Poem Hunter
(March 7th,1941 / Chichester, West Sussex, England)


Yellow is the sun of childhood
the certain day
the fine silk strands
of youthful years
and wearing them
in a simple dress
of pale shantung
natural delicate
rustling against warm thighs

Yellow is a daisy-chain of memories
picking primroses in the woods
on Mothering Sunday
mailing them home in a tin box -
the flowers arranged on damp moss

sandals on sea fronts
Italian ice-cream
English mustard in a blue glass pot
Welsh rarebit and tea
with my father on visiting days.

Yellow is perfect dawn -
a bouquet of open beaks in a nest
promising next year
and the year after next

it is the pure primary before the smudges
of growing up clouds it with tears

Yellow is a hurting joy like Chopin

it clings with tendrils to my mind
the jaundiced hopes
the cancelled love
the chances left behind
all sprawl in sallow clusters
on the canary vine
taunting me

Yellow is the chink of light under the door-
the handle I cannot seem to turn

(Senneville, Québec)

User Rating: 4,3 / 5 ( 8 votes ) 6

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Comments (6)

Sublimely developed...like the colour. Nuanced shades at every level. Rich and vibrant. Not wishy washy Like yellow as a disappearing follow.
Excellent. Thanks for all your poems, specially these colour ones!
brilliant... easily as good as 'blue'. your description and imagery of colours is amazing... keep writing!
...one word - excellent
I humbly bow to the Lady of Colors! Splendid read. Your magic shines with this color. Patricia Gale
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