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I'm a Minnesota Girl, living in the south. I tell my friends I try not to talk and think like a Yankee, but sometimes I slip up!

Monday, April 12, 2010

Today's Poem -- the second from Marge Piercy



Colors Passing Through Us

Purple as tulips in May, mauve

into lush velvet, purple

as the stain blackberries leave

on the lips, on the hands,

the purple of ripe grapes

sunlit and warm as flesh.

Every day I will give you a color,

like a new flower in a bud vase

on your desk. Every day

I will paint you, as women

color each other with henna

on hands and on feet.



Red as henna, as cinnamon,

as coals after the fire is banked,

the cardinal in the feeder,

the roses tumbling on the arbor

their weight bending the wood

the red of the syrup I make from petals.




Orange as the perfumed fruit

hanging their globes on the glossy tree,

orange as pumpkins in the field,

orange as butterflyweed and the monarchs

who come to eat it, orange as my

cat running lithe through the high grass.



Yellow as a goat's wise and wicked eyes,

yellow as a hill of daffodils,

yellow as dandelions by the highway,

yellow as butter and egg yolks,

yellow as a school bus stopping you,

yellow as a slicker in a downpour.



Here is my bouquet, here is a sing

song of all
the things you make

me think of, here is oblique

praise for the height and depth

of you and the width too.

Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.




Green as mint jelly, green

as a frog on a lily pad twanging,

the green of cos lettuce upright

about to bolt into opulent towers,

green as Grand Chartreuse in a clear

glass, green as wine bottles.




Blue as cornflowers, delphiniums,

bachelors' buttons. Blue as Roquefort,

blue as Saga. Blue as still water.

Blue as the eyes of a Siamese cat.

Blue as shadows on new snow, as a spring

azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop.




Cobalt as the midnight sky

when day has gone without a trace

and we lie in each other's arms

eyes shut and fingers open

and all the colors of the world

pass through our bodies like strings of fire.




~~Marge Piercy



There is something so striking and bold in the use of the "color" words in poetry. The best poets make you visualize all those colors, just in the way they use the words. I'm particularly fond of the "Yellow" beginning in each line of the "yellow" verse of this poem.

2 comments:

Kelly said...

I can see why you wanted to include both of these poems, Quid. This was my favorite of the two! For me, it's between the red verse and the yellow verse.

quid said...

Kel... not to mention this line from blue:

azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop