Every day the ground is purpling and donning deeper shades of green. I have a brother who went through a phase where if you asked him a question he didn’t care to answer, he’d blink slowly, smirk, and say, “purple.” I have a son who shares this gene, but his answer is always “Jeff”— the name of our dog, who romps ahead through purple and green, tastes the tops of flowers and the lush grass, wet from nighttime rain. I remind Jeff that he’ll likely barf. He gives his standard answer: a wagging tail. Is there something I keep repeating? Like green at the slightest provocation of warmth or rain? Like a name, like a tale, like grass in my throat?
i was just yelling back a really effusive response to this gorgeous poem and the way you weave so many stories and themes all around color (and purple in particular), but then I accidentally clicked something on my phone and lost the whole long comment, and that makes me want to yell in a different way. So here's take two . . . I adore your poem, especially the lines about choosing purple because all the other girls chose pink, "and I wasn't pink / like all the other girls," and then the turning point after your wedding, where you want the yellow and orange of wildflowers and of so many other colors, all tied to the earth. And then my absolute favorite part - "until I could see that / they were all really / just reflections / of light, anyway." So good!
Haha, I have been there with losing my words and wanting to yell about it. 😅 I really loved your use of the word "purpling" in your poem, and the line about grass in your throat, and I immediately thought of how my favourite colour had been purple and why it changed. So many of my poems probably never would've been written without you and this community, and I love that you thought of the phone tag idea, because it feels like such a natural progression of what we've already been doing here.
I love the evolution here -- of thinking you have to choose and be boxed in, of finding your way to the edge of the box ("almost not purple at all") and finally out into the cacophony of all colors, even ones you thought you couldn't be before, and FINALLY finally parenting unboxed children who "will never have to choose." So good! I also really love "just reflections of us, and we are not solid, or separate either."
Ooooh, I love you ending on your daughter's disruption of convention, so powerful!! I also loved these lines: "I wanted the yellow and orange of wildflowers, of mustard and rust..." (and all the ensuing lines of that stanza, ending with the rose your mother told you you were. Such gorgeous lines. A beautiful study in purple and contrasts.
A. this is simply exquisite. Loved all the twists and turns. I felt taken on a ride with your relationship with purple! And I love that your daughter will never have to choose a specific color. Loved, "I wanted the rainbow that I had stuffed down inside of me. I needed to see it, to wrap myself in it, to set it free. I needed all of the colours to blur and bleed together until they were almost unrecognizable," YES!!!
Ahhhh this is lovely and the colors you chose for yourself after the wedding simply feel comforting and cozy and all enveloping. I love that your daughter has such a specific answer for her favorite color(s). My youngest's favorite color was always purple (although now she likes to rock a strictly black vibe) and she insisted on putting some purple flowers in although I thought they wouldn't work with what she had originally chosen for colors. But somehow they did!
I love her answer, too. She started saying it, always in that order, when she was 3, I think? Maybe early 4. It makes me happy that she knows herself so well. I'm glad your daughter followed her instinct about the purple flowers. They were beautiful in my wedding, too.
I went back and reread that and it made zero sense. I was referring to her wedding. Duh. She wanted to put some purple flowers in at the last minute. I wrote that in my brain.
I love how poems take me everywhere and I love where this poem takes me, A. The morphing of the emotions behind the color purple to this wonderful line, “I wanted the rainbow that I had stuffed down inside of me.
I needed to see it, to wrap myself in it, to set it free.” Beautifully written. The ending is so thoughtful, never having to pick just one favorite color. What a concept! Thanks for this, A.
I echo what the others poets have said, this is an astounding and beautiful poem! It is truly a gem of gems, and the way you tell a story in such lyrical and beauitful flow is remarkable. These lines are treasures:
"and I wasn't pink
like all the other girls,
and the clumsy bruises
always covering my legs,
just another thing
highlighting my not-sameness,
were often purple."
What true treasures. And these wonderful words:
"Until I could see that
they were all really
just reflections
of light, anyway,
just reflections
of stardust,
just reflections
of us, and we
are not solid, or
separate either."
I love rainbows, and these lines few lines are an amazing testimony to the popwer that color andlight can have in our lives and the world. And last, the last line
"SHe will neber ahve to choose." deservbes a rousing Amen, bravo, standign ovation, for tis simple beauty and also because, in the love and care you shine into your live and the life of your beloveds, she will never have to choose. You are a rose by any name.
Thank you, Larry. This one really poured out of me. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. Your response and everyone else's kind comments feel the same.
This doesn't strike me as melodramatic . . . it just strikes me as an honest expression of the chaos and challenge of being human! Thank you for sharing your beautiful poem and beautiful self, Karri. "I'd love to find an even keel / whilst spinning on this color wheel" - you and me both!
Thank you for bringing your angst to us! "Whilst spinning on this color wheel" is such excellent imagery, even though I bet it's making you dizzy. Hoping for a calming soon for you, Karri!
No worries Karri! I feel we write from where ever we are at. That is poetry in all its flavors and colors! And I love this poem. This is what melodrama can feel like, nothing stable, ongoing change. Yep, "I'd love to find an even keel. Whilst spinning on this color wheel."
I echo what A. has said. Poetry, writing, art and music are wonderful places for our angst, anxiety, doubts and fears. I am glad you are in this space, Karri. Thank you for your honest and heartfelt poem. ❤️
No forgiveness necessary. Your angst and melodrama are as welcome as all the rest of you! And this is such a relatable feeling, this back and forth of all or nothing. I hope things level out a bit for you soon.
This morning I woke up to the song of my least-favorite bird and so naturally had to wax avian again. This one is quite melodramatic, but brood parasitism is no joke. The connection to Lisa's prompt is tenuous at best, but I was seeing and hearing brown all day today, as in the head of this particular cowbird, so I decided to go with it.
