Not A Poem
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
blue nose!. Mere weeks
till winter creeps in disguised as autumn,
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?
December 27th, 2013.