Colour Poem by R. L. Allen

Crayons.

Standning
up from the tin;
each shade of red
a colour of love; anger; fury,
a deep shade of longing
ablaze in my head.
A crayon of blue –
melancholy and down,
as if all my tears
had been handed
a crown.
Each jaded
pencil of hand-me-down
green: hospitals; jealousy;
a bout of nausea so
cruelly unseen.
And all the yellows:
butter and sunshine; custard;
mustard; a bottle of your finest
fresh summer wine. Pink –
from roses; ribbons in your hair,
the loss of a heart that is no longer there.
Brown – from chocolate! – raisins;
marshmallow-flumps; firewood and
driftwood and seaweed
and tree-stumps.
Black – not a colour,
more an absence of such.
Then white, the colour
of the moon as it
shines at night.

And for the
first time since
you left us, all this
colour feels

right.





June 1st,2010.
The council turned off our electricity to do some work, so I spent those five hours writing poems and taking photographs of inanimate objects (because photography is cool) .