L'aura del Campo

Two ditties: daffs and kelly green

Daffodil weather

Bright splash of gold on a cold white-sky day. 10
The mud of March freezing, thawing; 8
no real illusion, warmth will be delayed 10
until the Ides of April's dawning 9
(or maybe May).


Kelly counts his colours

Is that blue-green or green-blue,
two of the forty shades of green
or the chartreuse of peeling pain
or hidden liquor? The lime in the coconut
or still on the tree, the hunter
in the evergreen forest of pine,
the sickening pus that must be cleansed
of the putrid pregnant pimple,
as jars of pickles, emerald gems
hidden at the back of the shelf,
cry out to be remembered
like the gems and malachite
stashed in your freshly painted drawers.
Sea green you said? More like sage
that mirrors the colors of a damp drear day,
dripping on grey-green snow covered moss.
Can we count copper coins and spires
now viridian shades of antiquity
or the verdigris of regret.
How Heineken in glass-bottles,
apples, pears or pistachios,
neon-spring or kelly green
define us. Ah, that's my colour.

© Kåre Enga (17.mars.2025)

23 lines

121.707