So many powerful lines and images here - "the shrill instant of your arrival," "you will eat up the summer / seed by seed," and of course, the amazing, widely applicable ending "you will leave the work / to those you hurt." So good. Damn those cowbirds.
I had heard this before about cowbirds but had to refresh my memory. What a…holes they are! But seriously the last two lines hit me as such truth about many of the human species. “You will leave the work to those you hurt.”
Oooph, I can't help but read this as a metaphor for colonization and the legacy burden we all live under in this country (the US). Your words are beautiful, chilling, visceral.
Keith, thank you for seeing this & taking my poem to a bigger place! In my mind I'd only developed the metaphor as far as interpersonal bullying/predating, but I so appreciate your read and might want to go play with it some more now...
haha, I have been known to...uh...think deeply (I believe it's mostly been framed as "you think too much, Keith"). I also marvel at (and deeply appreciate) the way in which we experience each others' poetic minds through the lens of our own minds and unique experiences of the world. Truly amazing. I would love to read any future drafts, should they manifest!
Very nice piece, Rebekah. Cowbirds are so interesting in how they lay their eggs in other birds’ nests. My favorite line is “You will eat up the summer seed by seed”—beautiful phrasing. Thank you for sharing, Rebekah.
You made me learn something with this one, and I love that! I've actually done this with a couple of your poems, needing to Google something I hadn't known about before. Please feel free to wax avian always and forever.
I don't know where these poems have come from lately, but your prompt, Lisa, resonated and I realized after all these years, I had to pay homage to lifelong favorite color, Orange. Though Purple is second!
Orange you glad
It began with a knock-knock joke involving an apple and an orange.
It burst forth as a high school lad saw orange courderoys
and knew life would not be complete without them.
My father refused to let my mom buy them for me, as
“real men don’t wear orange.”
That’s where our true love began.
If my Dad believed such foolishness, I knew the inverse must be true.
From drug induced dream in a tent on the beach
running through fields of orange grass as
Yes played “Close to the Edge” somewhere;
To coats, jackets, pants, shorts, shirts, shoes
mugs, walls, books, pens, stoles, phones and drums;
We have traveled together all these years.
Through times of great acclaim, your popularity soaring,
to disparaging remarks and sinister projections
dismissive resignation to pumpkins and Halloween,
and traffic cones,
we have stayed faithful.
Your various shades and degrees my comfort,
your brightness and loudness a brand I could sit with,
your warmth a blanket to hold me in the bitter times.
Yes, I am so glad you began with a knock-knock joke and then came full circle back to it at the end! Larry, I love this, and I'm so glad that you knew to trust what you loved over your dad's opinion of it (or even BECAUSE of your dad's opinion of it). "Bury my ashes with orange flowers" is such a gorgeous line.
The end of this made me so emotional! I love seeing your love for orange here, and how it has followed you for so long. I had to laugh that you are sharing such a strong love for orange while Julie's poem was about her lifelong distaste for it. It's wild how we can each be affected so differently.
That is pretty cool--and we can model for the leaders of the world how we can differ on something as deeply heartfelt as colors, and still love, respect and care for each other!
This is so great, Larry. Your love for orange is expressed so well in the list of images; I really pictured everything in orange. Even your emotional reactions to tone and shade are well done. I had to laugh a bit, my vinyl copy of Close To The Edge is long gone but thanks to Spotify I still listen to Yes often.
I love this rounding out of orange, a beautiful, playful tribute and the other side of the orange coin from Julie's terrific anti-ode! I also appreciate the way you wove in the poignancy about your father. I loved this line "your warmth a blanket to hold me in the bitter times."
A great ode to orange! And a reminder to that joke as one I distinctly remember my grandmother telling me when I was a child. No idea where that memory came from but thanks for bringing it to the surface!!
Lisa, I really enjoyed the visceral tone of this poem. I felt that grass in my throat. Purple is a wonderful color that really inspires me and the richness of the color in your poem has inspired me. I wanted to submit a poem on your parenting prompt and worked an idea for a while but it all came together when I read your beautiful purple piece. Oh, and I'm all in on the telephone poem idea. Sounds exciting! Here's a purple mashup:
Purple Baby
New preciousness snuggled in hospital linen
The air of this world transforming cesarean purple
To burgundy, to red, to pink, to you
The lightness of your body
The heaviness of your meaning
I held you closer, even closer
The slightest hint of newborn air
Gasping the softest of cries
The heaviness of your meaning
Turned my heart of stone
To a heart of flesh
In that moment no longer me but we
Transfixed by miracle
Only tears then, only tears now
In that moment of we
From your wordless newborn soul
Dying for you is not the question
The question is what it always is and will always be
Steve, this is so beautiful and made my mama heart swell to twice its size! I loved the lines "The air of this world transforming cesarean purple / To burgundy, to red, to pink, to you," as well as the way you play with both heaviness and lightness. And the ending is so powerful. Thank you for sharing, and I've added you to the telephone list!
Thank you so much for your kind words,Lisa. The color change is definitely the thing I remember most nearly four decades later. The unanimous reaction is the color loss line is the favorite. The last line is my favorite though. Thank you for the prompts and I’m excited for the telephone poem.
Thanks, Keith. This snapshot aged well. That baby is now 38 and her changing colors as I held her is imagery that is forever etched in memory. The purple actually shocked me but the nurses were unconcerned so I just went with it. Thanks for commenting, Keith.
Wow, time is so weird...in some ways 1986 doesn't seem that long ago, and in others eons (for me). I know what you mean about the shock of seeing your newborn clad in purple skin. My son was, too. He looked a little like Violet in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (the one with Gene Wilder as Willie Wonka). Grateful that was a temporary purpling!
