Song of Violet Another grey day, dreams begin to slow down, our limbs become heavy as old leather suitcases. Light falls, has nowhere else to go. Where it touches shadows grow, spreading petals of darkness. If time could pause, even for a moment, this would be it. Strangers passing, we ignore each other, deny at heart we’re the same, clothed in blank stares, frozen feelings, clutching in our hands a fragile parcel of self. Colin Pink Colin Pink lives in London, England. He writes fiction, plays and poetry. He has published three collections of poetry: Acrobats of Sound (2016), The Ventriloquist Dummy’s Lament (2019) and Typicity (2021). Colin Pink - D & W PUBLISHING - BOOKS, PAMPHLETS AND POEMS (dempseyandwindle.com)
4 Comments
9/16/2021 09:31:23 am
Very much enjoyed your poem, Colin. It--along with Magritte's painting--bring to life Pythagorus's observation that "a stone is frozen music."
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Colin Pink
9/16/2021 01:13:09 pm
Thanks Shelley. So glad you enjoyed it. It is a most thought provoking painting! Very best, Colin
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9/16/2021 10:04:04 pm
I love this poem for many reasons, especially its compression: saying a few profound things and leaving the rest up to the audience fits Magritte's style, and the last line is perfection.
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Colin Pink
9/23/2021 06:31:03 am
Many thanks. Glad you enjoyed it! Colin
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