1. Red-eyed, not weary, we feed
on the rarefied
aerial leavings of gruntled clouds.
2. An Orange gap carves out when
the gobbling is done,
and strings are strung tight across that lap.
3. These six wires grate full Yellow
hymns into fine crumbs,
sifting down through curious weather.
4. The suppler notes land to Green
and moisten stretched tongues
on mannered ferns eager to praise sing:
5. Of powder Blue complexions,
jays abandoning
spent wings to totter off at twilight,
6. In search of Indigo fins
and shallow pools where
they might paddle up enough courage
7. To ask the Violet sky
to stay its blushing
hues, so he'll never be wak'd again.
— Francis Scudellari
5 comments:
Yes, your poem is a bridge. I almost heard Caliban saying:
"(...) thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep
Will make me sleep again (...)"
(The Tempset, Scene 2)
Your lines: "In search of Indigo fins
and shallow pools where
they might paddle up enough courage"
is (among others) wonderful!
A wonderful read. I love the transitions and how these gradual stages create a real rainbow. A very flying feel.
@Ande Thanks... that's the passage I took as my inspiration for the poem, so it's good to know the connection was made.
@Jenny I'm glad you liked it. I wanted to create the impression of the sky opening up and smiling down.
A very colorful journey reading this poem. Very well done.
A very colorful journey reading this poem. Very well done.
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