Hahaha...exactly! It was amazing to watch, the more she breathed the more her color changed until she reached her natural color. Such an amazing experience.
Thanks for noticing the colors, Chuck. The color changes were incredible to watch. Funny, my younger daughter was a bit yellow when she was born...way different than purple.
This is so tender, Steve. The juxtaposition of your repeated references to light and air with "the heaviness of your meaning," the soft cry and your softening heart, and "How will I live for you?" are all so beautiful.
Thank you for the deep noticing, A. I’m glad you picked up on the juxtapositions because that’s what moved me also. Thank you again for the encouragement.
This is quite beautiful. What a wonderful lasting legacy and testimony for and to your daughter. I love the way you take in the colors of this new baby, and word it to end “to you.” This is precious and tender, and I also love the ending. It is an essential question.
Thanks,Larry. The color change was astounding and memorable and I really wanted to make it all about my daughter. And thank you for appreciating that last line because it still is the most essential question for me.
Lisa, I loved your poem. How funny that your brother went through a phase of answering with "purple." I had a boyfriend years ago that instead of a swear word he would say, "Botswana". Now that I think about it, what an awful thing to do to an African country! My favorite color is purple too, I thought for sure that is what my poem would be about! Then it went somewhere else. Oh and I would love to join the poem telephone. Let me know if you need anything from me. Here is my poem:
I’m having some internet issues and thought I replied to your comment and poem but it seems to have disappeared. So apologies if this makes it through twice!
I confess to being very fond of orange, Julie, and I’m also very fond of the final line of your poem. Such a good ending!
Such a great ending, nature does always have the last word, and her color coordination is ultimately above reproach! That said, I respect your right to disagree with orange (or anything else). Loved all the imagery in this, Julie.
This is a lovely piece Julie. I like your distinction between orange in nature as good but orange on you not so much. I like the ending and how you defer to nature’s perspective. Very well done, Julie.
This is such a creative tie-in to the color prompt, Periodically "Bye Bye Blackbird" has been popping into my head since watching "The World on Fire." https://youtu.be/NcpdvTKY1YA?si=aausKR1cOAzjhdu0
Thanks for the link to this rendition, Chuck (listening right now, it's terrific). World on Fire is a WWII drama, set mostly in Manchester UK and Poland (season 2 is set a fair amount in Northern Africa). I loved it.
This is sweet, Chuck. I love jazz and Miles Davis and his willingness to go into completely new places with music, and his knack for brining new talent to the fore. My favorites are “Kind of Blue” and “Round midnight” among many.
LISA. I am sorry for yelling, but also I cannot contain all of the feelings I am having both about your poem and about the phone tag idea. First. This poem. And the way that the beginning stanzas set up the last three. And the green, and the double meaning of "tale" and THE GRASS IN YOUR THROAT. This is the way I feel about all of your poems, btw, I just often forget that I'm allowed to be enthused. But today I remembered. And as for the poem phone tag idea, YES TO ALL. I can't tell you how many times I've read one of your poems or someone else's and gotten SO stuck on one line or combination of words, and I just love this idea so much. I can't wait.
Oh I like that color scheme of purple and green. And Jeff is not making wise choices. Although I found one of mine eating what appeared to be ants the other days so we are not judging. I would LOVE to be in on the poem phone tag!
Lisa, I love the poem tag idea and please count me in. Like A., I enter with great enthusiasm and excitement! And your poem is superb! It so wonderfully brings us into a delightful series of stories that lead from your brother, to your son, to Jeff and then to you. There is a playful joy to your poem wrapped around a deper pondering: How beautiful creatures like a dog, can inspire us with their joy and also their dedication to the moment, repeating actions that will have less pleasant consequences later. Or maybe Jeff just figures the barfing is worth the sensory delight of the flower tops! I love the last few lines of your poem:
"Is there something
I keep repeating?
Like green
at the slightest provocation
of warmth or rain?
Like a name,
like a tale,
like grass
in my throat?"
So many great philosophers, poets and deep thinkers made and make their way by walking, by asking questions and by listening. Not all of them have your inspiring sense of joy, delight, wisdom and depth. Your poem brought this wonderful song by David Wilcox to mind, "We Make the Way by Walking." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqATuqedoGk
What a great song, and the animal figurines in the music video were cracking me up! Thank you so much, Larry, and I'm thrilled that you're going to join in on the poem tag idea!
I love seeing "purpling" as a noun, and knowing that "purple" (and "Jeff") have been effective devices in deflecting and evading unwanted inquiry (genius!). My poem took me on a weird ride down some sort of dark and twisty right hemisphere lane. I just went with it, as one does when a poem knows where it wants to go (right?)...
Thank you for letting us spring into this playful strip tease with you! I adore the metaphor of early spring as a coy seductress and May as a woman embracing her full sexual power. This is so artfully done. I love the notion of letting the poem lead, and following where it goes - and I'm so glad you did exactly that!
Ha! April as coy seductress just showing us a tiny bit at a time, but we've played this game before and know that full-blown May is dancing on tabletops just around the corner... I love this deliciously sensual anthropomorphizing of spring. Bring it!
But alas, what fickle lovers humans are because by the time mid-winter rolls around, I'm looking at the trees like "come on, just put on some clothes already."
Love the homage to right brain weirdness. Haha, would poetry even exist in a left brain only world? This is excellent, Keith. The deliberate quietness of the first few lines really set the tone well. But I like the ride you gave us toward the end, setting us up for May colors. Your imagery of crashing, colliding into cone cells is very well crafted here, Keith. Thank you for sharing this.
Keith, was a superb and creagtive poem! I love the way you describe April and May, and the way April can toy witn our northern sensibilities and urgent desire to have spring. Your poem really spoke to me in how it describes and depicts the slow unveliing of spring. That is its beautiful essence, and yuor poem draws a pcture of that beauty and what would be lost if it just came all at once. To be honest, after 40 years in New England, I still kiss thre more gradual unfolding of spring in Virginia, especially in the mountains as it moves up the topography. Like the Indigo Girls song Southlsand in the Springtime, there is something mystical and magical about a southern spring--but then again, one of the joys of spring is the way it manfiests in diffefremt ways in different places. Thank you for another wonderfully evocative poem!
Thanks for this beautiful feedback and recollection of your Virginia springs, Larry! I lived in Northern VA for about 10 years and I recall it being a really fantastic time. What stands out most are the dogwoods, the crepe myrtle and the redbud. I hope you're enjoying a slow spring there in NH.
Hah--spring is certainly been slow to emerge her, but it has arrived, confirmed by the first noticing of black flies today. Creatures designed to mitigate our joy in spring so we don't get too carried away! And I do love those dogwoods, crepe myrtles and redbuds, and the azaleas and magnolias on the coast where I grew up and the rhodeodendrom and Mountain Laurel in the mountains where my heaert was nourished so well..
Keith this is simply exquisite! Feeling it all the way through, this journey into spring. "Imagine if, instead, she simply yanked the drape off her finished masterpiece, a riot of colors exploding, colliding, crashing into cone cells. Pulse quickening..." Funny my March is your April, my April your May. Where I live she has "yanked the drape" and yes I feel "her mania, pulling the strings of my heart." And yes the colors, they are exploding!
Thanks so much, Julie! And I'm glad you have not had any lasting retina damage from your April color collision! I hope you and your cone cells are simply drenched in the ecstasy of it all :))
Just going with it is exactly what one does (or at least what I do)! I'm so glad you did. There is such a cleverness to the metaphors you use in your poetry. This one feels so playful, and the way you wrap up with describing how it steals your breath is wonderful.
Thank you, A! Yes, here's to going with it...I'm so glad that you do, too - you have gone to such delightful and poignant places in following your poetic pull!
I'm not sure when I decided
my favourite colour was purple.
I think maybe I just felt
like I had to pick one,
and purple wasn't pink
like all the other girls,
and I wasn't pink
like all the other girls,
and the clumsy bruises
always covering my legs,
just another thing
highlighting my not-sameness,
were often purple.
.
I'm not sure at what point
the purple started to feel oppressive,
like I was being smothered by it,
like it was just another box
I had been forced into.
After a while, I tried to refine it
into a specific shade.
"I really love this purple,
just this one."
My favourite colour
became a purple
that was almost
not purple at all.
.
My husband's favourite
colour is purple, so when
we chose our wedding
colours they were
purple, with pops
of yellow and orange,
from wildflowers.
I think after the wedding,
I decided to let him have
all the purple. I wanted
the yellow and orange
of wildflowers,
of mustard and rust.
I wanted the green
of sage and moss,
the brown of clay
and fallen leaves,
the blue of the ocean
and forget-me-nots,
and, maybe,
even the pink
of the ballet shoes
I had always wanted to wear,
of the rose my mother
told me I was.
.
I wanted the rainbow
that I had stuffed
down inside of me.
I needed to see it,
to wrap myself in it,
to set it free.
I needed all of the colours
to blur and bleed together
until they were almost
unrecognizable,
until I could see that
they were all really
just reflections
of light, anyway,
just reflections
of stardust,
just reflections
of us, and we
are not solid, or
separate either.
.
My daughter wears a lot
of purple now. It is one
of her four favourite colours.
She has
four
favourite
colours.
When someone asks her
what her favourite colour is
she says, "yellow, and
dark blue, and
pink, and
purple."
.
She will never have to choose.
i was just yelling back a really effusive response to this gorgeous poem and the way you weave so many stories and themes all around color (and purple in particular), but then I accidentally clicked something on my phone and lost the whole long comment, and that makes me want to yell in a different way. So here's take two . . . I adore your poem, especially the lines about choosing purple because all the other girls chose pink, "and I wasn't pink / like all the other girls," and then the turning point after your wedding, where you want the yellow and orange of wildflowers and of so many other colors, all tied to the earth. And then my absolute favorite part - "until I could see that / they were all really / just reflections / of light, anyway." So good!
Haha, I have been there with losing my words and wanting to yell about it. 😅 I really loved your use of the word "purpling" in your poem, and the line about grass in your throat, and I immediately thought of how my favourite colour had been purple and why it changed. So many of my poems probably never would've been written without you and this community, and I love that you thought of the phone tag idea, because it feels like such a natural progression of what we've already been doing here.
I love the evolution here -- of thinking you have to choose and be boxed in, of finding your way to the edge of the box ("almost not purple at all") and finally out into the cacophony of all colors, even ones you thought you couldn't be before, and FINALLY finally parenting unboxed children who "will never have to choose." So good! I also really love "just reflections of us, and we are not solid, or separate either."
Ooooh, I love you ending on your daughter's disruption of convention, so powerful!! I also loved these lines: "I wanted the yellow and orange of wildflowers, of mustard and rust..." (and all the ensuing lines of that stanza, ending with the rose your mother told you you were. Such gorgeous lines. A beautiful study in purple and contrasts.
A. this is simply exquisite. Loved all the twists and turns. I felt taken on a ride with your relationship with purple! And I love that your daughter will never have to choose a specific color. Loved, "I wanted the rainbow that I had stuffed down inside of me. I needed to see it, to wrap myself in it, to set it free. I needed all of the colours to blur and bleed together until they were almost unrecognizable," YES!!!
Beautiful! 🤩 I loved every line.
Ahhhh this is lovely and the colors you chose for yourself after the wedding simply feel comforting and cozy and all enveloping. I love that your daughter has such a specific answer for her favorite color(s). My youngest's favorite color was always purple (although now she likes to rock a strictly black vibe) and she insisted on putting some purple flowers in although I thought they wouldn't work with what she had originally chosen for colors. But somehow they did!
I love her answer, too. She started saying it, always in that order, when she was 3, I think? Maybe early 4. It makes me happy that she knows herself so well. I'm glad your daughter followed her instinct about the purple flowers. They were beautiful in my wedding, too.
I went back and reread that and it made zero sense. I was referring to her wedding. Duh. She wanted to put some purple flowers in at the last minute. I wrote that in my brain.
I understood!
Why choose? Why pull one out? Can't we just dive in?
Kids are amazing.
Thank you.
I love how poems take me everywhere and I love where this poem takes me, A. The morphing of the emotions behind the color purple to this wonderful line, “I wanted the rainbow that I had stuffed down inside of me.
I needed to see it, to wrap myself in it, to set it free.” Beautifully written. The ending is so thoughtful, never having to pick just one favorite color. What a concept! Thanks for this, A.
I echo what the others poets have said, this is an astounding and beautiful poem! It is truly a gem of gems, and the way you tell a story in such lyrical and beauitful flow is remarkable. These lines are treasures:
"and I wasn't pink
like all the other girls,
and the clumsy bruises
always covering my legs,
just another thing
highlighting my not-sameness,
were often purple."
What true treasures. And these wonderful words:
"Until I could see that
they were all really
just reflections
of light, anyway,
just reflections
of stardust,
just reflections
of us, and we
are not solid, or
separate either."
I love rainbows, and these lines few lines are an amazing testimony to the popwer that color andlight can have in our lives and the world. And last, the last line
"SHe will neber ahve to choose." deservbes a rousing Amen, bravo, standign ovation, for tis simple beauty and also because, in the love and care you shine into your live and the life of your beloveds, she will never have to choose. You are a rose by any name.
Thank you, Larry. This one really poured out of me. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. Your response and everyone else's kind comments feel the same.
A., I teally love yojur poems and look forward to reading them as soon as they pour out!
Y'all I am so f'ing angsty lately....forgive the melodrama!!
What will my world look like today?
Vibrant colors or shades of gray?
I cannot find an in between
The blandest grays and the most vivid greens.
Technicolor or black and white?
Brightest day or darkest night?
I'd love to find an even keel.
Whilst spinning on this color wheel.
This doesn't strike me as melodramatic . . . it just strikes me as an honest expression of the chaos and challenge of being human! Thank you for sharing your beautiful poem and beautiful self, Karri. "I'd love to find an even keel / whilst spinning on this color wheel" - you and me both!
Thank you for bringing your angst to us! "Whilst spinning on this color wheel" is such excellent imagery, even though I bet it's making you dizzy. Hoping for a calming soon for you, Karri!
Angst is such wonderful grist for the poetry mill! Bring your angst! Ride your color wheel!
No worries Karri! I feel we write from where ever we are at. That is poetry in all its flavors and colors! And I love this poem. This is what melodrama can feel like, nothing stable, ongoing change. Yep, "I'd love to find an even keel. Whilst spinning on this color wheel."
I echo what A. has said. Poetry, writing, art and music are wonderful places for our angst, anxiety, doubts and fears. I am glad you are in this space, Karri. Thank you for your honest and heartfelt poem. ❤️
No forgiveness necessary. Your angst and melodrama are as welcome as all the rest of you! And this is such a relatable feeling, this back and forth of all or nothing. I hope things level out a bit for you soon.
This morning I woke up to the song of my least-favorite bird and so naturally had to wax avian again. This one is quite melodramatic, but brood parasitism is no joke. The connection to Lisa's prompt is tenuous at best, but I was seeing and hearing brown all day today, as in the head of this particular cowbird, so I decided to go with it.
.
You are the villain who
comes in whistling.
The shrill instant of your arrival
grips me, though I am
not your target.
.
You are here for tender sopranos
who don’t care for the feeder scene,
the taste or sate of it,
and in any event aren’t about to
belly up with you.
.
No matter; you always win.
Most don’t know it happened,
or decide not to. They simply
fold their wings around this
strange new thing
and keep going.
.
Soon you’ll be all I see.
You will eat up the summer
seed by seed.
.
You will leave the work
to those you hurt.
So many powerful lines and images here - "the shrill instant of your arrival," "you will eat up the summer / seed by seed," and of course, the amazing, widely applicable ending "you will leave the work / to those you hurt." So good. Damn those cowbirds.
I had heard this before about cowbirds but had to refresh my memory. What a…holes they are! But seriously the last two lines hit me as such truth about many of the human species. “You will leave the work to those you hurt.”
Oooph, I can't help but read this as a metaphor for colonization and the legacy burden we all live under in this country (the US). Your words are beautiful, chilling, visceral.
Keith, thank you for seeing this & taking my poem to a bigger place! In my mind I'd only developed the metaphor as far as interpersonal bullying/predating, but I so appreciate your read and might want to go play with it some more now...
haha, I have been known to...uh...think deeply (I believe it's mostly been framed as "you think too much, Keith"). I also marvel at (and deeply appreciate) the way in which we experience each others' poetic minds through the lens of our own minds and unique experiences of the world. Truly amazing. I would love to read any future drafts, should they manifest!
Very nice piece, Rebekah. Cowbirds are so interesting in how they lay their eggs in other birds’ nests. My favorite line is “You will eat up the summer seed by seed”—beautiful phrasing. Thank you for sharing, Rebekah.
I too had to look up "wax avian". Doing so added so much more depth to the poem.
You made me learn something with this one, and I love that! I've actually done this with a couple of your poems, needing to Google something I hadn't known about before. Please feel free to wax avian always and forever.
I don't know where these poems have come from lately, but your prompt, Lisa, resonated and I realized after all these years, I had to pay homage to lifelong favorite color, Orange. Though Purple is second!
Orange you glad
It began with a knock-knock joke involving an apple and an orange.
It burst forth as a high school lad saw orange courderoys
and knew life would not be complete without them.
My father refused to let my mom buy them for me, as
“real men don’t wear orange.”
That’s where our true love began.
If my Dad believed such foolishness, I knew the inverse must be true.
From drug induced dream in a tent on the beach
running through fields of orange grass as
Yes played “Close to the Edge” somewhere;
To coats, jackets, pants, shorts, shirts, shoes
mugs, walls, books, pens, stoles, phones and drums;
We have traveled together all these years.
Through times of great acclaim, your popularity soaring,
to disparaging remarks and sinister projections
dismissive resignation to pumpkins and Halloween,
and traffic cones,
we have stayed faithful.
Your various shades and degrees my comfort,
your brightness and loudness a brand I could sit with,
your warmth a blanket to hold me in the bitter times.
In style or not, we move together.
Bury my ashes with orange flowers,
light the celebration with lights of orange hue,
tell that knock-knock joke as you remember me,
and I’ll be glad to see you.
Yes, I am so glad you began with a knock-knock joke and then came full circle back to it at the end! Larry, I love this, and I'm so glad that you knew to trust what you loved over your dad's opinion of it (or even BECAUSE of your dad's opinion of it). "Bury my ashes with orange flowers" is such a gorgeous line.
Thank you We just got some orange marigolds to plant in the garden!
The end of this made me so emotional! I love seeing your love for orange here, and how it has followed you for so long. I had to laugh that you are sharing such a strong love for orange while Julie's poem was about her lifelong distaste for it. It's wild how we can each be affected so differently.
That is pretty cool--and we can model for the leaders of the world how we can differ on something as deeply heartfelt as colors, and still love, respect and care for each other!
This is so great, Larry. Your love for orange is expressed so well in the list of images; I really pictured everything in orange. Even your emotional reactions to tone and shade are well done. I had to laugh a bit, my vinyl copy of Close To The Edge is long gone but thanks to Spotify I still listen to Yes often.
I hear you--we would put the record on and just drift...and so thankful to be able to access so much of wonderful music again!
I love this rounding out of orange, a beautiful, playful tribute and the other side of the orange coin from Julie's terrific anti-ode! I also appreciate the way you wove in the poignancy about your father. I loved this line "your warmth a blanket to hold me in the bitter times."
Thank you Keith! Orange is one of the colors that can elicit strong emotions!
Ten true summers we'll be there, and laughing, too
(Chris Squire RULED the bass guitar)
Yes, for sure! A community member has sent me some of his solo work!
A great ode to orange! And a reminder to that joke as one I distinctly remember my grandmother telling me when I was a child. No idea where that memory came from but thanks for bringing it to the surface!!
Thank you Karri! And so glad you rememebr that joke, which we certainly overused to point of risking being trown oiut of house and class!!
Lisa, I really enjoyed the visceral tone of this poem. I felt that grass in my throat. Purple is a wonderful color that really inspires me and the richness of the color in your poem has inspired me. I wanted to submit a poem on your parenting prompt and worked an idea for a while but it all came together when I read your beautiful purple piece. Oh, and I'm all in on the telephone poem idea. Sounds exciting! Here's a purple mashup:
Purple Baby
New preciousness snuggled in hospital linen
The air of this world transforming cesarean purple
To burgundy, to red, to pink, to you
The lightness of your body
The heaviness of your meaning
I held you closer, even closer
The slightest hint of newborn air
Gasping the softest of cries
The heaviness of your meaning
Turned my heart of stone
To a heart of flesh
In that moment no longer me but we
Transfixed by miracle
Only tears then, only tears now
In that moment of we
From your wordless newborn soul
Dying for you is not the question
The question is what it always is and will always be
How will I live for you?
Steve, this is so beautiful and made my mama heart swell to twice its size! I loved the lines "The air of this world transforming cesarean purple / To burgundy, to red, to pink, to you," as well as the way you play with both heaviness and lightness. And the ending is so powerful. Thank you for sharing, and I've added you to the telephone list!
Thank you so much for your kind words,Lisa. The color change is definitely the thing I remember most nearly four decades later. The unanimous reaction is the color loss line is the favorite. The last line is my favorite though. Thank you for the prompts and I’m excited for the telephone poem.
This is truly lovely, Steve. A deep and vulnerable snapshot of your experience with parenting and clever take on the family of purple, too. <3
Thanks, Keith. This snapshot aged well. That baby is now 38 and her changing colors as I held her is imagery that is forever etched in memory. The purple actually shocked me but the nurses were unconcerned so I just went with it. Thanks for commenting, Keith.
Wow, time is so weird...in some ways 1986 doesn't seem that long ago, and in others eons (for me). I know what you mean about the shock of seeing your newborn clad in purple skin. My son was, too. He looked a little like Violet in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (the one with Gene Wilder as Willie Wonka). Grateful that was a temporary purpling!
Hahaha...exactly! It was amazing to watch, the more she breathed the more her color changed until she reached her natural color. Such an amazing experience.
This is nicely done, the colors of growing. It reminds me of my mom telling me I was yellow when I was born. Not a color of promise, I guess.
Thanks for noticing the colors, Chuck. The color changes were incredible to watch. Funny, my younger daughter was a bit yellow when she was born...way different than purple.
What an amazing piece. And that last line. ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Thank you so much, Karri. The last line is my favorite.
