Spectrum - Poem by Jon Corelis
Sometimes it comes on red: the animal
is angry and astonished, tasting blood,
or orange, like a sunset you can taste,
the light as rich as butter on your tongue,
or sometimes yellow: the attic's plastic ball
so sunny once, so sticky now with flyspecks.
It comes on green sometimes: you feel the plash
of frigid streams that feed the earliest ferns,
or blue: the moody sea that smells of brine
and octopus and moans against the shore,
and sometimes purple, like an embarrassed king
remembering incense in his moonlit room.
Sometimes an incandescent passion blends
the molten splinters into one blank ray.
Comments about Spectrum by Jon Corelis
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye