Color of fog and feathers,
of cool appraisal and expressionless gaze;
of shadows and headstones
and earth’s exposed and tumbled bones.
Color of passionless judgment,
of days’ old snow;
a friend of long lost years ago.
Color of shingles and slates,
smoke and chimney swifts;
of the hammered plate of February sky
inverted, enveloping;
of hills obscured by atmosphere.
Color of heart’s silence,
and murmuring peal of bells.
Color of cats and coyotes
and the Moon’s waterless seas;
of oysters and bruises and memory;
of ghosts and half-truths,
Magic and melancholy.
The pencil’s path over paper,
building, constructing;
the smooth skins of beeches
and slender young maples.
Color of age and wisdom,
thin filaments threading honeyed hair.
Winter’s Monochrome,
composed in subtle notes
of Gray.
— C.Birde
9 Comments
I have been seeing fog and feathers today in Reader. This poem brings both together beautifully.
Thank you kindly — it can be challenging to extoll the virtues of a gray Winter…had to “live” with the idea for a while before stitching it together. 😉
We all do, Carrie. Sometimes, I stand on my head and then decide to stash it. It is good that you shared it. Have a warm hug.
“of oysters and bruises and memory…” -nicely done, Carrie. Magical.
Thank you, Robert — your appreciation delights! 🙂
As does your poem!
It’s great
Again, thank you for your kind appreciation. 🙂
“Color of age and wisdom,
thin filaments threading honeyed hair.
Winter’s Monochrome,
composed in subtle notes
of Gray.”