This is so tender, Steve. The juxtaposition of your repeated references to light and air with "the heaviness of your meaning," the soft cry and your softening heart, and "How will I live for you?" are all so beautiful.
Thank you for the deep noticing, A. I’m glad you picked up on the juxtapositions because that’s what moved me also. Thank you again for the encouragement.
This is quite beautiful. What a wonderful lasting legacy and testimony for and to your daughter. I love the way you take in the colors of this new baby, and word it to end “to you.” This is precious and tender, and I also love the ending. It is an essential question.
Thanks,Larry. The color change was astounding and memorable and I really wanted to make it all about my daughter. And thank you for appreciating that last line because it still is the most essential question for me.
Yes, it is. Along the lines of "How then, shall we live?"
Absolutely. Just bringing it closer to home.
Lisa, I loved your poem. How funny that your brother went through a phase of answering with "purple." I had a boyfriend years ago that instead of a swear word he would say, "Botswana". Now that I think about it, what an awful thing to do to an African country! My favorite color is purple too, I thought for sure that is what my poem would be about! Then it went somewhere else. Oh and I would love to join the poem telephone. Let me know if you need anything from me. Here is my poem:
.
There is something about the color orange.
Hmmm… I simply have no taste for it.
Well, except carrots, papayas, apricots, yum!
Yet, when choosing layers to dress in,
flowers to add to the garden,
house décor to accentuate,
I pass by orange all the time.
.
Years ago, as a practicing Hindu
I felt for and pitied all the swamis.
Their robes and vestments
always in hues of orange,
never another color added.
At one time I even considered taking
sanyasa, but the idea of wearing
orange forever and ever! Yuk!!!
.
Orange is considered a vibrant color,
a significant tone within nature’s palette.
Found in the leaves of autumn,
butterfly wings and amber stones,
flames of warmth dancing in fireplaces,
the exquisite drama of a sunset sky.
I love red and yellow, yet oddly
when blended they do make orange.
Well, I can’t fault nature.
As always, she has the last word.
I’m having some internet issues and thought I replied to your comment and poem but it seems to have disappeared. So apologies if this makes it through twice!
I confess to being very fond of orange, Julie, and I’m also very fond of the final line of your poem. Such a good ending!
Such a great ending, nature does always have the last word, and her color coordination is ultimately above reproach! That said, I respect your right to disagree with orange (or anything else). Loved all the imagery in this, Julie.
I am a recent convert to an admiration of orange so maybe there’s hope yet!
This is a lovely piece Julie. I like your distinction between orange in nature as good but orange on you not so much. I like the ending and how you defer to nature’s perspective. Very well done, Julie.
I cannot relate to your distaste for orange, but I've had this feeling about other colours 😅
THANK YOU, MILES
long after him
walkin' & talkin'
steamin' & cookin' & relaxin',
Closer to his bitches brew demons
carryin' him across the finish line,
the birth of the cool master
gives us colors to hear.
"Aura"
"White" – 6:07
"Yellow" – 6:55
"Orange" – 8:41
"Red" – 6:05
"Green" – 8:13
"Blue" – 6:36
"Electric Red" – 4:19
"Indigo" – 6:06
"Violet" – 9:04
Bye bye, blackbird.
I miss you.
Well clearly I need to go add to my Spotify playlist! Thanks for the inspiration, Chuck!
Ok I have an interest in jazz that I have never fully nurtured or developed but I bopped right over to Spotify to find this album to give a listen!
I kinda Iike Indigo.
Would love to hear your impressions.
This is a unique project of his I love that he created near the end of his long career to try to illustrate color with his music.
To better hear where he came from, I suggest an earlier title "kind of blue", (ha, also a color) 🙂
Thanks for wanting to check him.out.
This is such a creative tie-in to the color prompt, Periodically "Bye Bye Blackbird" has been popping into my head since watching "The World on Fire." https://youtu.be/NcpdvTKY1YA?si=aausKR1cOAzjhdu0
What crazy show is this world on fire thing? I gotta see some of this.
Here is miles, with my other hero john coltrane on tenor.
https://youtu.be/3oIPyWNX1kg?feature=shared
Thanks for the link to this rendition, Chuck (listening right now, it's terrific). World on Fire is a WWII drama, set mostly in Manchester UK and Poland (season 2 is set a fair amount in Northern Africa). I loved it.
I see a binge coming.
thanks.
This is sweet, Chuck. I love jazz and Miles Davis and his willingness to go into completely new places with music, and his knack for brining new talent to the fore. My favorites are “Kind of Blue” and “Round midnight” among many.
LISA. I am sorry for yelling, but also I cannot contain all of the feelings I am having both about your poem and about the phone tag idea. First. This poem. And the way that the beginning stanzas set up the last three. And the green, and the double meaning of "tale" and THE GRASS IN YOUR THROAT. This is the way I feel about all of your poems, btw, I just often forget that I'm allowed to be enthused. But today I remembered. And as for the poem phone tag idea, YES TO ALL. I can't tell you how many times I've read one of your poems or someone else's and gotten SO stuck on one line or combination of words, and I just love this idea so much. I can't wait.
I LOVE your yelling! 😂 Thank you so much, A! I’ll add you to the phone tree.
PS...I forgot to say "Hell yes, please" on the community poem!! Count me in :))
I second Keith's "Hell yes, please" on the community poem!
Really wonderful poems here! Count me in on the group project.
Oh I like that color scheme of purple and green. And Jeff is not making wise choices. Although I found one of mine eating what appeared to be ants the other days so we are not judging. I would LOVE to be in on the poem phone tag!
