeps in disguised as autumn,
paper-thin.

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.

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

Still my paintbrush asks the question:
If there are only fifty shades of grey ..
How do I 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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