Palette Of The Poet

Newspaper mouse


There are certain colors

Very popular,

Like a child’s strong reds,

Deep blues, elemental hues,

Strong shades of love, desire.

Sometimes young poets

Get stuck

On the sharp barb of “fuck”.

A strong splash of hate

Can be the tool

To concentrate the feel

Of language into steel.

But, too soon,

The disgrace

Dulls down to commonplace.

It requires more care

To ensnare the muted tones

Of subtlety, of evanescent

Momentary fancies

That float by like puffs of steam

Or thoughts from a recent dream.

Frightened mice

That dart in and away,

And are as difficult to catch

And snare in firm phrases;

Something that amazes

Even the one

Who fixes this phenomenon

Like a captured sun.





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