Lisa, I love the poem tag idea and please count me in. Like A., I enter with great enthusiasm and excitement! And your poem is superb! It so wonderfully brings us into a delightful series of stories that lead from your brother, to your son, to Jeff and then to you. There is a playful joy to your poem wrapped around a deper pondering: How beautiful creatures like a dog, can inspire us with their joy and also their dedication to the moment, repeating actions that will have less pleasant consequences later. Or maybe Jeff just figures the barfing is worth the sensory delight of the flower tops! I love the last few lines of your poem:
"Is there something
I keep repeating?
Like green
at the slightest provocation
of warmth or rain?
Like a name,
like a tale,
like grass
in my throat?"
So many great philosophers, poets and deep thinkers made and make their way by walking, by asking questions and by listening. Not all of them have your inspiring sense of joy, delight, wisdom and depth. Your poem brought this wonderful song by David Wilcox to mind, "We Make the Way by Walking." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqATuqedoGk
What a great song, and the animal figurines in the music video were cracking me up! Thank you so much, Larry, and I'm thrilled that you're going to join in on the poem tag idea!
I'm in on the poem phone tag thing.
Hip hip hooray!
I love seeing "purpling" as a noun, and knowing that "purple" (and "Jeff") have been effective devices in deflecting and evading unwanted inquiry (genius!). My poem took me on a weird ride down some sort of dark and twisty right hemisphere lane. I just went with it, as one does when a poem knows where it wants to go (right?)...
It seems a great kindness
on the part of spring
that she does her best
to unfurl gingerly, quietly,
politely unassuming.
A single snowdrop peeps
like a hint of slip below her hemline
and soon
pale lavender crocus appear
at your feet, handkerchiefs
deftly dropped.
Demurely, she warns you
of the shock of yellow to come,
drawing your eye to the distention
of daffodil stems gestating
by millimeters in April’s brisk breeze.
Imagine if, instead,
she simply yanked the drape off
her finished masterpiece,
a riot of colors exploding, colliding,
crashing into cone cells.
Pulse quickening, I do
imagine this, imagine myself
stealing sidelong glances
toward May,
who will, in her mania,
pull the strings of my heart
taut like a corset while I
surrender my breath in sacrifice
to the ineffable
colors of her palette.
Thank you for letting us spring into this playful strip tease with you! I adore the metaphor of early spring as a coy seductress and May as a woman embracing her full sexual power. This is so artfully done. I love the notion of letting the poem lead, and following where it goes - and I'm so glad you did exactly that!
Wow, that is much racier than it felt when I wrote it, but I'll take it ; ) - I'm glad you enjoyed going with it, too!
Ha! April as coy seductress just showing us a tiny bit at a time, but we've played this game before and know that full-blown May is dancing on tabletops just around the corner... I love this deliciously sensual anthropomorphizing of spring. Bring it!
LoL, May dancing on tabletops, perhaps with a lampshade on her head for added effect. Thanks for playing with my metaphors, so fun :))
But alas, what fickle lovers humans are because by the time mid-winter rolls around, I'm looking at the trees like "come on, just put on some clothes already."
Love the homage to right brain weirdness. Haha, would poetry even exist in a left brain only world? This is excellent, Keith. The deliberate quietness of the first few lines really set the tone well. But I like the ride you gave us toward the end, setting us up for May colors. Your imagery of crashing, colliding into cone cells is very well crafted here, Keith. Thank you for sharing this.
Thanks, Steve. Excellent point that the world might be a cold and poetry-less (or at least poetry-lite) place if the left brain had its way :))
Keith, was a superb and creagtive poem! I love the way you describe April and May, and the way April can toy witn our northern sensibilities and urgent desire to have spring. Your poem really spoke to me in how it describes and depicts the slow unveliing of spring. That is its beautiful essence, and yuor poem draws a pcture of that beauty and what would be lost if it just came all at once. To be honest, after 40 years in New England, I still kiss thre more gradual unfolding of spring in Virginia, especially in the mountains as it moves up the topography. Like the Indigo Girls song Southlsand in the Springtime, there is something mystical and magical about a southern spring--but then again, one of the joys of spring is the way it manfiests in diffefremt ways in different places. Thank you for another wonderfully evocative poem!
Thanks for this beautiful feedback and recollection of your Virginia springs, Larry! I lived in Northern VA for about 10 years and I recall it being a really fantastic time. What stands out most are the dogwoods, the crepe myrtle and the redbud. I hope you're enjoying a slow spring there in NH.
Hah--spring is certainly been slow to emerge her, but it has arrived, confirmed by the first noticing of black flies today. Creatures designed to mitigate our joy in spring so we don't get too carried away! And I do love those dogwoods, crepe myrtles and redbuds, and the azaleas and magnolias on the coast where I grew up and the rhodeodendrom and Mountain Laurel in the mountains where my heaert was nourished so well..
Gah! Sorry to hear about the arrival of the black flies. They're such skilled joy thieves!
Lovely lyrical and lilting! Imagining Regency era finery on those characters of your spring nature soirée!
LoL, I'm a sucker for period dramas!
Keith this is simply exquisite! Feeling it all the way through, this journey into spring. "Imagine if, instead, she simply yanked the drape off her finished masterpiece, a riot of colors exploding, colliding, crashing into cone cells. Pulse quickening..." Funny my March is your April, my April your May. Where I live she has "yanked the drape" and yes I feel "her mania, pulling the strings of my heart." And yes the colors, they are exploding!
Thanks so much, Julie! And I'm glad you have not had any lasting retina damage from your April color collision! I hope you and your cone cells are simply drenched in the ecstasy of it all :))
Just going with it is exactly what one does (or at least what I do)! I'm so glad you did. There is such a cleverness to the metaphors you use in your poetry. This one feels so playful, and the way you wrap up with describing how it steals your breath is wonderful.
Thank you, A! Yes, here's to going with it...I'm so glad that you do, too - you have gone to such delightful and poignant places in following your poetic pull!