tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post2129915663873061335..comments2024-01-18T05:29:43.265-05:00Comments on The Music In It: Adele Kenny's Poetry Blog: Poetry Prompt #19 – Color Your PoemsADELE KENNYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-1568852275979774982010-08-27T11:54:30.282-04:002010-08-27T11:54:30.282-04:00Oh, Bob, yes, I know that poem, and you're spo...Oh, Bob, yes, I know that poem, and you're spot on!ADELE KENNYhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-48073587489817797702010-08-27T11:50:49.462-04:002010-08-27T11:50:49.462-04:00This prompt, and the great poems readers have shar...This prompt, and the great poems readers have shared, remind me of a poem I've always admired – "The Métier of Blossoming" by Denise Levertov. In this poem Levertov's use of color in the first stanza is brilliant in the way it enhances such an amazing observation. You can read the poem at: <br /><br />http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15363bob.fiorellinohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05467645651262666895noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-169318225723193802010-08-27T11:14:46.249-04:002010-08-27T11:14:46.249-04:00Thanks, Wendy, for posting your lovely poem! I lov...Thanks, Wendy, for posting your lovely poem! I love the way you begin with those red mountains and then let other colors in the poem define themselves (the glass, your grandmother's eyes); throughout the poem there's a subtle sense of unnamed color in your imagery.ADELE KENNYhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-75983330876974547682010-08-27T10:32:20.780-04:002010-08-27T10:32:20.780-04:00My Grandmother’s Eyes
Red mountains curve around ...My Grandmother’s Eyes<br /><br />Red mountains curve around me. <br />Bits of rock stick to my soles. I sit <br />on a stone slab, greet the silence with <br />deep breaths, then thank my eyes.<br /><br />A ten-year old plops herself beside <br />me. I grin to be polite, scan the space <br />behind her, wait for a mother’s call. <br />The girl inches closer, opens her hand, <br /><br />shows me a piece of glass. It’s beautiful, <br />I say, the color of my grandmother’s eyes. <br />I inhale the moment, recall how grandma <br />loved to show me off to the ladies under <br /><br />a willow on North Grove Street. She’d <br />smother me with kisses, introduce me to<br />her cronies, ask if I were hungry or wanted <br />a drink. It was easy to make her proud. <br /><br />A pony tail brushes against my cheek. Keep<br />it, she says in her little girl voice. It’ll <br />help you remember. I clutch the glass, drop<br />it into my pocket, and thank myself.<br /><br />Copyright © 2010 by Wendy Rosenberg. All Rights Reserved.Unknownhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08433175085795475696noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-45655511692047509722010-08-22T09:42:55.336-04:002010-08-22T09:42:55.336-04:00Basil,
Thanks for posting your wonderful poem. Th...Basil,<br /><br />Thanks for posting your wonderful poem. The gold, blue, and lavender set a tone for the descriptive loveliness of this poem in which you remember your homeland. These colors, along with the white chapel and silver olive groves, and the golden taste enhance details that provide a feast for the senses.ADELE KENNYhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-2124408549599528672010-08-22T09:35:15.240-04:002010-08-22T09:35:15.240-04:00Bob,
Thanks so much for your comment and for reca...Bob,<br /><br />Thanks so much for your comment and for recalling "Of Feathers, of Flight!"ADELE KENNYhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-18587488098857282642010-08-22T09:10:09.509-04:002010-08-22T09:10:09.509-04:00Revisiting Greekscapes
Images of dry summers
an...Revisiting Greekscapes <br /><br /><br />Images of dry summers<br />and suns explode from<br />gold, blue, and lavender circles.<br />Aegean waves wash sand and <br /><br /><br />pine needles, work the craggy <br />rocks into submission, one <br />millennium at a time.<br />Images of white chapels <br /><br /><br />perched on weathered cliffs,<br />old fishermen sailing home, <br />and silver olive groves – <br />golden taste, golden sun – <br /><br /><br />seascapes framed by<br />wind-bent pines, the barren <br />cliffs covered with thyme,<br />covered in memories.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Copyright © 2010 by Basil Rouskas. All Rights Reserved.<br />From Redrawing Borders <br />Forthcoming October 2010 from Finishing Line Press<br />Pre-Publication Orders at: http://www.finishinglinepress.com/NewReleasesandForthcomingTitles.htmBasilhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09663203702515912643noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-17158792855043799412010-08-21T10:32:41.065-04:002010-08-21T10:32:41.065-04:00This reminds me of your poem "Of Feathers, Of...This reminds me of your poem "Of Feathers, Of Flight." You have an image near the end, after the children set the baby bird free, in which the sky spreads it's blue wing over the children, the tree, and Mrs. Levine. It's an image made more memorable because of a single color word, which supports your suggestion that less can be more when using color in poems.bob.fiorellinohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05467645651262666895noreply@blogger.com