Yellow is the sun of childhood
the certain day
the fine silk strands
of youthful years
and wearing them
in a simple dress
of pale shantung
natural delicate
rustling against warm thighs
Yellow is a daisy-chain of memories
picking primroses in the woods
on Mothering Sunday
mailing them home in a tin box -
the flowers arranged on damp moss
sandals on sea fronts
Italian ice-cream
English mustard in a blue glass pot
Welsh rarebit and tea
with my father on visiting days.
Yellow is perfect dawn -
a bouquet of open beaks in a nest
promising next year
and the year after next
it is the pure primary before the smudges
of growing up clouds it with tears
Yellow is a hurting joy like Chopin
it clings with tendrils to my mind
the jaundiced hopes
the cancelled love
the chances left behind
all sprawl in sallow clusters
on the canary vine
taunting me
Yellow is the chink of light under the door-
the handle I cannot seem to turn
(Nov.2004)
(Senneville, Québec)
Sublimely developed...like the colour. Nuanced shades at every level. Rich and vibrant. Not wishy washy Like yellow as a disappearing follow.
Excellent. Thanks for all your poems, specially these colour ones!
brilliant... easily as good as 'blue'. your description and imagery of colours is amazing... keep writing!
I humbly bow to the Lady of Colors! Splendid read. Your magic shines with this color. Patricia Gale
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Philippa, This was absolutely wonderful and definately my favourite out of your 'colour' poems. Very, very clever. You should be extremely proud of it. SG