The repeated use of colours in this, not so recent, poem came after reading Vincent Woods’ excellent collection “The Colour of Language” (Dedalus Press, 1994). The device opens up a whole new palette of possibilities for unmoored expression, the colours, (excuse me for saying), add colour to what have been a very dull love poem and I think they add a richness that would have been, otherwise, difficult to achieve. I’m not sure how appropriate it is to be so praising of my own work, but I was happy with this poem.
And now a re-reading of Woods’ collection seems well overdue.
The fields, green with snow
under an apple blue sky;
you, brimming
winter’s brightness,
turning cartwheels;
your whole body grinning.
The silver trees of our breathing
in full flower;
my golden happiness
in being with you
till the shafts of shadow
turned purple at sunset;
and our hours together
colourless at parting.
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