Poem -The Poet’s Palette

The Poet’s Palette 

I take up my word palette

And Now try to decide

Will I paint a poem

In flaming red a murder

Mayhem in the sunset

Or maybe something in Dismal Black

Refugees in a war scene

All to familiar processions

of women, children old folk

on the roads away from home

Nowhere to go.

Maybe a White description

of hospitals , nurses, doctors

and ambulances

Their battle against the microbes,

pus and pain.

I could use the Yellow press

Sex words, topless, nudity

pornography child abuse,

Prostitutes and pimps.

Or indulge in a little Pink socialism

Dark Red communism – already fading

or Deep Green world environment

But my best choice of all

The changing seasons

Spring blossoms pink, white red,

Variegated colours of flower filled

Gardens, meadow, veldt and country side

And stark brown and black mountains

Summer with dark green lawns

Flower strewn banks –gentle rivers

Shrubs, trees, bushes and

Hedgerows in full bloom

Autumn richly festooned

Brown, yellows reds and purple pruned

The bird life on the wing.

And empty places

Where the lark does sing.

Yellow of the harvested fields

Awaiting next year’s spring.

And winter with its bridal

White and chimney stacks

Black puffs of smoke

Against the dismal grey skies.

There is no doubt that word and colour

Are always one with one another

Truly the poet’s palette.

 by Hillie Feldman 1995 copyright