Interesting (Slight Return)

Show me a colour, one that describes me
Look at my face – the colour behind my eyes
It cries for the sun and pines away on these rainy days
Curled in a ball and shivering,
It longs for a blue that paints the skies

I have a paintbox here somewhere; it has a bright palette
One I have used many times, mixing over and over
as old and dusty colours
lend their way to young ones bright and new
Blending easily with the marks I have made

There’s one hiding there with a hint of something interesting
I think it’s the one you need; something of the extra mile
Like the spreading rings of raindrops
as they fall to puddles
But there again, perhaps I am imagining things

Come closer. I’ll show you a colour – one that describes me.
Is it blue or a yellow or an autumn gold? Is it mellow green
or amber, or purple or silver or any one of the
hundred thousand colours you have seen? No. It is every one of these
spreading like raindrop rings on water


Day 9 of the ‘Blogging from A-Z challenge

Four colours

White for the winter
Spring gets the green
Yellow for summer
Autumn gold we have seen

My palette has colour
ready for me
One for each season
to reflect what I see

A canvas presented
throughout the year
Four colours chosen
to make everything clear




I stepped inside a masterpiece
with reds and oranges and
yellows liberally added
by Nature’s abstract hand

I didn’t know which way to turn
for there was wonder everywhere
so I simply turned in circles
to absorb the glory there



Portrait of Autumn

With magenta and pink
and purple and red
and yellow and orange
and vermillion instead
of olive and emerald
viridian and teal
basil and mantis
and green to reveal
a changing of palette
right there on the hill
for a portrait of Autumn
on fresh canvas to fill


A thousand sunsets

If I could paint a thousand sunsets
I would capture every one
With a kaleidoscope of colour
Born of the golden sun
My palette would be filled
With yellows, reds and gold
And my brushstrokes on the canvas
Flamboyant, strong and bold

But, as I could never replicate
The masterpiece of Nature’s hand
I’ll continue painting sunsets
With words on paper and
hope my craft will capture
If only just in part
The glory of those sunsets
and the wonder in my heart



My Gallery

Last night the moonlight painted
Translucent streaks across the sky
Such was the beauty of that sight
I felt moved enough to cry

And this morning sunlight painted
a splash of blue between the grey
Adding tiny flecks of yellow there
to emphasise the day

A gallery where every day
a painting hangs anew
Each one with myriad colours there
for my own private view


Iridescence speaks

Here there are the makings of colour
with moisture and warmth and light
whilst a virginal palette, bereft awaits

Here, in its gift, as though a magician
the power of iridescence and shine
But no trickery here, no slight of hand

Here, before its morning curtain call
quietly in the wings with bated breath
a silence waits with patience

And here there is a chiaroscuro of light
a kaleidoscopic varicoloured prism
as sunshine fills anew a waiting canvas


The word ‘chiaroscuro’ is an Italian term used to describe the dramatic effect of contrasting light and dark – typically in a painting. It derives from a combination of the Italian words for light and dark.


It sort of seems appropriate
for today’s theme to be ‘rhyme
As that’s what I am about most days
and whenever I have time

It’s actually quite a pleasure
if not to say, a thrill
extending the vocabulary
to find the words that will

Rhyme it seems with all I need
to say about each day
The foibles and the nuances
the aplomb and the foray

A rhyme is such a simple pleasure
but it’s one close to my heart
Finding words to paint the pictures
that I need daily to impart


[A-Z April – day 18 – #R]


There are so many colours
To choose from every day
The only problem, which to use
Depends on what’s to say

Some colours they are small and bright
Others long and dim
But all have place from time to time
Depending on my whim

All words, like colours, find a place
Within the verse I write
Most days a picture will emerge
Dependent on insight


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