Colour
for T.S.Eliot and after fourteen poets
The purple stole away from the skins of plums
Everywhere we turned became a maze of colour
I protect you with an indigo coloured whisper
You curve the ends of my black and white day
Coffee brown, is mole, dying leaves, dry earth
But smell led me here, the smell of yellow
The blue, white and red stripes of exotic confusion
Moving over the green gravel of a formal grave
I wet my lips and a blackbird flies out of my mouth
Faces in the front row, silvered in screenlight, focus
I thought everyone knew what was meant by sugar-paper blue
Tyrian dyes and flax and peacock plumes
Gold and yellow where the clouds crack and break away
Anemone-blue mountains outlined against the pearl-grey morning
Colour was first published in Live Encounters
Fishapod out of Watercolour
The Spring sea arrives
in flailing sage,
clutches lime-white soles
with the early hunger of sand.
Seeping, air-bound,
caught on the cusp
of an inner eclipse
I turn to olive water.
Nothing can be at rest
beneath this marble ichor
moon of all things opaque
and aquamarine.
In stone-pale, heaving waves
tik-taa-lik struggle
to reach the shore
– to shift an ageing jade spell
for the sea to cast wide
her turquoise daydreams
helpless crashing raging
at the thirsty white sun,
the untempered one
as ocean sighs find all
that crawl from her murky womb
to stand and gaze uncertain
at ice slowly gleaming teal
or a fern vapour of dream.
– first published in home more or less (Salmon Poetry, 2012)
An Béal Corcra
Delightful aftertaste
this river
of kingly colour
Ocular delight
this stream
of purpoesy
vein-aortic mix
of spirit liquid
as even
evolved vampires
overdose
on blends
of rich-thick
contradiction,
of unravelled
breaths expired
even as
seasoned muses
pilgrim-seasoned muses
each leave a trail
of purple dripping
from tongue and teeth
a new harvest
of mystery
and even as
starved poets sip
the mountain manna
purple poem wine,
dream-drunk poets
pulse-deafened
descend purply
their seasoned lips
– first published in the chapbook It’s Not all Bad (Heaventree Press, 2009)
Blue Roses
for Rosie
And then there are uncertain nights
when she blushes a sudden lavender
as I first remember, or darkens to a violet sleep.
Sometimes, she shimmers from the tranquil deep
of a burgundy world, dreaming and I
witness her water to a pale coral dawn
I’ve seen her shine as light as pear
tethered still and clear by the anchors
of warm mid-morning daydreams,
turn sepal green as if petal less
or glow amber as the fallen leaves
from a bouquet of autumn operas.
And on each blue moon, without fail
fold into the calm of origami white.
Usually my rose is a full flaming-red
cardinal weekend in a time made
only of roses. Is a wild flowering
rambler, a climber, a rosebush of scarlet
matadors, urging the shy and tormented
to dance in the showers of abundant daily joy.
If on certain days I could breathe
for her, roses of only breath,
they would each live as blessed
as a momentary labour of thorn-less blood
a singly purposed mist of quartz,
two thousand tender dozens per day
all shed before her footsteps and dewed,
tinted finely, with the scent of blue roses.
– first published in The Stony Thursday Book and then in home more or less (Salmon Poetry, 2012)
In the Shade
ash green lakes
aquamarine memory
beryl tears
cambium skin
celadon mist
chartreuse touch
clover-sprung harp
copper green temper
coral turquoise tongue
emerald green heart
fern green sleep
forest green winter
grass green bed
gravel-green lullabies
grey-green wink
hawthorn essence
hazel green gaze
island green iris
jade green mouth
lime green aura
marble green poitín lips
midnight shade of green
mint green sight
moss green sex
myrtle green palms
olive green age
opal green seas
pea green ire
peacock-green visions
pine green bones
reed green waters
sage green fires
sap green toes
seaweed green thighs
spring green dawn
Tara green rain
tea green calm
teal sorrow-pools
thyme green dusk
viridian storms
– first published in home more or less (Salmon Poetry, 2012)
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Colour & other poems are © Paul Casey |
Chris Murray 