Afraid of Colour
April 11 2022
All earth-tone.
No primary colours,
no shock
of loud cocksure paint.
Finely grained wood, stained dark
that gives the place
a warm grounded feel.
Sandy ceramic tile
so you hardly notice the floors,
and the ceiling done in beige
with some innocuous name
like tawny, tan, or umber.
It would seem I'm afraid of colour.
Apparently not one
to make bold statements
take centre stage.
Who prefers quiet,
restful on the eyes,
lying low.
Except for a single piece
on the glass-top table
of eye-catching art.
A birdhouse
painted by hand
by a long lost acquaintance
in bright brash colours.
It sits in the centre, all alone,
unapologetic
and self-assured.
No bird, however.
There used to be one,
perched on a small round peg
that protrudes out front.
Who may very well have fled
to the well-shaded calm
of some cool green glade;
like me
a delicate creature
thin-boned and airy
who felt overwhelmed.
Who could no longer live
in that gaudy house
with its busy decoration.
Either that, or the dog ate it.
Bit either way, I quite like this piece.
An eye-catching surprise
in a restful setting
of subdued pastels.
A loud splash of colour
in a quiet life.
A thing of beauty,
as well as the only thing about the place
worthy of a poem.
The one fearless choice
I somehow managed to make.
When I began, I wasn't sure where this poem was going to end up. Which, actually, is more the rule than the exception. My only thought, as I looked around the room, was that my colour choices – restful as they are for someone like me – had certainly not been very adventurous. So I suppose the ingredients for a poem about fear were already there. I like the very indirect way it approaches this rather fraught subject. "Fraught", because what could be more emasculating than to announce that your life has been too much ruled by fear! (The dog did eat it, btw. Just as the other one ate my night guard!)
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