#26 - VIOLET

Thinking about light, rainbows, visual perception, and the ultra-violet patches of colour on flowers that human eyes cannot see. 

The Unseen

Despite the darkness, we must learn to sing – 

a purpling of air, to sooth the dread

that effervesces in our throats, and brings

this swimming faint sensation to our heads. 

The atmosphere, alive with countless shades;

the microscopic teeming through our blood; 

the ultra-violet that peaks and fades,

a staining on the lip of every bud. 

We grasp to seek the colours that it exist, 

invisible in shards of shafting sun.

A spectrum of perfection, shadows twist

their neon splendour. Beauty on the run.

But, luminous, the courage flashing bright: 

the prism splits a humble beam of light.

LM

Image via Wikipedia

#22 - INDIGO

Indigo Tunnel is an abandoned railway tunnel in Allegany County, Maryland, in the USA. It probably isn’t haunted. But what if it was?  

CONTENT NOTE: MENTION OF VOMIT. 

The Ghosts of Indigo Tunnel 

Reminding us they’ve been here all along,

the spectres echo cruelly through the gloom,

their tendrils graze our wrists, the air feels wrong,

the blackened walls march closer. We’re entombed

by flickering projections on the bricks.

The acrid scent of smoke, the scorch of skin,

the cloying panic finds your throat and sticks;

the frothing gloss of vomit coats your chin. 

Outside, the sunlight of a summer’s day

is dappled through the leaves as fine as lace. 

The elders, searching, know which words to say,

until they see the look upon your face. 

A haunting is a solitary thing;

despite the darkness, we must learn to sing.

LM

Image via Wikipedia

#18 - BLUE

 An ode to the sky, because I couldn't think of anything else to write about for the colour blue. And I painted myself into a bit of a corner with the last line from my previous poem...

Radio Telescope

we cannot teach the sky herself to sing, 

but if we mouth the words, she’ll hum the tune.

The notes will fill the air with silver wings;

a cobalt-coloured symphony. The moon 

will croon in sympathy, her face aglow 

with light that she has borrowed from the sun.

The sun will bring the bass, the song will grow

until it fills the stratosphere and none 

can nullify the rhythm of the song. 

The periwinkle twinkle of the stars, 

bring azure notes that echo loud and strong. 

And, from the earth, the music sounds bizarre 

an antidote to all we think we are, 

reminding us they’ve been here all along. 

LM

Image via Unsplash.com

#14 - GREEN

 Another one that came out of following where the rhyme led me...

Overgrown 

A symbol of fertility and growth

is fine, if that’s the way you want to live.

This garden’s only fit to harbour ghosts;

a climbing vine to strangle infants with. 

A haunting is a solitary thing – 

an empty acre, mourning verdant shoots.

But even fallow fields still crave the spring,

and do their best to nurture wilder fruits.

The nettles, with their customary bite,

still tilt their pointed faces to the sun.

The meanest blossom leans towards the light,

the soil is never bare, when all is done. 

And every seed that sleeps still craves the spring:

we cannot teach the sky herself to sing. 

LM

Image via unsplash.com

#10 - YELLOW

The King in Yellow is a collection of short stories by Robert W. Chambers, published in 1895. The title takes its name from a fictional play, referenced in the first four short stories of the book. According to the author, anyone who reads the play will go mad with horror. The stories are said to have inspired the Cthulhu mythos, and are so chilling precisely because they leave so much to the imagination...

The King in Yellow

You leave this place with nothing but your name,

as swelling, spitting tendrils seal your fate.

Your thoughts, like starving serpents, undulate, 

a crown of vipers laying vicious claim 

to every former joy; your darkness framed

with tarnished golden halos. And their weight

may waste your mortal flesh as it stagnates.

The cat is killed, and chaos seeks to reign.

But serpents can be tamed with soothing sounds

and patience may recover what was lost. 

I will remain your servant, on my oath,

and loosen all the ties that have you bound. 

Around your neck, a pale ouroboros:

a symbol of fertility and growth. 

LM

Artwork by RW Chambers (1895)

#2 - RED

This year, I decided to use the colours in a traditional rainbow as the inspiration for my seven sonnets. While I am aware that spectral light is more complicated than ROY G BIV, I think focusing on these seven will yield some interesting ideas for poetry. This is the first poem, and I think the colour chosen is obvious.   

Red Sky At Night

The prism splits a humble beam of light, 

and colours manifest like sorcery.

The streak of scarlet, clotting, bold and bright,

as potent as the raging, wine-dark sea. 

Our past, in ochre, painted at Lascaux; 

or cartoon-hearted oaths to prove our thirst;

the Rayleigh scattering of skies aglow

delighting shepherds as their flocks disperse.

The gore that blooms from every slasher flick;

the thrill of claret spilled to seal the deal.

A Rothko reimagined with a click:

invention wrought in vivid cochineal. 

A shade that blossoms, bloody, from the air,

she takes the idle viewer unawares. 

LM

Image via unsplash.com