Color adds to images what poetry adds to writing, a range of expression across a spectrum of emotions. In a series of poems, writers use color to convey an image of expression to our readers and share a part of their imagination.
Simply blue
Jorge Chabo
Chasing the blues of life,
different shades of different moods
that make up the kaleidoscopic spectrum
of our day to day interactions
These waves, aquamarine
drifting by a glistening shine
Calm roars that imitate
the reckless serenade
that plays in my mind
The Tiffany blue and the bay blue
Turquoise and cerulean
Midnight and sapphire
light to dark,
we stay cool,
and still blue.
The City
Maia Hunter
The color of city air feels busy.
a fast-paced orange. overwhelmingly vibrant and loud and present.
pushing you forward. for survival.
the color of city music feels Cool Like Dat.
a rich mauve. smooth. royal.
drums and trumpets and basses play powerful hues of history. of resilience. of past and future.
the colors of city murals feel alive.
bright pinks and greens and yellows paint pictures of humanity.
stories of identity.
the colors of city buildings feel like books.
deep burgundy. polished silver. character development. evolution.
souls from many different paths dance across their pages.
the color of the city feels like ego death.
simultaneously every color and no color.
you belong everywhere and nowhere.
“but a city is more than a place in space,
it is a drama in time.”
– patrick geddes
There is no music without color
Kristian Kranz
Imagining music without color is hard, if not impossible
I listen to what I’m feeling, and my feelings can get colorful
But if there was no color, then I would never feel blue
I wouldn’t listen to Blonde or tune into Channel Orange
Like I usually do.
Without color, those two albums wouldn’t exist
We stripped away the title
Just think of what would happen to Prince
I mean honestly
Prince and purple are synonymous
If there’s no purple, there’s no Prince
Music without Prince?
Preposterous
My favorite artist is The Red Hot Chili Peppers
If they never existed,
Then this poem wouldn’t either
I wouldn’t be inspired
wouldn’t search for ground that’s higher
Might have felt snow on the other side
I’d have never been a writer
Color comes from emotion and music paints us from within
A beautiful work of art is every song to which I’m listening
A playlist full of songs I prepare to pull me through life again
Music without color is like breathing without oxygen
On Learning to Paint
Lindsey George
Colors Are
Until they Aren’t
Though, can one remember something Forgotten
That always Was
Until it Wasn’t?
No- not Forgotten
Stolen.
But how thin the veil is between
And how intoxicating is Grey and Black
and Black and Grey
and Black between Grey
and of Nothing masquerading as Something.
And only when painting with the Blackest Black, it seems</span
Did I finally hear the whispers of old friends
A jarring reminder of Color, of Something.
And that which can no longer be- the Nothing.
I paint them, the Colors, with my voice,
With the simple exhalation of breath held too long.
The lust of Life- Red.
The Sunset’s Promise of Tomorrow- Orange.
The Light that Brings It- Yellow.
Verdant Blossoms of rebirth inside- Green.
The Life Water that feeds it- Blue.
– Violet.
Yes-
I paint them all, as I once did.
Flow in and out of all
In all permutations and divisions,
That Simply Are.
And Always Were.
Big fan
Maybe I’m not sophisticated enough but I don’t quite understand this part/phrasing
sophistication or pretentious? vote in the comments
LOVE this part
so this isn’t too depressing? not too “esoteric” to the point of being pretentious?
