Magenta Poem by Paul Hansford
Magenta
January. A dry cold. Snow had been lying
for days, and fresh falls on top of it,
packed hard on the pavements and verges,
ideal for sliding, and we did,
all the way home from school,
heedless of warnings.
Out in the evening too. A clear night. My breath
clouded in the air.
The icy surface, reflecting street lamps' glare,
multiplied sodium-yellow to orange day
on some strange, icebound planet.
I slid all the way, and my shadow
alongside me, magenta
on the snow, lengthening
and shortening as I passed;
my plum-coloured shadow
going ahead, my amethyst shadow
falling behind, until
familiar house lights turned it black.
Older, I learned the physics of it,
but there was no magic in that.
This is so evocative of childhood, I can feel the winter-burnt fingertips and the red cheeks in front of the fire while steam rises from my jumper. Marvellous!
Thanks, Yoonoos. I'm glad there are some members at least who understand that the 'rhythm' of poetry is not necessariliy the tum-ti-tum of doggerel. Yes, I can write in strict meter and in rhyme, but it encourages me to see that other kinds of poetry are valued. P: -)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/26/2024 11:17:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
This is the first poem of yours I ever read, having done a search for the word 'magenta' just about a month ago. It is very descriptive and actually reminds me of winter days and nights in North America and the state of Utah where I live, as if it truly is another wild and fiercely beautiful world with another set of colors at night which are both warm and cold. I especially like the reference to a 'plum-colored shadow.' The past two winters I keep seeing a black or dark cherry hue to the sky here.